#don’t mind me just screaming into the void

[brookghaib-blog]

The ghost I left behind- IV

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Word Count: 8,6k

Trigger Warning: Descriptions of abuse, non-consensual acts, and dv

Chapter III

--

Y/N's pov

The sonogram was warm in her hands, fresh from the printer, the paper still curled slightly at the edges. The tiny, blurry figure in the middle of the grainy image was the clearest thing she’d seen all day. Her boy. Her baby boy.

Y/N cradled the picture like it was something sacred, held close to her chest as she stepped out of the clinic’s sliding doors. The sun was high, but it wasn’t hot — the breeze was soft, like it had waited for her to come outside. She blinked up at the sky, trying to steady her breath. It should’ve been a good day. She wanted it to be a good day.

Her hand slipped into her coat pocket to find her phone, fingers moving from habit more than excitement. She scrolled to Mr. Cooper’s contact and hit dial. It rang once, then twice, and then his gentle, gruff voice came through the line.

"Hey, kid. You alright?"

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, I’m… I just got out. The appointment.”

A pause on the other end, before his voice softened. “And?”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, holding up the sonogram again as if he could see it through the phone.

“It’s a boy,” she said. Her voice cracked just slightly. “I’m having a boy.”

There was a breath from Cooper, a quiet joy. “A boy, huh? Well, I’ll be damned. That little guy’s gonna have my old sheriff hat whether he likes it or not.”

She laughed through her nose, a brittle sound, eyes stinging. “Thanks for helping me get there. I know it’s not much, but—”

“You don’t owe me a thing. You hear me? Not one thing.”

Y/N smiled again, starting to cross the street, her fingers wrapped around the phone with one hand and the sonogram with the other. She wanted to keep them both close, like maybe this moment could make up for everything.

But then the air shifted.

The warmth of the sun dimmed in an instant, as if the light itself had been swallowed. A gust of wind pushed through the street, sudden and bitter cold, making her jacket whip around her. And then — screams.

It started as a murmur, then exploded like glass shattering. A crowd of people came sprinting down the sidewalk, faces twisted in panic, some pushing, others crying.

She turned instinctively, heart stalling.

“What the hell—?” Cooper’s voice still echoed through the phone in her ear.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered.

Then she saw it.

An enormous wave of darkness rolling down the street like ink pouring from the sky. No source. No center. Just shadow, alive and hunting. It crawled over buildings and lampposts, swallowing cars like they were made of air. People disappeared into it without a sound.

“No. No, no, no—”

Y/N turned, trying to run. Her legs ached. Her lungs already burning. She was so tired. Every step was a war her body wasn’t ready for. Her hands instinctively wrapped over her belly, shielding the baby.

The shadow caught her.

A pulse of cold gripped her spine. She collapsed, knees hitting pavement, the phone clattering out of her hand. She curled around herself, shaking. Her eyes squeezed shut.

“Please,” she whispered, to no one. “Please, not my baby.”

Silence.

For a moment, all she could hear was her heartbeat and the wind. No screams. No rush of air. Just stillness.

Slowly, she opened her eyes—

And the world was wrong.

The pavement was gone, replaced with pink carpet and posters of teen idols peeling off pastel-colored walls. She blinked fast. The smell hit her next — old perfume, cheap foundation, the ghost of tears. Her childhood room.

No. No, no, no, no—

She stood slowly, the sonogram still clutched in her hand, now crumpled. Her throat was dry, too dry to scream. Her fingers trembled.

And then she heard it — soft sniffles behind her.

Y/N turned.

There she was. Sitting in front of the vanity mirror, makeup streaking down her cheeks. Her eyeliner smudged, lips bitten raw from trying not to cry. She was wiping her face with trembling hands, muttering something to herself over and over.

She was alone.

Y/N took a step forward, mouth agape. Her voice barely came out.

“…no.”

The younger version of her didn’t turn. She just kept crying, wiping, trying to make herself invisible. Her tiny shoulders shook with the weight of years to come. The pain hadn’t even begun yet, but it lived in her eyes already — that hollow ache of being forgotten.

Y/N’s knees buckled.

She knelt on the floor, watching her past unravel in front of her like a cruel memory she never asked to revisit. Her chest burned. She knew this night. She remembered what came next — the door slamming, the silence afterward, the lie she told herself that she deserved it.

She remembered how broken she felt.

And now she was here, again, somehow — years later, a different woman, with a baby boy growing inside her — being forced to relive the origin of all the hurt.

Tears fell freely now. She reached toward her younger self, but her hand caressed her hair.

“Don’t believe him,” she whispered. “You’re not unlovable. You didn’t deserve it.”

The girl didn’t hear her.

--

30 min's ago - WatchTower

The Thunderbolts had failed to contain what Valentina had hidden in the bowels of the compound — Bob, or what he had become.

The Watchtower’s holding area was in ruins now, its steel walls torn and warped like foil. Sentry hovered in the aftermath, bathed in eerie sunlight that seemed to dim as he rose higher. His eyes were gold-white, glowing like small stars. The team below — Yelena, Bucky, Alexei, Ava — all stood bruised and stunned after the encounter. They hadn’t stood a chance.

They just run, holding together in the elevator to their way out.

Valentina stood in the observation deck, fists clenched against the railing, watching as her most powerful asset simply hovered, silent, still. She snapped the comm open, voice coiled with venom.

“You were supposed to finish them, Sentry,” she hissed. “That was the deal. Loose ends are dangerous.”

Inside his helmet, Bob’s jaw tightened.

“They weren’t a threat to me, there's no reason to kill them,” he said softly, his voice laced with something unplaceable. “They wanted to help.”

“They were going to contain you. Chain you up,” she snapped. “Like they always will. Like she will, if you ever go back.”

Bob’s breathing quickened. He felt it again — that slow unraveling of clarity, like silk tearing at the seams. The image of Y/N crossed his mind, soft and shimmering like a memory soaked in sun.

Valentina’s voice dragged him back.

“You think she’ll still want you? After all this? After what you’ve done?” Her voice softened, almost mocking. “You’re not him anymore. You’re not the man she loved. You're a little freak now, not her sweet Bobby.” She said smirking. "You follow my orders, you're my employee."

He turned slowly.

"First of all, why would I...a God... follow you're orders. Do you know what I'm capable of?... Maybe I need to show you."

She barely flinched when he appeared. His hand wrapped around her throat and lifted her off the floor, pinning agasint the nearst wall, her eyes widened.

“And second of all. You don’t get to say her name, or even talk about her in way anymore.” he growled.

And then—click.

A sharp, deliberate sound echoed in the room. Mel. Silent and ghostlike, standing in the shadows, holding the black device in one gloved hand. A button pressed.

It was their failsafe. A synthetic trigger engineered into his bloodstream.

Bob gasped, light crackling from his skin, golden energy fracturing into black tendrils. His eyes flickered — from gold, to nothingness. To void.

Valentina just smirks at the scene. "Well well, looks like you resolve your loyalty issue".

Mel just give her the switch and dismiss her words, "I want a raise."

--

It wasn’t a kill switch. It was a collapse switch.

Bob didn’t scream. He didn’t fall. He just changed.

The light inside him flickered — gold flaring once, then warping into sickening black. His hands curled inward, his veins pulsing dark. The suit clung to him like oil as his feet lifted from the ground, and then—

He was no longer Bob.

He was no longer Sentry.

He was Void.

A shadow the size of a god rose into the air, its edges tearing against the clouds. Its shape was man-like only in suggestion — too fluid, too monstrous. Wings like smoke, teeth like glass, eyes like stars dying out.

The wind changed. The sky darkened. Even Valentina, hardened as she was, took an unconscious step back.

The Void circled the tower once, slow and deliberate. Watching. Waiting.

For what, no one knew.

Yelena stared up, her breath catching in her throat. Bucky’s jaw was locked, unreadable. Ava barely kept her form solid, whispering that they had to leave — now. Even Walker stood silent, hand frozen halfway to his now bend shield.

They had failed the mission.

Worse — they had released something far beyond what they were meant to contain.

Valentina didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Her eyes never left the sky.

The Void hovered above them, an eclipse in motion.

And then, without warning, it vanished into the clouds, a streak of darkness slipping into the stratosphere — fast as light, and twice as cold.

Silence returned. The mission was over.

But something much worse had just begun. Covering New York in a shallow darkness, and taking everyone else with it.

--

Y/N’s pov

The room around her hadn’t faded — not like she hoped it would. Y/N remained frozen, her body heavy like she was sinking into the carpet of her childhood bedroom. The quiet crying of her younger self continued at the vanity, face streaked with smeared mascara and glitter that clung to her skin like bruises she didn’t know how to name.

“Please,” she whispered again, louder this time, trying to reach her past self. “Don’t cry. Please—”

She knew what came next.

SLAM.

The door burst open with a thunderous crack against the wall, rattling the frames, making both versions of her flinch. Her mother stood in the doorway — tall, beautiful, cruel in the way only someone who knew your deepest insecurities could be. She had a cigarette hanging from her red lipstick-stained mouth, purse slung carelessly over her shoulder, already halfway out the door even as she entered.

“Y/N!” she barked, eyes narrowing at the sight in front of her. “Jesus Christ, look at you. Is that what you’re wearing?”

Young Y/N snapped to attention like a soldier caught out of uniform. She stood shakily from her stool, wiping her face more frantically now, trying to erase the shame, the night, the truth.

“Mom…” Her voice broke around the word like it was glass in her throat. “Mom, I— I need help.”

She moved forward, arms outstretched, like the little girl she was under all the eyeliner and attitude. Just a child begging for her mother.

“I don’t feel good, I think something happened— I think— I’m scared—”

But her mother took a step back like she’d been slapped. “Get your hands off me.”

Y/N watched — helpless — as her mother’s eyes scanned the too-short dress, the swollen, tear-rimmed eyes, the trembling hands, and curled her lip like she’d found something rotten in the fridge.

“You look like a little whore,” she snapped, adjusting her purse strap. “You want attention? Congratulations, you look like you got it.”

The younger Y/N’s face shattered.

“No— No, I didn’t want— I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, don’t start with the dramatics,” her mother cut her off coldly, heading back toward the door. “I’m going out. Your dad’s not coming this weekend, by the way — surprise, surprise. There’s leftovers in the fridge. Make yourself useful for once and clean up that mess you call a face. I don’t want to see it when I get back.”

“Mom— Mom, please. Please just stay—” the girl sobbed, trying again to move toward her, to just touch her sleeve, to be heard—

The woman turned and shoved her daughter back, hard enough to make her stumble.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked. “God, why couldn’t I have had a normal daughter?! Just one night without you ruining it, that’s all I ever ask!”

