#but i would v much like to write a thread where things happen. and then there's cause and effect. wow.

[em1i2a3]

Entombed

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: The aftermath of your night with The Void is weighing heavy on you and things start to change. (This is a continuation of ‘Test Drive���)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts as there is Bob in this…And The Void There is Angst, Smut, and Fluff in this. There are dark elements/themes in this that are explored. Bob and the reader are going through it, and it’s quite rough. There is a lot of emotions and tons of tension happening in this story and honestly it was a whole lotta fun writing it because jeez, there was so much that could happen in the aftermath of this! The Void is obsessed/bonded to the reader, and there are elements of the supernatural in this we lean into it just a bit but it’s not a huge part of the story (y’all will see, I kind of took a little bit of lore from the comics but nothing too crazy). Guilt and Regret kinda plays a role in this too.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up my peeps please), Body Worship/Praise Kink, Reader is in Control (not in a dominant way), Cockwarming, Grinding, Heavy Makeout (which involves a lot of heavy petting), Very Light Choking, Marking/Biting/Reclaiming, Oral Sex (Fem! Receiving), Super Intimate Sex, Aftercare Galore, Discussions/References to sex

Authors Note: Well, I hope this part 2 satisfies, I made some choices here that leave things open for a part 3 if people truly want it but hopefully y’all enjoy this one first :)) I was on the fence on where I wanted this to go but hopefully my creative decisions paid off.

Word Count: 16,464

Peeps Who Wanted To Be Tagged For Part 2: @millercontracting @avengersinitiative2012 @dark-silhouette @kurayamifairy @houseofaegon @vanguardlady @sentryluvs @simp-sentral @impoeticbeauty

Bob loved watching you train.

It wasn’t the flash of your skill set or the brutality you were capable of unleashing when pushed. It was your agility. The grace that was threaded into every step, every twist, and every perfectly executed takedown. You moved like you were born for the fight–but never to dominate. You weren’t the kind of person that demanded attention. You were the kind that earned it, silently, relentlessly, and over time.

That’s what had first drawn Bob to you. Not the danger, but the discipline. Not the strength, but the control…And the way you smiled, soft and easy, when you would push your hair back and look over your shoulder with a quiet little smirk that said ‘watch me’.

He could watch you for hours.

But today…Today you weren’t moving. You weren’t even training. You were sitting on the edge of the mat, sweater drawn tight around your shoulders, sleeves swallowing past your wrists, with your legs tucked up in a way that didn’t look relaxed. You looked…Small. Uncharacteristically withdrawn, and it worried him, because from the viewing deck all he could think about was how you were acting at breakfast.

You hadn’t smiled once this morning. Not when Ava made a dumb joke about the broken coffee machine. Not when Alexei spilled hot sauce on his shirt and cursed in Russian. Not even when Bob had caught your eye–or tried to–and offered you that quiet half-smile you usually returned without hesitation. It was like you were actively avoiding him, you didn’t sit beside him, and you didn’t even look at him.

It was like watching someone wearing your skin–your gestures, your face–but none of you was there. And now, down on the mat, wrapped up in your pool of clothes, you looked like you were trying to disappear.

The clang of a metal clasp echoed as Walker dropped his sparring gear. Ava stretched, rolled her shoulders, and tossed a half-empty water bottle across the room, nailing Alexei in the chest. Training was winding down with the usual noise and chaos, but none of it touched you–it looked like you had been released from prison.

You stood slowly, stretching out your back, and Bob caught the faint grimace that flickered across your face as your body resisted the motion. You winced–barely–but it was enough to make his chest tighten. He thought maybe you were injured, or that you pulled something yesterday during your high intensity training. That would explain the sitting out. Maybe even the outfit. But it didn’t explain the way you’d barely spoken to anyone that morning nor the way you looked through him at breakfast like he was a piece of glass. Like he did something…

You turned toward the hallway, and immediately he moved towards the exit.

He came down from the observation deck, taking the stairs two at a time. His hoodie sleeves were bunched at his elbows and he wiped his palms on the sides of his sweatpants, the nerves were pulsing through his skin. He wasn’t good at this–at confrontation, even soft ones–but the ache in his chest told him he wouldn’t sleep if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was wrong.

“H-Hey,” He called gently, catching up to you just as you reached the doorway to the locker rooms. You paused, and he could see the way your shoulders tensed at his voice before you turned to him. You wrapped your arms over yourself, almost like you were bracing for something.

”I, um…” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting between your face, then away, “C-Can I talk to you for a s-second.” Instantly you could feel your heart begin to race, the idea that he might have actually remembered last night almost made you ill, you could feel the bile begin to rise in the back of your throat, as you forced yourself to answer.

”O-Okay.” You were bracing yourself.

”I just–“ He fumbled for words, “I wanted t-to check in…You’ve been acting k-kind of…Distant t-today. At breakfast, d-during training…Even right n-now. I thought maybe s-something was wrong…Or I-I did something.” You swallowed hard, a little too hard to have it be unnoticed. The sound caught in your throat like a stone, and you could feel the weight of his worry pressing into the narrow space between you. Bob wasn’t loud. Wasn’t pushy. But the way his voice trembled, the way his hands fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve–it was enough to make your chest cave in.

You shook your head before he could finish his next sentence.

“No,” You said quickly, “You didn’t do anything.”

His mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to ask if you were sure, but he didn’t. He just nodded, brows still knit in concern.

“I…I just didn’t sleep well,” You added, hoping it would sound casual, feeling this dread slowly building up inside of you, because all you could think about was his hands, and his lips, and his mouth, or the scratch marks on your back that were burning as you spoke to him, almost like they were calling for your attention.

“O-Oh…” He replied, softly, “O-Okay…I just t-though maybe you were upset with m-me or something…But I-I know you would d-definitely tell m-me if that was the case…” You offered the smallest smile, feeling your throat tightening at the way he was speaking to you, like he knew what happened last night but he was waiting for you to say something.

“We’re okay…” Bob nodded at your weak reassurance–we’re okay–but he didn’t look convinced. He chewed at the inside of his cheek, like there was something else he wanted to say, something gnawing at him. But instead, he cleared his throat and forced a smile.