And then she was gone.

Just like that.

The door slammed again. The walls shook with the echo. Silence bloomed.

Young Y/N dropped to her knees and finally screamed, a raw, broken sound that twisted through the air and made the older Y/N’s stomach flip. The sound wasn’t loud — not like it should’ve been — it was muffled by time, memory, shame. But it cut like glass all the same.

Older Y/N stood frozen in the corner, her hands clutching the sonogram against her chest. Tears streamed down her face, hot and fast. Her mouth opened but no words came. She felt helpless. Useless.

She hadn’t remembered it this vividly in years. Not like this. Not the smell of her mother’s perfume, or the exact way the light hit the silver vanity tray. Not the sound of her own younger voice cracking under desperation.

She backed away, heart pounding.

“No,” she whispered, over and over. “No. No, I don’t want to be here. This isn’t real. It’s not real.”

But it was. Her younger self had collapsed on the floor now, sobbing into her knees. And there was no one to help her.

Y/N reached for the door. It didn’t open. She tried again, harder — nothing. Her fingers clawed at the knob, breath heaving now, the walls of the room beginning to bend and tilt, as though the house was a memory starting to melt.

“Let me out— please, I can’t— I can’t do this again!”

The walls whispered.

She heard her own voice — her younger self was now looking at her.

"You deserved it, didn’t you? That’s what he said. That’s what you believed."

“No—”

"You still believe it sometimes."

“Stop it!”

"If you were stronger, you’d have left sooner. If you were smarter, you’d have seen it coming. If you were worthy, he’d have stayed."

“Stop it!”

She turned and screamed at the room. She looked at the mirror on the wall, another room, without making any sense of what's the racional reasons of this happening, she jumps into falling into the room. Jordan's room.

Oh no, no,no,no, not this...this can't be...

--

Bob's pov

The Void had no shape.

It breathed around him — slow, cold, and endless. A black sea without water. A sky without stars. Bob floated in it, weightless and drowning all at once.

The silence pressed against his ears like pressure at the bottom of the ocean.

Then came the first room.

He didn’t walk into it. It unfolded around him — one blink and he was standing in the middle of it. A small bathroom. White tiles stained yellow. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry bees.

He stared at himself in the mirror.

Younger. Gaunt. Bruised knuckles, a bloody nose that wouldn’t stop dripping. His eyes red from crying, from the needle still swinging in the sink beside him.

The door burst open — the version of himself sitting in the memory didn’t flinch.

It was his mother.

“I can’t do this with you anymore, Robert!” she screamed. Her mascara ran. “You make everything worse.”

Bob tried to speak — to reach out — but his voice didn’t work here.

The past couldn’t hear him.

The next room swallowed the last.

Second room. A military facility. Stark. A flickering overhead light buzzed like a dying insect. Soldiers screamed in the distance — training exercises. Gunshots.

Bob was 19. Sitting in the corner of a locker room, shaking, knuckles split open from punching a wall.

"You're unstable, Reynolds. You lash out and break things. I don't want you on my team if I can't trust you."

Captain Hunt’s voice. Firm. Tired. Disgusted.

And then—

Third room. A hospital. Late night. Sterile smell. Fluorescent white.

He sat alone in a plastic chair, watching a heart monitor go flatline.

His first serious attempt. His own heartbeat crawling back into his chest with a kind of shame no one teaches you how to carry.

The nurses hadn’t asked questions. No one had called anyone.

Not one person showed up.

Fourth room. A motel.

Dim. Stained sheets. Cracked mirror. The bag of meth still sitting on the nightstand. He stared at it, then at his reflection.

His voice finally returned — not strong, but tired.

“I’m trying,” he whispered to himself. “I’m trying.”

His reflection didn’t believe him.

Then the fifth room swallowed him whole.

And this one was different.

Warm.

He looked around — disoriented, blinking.

The wallpaper was pale blue with hand-drawn spaceships and stars. A night light still glowed in the corner. A box of toys sat against the wall — old and worn but loved. There were crayon drawings taped haphazardly to the closet door. In the middle of it all was a twin-sized bed with dinosaur covers.

Bob took a shaky breath. His chest rose and fell like it hadn’t in hours.

This was his room.

His real one. From before things fell apart.

Before the shouting. Before the needle. Before the screaming void.

So he sat, down. It was quiet. Perfect for a place like the void. Peacefull.

He doesn't know how long he stayed there until Yelena came, he doesn't know how he still had the strengh to get up, to overpower the void.

It was a power that came from them. His new friends. His new..'team'?

He doesn't recollect it all, but for the first time in months, he didn't feel like he was alone. They made their way out of the room,out of this house out of the memory, and back into the storming present — where the real war still waited.

Together they went through several rooms from his and other people's memories. Fighting their traumas' into a way out.

He doesn't now when. But they ended up here.

The world around them was not the real one — they knew that much.

The walls breathed. The air crackled with an unnatural hum, and gravity shifted with moods, not science. Inside the Void’s domain, nothing obeyed logic. The Thunderbolts stood huddled, silent and alert, their eyes scanning the horizon of an endless black that shimmered like oil under a dim sky. This was the mind — or madness — of Sentry.

Of Bob.

Yelena’s fingers tightened around her weapon, though it was useless here. Ava moved like a whisper behind her, while Walker stood with hands slightly raised, reading the tension, always waiting. Even Bucky, hardened by war and grief, looked visibly unsettled.

Then something shifted.

A tear in the air — like a crack in glass — split open ahead of them. Shadows poured through the breach, not menacing this time, but familiar. Like memories. Like ghosts.

Suddenly, they weren’t in the abyss anymore.

They were in a small apartment kitchen — dim, quiet, but worn with the comfort of being lived in.

And then — voices.

Bob’s own voice, worn down with shame, cracked through the space like thunder.

“You went through my things?”

They turned toward the source.

There he was — Bob — standing just a few feet away, the projection of him caught in a moment past. And across from him, her.

Y/N.

She was standing in their small living room, trembling hands clutching a small plastic bag, holding crushed pills and powder. Her eyes were puffy from crying, voice shaking.

“I was doing laundry, Bob. It fell out of your jacket.”

Real Bob — the one standing in the shadows with the Thunderbolts — went completely still. His breath caught in his throat. This was a memory he hadn't thought about in what felt like years. Maybe he’d buried it on purpose.

“You said you stopped,” she whispered in the memory, voice small but cutting. “You told me you wanted to get clean. For us.”

“I do” Bob said. “I just— I needed it, just once more. I’ve been good, haven’t I?”

Y/N shook her head in disbelief, hugging herself like she was trying to keep from unraveling.

“You lied to me. And what scares me most is that I keep forgiving you because I think maybe you hate yourself enough already.”

The room spun. The Thunderbolts watched in stunned silence, not quite understanding what they were witnessing — it felt too intimate, too raw to be for them. A woman they’d never seen, spilling tears for a version of Bob they'd never known.

Ghost shifted her stance uncomfortably. Even Yelena’s brow furrowed — the name Y/N flickering in her mind now like a question. The weight in the air was different than anything they’d faced. This wasn’t a villain. This wasn’t a fight.

This was a wound.

The memory played on.

“I’m not enough, am I?” Y/N asked, voice cracking. “Not enough to make you stop. Not enough to love without condition. I’m tired, Bobby. I can't live for you, I love you, but this has to stop, please.”

He didn’t respond. He looked like he wanted to — lips parted, hands shaking — but no words came.

Everyone turned to look at the real Bob, who had fallen to his knees, eyes wide with horror, tears brimming at the edges.

“She’s real,” he whispered.

Yelena blinked, stepping forward gently. “Who is she, Bob?”

He didn’t answer right away. He stared at the frozen image of Y/N like it had torn his ribs open.

“She’s... she's my girlfriend, my child's mother,” he said finally, voice hoarse. “My girl. I loved her more than anything. And I left her.”

No one spoke.

“She found out she was pregnant days before I left,” Bob added, as though confessing to a grave sin. “I never saw the bump. I never got to feel the baby kick. I don’t even know how it's going if they're healthy…”

His voice broke, and he covered his face with a trembling hand.

“I wanted to be better. I swear to God, I did. But I was afraid I’d hurt her again. That I’d ruin the only good thing I ever had. So I disappeared. Told myself it was protection. Told myself I’d come back. For her, be a good, healthy father for our baby.But it’s been… so long.”

Yelena approached quietly, crouching beside him.

“She’s alive?”

He nodded. “Valentina told me so. She's pregnant. Five months now.”

A silence fell again — but not the cold kind. This time, it was heavy with understanding. They all had blood on their hands. But this was different. This was grief. Regret. A man torn in half by his own guilt.

Ava spoke up, voice strangely soft through her modulator.

“Let's get out of here, this is not the way out come on”

Bob’s gaze lifted to the suspended image of Y/N — frozen in time, crying, still holding the drugs like they were the last piece of him she could trust. He just runs along with the others, jumping into another room.

The world shimmered again.

The corridor they’d just been standing in melted into dim velvet walls, low golden lighting, and pulsing bass vibrating faintly beneath their feet. A private lounge. Exclusive. Sleek. Quietly decadent.

Bob turned slowly, gaze sweeping over the room. It was too elegant to be one of his memories. And it didn’t feel like his. Not the way the others had. There was no anxiety prickling under his skin, no familiarity clawing at the edges of his mind.

The couches were velvet, the tables sleek marble. Laughter echoed from a corner—high-pitched, sugar-coated and sharp. A group of girls lounged around a bottle-service table, glittering dresses and tired smiles, eyes heavy with intoxication and mascara.

Then Bob saw her.

Y/N. Young.

God, she was so young.

Seventeen, maybe. Dressed in a short black dress with silver accents, legs crossed tightly at the ankle. Her hair was curled and pinned half-up like she was trying to mimic a movie star, but her eyes told another story—she looked nervous, small, out of place.

Next to her sat a man. Clean-cut. Older—definitely older. Late thirties, maybe. He wore a sharp blazer over a white shirt, no tie, just casual enough to seem approachable. He had his arm resting behind her shoulders, fingers brushing lightly against her hair. Possessive without looking it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth like polished mahogany. “Just a little. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

“I don’t know...” Young Y/N laughed lightly, clearly uncertain. “I’ve never really done that stuff.”

“That’s okay,” he said, smiling, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself. I like you just like this.”

She blinked. Something about the way he looked at her—it was like he saw her. Like she mattered. Bob’s heart clenched painfully watching it.

“I just think you’re incredible,” Jordan continued. “The way you walk into a room like you’re not trying to impress anyone. You’ve got this... spark. It kills me.”

Y/N looked down, shy. “You really think that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, resting his hand gently on her thigh. “You’re nothing like these other girls. You’re thoughtful. Real. Not just some pretty thing. You’ve got depth, baby. And I see that. I see you.”

Bob could barely breathe.

“He’s grooming her,” Ava muttered under her breath.

Yelena glanced at her, then at Bob. “Is this her memory?”

Bob’s jaw was tight. “Yeah,” he said. His voice cracked. “It is.”

On the couch, one of the girls passed a thin line of powder to Jordan, who declined with a polite shake of his head. Instead, he passed it to Y/N. “Only if you want to,” he said gently. “No pressure. I’d never make you do anything. But I want you to feel good tonight. You deserve to feel loved.”

Y/N hesitated. The edges of her smile were starting to quiver. She stared at the powder. Then at Jordan. “You really think I’m... special?”

“I don’t waste time on girls who aren’t,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her cheek, feather-light. “You’ve got a heart bigger than anyone in this room. I just want to take care of it.”

She closed her eyes, almost swayed by it.

Bob couldn’t look away. His hands were shaking. “She thought he loved her,” he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. “She told me... once. That for a while, she believed every word. That she was lucky to have someone love her that much.”

“She was a child,” Yelena growled.

“She didn’t know,” Bob whispered. “She didn’t know what she deserved. She thought this was it—someone older, who gave her attention. That was enough.”

Y/N ends up taking the drugs. She handed the little plate back with a quiet after taking the powder “uff, that's ahm..weird?” She said smiling at Jordan.

Jordan smiled like she’d just told him a secret. “See? That’s what I like about you. You’re strong. Classy. You didn't even make a face pretty girl.”

Then he kissed her and whispered, “That’s why I love you.”

And Y/N believed it. "And I love you too."

You could see it—the way her shoulders relaxed, the way she leaned into him slightly. Desperate for comfort. For a promise that someone in the world wanted her.

The team stood there in silence.

Bob’s eyes were glassy. He swallowed hard. “She just wanted someone to choose her. To protect her. And instead... she got him.”

Ava’s face was grim. “And then she got you.”

Bob flinched.

But Yelena shook her head gently. “You loved her. You didn’t want anything from her but to be loved back. That matters.”

Bob said nothing for a long while. He just stood there, staring at the younger version of her—wide-eyed, smiling faintly, still foolish enough to believe that this man would be different.

That he would be safe.

“God,” he muttered, voice breaking, “I hope she knows she’s more than this.”

“That wasn’t yours,” Bucky finally said, his voice low, like he was afraid of scaring something away. “That memory. It wasn’t from you.”

Bob shook his head slowly. “No. That was hers.”

Yelena’s brow furrowed. “How the hell are we seeing her memories?”

“Maybe...” Ava started, then hesitated. She glanced around at the endless dark edges of the Void as if searching for a crack. “Maybe because she’s here.”

The weight of her words hit like a bomb.

Bob turned to her sharply. “What?”

“If the Void is showing her memories,” she said, “then it’s not just pulling from you anymore. It’s pulling from someone else too. That only happens when someone’s inside.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “You think the Void got her?”

“I don’t think,” Ava said. “I know.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “So she’s trapped in this thing.”

Bob’s breath caught in his throat. The walls seemed to close in around him as the meaning sunk in—Y/N, his Y/N, alone somewhere in this abyss, reliving the worst parts of her life, again and again, without even knowing why.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped. “No... no, no—she can’t be here. She can’t be.”

“She is,” Ava said softly. “We’ve all been stuck in this thing long enough to know how it works. It latches onto trauma. It feeds on it. Memories, shame, fear—it twists it all into a prison.”

“But she’s not like us,” Bob said, his voice cracking. “She didn’t sign up for this. She didn’t even do anything.”

“That doesn’t matter to the Void,” Bucky said grimly. “It doesn’t care who you are. If it senses pain, if it senses broken pieces... it pulls you in.”

Bob’s knees buckled slightly, and he sank to a low stool at the edge of the room, head in his hands.

“She’s pregnant,” he whispered. “She’s alone. She’s scared. And now she’s trapped in this fucking nightmare.”

Yelena knelt in front of him. “Then we find her. Before this place tears her apart.”

“How?” he asked, voice hoarse. “How the hell do we find her in all this?”

Ava stepped forward. “We follow the memories. The further in we go, the more pieces we see. If she’s really here, then the Void is using her too. Pulling her pain to the surface. If we find the source—if we find the most vivid parts—we find her.”

Bucky nodded. “And we pull her out.”

“But she doesn’t even know what this is,” Bob said, lifting his head. His eyes were red, desperate. “She won’t understand. She’ll think it’s real. She’ll feel it all like it’s happening again.”

“She’s strong,” Yelena said. “We’ve seen that.”

Bob shook his head. “Not like this. Not this kind of pain. She spent her whole life thinking she wasn’t worth loving, and now she’s in a place that’s built to prove her right.”

He clenched his fists, jaw tightening. “She’s not just some damsel in distress. She’s better than me. Smarter. Braver. But I left her. I abandoned her when she needed me most, and now she’s paying the price for my broken mind.”

Bucky took a step closer, his voice steady. “Then don’t waste time wallowing in guilt. Use it. Channel it. Because if we don’t get to her soon, this place will bury her alive in her own pain.”

Bob stood slowly, the weight of resolve settling over him like armor. “Then we go deeper. Into the worst of it.”

He turned to Ava. “You said it feeds on trauma. So we find the worst of her memories. The ones it would never let go of. She has to be somewhere here."

--

Y/N's pov

The air was thick. Too warm. Still.

Y/N stood barefoot on the cold hardwood floor of his penthouse apartment—Jordan’s.

The bedroom was dim, the curtains drawn. The city lights barely peeked through the thin cracks. She heard rustling behind her. Her breath caught.

There—on the bed—her younger self, stirring under crumpled sheets, the silk blanket clinging to damp, bare skin.

The girl woke slowly, confusion in her eyes before she blinked into the dark. She moved, groggily at first… then winced. Her body recoiled, the pain sharp and unignorable. Her fingers clutched the sheet closer to her chest. She looked down.

Y/N—the older one—stood frozen. Watching. Remembering.

“No, no, no,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head. Her hands trembled at her sides. “Please don’t do this. Don’t make me see this again.”

But the Void was cruel. It always had been.

Young Y/N stood slowly, wobbling on weak legs. The sheet wrapped around her like a lifeline, like it could protect her from what her mind already knew but refused to say out loud.

She stepped into the hallway, bare feet silent, breath uneven. She turned toward the kitchen.

And there he was.

Jordan.

Dressed casually—sweatpants, t-shirt—like he hadn’t just stolen something sacred. He was humming. Cheerful. Making coffee. His hair was damp like he’d just showered. Like it was just another morning.

The older Y/N followed behind, nearly tripping over her own breath, like she could somehow get in front of this. Stop it.

Jordan turned at the sound of movement, his smile stretching effortlessly across his smug, handsome face.

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead,” he said, his voice chipper, as if they were a normal couple waking up after a beautiful night. “You were out cold last night. Want some breakfast? I make a killer omelet.”

The younger Y/N stopped in her tracks. Her lips parted, her face pale, horrified. “What... what did you do to me?” Her voice was so quiet at first, but it shook.

Jordan’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“You...” She clutched the sheet tighter, eyes blinking rapidly, on the verge of spiraling. “You gave me something. I didn’t want to sleep with you. I—I said no. I remember saying no. And then—then nothing.”

The smile on Jordan’s face flickered. Then vanished.

He stepped forward, casual in that way predators often are. “Woah, woah. Babe. Don’t be like that. You were into it. Trust me—you wanted it. I just gave you a little something to relax, that’s all. You were stressed out.”

“I didn’t want to relax,” she said, her voice cracking. “I said no. You said we’d just hang out. I thought—” Her voice broke. “I thought you loved me.”

Jordan’s face changed entirely. The warmth drained out of his expression, replaced with cold irritation.

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” he said, voice darkening. “After everything I’ve done for you? I brought you into my home, gave you everything, and now you’re acting like some fucking victim?”

Older Y/N stepped forward, voice raised. “Stop it. Please. Stop it!”

Young Y/N was sobbing now, inching backward. “You drugged me, Jordan. You used me.”

Jordan’s eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched.

“You better watch how you talk to me.”

And then—he moved.

It happened so fast.

His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. She yelped, trying to pull away, but he yanked her forward and slammed her to the ground. The sheet slipped off her shoulder. She screamed, trying to crawl back, but he was already on top of her.

“You ungrateful little bitch,” he spat. “I loved you. I treated you like a goddamn queen.”

“You're hurting me!” she screamed.

“You don’t even know what the real world is like,” he hissed. “You’re just a sad little girl who needs daddy figures to fix you. Well guess what? No one else wanted you. You were mine.”

His hand wrapped around her throat.

“STOP IT!” older Y/N screamed, throwing herself at him. She crashed into him—but passed right through. She hit the floor hard, helpless. Her hands clawed the ground. “GET OFF HER!”

But he didn’t even notice. Because this wasn’t real. Not to him. But to her—it was everything.

Younger Y/N thrashed beneath him, choking, sobbing. “Please... Jordan, please...”

He leaned in close, voice low. “You don’t get to say no now.” And just like that, he let her go. He picked up his coffe mug and went to the sofa, turning on the news. "When you're ready to apologize, come here, okay sweetheart? You were really cruel to me, I didn't appreciate that."

Older Y/N crawled to her younger self who was sobbing, tears blinding her vision. She pressed her palms to the memory’s shoulders, trying to hold her, trying to shield her, desperate to end this.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered through tears. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know what love was supposed to look like.”

--

Bob was the first one to step inside.

Then they saw her.

Y/N.

Curled on the floor in the kitchen, holding someone tight—herself. A younger version of her, wrapped in a silk sheet, face buried in her own shoulder, both of them trembling, as if clutching one another was the only thing keeping them from falling apart completely.

Her hair was a mess. Her arms covered in scratches from trying to claw her way out of this hell. Her face streaked with tears and smeared makeup. But even broken, she looked like something Bob had forgotten how to breathe around.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Not yet.

It was Walker who whispered, “That’s her... That’s Y/N.”

But it was Yelena who understood first. “She’s not just a memory.”

“No,” Ava murmured. “She’s here. Trapped like we are.”

Y/N hadn’t noticed them yet. She was holding her younger self so tightly, whispering into her hair, soothing words and broken apologies.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry... I should’ve seen it. I should’ve never loved him. I should’ve known this would happen. I just wanted to be seen. Just once. Just wanted to be enough for someone. I didn’t know it would hurt like this... I didn’t know I was gonna hate myself this much.”