“R-Right,” He murmured. “I was also g-gonna ask if, uh…If we’re still doing our little b-bodega thing? I figured we could g-get your usual, sit by the fountain like always…” It was your routine. Quiet and private and safe. After training, just the two of you would head down the street to that tiny corner bodega with the cracked tile floor and the sleepy cat in the window. You always got the same thing–egg salad, extra pickles, Bob always forgot to ask for napkins–and then you’d walk a block over and sit by the fountain near the old courthouse. Sometimes you talked about training. Sometimes you talked about everything else, or you just watched people and mumbled about what they must be doing or where they must be going.

During these times it felt like he was yours.

And now?

You couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“I don’t think I can today…” You said quietly, your voice barely carrying over the hum of the hallway light. “I think I may just go to my room after I change... To lay down.”

His expression flickered–something between worry and disappointment, but not the selfish kind. The kind that hurt because he cared. Because he knew there was something wrong, or that you were hiding something from him at the very least. Because he didn’t understand why it suddenly felt like you were slipping out of his hands and he couldn’t stop it.

“Oh. Y-Yeah. Of course,” He replied quickly, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie to stop them from fidgeting. “That makes sense. You should rest. That’s good. Rest is–good.” You offered him a faint, aching smile–like something carved out of stone.

“Yeah…Should help a bit.” Your voice was so soft, and gentle he could barely hear it.

“Can I…D-Do anything for you? I could bring you some tea? O-Or I could just stay close, in case you–”

You shook your head before he could finish.

“No,” You murmured. “I just need to be alone.”

He nodded again. Slower this time. The corner of his mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Okay. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you later, then.”

You gave him a small nod of acknowledgement, and quickly slipped into the locker room without another word.

Once the door clicked softly behind you, it felt like you could finally let go of the breath you’d been holding since breakfast. But the exhale didn’t bring relief–it only left you emptier. The weight in your chest didn’t ease; it tightened. Pressed in. Like your ribs were folding inward. Like your lungs were trying to collapse around a scream you couldn’t afford to let out.

Tears gathered before you could stop them.

Hot. Stinging. Blurring your vision before they ever reached your lashes. You tried to blink them away. You clenched your jaw until it ached. But the pressure building behind your sternum was too sharp, too real, too loud. The ache had dug in sometime between last night and now, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

You weren’t sure if it was regret. Not in the traditional sense. Because it hadn’t felt like a mistake in the moment–it had felt like inevitability. Like gravity. Like a need that had grown too large to hold back. And the way he had touched you–reverently, ruinously–had shattered something you didn’t even know was intact.

But now?

Now it felt like you’d made a deal with the devil in the dark and woken up in someone else’s skin.

You wrapped your arms around yourself tightly, nails digging into the sleeves of your sweater.

The guilt crawled in like rot. Not loud. Just constant. Creeping through your bones. Worming into the cracks between your thoughts. Because the worst part wasn’t what he’d done.

It was that you let him.

You’d let the Void in.

You invited him.

And maybe that would’ve been survivable–maybe–if it had been just about you and him. But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Because now Bob…Sweet, trembling, gentle Bob–your Bob…Had no idea what had happened. He had no memory of what his own body had done. Of what you had allowed. Of what he’d whispered in your ear in that almost-voice that sounded so much like him your heart broke under it. And that was the part that was ripping you apart.

The betrayal wasn’t his.

It was yours.

Because it felt like you’d taken advantage of a piece of him he couldn’t control–used a part of him he’d been trying to suppress. And now you were walking around with the memory of him in your skin, in your bones, in the place where he’d left something behind–and he was walking around clueless. Still smiling at you like he would do anything to protect you. Still offering to bring you tea. You pressed your hand to your abdomen as the guilt twisted deeper, sharper.

Because even now, a part of you was aching for what happened. Craving the touch. The voice. The power. And that was the cruelest truth of all.

You hadn’t just said yes. You’d wanted it.

You sniffed and wiped at your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater, but it didn’t help. The tears had already left hot streaks along your cheeks, and your mouth tasted like metal–like the guilt had started seeping in from the inside out.

And then, suddenly, it burned.

It wasn’t sharp. Not like a cut or a bruise. It was deep. Molten. Like someone had sunk hot iron into your spine and lit a match inside your skin. Your whole body jolted. You reached for the edge of the bench to steady yourself, breath catching as the burn surged again–up your back, down your hips, around the sides of your ribs.

You grabbed at the hem of your sweater and yanked it over your head with a shaky, desperate motion, casting it aside onto the bench like it was soaked in gasoline.

And then you turned to the mirror.

Your stomach dropped.

The marks were worse.

So much worse.

What had once been faint purpling around your hips, vague red lines across your shoulder blades, were now vivid. Raised. Angry. Like they’d grown. They were more defined–claws, unmistakably. Four long, precise gouges across your back, etched in perfect arcs like someone had gripped you and dragged you down to hell.

The bruise on your collarbone had deepened into a bruise-black imprint of teeth. Not sharp like fangs. Just possessive.

There were fingerprints on your thighs, your waist. His fingerprints.

But worse–

They were pulsing. The skin around each mark glowed faintly. Subtle. Like an ember tucked just beneath your flesh, blinking with your pulse.

“What the fuck…” Was all you could manage to say, as your fingers traced over the marks.

The mirror flickered, and you froze.

The overhead lights stayed on, but the mirror–just for a second–shivered like a ripple passed through it. The color leached from your reflection, and the air shifted. Heavier. Sharper.

Then, that voice.

“You must be pretty confused right now, hm?” Your mouth parted and your throat went dry.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t need to, because he was there.

In the mirror.

The Void stood in the glass like a phantom with substance, wearing Bob’s shape again like it was tailored for him, but darker–more real than anything had a right to be. His jaw was sharp. His shoulders held the same broadness as Bob's, only he stood confidently. His eyes…The ones you had looked into last night when you had called him by Bob’s name…The twin void stars. He looked like a dark hole in the middle of the room. Your lips parted.

“I…” You blinked. “Bob’s awake.” The words came out flat, panicked. A statement of fact–as if saying it aloud would force the universe to correct itself. “He’s awake. He’s walking around. He–He talked to me just a few minutes ago. He–he was right outside. You’re not supposed to be here…How the fuck are you here?”

He smiled at you through the glass, and you saw teeth.

Not sharp. Not jagged. Worse.

Perfect. Like the kind of teeth a man shows when he knows the whole room belongs to him. It looked almost the exact same as last night, only it was clearer now, more visible to your eye.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He purred, stepping forward–closer to the edge of the mirror. The room didn’t darken, but your reflection dimmed behind his, as though you were no longer the main inhabitant of your own body. “I don’t disappear that quickly.”