Bob stepped forward. Slowly. Carefully. “Y/N.”

Her head didn’t move. She didn’t hear him. Or maybe she was too deep in the memory to want to.

He tried again, his voice cracking, tears already building in his eyes. “Y/N, it’s me.”

At that, her shoulders tensed.

Still holding the younger version of herself, she slowly turned her head.

She saw him.

And everything stopped.

She blinked—once, twice, trying to clear her eyes. But he didn’t vanish. He stayed. Standing there, in his suit, his hair wild and eyes filled with tears, chest heaving like he hadn’t taken a full breath since he last saw her.

Behind him stood strangers—faces she didn’t recognize. A blonde girl with cold, sharp eyes. A man with a metal arm. A ghost of a woman in black. But she didn’t care.

Her eyes locked on Bob.

Her Bob.

But she didn’t smile.

She flinched.

“No...” Her voice came out hoarse. “No. Not like this.”

Bob’s face fell. “Y/N, it’s really me.”

“No, no, you don’t get to do that,” she whispered, hugging her younger self tighter, closing her eyes like she could shut him out. “Not here. Not now. You’re not real. This place is evil, it shows me things just to break me. I’m done falling for that. I won’t let it take you, too.”

“It’s me,” he repeated, stepping closer. “I swear to you. I’m not an illusion. I found you—I found you.”

She shook her head violently. “No! You left me. You left before I even showed, before I even started to show! I waited and I waited and I screamed into a pillow every night, telling myself you’d come back—but you didn’t. And now I’m here, trapped in hell, and it’s using your face to punish me!”

Her breathing picked up. She stood up.

She stepped toward him, shaking.

“Don’t you dare look like him,” she said, her voice breaking. “Don’t you dare sound like him. Don’t pretend you care—don’t pretend you know what I’ve been through.”

Bob tried to reach out but she slapped his hand away.

She started hitting him. Soft at first—then harder. Fists against his chest, weak and desperate.

“You’re not him. You’re not him. You’re not my Bobby. He’s gone. He left me. He left me with a baby and no one to love me. He promised he'd never go and he fucking went!”

“I know,” he whispered, not even defending himself. “I know I did. I know I failed you.”

She hit him again and again until she couldn’t stand anymore.

Her knees gave out and she collapsed.

Bob caught her before she hit the floor. Held her like he had the first night she let him into her apartment, sobbing into his shirt, clutching him like he might disappear if she blinked.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I just wanted you to be real. I needed it to be you. I needed it to matter.”

“It does,” he choked out. “You matter. More than anything. And I swear to you, this isn’t a trick. I’m here. And I’m not leaving again. I swear to God, I’m not leaving again.”

She trembled in his arms, crying so hard her body shook. Her arms wrapped around his neck, afraid to believe it.

But for the first time in months, she let herself hope.

Because even in the heart of the Void—he came back for her.

It was heavy, fragile—like glass balancing on a thread. No one dared speak at first. Even Yelena, who had a dozen biting questions on the tip of her tongue, kept quiet. The sound of Y/N’s quiet sobs was all that filled the space, broken occasionally by Bob whispering apologies into her hair.

Walker finally stepped forward, his hands on his hips. “Okay, someone tell me how the hell we’re getting out of here now that we’ve got her.”

“We’re still in the Void,” Ava murmured, her voice echoing faintly in the strange, warped dimensions of the room. “Just because we found her doesn’t mean the exit’s magically going to open. We need a way to break it.”

Y/N blinked, still dazed, still shaking. She looked up at Bob with red-rimmed eyes. “How are you here?” she whispered, voice hoarse. “Is this real? I don’t understand. You left. You weren’t there. And now you are and everyone keeps saying Void and team and... what is happening, Bobby?”

Bob looked at her like he didn’t know how to start. “I... I will explain everything my love I promise you, it's a very very long story.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “How do I know this isn’t just another trick? How do I know you’re not just... another part of this nightmare?”

Bob grabbed her hand gently and pressed it to his chest. “Because you’re here, and I feel it. I feel you. And I don’t know how this place works, but I think the Void... it’s connected to all the pain we carry. All the things we can’t let go of. That’s how it traps us. With the worst parts of ourselves.”

Yelena crouched nearby, eyes on Y/N. “When the Void manifests a memory, it means the person’s in here. Alive. Which means we can all get out, if we stay together.”

Y/N glanced between them—these strangers standing like soldiers in her deepest trauma. “Who are you people?”

Bob chuckled softly through his tears. “They’re... complicated. But they’re helping me. Helping us. I promise.”

Before anyone could say more, a noise cut through the quiet—a voice.

"You look ugly when you cry, little one."

Everyone turned.

Jordan.

Still present, still part of the memory, casually walking across the kitchen to put his coffee mug in the sink. He hadn’t seen them—not really. He was part of the memory loop, the trauma replaying on a cruel cycle. But the voice, the condescension, the way it dripped like acid through the air—

Bob’s body moved before his brain could catch up.

He stormed across the room in two long strides and drove his fist into Jordan’s face so hard the man was lifted off his feet and crashed into the counter, crumpling like wet paper.

The room went silent again.

No one moved.

Not even younger Y/N, who had been curled on the floor, frozen in horror. Her form flickered slightly now, destabilizing. The memory unraveling at last.

Bob stood over Jordan’s unconscious form, fists still clenched, breath ragged. Then he looked back at Y/N—his Y/N—and gave her a sad smile. “You’ve always been beautiful,” he said gently. “And if our baby’s a girl... I hope she looks just like you.”

Y/N looked down, lips trembling. Her fingers reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out the crumpled sonogram. She stared at it for a long moment, then looked back at him, her voice barely more than a breath.

“It’s a boy, Bobby... I just found out. Before everything... before this.”

Bob’s eyes widened, filling with tears all over again. “A boy...?”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

He stepped to her slowly, arms open, as if afraid she’d disappear again. She let him wrap his arms around her, and they clung to each other like survivors in the wreckage.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Y/N closed her eyes and clutched the sonogram between them, resting her forehead against his chest. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” she admitted. “I don’t know where I am.”

Bob looked at her, then the team. “We’re getting out. All of us. Together.”

He reached down and gently helped her to her feet.

But before anyone could move, the walls of the apartment began to blur. The shadows of the kitchen twisted like liquid. The floor rumbled.

“It’s shifting again,” Ava warned, backing toward the group.

The room peeled apart like old wallpaper, revealing something new behind it—white fluorescent lights, steel walls, cold tiled floors.

Yelena’s eyes went wide. “This... this is the lab.”

“O.X.E.,” Bucky confirmed, stepping forward cautiously. “Where they were creating you.”

Bob held Y/N close as she looked around, now standing in the middle of a sterile hallway. Her head spun from the sudden shift, her mind reeling.

“I was here,” Bob murmured. “This is where they made me a weapon.”

Y/N clung to his arm, "Made you? What?", heart pounding. “Why did it bring us here now?”

And Walker, grim as ever, finally answered.

“Because it wants us to remember how the hell this all began.”

The room had grown impossibly still. Shadows danced across the cracked floor as the broken lights flickered overhead. By the lab window, seated a figure—tall, cloaked in flickering tendrils of smoke and malice. The Void.

He stood motionless, his gaze fixed beyond the glass as if watching something only he could see. Two figures, twisted and half-consumed by darkness, slumped beneath the window—doctors perhaps, or memories of victims long lost. Their stillness was chilling.

Then he turned.

Darkness poured from him like a second skin, his golden eyes burning through the room like embers in the night.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth, haunting, laced with venomous sweetness. “I finally found you.”

Y/N clutched Bob’s arm tightly, stepping back instinctively as her eyes searched the figure in front of her. The voice. That voice. It was him—but it wasn’t.

“What's happening?” she whispered, clutching her belly protectively. “Who are you?”

The Void took a step forward, the floor creaking with his weight. He tilted his head with an expression almost tender. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” he said gently. “Alone. Carrying life inside of you. And for what? Struggling to stay afloat, with no one to catch you when you fall?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not alone anymore.”

“But you are” he pressed, taking another step. “You always have been. Your mother. Your father. That man who used you like a plaything. And where is your love now? The one who left you when you needed him most?”

Bob flinched beside her.

“Come to me,” the Void whispered, his voice like velvet, spreading through the room like smoke. “I will make you happy. I will give you peace. I will give your son a life no one else can. No pain. No fear.”

The room shifted. Metal groaned. Then everything exploded at once—shards of glass, twisted steel, broken furniture—all lifted violently by an unseen force and slammed the team against the walls like rag dolls. Bob was thrown back, shielding himself from the debris.

Y/N staggered forward.

“Y/N! NO!” Bob screamed, reaching out.

But she couldn’t hear him—not through the drumming in her ears, not through the pull in her chest. Something was calling her. And in her heart… a terrible ache. A fear. What if this was the only way?

She walked forward in a daze, her hand outstretched.

“Come to me,” the Void whispered, his voice shaking the air like thunder. “You’re mine. You’ve always been meant to be mine.”

Just as her fingertips neared the swirling darkness of his hand, Bobby’s grip caught her wrist and yanked her back. She stumbled into his arms as the Void snarled.

“She’s not yours!” Bob shouted, his voice hoarse with fury.

The Void’s face twisted into a smile. “And who are you to claim her? A failure? The man who left her alone in a world that chews her up? You are and will always be alone in this world. That's because no one cares about you. You don’t matter.”

Bob’s face went pale. Then rage exploded from his chest like a scream from his soul. He lunged forward and struck the Void with a crushing punch. Then another. And another.

“You don’t get to trick her!” Bob roared, his knuckles bleeding, the darkness seeping up his arms like ink.

“You don’t get to speak her name! You don't to lore her to you!”

But the Void didn’t fight back. He smiled, letting Bob hit him again and again, until the shadow began to wrap tighter around Bob’s body, crawling up his spine, whispering poison into his ears.

“Stop!” Y/N screamed, running to him. “Bobby, stop!”

Yelena was at her side in seconds. “This is what he wants, Bob! He’s feeding on you!”

“Bobby, look at me!” Y/N cried, grabbing his hand, tears pouring down her face. “Bobby—please! You have to stop, I need you to stop!”

Walker came running holding onto them, and so did Ava and Bucky. A reminder of how loneliness was no longer invinted.

His eyes flickered toward her. The rage wavered.

“Please,” she whispered. “Mr. Cooper left the crib unfinished. We need to go home. We need to finish it. Okay?”

His breath caught. His fists fell limp.

He looked at her—really looked—and it was like coming back to the surface after nearly drowning.

“You…” he choked. “You are… everything.”

There was a burst of light. A rush of wind. And then—

They were back.