A chill bloomed across your shoulders.

You hadn’t moved. But your breath hitched.

Because you felt it.

The air shifted behind you. The warmth of your skin turning ice-cold–just behind the base of your neck. Like someone was standing inches from you. Like someone was breathing against your spine.

Your voice trembled. “You lied to me…”

The Void’s smile widened.

From the mirror, he watched you–head tilted, eyes glowing.

“Now, now, I didn’t lie,” He murmured.

And then–

His breath touched your skin, and your whole body locked.

You felt it–real, present, inside the room now. The cold exhale that brushed the nape of your neck like silk. Your shoulders flinched inward, but you couldn’t move away. Not from him. Not from the thing that had touched you from within the dark and now moved around you like a ghost in daylight.

“I just omitted information,” He finished softly, like it was the punchline of a private joke. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Your hands trembled at your sides.

“W-What did you do to me?” Your voice cracked.

The Void didn’t answer. Not directly.

Instead, he stepped closer in the mirror again, and your body moved–not of your own accord–tilting slightly toward the glass. Your reflection leaned forward. But you hadn’t moved. Your reflection wasn’t matching anymore. The air behind you felt too dense now, like you could reach behind yourself and grab a fistful of it–thick and chilled and humming faintly like static against your skin. Your knees nearly gave out when you felt it again.

A touch.

Not a full press of fingers. Just the brush of ice sliding along your spine–right over one of the claw marks, as though retracing his own work.

In the mirror, the Void tilted his head.

“Don’t assume I did something permanent,” He said softly. There was a mocking gentleness in his voice, like he was humoring your panic. “Please…I’m not that evil.” You watched your own mouth tremble in the glass. Your reflection was still not syncing to your movements–there was a subtle delay, like a puppet lagging behind its strings.

“Though,” He continued, dragging his fingers down your back again as if he was petting you, “I really could’ve done worse…” Your breath hitched when his nail grazed the base of your spine, and the marks pulsed, almost like he was slowly bringing something to the surface of your skin.

“But…Let’s just say,” He drawled, his smile deepening, “I’ll be around for a little while longer. Just until you…Recover from our little night together.”

You turned your head slightly–not fully, not enough to break eye contact with the mirror–but your voice came through hoarse. “It doesn’t make any sense…I still don’t understand h-how you’re even here?”

The Void gave an exasperated sigh, like you were being deliberately naive.

“I’m an entity, sweetheart. A force.” He stepped closer, and your reflection blurred again, feeling his chest gently pressing against your back. “Not a man. Not a ghost. Not a shadow. I tether to people. I’m tethered to Bob permanently…But…” His voice dipped, curling against your ear like a gust of wind, “You let me in. You let me finish inside you. Did you really think there wouldn’t be some sort of…Consequence?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Sperm,” He murmured, almost lazily, like the word itself was a spell. “Can live for…What is it… Three to five days inside a reproductive system, give or take?”

Your knees buckled, and you gripped the counter in front of you to stay upright. The burn across your back flared again, and your skin felt too tight, too hot, like it was struggling to contain something underneath.

“Give it time,” He whispered, dragging his fingernail over the topmost mark. “After that… I’ll be gone. Probably. Unless you invite me in again.”

He hummed, amused by your silence, and his fingers–impossibly cold and real–smoothed gently along the curve of your ribs, ghosting over bruised skin like it belonged to him.

“Only you can see me, by the way,” He added kindly. “So maybe keep your voice down a bit when you answer me…Hm?” You were just about to say something–anything–when the door behind you banged open.

The sound crashed through the room like a gunshot, and you flinched violently, heart seizing in your chest.

“–I’m telling you, it was the worst latte I’ve ever had,” Ava’s voice carried in before she even cleared the doorway, followed closely by Yelena’s sharp scoff of agreement. “It tasted like someone put chalk in a sock and let it steep for twenty minutes–”

They both froze.

The silence that followed was instant, sucked tight like vacuum-sealed air.

You turned toward them too slowly.

You could feel their eyes on you before you even lifted your head–feel them taking in the angry red claw marks that wrapped around your ribs, the bruises blooming like warpaint down your sides, the purple-black bite mark stark against your collarbone.

“Y/N?” Yelena’s voice was clipped. Low. Already shifting into something sharp and protective.

Ava blinked once. Then twice. “What the actual fuck?”

You tried to move–tried to step back or grab the sweater or explain something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because he was still there.

Still behind you.

Still breathing cold down your spine like a promise.

“Jesus Christ,” Yelena stepped in first, boots hitting the tile hard, like she was ready to start a fight with whoever did this. “Who did this to you? Are you okay? Are you bleeding?”

“I–I’m fine.” You said it too fast. Too flat. It didn’t sound like you.

“No, you’re not,” Ava said, her voice unusually steady as she followed behind, crouching slightly like she was trying to check your balance. “Y/N, that’s not a training injury. That’s…That’s not even human-looking. That’s…” Her eyes flicked to the claw marks, her brow creasing. “Were you attacked?” You could feel the nerves building up in your chest.

”N-No! I wasn’t attacked.”

“Gotta be a little better at lying to your friend's sweetheart.” The Void whispered mockingly, as you felt his fingers on your back again.

”Shut up!” You exclaimed out of nowhere, catching what you had just done the moment it happened. Yelena and Ava both froze in place at your sudden outburst.

The echo of your voice clapped back off the tile, too loud, too frantic–and too obviously directed at someone who wasn’t there.

You watched their eyes shift. Not just to the claw marks. Not just to the bruises. But to your face now–your wide, panicked eyes. Your trembling mouth. The sweat clinging to your hairline.

“Y/N…” Ava’s voice softened, like she was approaching a wild animal. “Tell us what’s going on.” Yelena didn’t say anything. Not yet. But she took another step forward, slow and steady, like she was preparing for you to bolt. Or break.

“Who did this to you?” Ava asked again, her eyes flicking back to the bite mark. “Was it someone on the team? Because if it was, I swear to God–”

“It wasn’t anyone on the team, I–I wasn’t attacked. Not like that.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Then what happened?” You stared at them both. Ava with her brows knit, hand twitching like she wanted to touch you but didn’t dare. Yelena looked like she might murder someone if you gave her a name.

”And start from the beginning.” Ava added.

–––––––––––––

The water ran hot.

Too hot.