The pavement beneath them was solid. Cold. Familiar. People around them were screaming, running, but the team… they were just there. Alive. In one piece.

Yelena coughed and looked up, confused. “What the hell just happened?Wait...Where's Y/N?”

Bob blinked slowly, his vision returning. “Thanks guys… what happened by the way?” He said smiling. The it hit him. "Yelena. How do you know that name?"

[ohhoneypascal]

Oop- Hey Gabe🤭

[hederasgarden]

A Gilded Cage

Summary: As a mutant who can siphon energy and emotion, you’re brought onto the team by Val to control the Void—but things quickly spiral beyond expectation. Pairing: The Void x F!Reader x Bob Word Count: 4K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Dub-con, coercion and manipulation, elements of shame and guilt, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex and heavy angst.) Not all elements are tagged.  A/N: My muse went a little feral on this one. Thank you to @writercole and @gettingvetted for beta'ing and to @seeyalaterinnovator and @trelaney for letting me scream in their DMs about this. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist | Lewis Pullman Masterlist

Valentina prepared you for this moment as best she could, providing you with exhaustive psychological profiles of Bob and the Void, along with video documentation. You even heard firsthand accounts straight from the team, and even from Bob himself. But now, standing before him, you realize none of it could truly capture the depth of what you faced.

The Void was not just a presence; he was an overwhelming, suffocating force that seemed to bend the very fabric of reality and leech the light from everything in sight. With each step towards him you feel that ever present core of hope within you flicker as the bright airy room of the tower decays into a greyish pallor. Instinctively you want to recoil, but you force yourself forward. 

You have a job to do. And failure isn’t an option.

“I wondered when you’d show up,” he murmurs, his voice sliding through the air like smoke, curling into your bones and seeping into your mind. 

He turns, his eyes fix on you, twin pinpricks of liquid gold, tracking your approach with unsettling attention. It’s as though he sees beyond your body, peeling away your thoughts, your fears, your very soul, layer by layer. It’s unnerving to be on the receiving end of such attention, to be seen so clearly like you see others. But where your gift brings comfort and calm, his unearths only discord and grief.

"Such a pretty little jailer Val sent." He tilts his head consideringly, and a hollow laugh follows.  “No... not a jailer. Not really. Val’s little pet, aren’t you?” he says, something cold beneath the amusement. “She thinks you’re here to stop me.” 

You don’t bother correcting him. Even if he can’t influence your emotions or force you to drown in the howling, bottomless pit that churns inside him, he still sees the invisible leash Val has coiled around your neck, pulling you this way and that for her own purposes. 

“We need Bob back,” you reply calmly, advancing steadily towards him. Each step is slow and measured, your shoulders purposely relaxed. 

“I won’t let go that easily,” he informs you. 

“I know,” you say, moving close enough to brush the edge of his shadowed form. 

His hand snaps out in an instant, seizing your wrist. His touch is impossibly cold, unnatural, and you recoil. Shame oozes from his grip, thick and black. It hurts more than you expect. You exhale softly, the sound barely audible, but you don’t let your emotions surface. 

“I can take your pain,” you promise him. “Let me.” 

Your aura unfolds into his, cool and steady, a salve to suffering he exudes. He shudders, and for a fleeting moment, the dark shroud surrounding him flickers, its shadowy tendrils thinning just enough for you to catch a glimpse of Bob beneath. His face is pale and drawn, and his lips part, a silent scream you never hear before the darkness clamps shut around him, and he’s gone again.

The Void releases a distorted hiss and pulls you flush against him. His form is solid, unnervingly real beneath the swirl of shadows. There's weight to him, oppressive and inescapable, and your heartbeat spasms against your chest. 

“I know how your gift works,” he whispers, and his voice is a rasp just behind your ear, soft and invasive. “A handshake. A fleeting touch on a stranger’s arm. Subtle... harmless.”

Slowly, he drags his fingertips along the curve of your lower lip, tugging it down ever so slightly.

"We’ve read your file," he continues. "If you want to siphon anything from me, you'll need more than a brush of skin. You need prolonged contact. Something deeper…intimate. Lasting."

The words land heavy, and you freeze, a cold knot of revulsion twisting in your stomach. The light brush of his fingertips along the collar of your dress makes his meaning crystal clear, and for a moment, all you can do is stand there, paralyzed.

The Void smiles.

His mouth stretches wide, revealing sharp, immaculate teeth, bone-white against the surrounding black, a grotesque contrast to the glowing eyes above. 

“I want your shame,” he says, voice low and full of hunger. 

His hand rises to cup your jaw. Your fingers wrap around his wrist in an attempt to assert some measure of control, but your aura flares weakly, breaking against his like a wave crashing on rocks, its force dissipating without impact. 

He smiles knowingly. “Give me what I want, and you’ll get Bob back,” he promises, his voice curling into your thoughts. 

Disgust and anger burn away the shock you feel, and you grit your teeth, forcing your power to gather beneath your skin, feeling it pulse and swell with a steady, growing pressure. With a ragged exhale, you push outward, unleashing the full force of it. The wave of energy sends the Void several feet from you and washes away the darkness, leaving only Bob and you standing under the midday sun. He blinks at you, his expression shocked, and then he smiles, soft and sweet. 

Relief floods your body, and for a heartbeat, the weight of the Void’s presence is gone from you both, but the moment is short-lived. Darkness shifts, gathering at his feet, swirling and reforming with unnatural speed. It moves like a tidal wave and in the blink of an eye, reclaims Bob and pulls him back under. Dark laughter follows, echoing for too long in the open space.

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” he growls, closing the distance between you and pulling you firmly back against him.

A rush of adrenaline floods your veins, and you reach deep within, calling on your gift, urging it to the surface. Then, just as your power stirs, the Void’s next words freeze you in place.

“I know what Val promised you if you could control me,” he whispers. “And what will happen if you fail. Where she’ll send you.”

His words conjure images of sterile rooms, restraints, and faceless men in white coats. Places where people like you stopped being a person and became a subject. Somewhere you didn’t come back from. It takes everything you have not to let it consume you, not to let the panic, the gut-deep terror, slip free. A futile effort because the creature in front of you isn’t guessing how you feel or what will happen to you. He doesn’t need to. He knows.

Your throat tightens when you try to swallow, struggling to find your voice. When you force the words out they are thin and unsteady. "If that’s what you want from me, you could just take it.”

He sighs, long, exaggerated, as if the very idea disappoints him, but the hunger behind his eyes never dims. 

"That’s boring," he says. "I want your submission. Your shame, little pet. The weight of knowing you traded a piece of yourself for your freedom. And knowing," he leans in until his mouth hovers inches from yours, “that you’ll do it again and again every time I emerge.”

“No,” you croak. “I won’t.”

The smile that spreads across his face is anything but comforting, an ugly gash that stretches across his blurred features. "Resist if it helps," he murmurs. "But we both know what you’ll eventually decide."

You turn away, your lashes fluttering in a futile attempt to block him out, to escape the suffocating proximity. His breath mingles with yours, the air around thick and heavy with his presence. It feels like you can’t even breathe. Then his large hand settles at your waist, and you flinch. His fingers flex against your flesh, possessive and eager in a way that makes your stomach churn. Every fiber of your being wants to pull away, to scream, but you know it’s pointless. 

Fear and anger fizzle out as another feeling rises to the surface. Resignation. You are trapped, caught in a web spun not just by the monster in front of you, but by Val too. There’s no escaping this. No way to win. If you fail to return Bob, Val will hand you over to be dissected and studied. And if you do as he asks, you’ll be giving away a piece of yourself you can never get back. 

There is only one choice, you realize. The same choice you’ve faced your whole life. To survive. To endure. 

Your shoulders sag, heavy with defeat, and you lower your chin to your chest, the whisper of your acceptance barely audible. It tastes like ash in your mouth.

He moves instantly. His lips crash into yours, hard and consuming. There’s no tenderness, only raw, possessive hunger. The hand at your waist slides down, wrapping around your lower back, and then you feel your feet leave the floor. He lifts you effortlessly, holding you against him, suspended just above the ground like a doll in his hands.

It’s disorienting and your lungs burn, desperate for air, but he doesn't relent. His tongue, hot, almost scaldingly so, moves against yours with a force that overwhelms thought. You're so focused on the sensation that you don’t even notice you’re moving. Not until your back meets the cool glass of the window. The shock of it makes you gasp into his mouth as your feet touch the floor once more.

The Void pulls back and stares down at you, inhaling slowly until his breath spills into a low, primal groan, as if he’s tasting something in the air between you.

“Delicious,” he rasps. 

Your pulse spikes, the fear you’re trying to suppress creeping up your throat, choking you. 

“Val even dressed you so pretty for me.” His tone is mockingly sweet as his fingers toy with the hem of your dress.

The choice of your attire was deliberately chosen by her. No weapons. No armor. Not even a hint of the strength you carry. Just soft fabric in pale, passive shades that left your collarbone exposed, your legs bare. It was a costume crafted to make you look delicate. Harmless. The kind of vulnerability that would draw a predator close.

It was meant to disarm him, but now, with his fingers grazing your skin and his breath falling hotly against your ear, it’s clear it was never him left unguarded. It was always you.

The scrape of his teeth against your pulse point jolts you back into your body, sharp and sudden. A broken sound escapes your throat as he gathers your skin between his teeth and bites down possessively. Your fingers curl into the black, swirling mass of his chest, desperate to ground yourself and dissipate the pain. 

“Shhh,” he whispers, laving his tongue over your tender skin. “You’ll like it soon enough,” he promises.

His hands trail up your sides, fingertips grazing the swell of your breasts with deliberate slowness. Bright eyes catch yours, steady and unblinking, studying every reaction. You can’t look away, even when one of his hands settles over the hollow at your throat. His long fingers span your neck with ease, and your chest rises in a trembling breath, tight with fear at what he means to do. But he only smiles, letting his fingers trail down to trace the gentle scoop of your neckline. 

Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch, and a shuddery gasp leaves you when they slip beneath, sliding under your bra to brush against bare skin. He teases one nipple and then another until they harden under his touch, sending a shock of desire through your body. The scrape of his nail across the sensitive peak has you jerking forward, lips parted. He captures them in an achingly gentle kiss, building a warmth in your chest you try to ignore. 

“Will you taste as sweet as I imagine?” he questions. 

You blink at him dumbly, your lips swollen and tender before suddenly he’s at your feet. All you can see of him is the unruly outline of Bob’s wild curls when he presses in close, urging your thighs apart. Without warning, he hooks one of your legs and throws it over his shoulder, leaving you teetering on a single foot. His breath is warm and moist against your clothed core, and you feel it grow damp as he mouths along the fabric. Your hands hover, uncertain and trembling, before one instinctively moves to the crown of his head, more a reflex than intention, as if to push him away. But before you can act, his hand closes over yours, holding it there in a silent command. A twisted show of encouragement that turns your resistance into complicity. 

He groans, a low, filthy sound that you know will haunt you. Your underwear is torn from your body with ease, allowing him to get his first taste of you. He drags the flat of his tongue slowly through the length of your cunt, lapping with unrestrained hunger, his nose nudging your clit with each pass. Your insides coil in a tense knot, torn between pleasure and revulsion under his unrelenting pace.

To have his mouth on you like this feels invasive, a violation of more than just your body. He’s taking pieces of you with every touch, and you can do nothing to stop him.

“So wet for me, little pet,” he croons. “I thought you didn’t want this.”

You clamp your mouth shut, lips drawn tight in defiance. You won’t give him the satisfaction, but he doesn’t seem to need it. The sting of shame burns beneath your skin, and he drinks it in with every slow, deliberate flick of his tongue against your cunt. Worse is the spike of desire that curls in your gut when he works one finger inside followed by another, the rough pad of his thumb circling your clit with precision. He seems to know just the rhythm to have you squirming beneath him. Then his mouth seals over your tender bud, and you cannot keep quiet any longer.

A desperate keen builds in your throat, spilling out between your unwilling lips. Your hips lift, and you follow the sensations he brings, unable to stop yourself as a powerful wave rolls through your body, nearly stealing your vision. The Void doesn’t relent, doesn’t give you a moment of reprieve. He works to make your body his, your pleasure and shame his greatest feast. You come again with a frantic chant of please, please, please, whether begging him to stop or to keep going, you can’t even tell. For the first time in forever, you realize it’s only you in your head. No echoes of another's feelings, no interference. Just the raw, unfiltered purity of your own emotions. And it feels so good.

You don’t want it to stop. 

But then the Void pulls away, rising smoothly to his feet, just as your third orgasm threatens to break. You nearly reach for him, driven to soothe the ache deep between your thighs and feel something that is wholly, undeniably your own once more. The realization of what you were almost about to do crashes over you like ice water. Horrified, you pull back, the cold of clarity cutting through the haze.

“It’s been years since you’ve felt anyone’s warmth,” he murmurs, trailing the back of his hand along your cheek. “Val never let you wander far, did she?”

Your gaze flicks away from him, fixing on the high, vaulted ceiling. Humiliation crawls under your skin, burrowing deep inside as he continues to speak. He’s close enough that you can smell yourself on him.

“Nothing but your fingers to keep your company, leaving you needy for more. Desperate to be filled.”

Moisture clings to your lashes. You blink it back, unwilling to let it fall. A trembling breath escapes your lips, shaky and thin. You just need to get through this, get to the other side of today. 

He chuckles, low and knowing, seeming to pluck the thought straight from your mind.

“Today’s only the beginning,” the Void promises.

Your limbs feel heavy, uncertain, and you let yourself slump against the glass wall behind you when he guides your leg around his hip. Even now, after everything, it shocks you how real he feels –not like a ghost, but flesh and bone. Solid. Warm. Present. It's wrong. He shouldn’t feel this human. Self-loathing coils with something more insidious in your chest. You hate how your body responds to the feel of his knuckles brushing over your cunt as he lines himself up. How it wants him.

You brace yourself for cruelty, for the same brutal hunger he turns on others. To be consumed, used, and broken. Instead, he’s tender, almost painfully so as he splits you open with his cock inch by inch. He wants you to feel every part of him until he’s fully seated inside you, your bodies pressed impossibly close together. The gentleness is disarming, unravelling you more than violence ever could, but it’s the weight of your own shame that eclipses everything else.

Effortlessly he lifts you from the ground, and without thinking, your other leg wraps around his hip, drawing him closer than you intend. Your hands find their place on his biceps, gripping them tightly for support, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. He continues his steady pace, and need sparks along your nerves.

He groans, his hand settling loosely around your throat, reminding you of his power. 

Power.

The word reverberates through your fogged mind, thick with the weight of the Void’s presence and what he’s reduced you to. It’s a battle just to surface and to remember who you are beneath the haze, beneath the way he makes your body feel. But you have to. You have to.

Tentatively, you reach outward, your aura stretching like a fragile thread in the dark. It brushes against his, soft and searching. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even notice, lost to the ragged rhythm of his own breath, adrift in his pleasure.

So you press deeper.

You wrap around him, slowly, carefully, letting your light seep into the cracks of his being. The darkness yields, drinks you in like rain on sun-starved soil. You bring the Void closer, kissing him willingly for the first time. It’s a fight not to lose yourself in the warmth of him, the unexpectedly velvety feel of his lips as your power flows into him. Your own pleasure spikes as his increases into a frantic need. He abandons all pretense of gentleness, using your body to find his own end. Fingers dig painfully into your flesh, and the hand around your throat tightens. 

Your eyes flutter, the blurred outline of his face sharpening just enough to betray something familiar about him. Bob’s features flicker beneath wispy shadows of the Void, like a memory struggling to surface. But the eyes… the eyes are wrong. Not Bob’s warm, weary gaze. They are something far more alien, golden white, and burning.

You gasp for air against the restriction of his hand and force yourself to reach deeper into the well of power buried within you. Your own fingers knot into the black mass of hair, grounding you, anchoring you, as your mouth crashes into his and your tongue claims his with fierce desperation. The energy stirs immediately, rising fast, vibrating just beneath your skin, a low hum that grows until the glass behind you seems to tremble with it. You hold on to it until it’s indistinguishable from your own guilt, fury, and desire. 

“Give me it all,” the Void pants into your mouth. “Your shame, your need. Show me, show me, show me,” he chants. 

Your back arches, a cry caught in your throat, energy pouring out of you and into him. Light encompasses you both, blinding in its intensity. Your orgasm sweeps up through your chest, spreading along every fiber of your being, flooding you with a kind of euphoria you’ve never experienced. The Void stills inside you, coming undone and flooding you with a scalding heat. You hold onto him, eyes squeezed tightly closed, overwhelmed with emotions and feelings that are not your own.

When you finally summon the strength to open your eyes, you're met with a pair of impossibly bright blue ones. But it's not the color that stops your breath.

It's the look on Bob’s face.

He stares down at you, wide-eyed, his features drawn tight with uncertainty. His brows are furrowed, lips parted as if caught between a question and an apology. So achingly human and different from the Void that you have no idea what to say to him. 

Bob looks down at where your bodies are linked together, a visible shudder rippling through him. You slowly unwind your legs from around his waist, surprised when his hands remain steady beneath you. With surprising gentleness, he lowers you to the ground. You wince when he slips out from you, a stinging ache left behind in his absence. Cold air rushes in and you shiver, skin pebbling.

You press your legs together, smoothing your dress back into place. Across from you, he adjusts his own clothes, movements slow, shoulders rounded inward as though trying to make himself smaller. The silence stretches between you, but you feel his eyes on you, watching you through the damp curls clinging to his forehead.

He looks lost. Fragile in a way you hadn’t expected. And despite the horror you feel, something inside you aches to offer him comfort. But you stop yourself. His shame coils around you, thick and suffocating, merging with your own until you can no longer tell where his ends and yours begin. It threads through you both, binding tight – a connection you didn’t ask for stitched into the very fabric of who you are now. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispers.

And then he's gone.

You're left standing in the silence, alone once more. Time slips away, meaningless in the thick stillness that settles around you. It isn't until the soft ding of the elevator breaks the air that you remember how to breathe. The staccato rhythmic click of Val’s heels follows and your spine straightens before your mind catches up. You swipe at the wetness on your cheeks. 

Everything hurts, from the sharp throb at your neck where his teeth found skin to the bruising pressure you already feel blooming at your hip. But nothing compares to the deep, lingering ache between your legs. A reminder you’ll feel for days.

“Well,” Val says, looking you up and down with a critical eye, “you look like a fucking mess.” 

You blink at her, momentarily stunned, though you know by now you shouldn’t be. Not with Val. Never with Val.

“It’s good to see he left you in one piece,” she adds, lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Her hand lifts to tug at the collar of your rumpled dress, inspecting the damage like she’s assessing a tear in upholstery. “Can’t say the same for your dress. Then again, I didn’t expect it to survive his… attention.”

You stare at her, the truth sinking in like a stone in your gut. She knew exactly how this would play out. From the start. And she handed you over, without hesitation, like it meant nothing. Rage wells in your chest, but horror swallows it whole, and you just stand there, hollow and trembling at the edges.

“Don’t fall apart on me now,” she says, exasperated. She gives your cheek two sharp, condescending pats. The sting lingers, and you flinch despite yourself.

“Go make yourself presentable so we can tell the team the good news,” she adds, pulling a small set of keys from her coat pocket and pressing them into your hand. They’re cold and heavy against your skin. “You earned your place here. Congratulations.”

Her heels click away without waiting for a response. You watch her retreating form, aching, marked, and trying to remember how it feels to breathe like yourself. 

This is what you wanted, isn’t it? But it doesn’t feel like triumph. It’s just another prison, gilded and gleaming, but a cage all the same. You carved off a piece of yourself to get here. And as the silence settles in, you realize the real nightmare hasn’t even started.

♡

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles in this verse or other stories about Bob!

[cleo-akuma]

Protector (part 2)

Timeline: Civil War and forth

Bucky x reader

Reader only trusts Bucky, introvert/socially anxious, with strong super powers stronger than the avengers.

At HYDRA…

You hear machines beeping, people talking and clattering medical instruments around you. You slowly open your eyes the same time as you felt your neck stick with the needle punctured and fluid flowing to your veins. You scream due to the pain it gave you alarming the scientists and soldier that you’re awake. A man slowly approached you with a big smile on his face.

He shushes you and caress your hair “it’ll be over soon darling, endure it a little more.” He said with a soft tone. You look him straight in the eyes trying to manipulate his mind but it doesn’t work. He smiles “mind control won’t work on me dear. It won’t work on any of us.” He says.

You look at him confused, why isn’t your power working. You assumed that they removed it. “What did you do to me.” You asked through your screams of pain.

“Let’s just say that I’m in command now. You will do whatever I want you to do whether you like it or not.” He smiles again as if he had been successful with his experiment. “I gave you a chance to have control over yourself before, we took you in as one of us and you betrayed us.” He said as if he was hurt from the betrayal.

“I will never be one of you,” you said as the needle was removed from your neck. “You tortured me, gaslit me, made me think that what I was doing was right.” You exclaimed. You felt tears but you don’t wanna show weakness in front of this man.

The man showed a fake hurt expression and pointed towards the window. There, you saw the woman you considered your mother. “Mother” you called for her as she was busy tinkering on her computer not looking at you.