It scalded down Bob’s back in long, blistering sheets, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, braced against the shower wall, head bowed under the stream, letting it burn. Letting it wash over the tension twisted through his spine like a knot of wire.

His hands twitched every now and then–restless, nervous, like they were searching for something they couldn’t find. Something they swore had been there before.

Something soft. Warm. Familiar.

He blinked slowly, eyes hazy beneath the steam.

After he spoke to you in front of the locker room images had begun to flicker in and out of his brain. Not memories exactly. But…Something. Echoes. Flashbulb imprints behind his eyes. A mouth. A sound. Nails biting across his shoulders. A voice–soft and breathless, gasping his name like it was a sin.

”Bob.” It was you–or your voice at least. He could feel his breath stop in his throat. It felt like a dream. But the kind that lingered. The kind that pressed fingerprints into your skin and refused to fade.

He exhaled and reached up to scrub at his face, hoping the pressure might clear his head. But then–

A sting.

Sharp and sudden. Low on his shoulders.

He winced.

His hand dropped to his shoulder, then curled around the top of his back. His fingers traced lightly–grazing over his skin until–

He froze.

Marks.

Four of them.

Long, raised lines carved into his shoulder blade. He twisted toward the mirror just outside the glass shower, blinking steam away as he leaned, trying to see over his own shoulder. It wasn’t easy, but when the fog cleared, he caught it.

Four scratches. They were faintly red, like someone had dragged their nails across the ridges of his shoulder blade. His stomach turned at the sight, and there was a cold weight that settled behind his ribs.

“What the hell…” He muttered, voice hoarse from the heat and whatever this was.

The scratches didn’t look accidental. They looked like grip marks. Like someone had clawed at him, held on tight, dug in as if riding out–

His stomach flipped violently.

He hadn’t had sex. He would remember that. Right?

Right?

The back of his neck prickled with cold, even as the water beat down on him, too hot.

And then–

That voice.

Slick. Amused. Familiar in a way that made his skin crawl.

“Wasn’t that a great dream you had last night?”

Bob’s entire body went rigid.

He didn’t respond at first–didn’t even breathe. Just stood there, eyes wide, steam curling around him like mist curling off a cliff, and that’s when things began to slowly fall into place.

The dream…The dream he had of you last night.

“…No,” He whispered eventually, shaking his head. “No, no, no…”

“Oh come on,” The Void drawled. “Don’t be shy. You liked it. That little fantasy with her chest against yours, riding you, moaning your name like a hymn. She looked so pretty when she came, didn’t she?”

Bob’s vision swam. He gripped the edge of the shower wall so hard his knuckles turned white.

“It wasn’t real,” He said through clenched teeth. “It was just a dream.”

A low, velvet chuckle unfurled in the base of his skull.

“Sure it was.”

The water suddenly felt too loud–like static screaming in his ears.

Memories weren’t supposed to feel like this. They weren’t supposed to echo in his skin, or pull on the muscle of his thighs like a ghost still touching him. He felt raw–stretched thin from the inside out. His breath came ragged now–short, sharp gasps that barely made it past his lips as flashes began to tear across his mind like lightning, split-second visions, and sensations.

Your thighs bracketing his hips, your voice breaking around his name, your tears streaming down your cheeks. The way your back arched towards him.

His eyes snapped shut and he stumbled backward, one palm flying to the wall like it could keep him upright. But the weight was inside him now. The wrongness. The knowing.

“No,” He gasped. “No, I didn’t–I wouldn’t–”

“You didn’t,” The Void answered smoothly, his voice curling inside Bob’s skull like smoke through a vent. “I did.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Bob staggered back against the shower wall, blinking against the sting of hot water and bile rising in his throat.

“She said yes, you know,” The Void continued. “Every time. She said your name while I was inside her. Cried for you. Pretended it was you.”

Bob’s stomach lurched. He pressed a hand over his mouth, like that could keep the nausea down. “Stop. Just shut up–”

“You think she didn’t know it wasn’t you?” The Void whispered. “She did. She just wanted you so badly, she was willing to close her eyes and let me wear your skin. And you know what, Bob?”

A pause.

A cruel silence.

“She loved it.”

Bob let out a broken, wounded sound. Something between a sob and a growl. His body was trembling violently now–his breath a stuttered panic trapped in his lungs.

“You’re lying,” He choked.

“You don’t feel it?” The Void murmured. “The tension in your shoulders? The ache in your hips? The ghost of her still gripping you? I don’t dream, Bob. But you do. And I left you the best parts.”

Bob staggered out of the shower, dripping and wild-eyed. He stumbled, half slipping across the wet tile, as he reached out and wrapped a towel around his hips while the other scrambled for the edge of the counter. His knees hit the floor hard, but the pain didn’t register–not over the white-hot coil twisting in his gut. He lurched forward.

The sound that came out of him was ugly–guttural and gasping–as he vomited into the basin. His body convulsed, throat straining, the acidic bile burning up his esophagus. His arms shook as he braced himself, knuckles whitening on the marble.

It felt endless.

Each heave dragged something deeper out of him–not just from his stomach but from somewhere more primal. Something soul-level. Shame. Horror. Guilt. The knowledge that something had been done to her. With his body. While he was unaware.

His chest heaved with dry sobs now, water still dripping off his hair and jaw, his face flushed red from the heat and the nausea. He clutched the edge of the basin and lifted his head slowly, eyelids fluttering.

And froze.

The steam on the mirror had cleared just enough to reflect two figures.

His own…

And him.

The Void stood to his left–closer than he should’ve been. Closer than Bob could feel, and yet, somehow his presence pressed into the room like a second atmosphere. His arms were folded loosely, one shoulder resting against the bathroom wall as if this were casual. As if he had every right to stand there, real and solid, in Bob’s space. In Bob’s skin.

“Don’t feel too bad,” The Void said lightly, tilting his head as if studying his twin in the mirror. “I was good to her. Tender, even. You should’ve heard the way she begged. So soft. So sweet.”

Bob’s fingers curled into fists on the edge of the sink.

“Stop talking,” He rasped. “Just fucking stop.”

“You really think I’m lying?” The Void arched a brow, a little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Then go talk to her.”

Bob’s breath hitched.

The Void pushed off the wall now, taking a step forward–not menacing, not fast, but slow and deliberate. His reflection moved with him. His voice softened with mock sympathy.

“I’m sure if you ask her gently, she’ll tell you the truth. What she felt. What she saw. What she said.”

Bob shook his head. “She didn’t know. She couldn’t have–”

“She did.” The Void’s tone sharpened just enough to cut. “And if you’re still not convinced…”

He paused in front of Bob–so close now Bob could see the way the light gleamed off his collarbone, the faint shimmer of something bruised beneath the skin–and slowly lifted his hand.

One long finger tapped just beneath his throat, where his jugular notch was–or is– supposed to be.

“Check right here on her…I left a little something there.” Bob didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the part that shattered him wasn’t the evidence. It wasn’t the dream, or the bite, or even the voice curling like poison through his mind.

It was the truth he already knew.

He had felt it.

In his skin. In his bones.

In the aching echo of a night he hadn’t lived–but now he had to carry with him anyway.

“She trusted me,” He whispered, barely audible. “She trusted me to protect her from you.”

The Void tilted his head, mockingly thoughtful. “Mmm. And you did such a good job, didn’t you? You didn’t warn her how convincing I would be, hmm?” The Void’s grin widened.

It wasn’t malicious in the way monsters grinned in stories–it was worse. It was familiar. Worn like skin. Like something Bob might’ve seen in the mirror if he were just a little colder, a little more broken, a little more hungry.

“You didn’t warn her,” He repeated softly. “Not about the way I move. The way I sound. The way I feel.”

Bob’s breath stuttered. His knuckles were white against the sink.

“You manipulated her…” The Void let out a soft laugh.

“How did I manipulate her?” The Void’s voice was velvet now. Soothed, indulgent. “She wanted you, Bob. So I gave her that. I gave her what you never had the courage to.”

“I would never–” Bob choked, eyes burning, voice cracking around the protest.

“You wouldn’t,” The Void agreed, stepping closer until he could look directly into Bob’s eyes through the mirror. “You’re too good. Too gentle. Too afraid. You keep saying she trusts you–but she was starving, Bob. And I knew exactly how to feed her.”

Bob swayed on his feet.

He didn’t know how he was still standing.

Didn’t know how the ground hadn’t already cracked open beneath him.

The Void tapped the mirror glass once–right where Bob’s reflection was trembling–and leaned in, his next words a breath against the shell of Bob’s mind:

“If you want answers, ask her what she saw when she looked at me. Ask her whose name she really used when I was fucking her to the point of tears, then ask if she liked it…Or better yet…Asked why she liked it…Then maybe you’ll realize…It really wasn’t me who she wanted…It was you the entire time.”

Bob’s stomach twisted so violently he thought he might be sick again.

But there was nothing left to throw up. Only the bile in his throat, and the grief coiling around his ribs like iron wire. He gripped the edge of the sink harder, shoulders hunched like he could fold in on himself, like he could collapse inward and disappear entirely.

The Void’s final words lingered in the air like smoke, choking, clinging, true in a way that made Bob feel like a thief in his own skin.

It really wasn’t me who she wanted…

It was you the entire time.

Bob let out a sound–broken, wet, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. His reflection looked ruined. Face pale, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes bloodshot and glassy. The marks on his shoulders stung like accusations. The steam around him had started to dissipate, but the chill that slid down his spine was internal now. Bone-deep. Then before he could say anything else…

The Void was gone.

Of course he was…Because he always left the mess behind for Bob to clean up. Bob stood there for a moment longer–motionless, towel clinging to his hips, breath hitching with the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty at all. It felt like the aftermath of something horrific.

Like an echo waiting to settle into bone.

Eventually, he moved.

Slow.

Mechanic.

He reached for the toothbrush on the counter, fumbling the cap of the toothpaste like his fingers didn’t belong to him anymore. He brushed his teeth with shaking hands, hard enough to make his gums sting–desperate to scrape away the taste of bile, the phantom flavor of everything that had just spilled out of him.

Bob spat into the sink. Rinsed. Again. And again.

He swiped at his mouth with the towel and turned away without looking at the mirror.

Back in his room, the air felt heavier. Dimmer. Like the walls were holding their breath.

He shed the damp towel, grabbed the first pair of sweatpants from his drawer–charcoal gray, worn thin at the cuffs–and pulled them on with sluggish hands. His skin still felt too hot in places and too cold in others, like his body couldn’t decide if it was sweating or shivering.

A navy sweater came next. One you’d once teased him about because the material was so soft and gentle. It smelled like detergent and memory. He yanked it over his head and stood there for a second, hands resting at his sides, eyes unfocused.

Then he moved out the door, making his way down the hall quickly.

The floor was cold under his bare feet, but he barely felt it. The lights overhead buzzed low, flickering once–barely noticeable–but it was enough to make his stomach clench.

He stopped in front of your room.

The door was closed, and he stared at it for a moment.

His knuckles hovered just shy of the surface. His breath trembled out of him. He didn’t know what he’d say. Didn’t know how to ask. Didn’t know what you would see in his face.

But he had to see you, and he had to know.

–––––––––––––-

Inside your room, the world was steeped in dusky gold.

Sunset spilled through the sheer curtains like liquid amber, casting soft lines across the ceiling and walls. The sky beyond was fading into a bruised gradient–lavender, orange, blue–and it painted your skin in light that didn’t feel like yours to hold. You were lying on your back, one arm draped limply across your stomach, the other resting palm-up beside you like you were waiting for something. Your eyes were locked on the ceiling, unblinking. Still.

The blankets were tangled around your ankles. Your shirt clung to your side, damp from sweat, collar askew. You hadn’t moved in hours. Couldn’t. Not since you, Ava and Yelena spoke about what happened last night, and you came back to your room with the weight of that discussion on your shoulders.

You’d told them everything, every detail about what happened, what he looked like, what he sounded like., what he felt like, what you let him do…And you told them why.

Because you wanted him so badly it hurt. Because The Void allowed you to picture Bob’s face and his voice and his gentleness for one night… Just so you could let yourself pretend.

You told them how he held your face when you came. How he kissed your chest like it meant something, how he promised that Bob would never find out…But now you were riddled with guilt and it was eating away at your mind. You also told them that The Void was there with all of them listening, but only you were able to see him.

Yelena hadn’t said much, not at first. She just listened, jaw tense, thumb tapping restlessly against her thigh, she thought the situation was unbelievable, she chalked it up to a vivid nightmare...But the more details you divulged, the harder it got to believe that assumption. Ava had crouched in front of you, brow furrowed, voice soft.

“You need to tell him,” She said. “You have to tell him.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You already did,” Yelena said bluntly. “Not telling him only makes it worse.”