Before anything could happen you feel yourself getting trapped, everything around you turning into a void.

———————————————

“The process is complete sir.” Said the scientist. You’ve become a vessel, a shell for HYDRA to control. You’re now a prisoner of your own mind. You worry for the capabilities of your powers but you worry more for Bucky’s safety.

“Good, with this we are unstoppable.”

Back to Bucky and the others…

On the way to Madripoor, everyone’s discussing how to get you out. Bucky feeling very anxious about your situation, he feels like shit for doubting you without hearing your side.

“Tell me why should we care about her when she kicked our asses earlier?” Nat said to Tony. Before Tony said a thing they heard Zemo talk.

Everyone’s eyes were on Zemo, even Bucky. “She’s not your typical normal girl.” He sighs before revealing everything. “She’s blessed with celestial Powers, one that could either save or end the world, i believe that you’ve witnessed her abilities base on how she…” he stopped for a moment and looked at everyone and continued “kicked your asses” everyone felt a bit embarrassed because a small girl like Y/n beat them.

“Are we not talking about how this man,” Wanda pointed to Zemo “tried to kill us through this guy?” And pointed to Bucky. “And here we are believing every story he has about this girl who, let me remind you, put Rhodey in a stretcher and is now paralyzed?” Wanda got irritated because why is Tony allowing this to happen. “And this,” she gestured her hand circling the people around “this is not what I expected to happen. Just a moment ago we were trying to kill each other and now, we’re suddenly a team? Tony?” She’s confused with the turn of events.

Everyone would be lying if they said they don’t agree with Wanda. It’s like they’ve been bewitched by Y/n because why are they risking their lives for someone they barely know.

“She’ll grow on you once you get to know her.” Bucky spoke looking outside. He smiles as he said those words, it’s as if he’s reminiscing his moments with y/n. “She may look powerful, but inside she’s soft. She’s the sweetest once she opens up to you. She’s like a child that needs protection from the world but at the same time can defend herself,” Bucky laughed a little from the thought that he’s barely making sense. “It’s confusing really, but you’ll understand someday. I just hope what happened earlier won’t be your last impression of her.” He wished that everyone would befriend you, because he knows how afraid you are of people.

Steve stepped in even though he didn’t know who you are “I believe she only did what she did because she wanted Bucky safe. I witnessed her crying as she called herself a monster for hurting Rhodey. She’s lost and scared too and seeing her only friend about to die, must’ve made her scared.” Everyone went silent after hearing his words. Everyone’s scared of losing their person, they too would’ve done everything to save their loved ones.

After a few hours, they arrived at HYDRA’s Facility in Madripoor. The sight of dead bodies and begging civilians shocked them. Something or someone destroyed this place. They walked with caution until they found the underground laboratory, everyone was dead.

Bucky grew anxious, he doesn’t wanna think that you did this, that someone else did this.

“What a Reunion” someone said from a distance. They all looked at the direction the voice came from.

“Rumlow?” Tony shocked at the sight of this ghost. He was supposed to be dead.

“You still recognize me, I’m touched.” Rumlow laughed like a crazy person.

“Where is she?” With a cold tone, Bucky asked.

Rumlow smiled and looked behind him. There you were, eyes dark, hair floating, glowing lines across your arms and legs. “Let me introduce to you my latest Experiment.” He bowed as if he was performing “Celestia”

“Y/n.” Bucky cried your name. You hear him calling for you but he can’t hear your calls. You couldn’t approach him because everything around you is an endless void. Whilst your body only looked at Bucky, smiling with Horror.

“Y/n is long gone, Soldier. She’s a mere puppet for me to use.” Everyone was shocked because they didn’t think this was possible.

“Y/n please! I know you’re there. Please come back.” Bucky searching for you, begging you to show yourself to them. You tried your best to run in this endless void, and your physical body reacts. Your expression grew softer. This alarmed Rumlow so he played a recording.

“My, my” Rumlow said. “Y/n dearest, they’re not here to save you because they care for you, love.” Rumlow smiled as he pressed play.

It was a recording of them talking about you. Asking why they should save you. You got hurt by the fact that no one really cares for you. You stopped running, and dropped to your knees. “I’m alone.” It echoed through your head. You body starting to react with rage as your hair turned to flames.

You could no longer hear them speaking. You could no longer hear Bucky’s calls.

“What heroes you have. Complaining about why you should care.” Rumlow said.

They didn’t know how he got that recording but it’s their Voices and conversation earlier. Bucky realizes that that recording was cut. It should have the one where Bucky was explaining your situation.

“Bucky,” Sam whispered. “We take Rumlow” Bucky understood that without Rumlow the vessel cannot act on its own. As he mentioned before, your body became a puppet, and without Rumlow in control they can take this project down.

But Rumlow was in control of your powers, they couldn’t take a step near him so taking him down is impossible. He then commanded you to show the Avengers what true power is like.

With a lift of your hand, you started manipulating their minds. You turn them against each other, make them kill one another. Wanda looked at Vision with anger, Tony had no Idea what was happening until Steve turned to him with dark eyes ready to attack. One by one their minds got controlled. Except for Helmut. Your brother.

“My friend,” Helmut said to Rumlow “You missed one thing.” Helmut opened his arms. “I’m her Brother.” Helmut throws Rumlow back and your body dropped like a lifeless doll. Everyone stopped attacking each other and they grew scared of what just happened to them. “Her blood runs in mine.” As ruthless as he is he shoots the weakened man in front of him. “That’s for my family” he felt as if he avenged his family by killing the last of HYDRA.

Bucky runs to your body calling you as he cries. “Please don’t leave me. Please, I… I…. love you” Bucky cries as he hugs your body. Inside the void you’re still hearing the echoes of your own voice telling you that you’re alone. Barely hearing Bucky’s words.

“Y/n please. I’m so sorry my sweet girl. I’m truly sorry. Please, don’t punish me like this.” Bucky still crying as the others were watching. They paid respect believing that you are really gone.

“Mr. Barnes, if I may.” Helmut excused himself to hold you.

“I’m alone” these words still echoing in your ears.

“Little Lamb.” You hear a voice. A familiar nickname. It was calling you. “Let’s go home now. No one will hurt you anymore.” Slowly you walk towards the voice. There you see your brother.

Your eyes filled with tears as you ran towards him. “Brother!” You called as you hugged him. You remembered him.

You and Helmut regained consciousness with tears in your eyes. You hugged your brother again you felt at ease, reuniting with your family. Due to exhaustion, you collapsed in Helmut’s arms. Bucky worried but Zemo assured him that you’re fine just tired.

————————————-

A week had passed and you’re still sleeping. Bucky didn’t wanna leave your side he slept and ate beside you waiting for you to wake up. The team discussed about what would happen to you as of now they’re still waiting for you to wake up and discuss with you.

“What about Zemo?” T’challa asked. He still wants to give his father’s death justice and knowing that it was Helmut who killed him, he wants to take Zemo to jail.

“It’s too complicated now. Let’s all discuss everything when we’re complete.” Tony answered. Even he’s having a hard time deciding what will happen to you, Bucky and Zemo. You three became a threat to the world, thorough judgement and long process will be needed to asses the final verdict with you three. But as of now, you’re all staying at the compound.

A thud was heard not far from the team. You awoke and no kneeling in front of everyone. “Everything that happened to Bucky and Helmut was because of me, I’m willing to take all responsibility and punishment for them, just let them live again.

[bybobbysbeard]

Let’s look at this from Tommy’s perspective.

He regrets the breakup. He admits to wanting to reach out, and even driving past the loft. Buck doesn’t say he missed him too, but he does invite him home. They reconnect (passionately) and Tommy must wake up feeling hopeful. He goes grocery shopping, cooks breakfast, buy champagne. Maybe they’ll celebrate, or at least have mimosas.

Buck wakes up, and the first thing he says is: “I thought you left.” Ouch. Shortly followed by: “Last night doesn’t change anything.” Rough start.

But Tommy’s been missing him, so he makes the leap. Asks Buck out again. Buck says “You want to try again?” Doesn’t say if that’s what he wants too. Instead, he says “You’re not scared any more?” So Tommy reveals an insecurity, couched in a joke, like always. He’s jealous of the family Buck has, and he’s worried about his place in it. Eddie and Buck are so close, and Buck is obviously missing him, holding onto whatever part he can. Tommy’s threatened by the “unattainable straight friend”, and yeah maybe that’s shitty, but fears aren’t always rational.

Buck calls him on it. Pushes. Tommy backtracks. Buck gets mad. Says: “I don’t have to sleep with everyone I have feelings for, and I don’t have feelings for everyone I sleep with.”

The audience has been watching Buck spiral for months. We’ve seen the baking, the obsessive phone checking, the constant name-dropping. In a few scenes, we’ll see Buck confirm to Maddie that he is not in love with Eddie, that he misses him, but doesn’t want him that way.

Tommy doesn’t see any of that.

Of course he ran.

[elvensorceress]

Can we talk about how the one time Eddie kicks Buck out of his house is when he’s trying to find a renter? that is, he’s trying to make their his house someone else’s? so it’s not BOTH of theirs anymore when he does this?

But Buck steps in anyway and takes it back because it IS his home??? and Eddie will get to come home to him in THEIR house.

[your-local-depressed-fangirl]

I feel horrible I can’t keep up in quality or quantity of work the person I put on a pedestal has.

[saucyplayfulsmile]

I’m restarting Worlds Beyond Number again since the first arc of ‘The Wizard, The Witch and The Wild One’ is ending and holy crap, the production of this pod always absolutely floors me. The music is truly incredible. A dnd podcast has no business going this hard. But then again it is the indomitable Brennan Lee Mulligan so tis to be expected.

[lucybianchi]

Guess who just had the crown that’s half their tooth pop out while flossing ✌️

I low key ✨cannot afford this shit✨

[zolo-san]

>.>

[ohhoneypascal]

I’m going London today and the weather better not do me dirty by raining it took me a whole hour to straighten my hair smh 😫

[benoits-neckerchieves]

I just can’t be normal about him skjfkghsf

[champagns]

i can’t get my pinned post formatted how i like i’m about to fling my laptop off a cliff

[twistedtastefulme]

1am crying into my pillow… y’know the usual 🥲

hello! good day to youuu, can i make a request for the lads men? in which reader is not the mc and here's the prompt: having to beg them to do something with you then seeing them doing it with mc willingly, sorry english is not my first language but pleaaaseeee 😭 i love some angst.