Her words weren’t cruel. They were honest. Like a bone being set back in place. It stung. But it was necessary.

“You don’t have to confess to be punished,” Ava added gently. “You have to confess to be free. If you keep hiding this, The Void wins twice. Once for using you…And again for keeping you.”

You didn’t argue.

Because they were right.

You weren’t afraid of Bob hating you. That would’ve been easier.

You were afraid he’d understand. That he’d forgive you. That he’d still want you after everything–and that you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

You rolled onto your side slowly now, breath shallow, as the golden haze across your bedroom began to fade deeper into blue.

Then there was a knock.

You didn’t need to ask who it was, because it was evident that it could only be one person.

“…Come in,” You said, and the door creaked open slowly.

Bob stood there–backlit by the hallway’s sterile overhead glow. Dressed in his usual getup of a sweater and sweatpants. His light brown hair was still damp and fluffed from a quick towel dry. His eyes were rimmed red. His posture was stiff, like he didn’t trust his legs to carry him if he stepped too fast, and he looked at you like he’d been walking through hell and finally found the fire’s source.

You sat up slowly, your mouth parting–but no words came.

Bob lingered in the doorway for a second longer, like stepping into your room might unmake him.

Then–quietly–he closed the door behind him.

The latch clicked with a finality that made your chest tighten.

His eyes swept across the room once, slow, heavy. And then–without meaning to–they landed on your legs. Bare. Tangled loosely in the sheets. Skin kissed by amber light and bruised shadow.

He blinked. Looked away.

“W-We need to talk,” He said softly. His voice cracked at the edges.

You swallowed. “Okay.”

His eyes found yours again–shining but unreadable–and then he asked, “Can I… S-Sit?”

You nodded.

And he crossed the room.

Every step felt measured. Like he was walking through something sacred or cursed, you weren’t sure which. His hand brushed the edge of the mattress as he sat, careful not to get too close, sinking onto the same spot where The Void had touched you last night.

The same place where you’d said yes, where your fingers had curled into that blanket, and his hair as your hips lifted off the bed in pure ecstasy. Where you had clung to The Void and screamed Bob’s name in pleasure as you pictured him instead of the vantablack shadow that was invading you and your senses.

Now, in a tragically poetic way, Bob sat there, in living colour. He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms slowly together like he was trying to warm himself from the inside out. He didn’t look at you yet.

“What happened last night?” He asked finally, turning his head towards your figure. When his eyes met yours everything in him stilled. There was something in your face that made the air in the room feel sharper. Like it had teeth. Like even breathing might cut too deep. Your eyes were glassy like you had been on the brink of tears for hours, and your lips were parted like you wanted to say something but couldn’t find the start of it. Your body was tense, and curled in on itself like you were bracing for impact…And right then and there…He knew.

Bob’s eyes searched your face for a long moment, but whatever he was hoping to find there–certainty, relief, understanding–wasn’t present. Just the quiet tremble of your shoulders. Just the way your fingers picked at the hem of your shirt like you were trying to feel something real beneath your nails.

He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper this time.

“Did he hurt you?”

You blinked, slow. Shallow.

Your throat moved like the word was caught halfway up.

“No,” You said finally, “He didn’t hurt me…” Bob’s gaze didn’t waver.

His whole body had stilled–like even the breath in his lungs was holding itself hostage, waiting for what you’d say next. And you could feel it–the trembling edge of his restraint, the desperate ache of a man trying not to crumble.

“Then…” He asked, quieter now, like the words hurt to push out. “Then w-why didn’t you tell me?”

You closed your eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough to stop the sting from spilling over your waterline. When you looked back at him, your voice came out raw. Truthful. Like it had been scraped up from the bottom of something buried deep.

“Because I wanted it,” You whispered.

Bob flinched.

Not because he misunderstood. But because he understood too well.

You kept going. Slow. Careful. Like the words were glass you were trying not to shatter between your teeth.

“He said…He said he could let me experience you. Just once. Without you knowing. Without consequences. Without ruining everything.”

Bob didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His hands had gone still in his lap.

“And I…” Your throat closed up again, but you forced the words through it. “I took the deal. Because neither of us were brave enough to say anything. Because I didn’t want to cross the line and destroy what we had. Because I knew you were still healing. I knew you weren’t ready and I didn’t want to push you.”

Bob’s face twisted slightly, like something inside him was breaking not from anger–but from love.

You pressed your lips together hard before continuing, voice barely audible now.

“But I was selfish, and I wanted you so badly it made me stupid…And he…He made it so easy. He let me pretend, and when I closed my eyes all I could see and feel was you…” Bob swallowed thickly.

”Was that enough though…?” A tear slid down your cheek.

”No…Not even close.” You whispered. Another pause plagued the room. This one was longer. Bob didn’t reach for you yet, even though he was desperate to comfort you. He just watched you like you were saying the words he had been afraid to hear his entire life.

“I thought I could live with it,” you said. “But this morning…When I saw you walk out of your room… It was the real you. And I realized I didn’t have that last nightI had a shadow. A performance. And my imagination.” You shook your head, voice breaking, “And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About what I did. About how it’ll never go away now, and the guilt is…It’s fucking crushing me Bob…And I’m so so fucking sorry…I’ve destroyed everything.”

The corners of his mouth trembled slightly like he was trying not to cry. Then slowly, he reached out and slid his hand across the bedspread. His fingers brushed against yours, then gently curled around them. It wasn’t a bold gesture. It was reverent. Anchoring. Like he wanted you to know he was still here.

“Hey,” He murmured, voice rough. “You didn’t destroy anything.”

You blinked at him, vision swimming again, and he gave your hand the faintest squeeze.

“I swear,” He said just above a whisper, “You haven’t ruined a single thing I feel for you.”

That was when the air in the room shifted.

A low, familiar voice rippled across the space like smoke.

“Well isn’t this tender…”

Your eyes snapped to the corner of the room. Bob flinched–he hadn’t said a word out loud, but you both reacted the same way.

“Shut up,” You and Bob snapped in unison, turning to each other immediately, startled–and then frozen–because the surprise in his eyes was a perfect mirror of your own.

”Did…D-Did you hear him?” He asked, his voice hoarse, you nodded.

”Since this morning in the locker room.” There was a long beat of silence between you, thick and charged, like the air had stretched tight between your bodies and dared either of you to move.

Bob’s eyes searched yours again, more carefully this time–like he was trying to read something between the lines. You didn’t flinch away from it. You didn’t have it in you anymore. Not after everything.

“He didn’t really give me a fine print to that deal he offered…” You said dryly despite the ache in your chest, “Apparently the aftereffects of sleeping with a dark entity include…Temporary tethers of the psychic kind…Or something like that. Whatever bullshit he told me I don’t know at this point.” You exhaled, rubbing your face with your free hand, “Point is…I can hear what you hear evidently.” Bob let out a slow, shaky breath–like he’d been holding it in all day. Maybe he had. Maybe this was the first time his lungs could even remember what air felt like.

”And you’re sure it’s temporary?” He asked, almost not believing it. Like he needed you to say it again just to be sure, as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

”Yeah…Ava thinks it’ll fade in a few days…Maybe sooner. Once everything is passed, I won’t be able to hear him anymore, or feel anything else he left behind.” Bob’s jaw clenched, not in anger–just in quiet relief. Like something in his chest finally let go.

“I-I didn’t know he c-could do that,” He admitted softly. “Then again… I-I’ve never been around when he’s having s-sex…” He hesitated, then offered a sheepish, almost self-deprecating shrug. “M-More because I haven’t had sex in a long time…But I-I guess that doesn’t matter a-anymore somehow…” Your brows lifted, but only slightly. The tension between you had shifted–not gone, but thickened, warmer now, laced with something else. Something closer to awareness.

“Guess we both crossed new frontiers this week,” You murmured, a sad smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Bob huffed out a dry breath that might’ve been the start of a laugh if it weren’t so exhausted.

“But seriously…Hearing him yap all day has definitely made me admire you more. I mean, you put up with that on a daily basis?” You gave your head a slight shake. “He’s quite the character to deal with constantly. And honestly? It’s really weird interacting with him when there’s actual light in the room. Just feels…Wrong.” That earned you a real smile. Small, but there. The kind that pulled one side of Bob’s mouth higher than the other. Bob leaned his weight more fully into the edge of the bed, his thumb brushed over your knuckles once–nervous, tender.

“Well,” He said, voice low, rough with the remains of grief and disbelief, “O-On the bright side… A-At least you got a preview of what it’s like if you w-wanted to date me. C-Comes with crippling guilt, a psychic parasite, a-and an eternal inner monologue that sounds like a B-Bond villain.”

You blinked, and then, somehow–despite everything–you laughed. Just a breath, just a flicker of sound, but it cracked through the tension like sunlight behind storm clouds. You shook your head, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

“That’s not what dating you would be like.”

“O-Oh no?” Bob asked softly, a ghost of amusement tugging at his lips. “What w-would it be like, then?” You held his gaze for a beat too long. Your voice dropped to a hush, vulnerable and real.

“It’d be kind,” You said. “It’d be quiet and steady. You’d make tea without asking, and hold my hand even when we weren’t talking. You’d fold your sweaters next to mine and leave post-it notes with dumb facts on my mirror just to see me smile.”

Bob’s breath hitched, and you could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. The tips of his ears flushed, soft pink blooming beneath the collar of his sweater.

“You’d hold me like I wasn’t fragile but precious,” You added, voice thick now, “Like I was worth something. And when you kissed me, it wouldn’t feel like you wanted to own me–it would feel like you’d been waiting your whole life to give me that part of you.”

His eyes darted away, shy and overwhelmed, but they drifted back slowly–like gravity had pulled them to you. He let out a shaky breath, a soft huff through his nose that might’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so painfully stunned.

“S-Shit,” He murmured, almost under his breath, eyes dropping to your joined hands. “W-Why does that s-sound so much better than anything I-I ever thought I’d be worth?”

You leaned forward slightly, scooting yourself closer to him, almost getting into his space. You could feel his hand twitch in yours, like he wasn’t sure whether to hold tighter or let go for your sake. You made the decision for him, lacing your fingers together and tugging them gently into your lap.

“You’re worth every part of that and more.” You whispered, “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that…It could’ve saved us both a lot of trouble…”

Bob blinked rapidly, a quiet tremor in his chin before he exhaled and gave a small shake of his head–half in disbelief, half in surrender

“It’s m-my fault…I-I should’ve seen it coming,” He replied back. You opened your mouth to speak, but he shook his head before you could.

“No, I–I should’ve seen it. Felt it. I could tell he was…L-Lurking more than usual. I-I knew he was pushing, I could feel it in my bones, I just didn’t know why. D-Didn’t know he was waiting for the right moment to…To use me a-against you like that.” He swallowed hard, and his voice cracked on the next line. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. You trusted me to keep you safe. To protect you from him. And I–” He blinked fast, like he could flush the images from behind his eyes. “I keep seeing pieces of it. Bits. Flashes. Your voice. Your tears. Your legs around me. I didn’t even get to choose to look–I just saw. And I can’t even imagine what else I did.” You inhaled slowly, lips parting to soothe, to reassure–but your voice caught on a different thought. A softer one. An honest one.

“He said…” You began, hesitating for only a second, “He said it was a lot of stuff you’d fantasized about.”

That made Bob go still. Really still.

The kind of stillness that wasn’t absence, but weight.

His breath came slow and uneven, his lashes lowering just slightly before he whispered–

“Yeah…Well, that could mean a lot of things.”

You searched his face, but he didn’t lift his eyes yet. His hand stayed in yours. His thumb rubbed along the dip between your knuckles, slow and deliberate, like he could map out penance across your skin.

“What kinds of things?” You asked, gentle but deliberate. Not teasing–just present. Open. Wanting to hear the truth from him.

Bob let out a slow, shaky breath through his nose.

“I’ve thought about you,” He said, voice barely more than a breath. “I’ve thought about you on top of me more times than I care to admit. But it was never just about what you were doing–it was always about how you looked doing it. Like you were letting go for once. Like you were safe. Like you trusted me with that.”

You blinked.

He kept going, because now it was pouring out of him.

“And I used to think–if I ever got that close to you, if I ever had you like that, I’d earn it. I’d work for it. I’d deserve it. Not…” His voice hitched, his jaw tightening. “Not like this.”

You reached for him with your free hand, your palm resting against his cheek. He leaned into it instantly, like he hadn’t realized he’d been starving for touch until that very moment.

“You still deserve it,” You said quietly. “We just…Got lost along the way.”