Bitter

Pt. 2

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: Watching the one you love partake in what you once pleaded to share—a quiet betrayal—feels like an arrow through the heart, swift and merciless. (angst, no comfort)

A/N: Thank you for the request, it came out more as a drabble. Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

What a bitter, gutting thing it was—to stand in the shadows and watch him shine for someone else. To see the light in his eyes, the easy laughter, the quiet devotion as he did for her what he had never done for you.

The one thing you once begged for. The one thing he had denied you.

But not her. Never her.

She was fate’s beloved, the one woven from the same celestial thread as him, bound to him in ways you never could be. You had always told yourself to be rational, to be understanding. Xavier came with a past. He came with baggage.

And inside that baggage, nestled close to his heart, was her.

The woman you would envy until the world turned to dust.

And yet—how could you ever bring yourself to hate her? When she was made of kindness, of soft edges and warm light? When she looked at you with nothing but affection, oblivious to the ruin she left in her wake? She was an angel. A blessing. A curse.

And fate, it seemed, had always been on her side.

So there they were, walking side by side, woven together so seamlessly it was almost poetic. Almost cruel. Her bags in his hands, the weight of them carried so effortlessly—as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And yet, when you had asked for the same—just a simple day together, just a moment of his time—he had sighed, shaken his head, told you he was too tired. That work was too much. That he simply couldn’t.

But now, watching him with her, you couldn’t help but wonder—did she take his exhaustion away? Did her presence breathe new life into him in a way you never could?

The answer settled deep in your bones, cold and unrelenting.

Your friend beside you said nothing, only looking at you with that quiet, suffocating pity that made your stomach turn. Because there was nothing to say. Nothing to soften the truth you had known all along.

You were not his first thought in the morning. You were not the name on his lips when he passed a garden of wildflowers. You were not the presence lingering in his mind when the world grew quiet.

And you never would be.

You had spent so long fighting against it. Xavier loves me. He chose me. The words had been your lifeline, a fragile, trembling thing you whispered into the silence. But even your friends never seemed convinced.

And now, neither were you.

So you did the only thing you knew how to do.

You turned away.

No confrontation. No desperate pleas for an explanation that would only come laced with half-truths and empty reassurances. What good was honesty when it had never been yours to begin with?

When he came home that night, his lips still curved with the ghost of a smile, he found an emptiness he had never felt before. Your things, your presence—gone, as if you had never been there at all.

And in your place, only a single note remained.

"I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Because clearly, it was never me."

And Xavier, poor Xavier, would stand there, reading those words over and over, grasping at the fraying edges of something he had never truly held onto.

But then again—

Xavier had never noticed his wrongdoings.

Not until there was nothing left but the weight of his own ruin.

Zayne

Zayne—or Dr. Zayne, as she called him—had always been a good man. A gentleman in every sense. Caring, affectionate, endlessly considerate.

But never for you.

His tenderness felt practiced, his affections routine. As if he wasn’t loving you, but fulfilling some unspoken obligation. A kindness given not out of devotion, but out of mere habit.

And you had tried to ignore it. Swallowed your doubts, convinced yourself you were overthinking.

Until you saw them together.

Her.

The one fate had tied him to. The one who never had to ask for his attention, because it had always belonged to her.

Her laughter lit up rooms before she even stepped inside. Her eyes gleamed like sunlight catching on water—brilliant, hypnotic, impossible to look away from. And neither could he.

And then, there was the picture.

A simple post, one she likely uploaded without a second thought, oblivious to the quiet devastation it would bring.

There she was, sitting in his office. Smiling. At ease.

Sharing lunch with him.

Something you had never been allowed to do.

You had asked once—just to drop by, to see him, to spend even a sliver of time together in the place he spent most of his days. But he had refused, brushing you off with a gentle but firm, “I don’t want distractions.”

And yet, there she was, sitting across from him, urging him to eat the food she had made, as if she had every right to be there. And maybe she did.

They had known each other forever. That was what you told yourself—Of course, they’re close. Of course, they understand each other in ways I never will. You had tried to accept it. To be understanding.

But then you saw the way he looked at her in the picture.

The softness in his eyes. The quiet, unguarded devotion.

Like she was the only one who could unravel him, the only one who could slip past his carefully built walls.

You had spent so long trying to do the same, but you never even made a crack.

And so, that was the moment you made a promise to yourself.

You would not be someone’s second choice. You would not collect the scraps of his affection while she—effortless, radiant, destined—was given everything you had ever wanted.

And Zayne noticed.

He noticed in the silence. In the missed calls that went unanswered, the messages left on read. In the bouquets left wilting at your doorstep, the petals curling at the edges.

Roses.

Her favorite flowers.

Not yours.

And that was all the confirmation you needed.

Zayne was never the gentleman you thought he was.

Or perhaps, he was. Just never for you.

Or maybe—maybe it was fate itself that was cruel.

Rafayel

Something inside you cracked, splintering like fragile seashells beneath careless hands—shattered beyond repair, beyond mending.

It wasn’t a sudden break. No, it had been slow, creeping in like the tide, eroding the edges of your love bit by bit, pulling pieces of you away before you could even notice you were unraveling.

And now, the final wave had come, and it had taken everything with it.

Because there he was—your Rafayel—kneeling beside her, smiling in a way you had longed to be the cause of.

The sight alone stole the breath from your lungs.

You had spent so long pretending not to notice. Ignoring the way his gaze always sought her out, the way his voice softened just a fraction when he spoke to her. You had swallowed the ache, told yourself it didn’t matter.

"That’s just the way he is," you had whispered, time and time again.

But it had never been the way he was.

It had only ever been the way he was with you.

And now, you knew why.

Rafayel hated cats.

You remembered the way his nose had scrunched when you had once tried to feed a stray by the docks, the way he had flicked his fingers as if to ward the creature away. “Little beasts,” he had muttered, half-amused, half-disgusted. “I don’t understand how you humans tolerate them.”

You had laughed then, nudging him playfully. “You’re just jealous they’re cuter than you.”

And yet—here he was.

Crouched beside her, cradling a trembling kitten in careful, delicate hands, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. His touch—usually teasing, fleeting, always just out of reach—was steady, warm, tender.

For her.

Not for you.

Something cold curled around your ribs, sinking deep, making it harder to breathe.

It was never about the kitten.

It was never about the things he couldn’t do.

It was about the things he never wanted to do for you.

And watching him now, so unguarded, so effortlessly kind, made you wish you had never met him at all.

Rage and sorrow burned through your veins, curling beneath your skin like a sickness. You wanted to rip that stupidly charming smile from his face, wanted to demand why he had never looked at you like that.

But there was no point.

So you turned and walked away.

Ignoring reality, just as you had once tried to ignore fate.

But fate never ignored you.

And something in the air told you—Rafayel wouldn’t either.

Sylus

Sylus had never been an easy man to love.

Sharp edges, cold precision—every move calculated, every word spoken with intent. He was not a man swayed by sentiment, nor was he one to entertain trivial affections.

You had known this from the start.

And yet, knowing had never stopped you from wanting.

So you learned to take what little he gave you—stolen moments in the dead of night, whispered conversations where he let the ice thaw just enough for you to believe there was something beneath it. But always, always, he kept his distance, his affections measured, restrained.

"This is who I am," he had told you once, when you asked why he never let himself soften. "I don’t have the luxury of being gentle."

You had believed him.

Until now.

Until you saw him, standing there in the dim glow of a high-rise restaurant, his head tilted ever so slightly toward her. The woman fate had written into his story, the one whose presence seemed to unravel him in ways you never could.

His fated one.

And in front of them, two untouched glasses of wine.

Wine.

The very thing he had refused to share with you.

"I don’t drink with others," he had said once, his voice clipped, final. "It's a pleasure reserved for my time alone."

But now, here he was. Sharing a glass with her. His fingers resting idly against the stem of his glass, his expression unreadable yet undeniably present. He was here. Fully. With her.

A man who never entertained distractions, utterly enthralled.

The way he looked at her—it was something different. Something you had never been granted. There was no calculation in his gaze, no careful restraint. No cold, distant amusement.

Just quiet acceptance. As if she had been meant to sit beside him all along.

And that was when you knew.

You could tear yourself apart, try to become everything he had ever wanted, and it still wouldn’t matter. Because fate had already made the choice for him.

And it wasn’t you.

Still, you lingered a moment longer, letting the pain settle, letting it carve its lesson deep into your ribs.

And then, without a word, you turned and left.

Because you, too, could learn to be cold.

Caleb

Caleb had always been warm. That was the problem.

He had a way of making you believe you belonged there—tucked into his arms, held close by quiet promises and easy smiles. He made you think you mattered.

But there was always her.

His childhood best friend.

Not bound by fate, not chosen by some cosmic force—just there. Always. In every story he told, in every old memory that made his eyes soften with something you could never quite reach. The one who had been with him before you, the one who had held his hand through storms you’d never even known existed.

And you told yourself it wasn’t a competition.

Until the night you saw them.

The neon lights of the karaoke bar cast the whole street in a soft glow, music and laughter spilling from inside as you walked past—until something, someone, made your steps falter.

Through the open doors, past the booths and glowing screens, you saw him.

Caleb.

Standing there, microphone in hand, singing.

With her.

The sight knocked the breath from your lungs.

"I don’t like singing in front of people," he had told you once, shaking his head with a sheepish smile when you begged him to join you for just one song. "It’s embarrassing. I just—I can’t, okay?"

But now, here he was.

Swaying slightly, smiling as their voices blended together in a song you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t perfect—his voice cracked in places, he missed a beat or two—but that didn’t matter. Because he was trying. Because he was enjoying it.

Because she made him feel safe enough to do what he had never done for you.

Your stomach twisted.

It had never been about singing.

It had been about you.

You should have walked away then. Should have swallowed the lump in your throat and turned back, should have spared yourself the cruel spectacle of watching them.

But you didn’t.

You stayed long enough to see the way he laughed when she nudged him playfully. The way he looked at her, unguarded, free. The way she reached for his hand without hesitation—because she knew it would always be there, waiting for her.

And for the first time, you realized—maybe you had never been holding his hand at all. Maybe you had only been grasping at the space he left behind.

Something cold settled in your chest.

You didn’t wait for him to notice you.

You just turned, and left, without a sound.

And Caleb, too caught up in a song meant for someone else, never even saw you go.

[violetdelightsx]

…

[enbytrees]

Sometimes I get so carried away observing everything going on around me that I forget I’m a part of the things I’m experiencing.

Maybe it’s because I disassociate so much or maybe it’s because my self image is all fucked up from being trans, but whatever it is I somehow forget that other people have memories with me in them.

I think it’s because I’m non-binary honestly I’ve never really felt like I truly fit in anywhere, like the communities I’m a part of are somehow everyone else’s and I’m just there or something.

I don’t know why my brain is like this.