Bob’s brow furrowed, his breath catching, and you felt the tremble run through his whole body. Your thumb brushed the edge of his jaw.

“I didn’t want him,” you whispered. “I wanted you. And I still do. All of you. Every version. Even the parts you think aren’t safe.”

He exhaled, and it sounded like a prayer. His hand came up to cover yours on his cheek, pressing it closer, grounding himself in your warmth. His eyes fluttered shut beneath your touch. For a second, it was just silence between you. That stretched, heavy kind–the kind that holds the breath of something inevitable.

Then he whispered–

“We shouldn’t do this…Not right now.”

The words stung more than they should have. You felt your hand hesitate slightly on his cheek, just a tremble of doubt. Your breath caught in your throat as your brows drew inward.

“…Why?” You asked, voice barely audible.

Bob opened his eyes again. They were glassy. Gentle. Fractured in that soft, self-protective way he always got when he thought he was saving someone else by denying himself.

“B-Because you went through e-enough last night,” He murmured. “And I don’t–I don’t want to be one more thing you have to recover from.”

You searched his face–every line of tension around his mouth, the delicate tremble in his voice, the way he still hadn’t pulled away from your hand.

“I don’t care,” You said, firm but aching. “I want the real thing. The real Bob.”

His breath stuttered. He looked at you like he wanted to believe you. Like he was afraid to.

“What about The Void…” he asked. Quiet. Uncertain. “He’s… H-he’s still in here with us. In me. What if–” You leaned in a bit, and he could feel your breath gently fanning over his face.

”He can watch for all I care.” Bob’s breath hitched hard. His whole body trembled like you’d cracked something open with just those words. Like the part of him that had been trying so hard to hold back finally didn’t know how to stay locked anymore.

You leaned in just a little more, tilting your head, your voice a murmur against his mouth now.

“I don’t want shadows anymore. I don’t want to pretend. I want you. All of you. Here. With me.” Bob’s eyes dropped to your lips like he couldn’t help it. Like gravity had shifted just enough to make every thought he’d tried to suppress pull straight toward your mouth. He didn’t even blink. Just stared–hungry and unsure and so visibly overwhelmed it made your chest ache.

His breath was shallow now. His thumb trembled just slightly over your skin. And then, softly, like the words were being dragged out of him from the depths of his chest:

“J-Jesus, Y/N…”

It came out like a prayer. Or a plea. Or maybe both. And then you closed the distance. His mouth met yours in an instant–desperate, shaking, unbearably real.

There was nothing slow about it. No tentative brushing or hesitant rhythm.

This kiss devoured both of you in lust and heat.

His hand slipped from your cheek into your hair as he pulled you in like he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t touch every inch of you at once. Your mouths moved against each other in frantic tandem–open, heated, relentless. Tongues brushing, breath tangling, his gasp lost against your teeth.

He kissed like a man unhinged by longing.

Like every second he’d spent holding back had become fuel for this very moment. You let out a soft moan against his lips as your fingers slipped from his hand and rose instead to his face, cupping both cheeks with trembling reverence, the heat of his skin branding your palms like something sacred. His lips parted around a gasp, and you kissed him again–rougher this time, dragging his mouth back to yours like it had always belonged there. Like you’d gone lifetimes starving for this one taste.

Then you broke the kiss–just barely–your breaths crashing into each other between parted mouths, lips grazing but not quite touching. Your hands slid up into his hair, tugging gently as you leaned back against the mattress, guiding him with you, eyes never leaving his.

“Come here,” You whispered.

And Bob followed.

He moved like he was surrendering–like gravity wasn’t just pulling him down but into you. His forearms braced on either side of your head, the stretch of his sweater pulled tight across his back, the heat of his body pressing into yours as he hovered above you, trembling. His knees sank into the mattress and you felt him–all of him–settle over you like a stormcloud full of thunder barely held at bay.

Your hands gripped his jaw again, thumbs brushing his cheeks, and you surged up to kiss him once more. Hard. Wet. Desperate. Your mouth opened for him completely, and he didn’t hesitate this time–he gave you everything. His tongue swept into your mouth, slow at first, then with more certainty, tasting, taking. You moaned into him as your teeth scraped his lower lip, and he groaned like the sound was ripped from his spine.

He kissed like he was burning. Like he didn’t know what part of you to worship first.

You sucked gently on his tongue, dragging it deeper into your mouth with a low, aching moan, and that was when his hips moved.

Just once at first.

A tentative, trembling roll of his pelvis down against yours. He gasped into your mouth, eyes flying open only to flutter shut again as your thighs spread more beneath him, welcoming the pressure. You were both fully clothed still, but that did nothing to dull the heat–the drag of his hardened length against your core through thin layers of your cotton shorts and his sweatpants sent a shock through your body like lightning cracking straight through your ribs.

Bob’s breath stuttered against your mouth as your hand slid down, skimming over the slope of his side, fingertips pressing into the warm cotton at his waist. You felt him twitch above you, his whole body tensing as your palm curved over his hip and guided him–gently, deliberately–down into you again. The grind was slower this time, dragged out and deep, and it ripped a soft, guttural moan from somewhere inside his throat.

“God…” he whispered, voice wrecked, barely holding shape between panting breaths. “Y-You feel so–” His hips rocked again, caught in the rhythm you’d started, “–you feel so good…”

Your hand tightened slightly at his waist, grounding him, coaxing more friction with each press. The fabric between you was damp and thin and completely useless against the heat pooling low in your stomach. His forehead dropped against yours, nose brushing yours, breath catching as he whispered again:

“I–I’ve wanted this for so long. I used to dream about this… Us. Just like this.”

You whined softly at his words, dragging your mouth back to his in a bruising kiss, your lips parting wide for him as your tongue licked into his mouth again, shameless, hungry. He met it with equal desperation–messy and wet and gasping. When he broke the kiss next, it was only to drag his mouth across your cheek to your jaw, then lower, toward your neck. His nose brushed your pulse point before he whispered, almost reverently:

“Y-You’re everything. You’re everything.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at that, hips lifting into his in time with the motion he was starting to lose control over. His rhythm was breaking apart. Unraveling. He was grinding into you now with barely concealed desperation, hips jerking in small, needy circles, chasing the friction with soft, strangled moans caught in his throat.

You arched up into him, letting your other hand slide from his cheek to thread through his hair again. His lips grazed your throat as you breathed:

“Keep going, Bob… Don’t stop…”

He groaned at that, the sound guttural and hoarse, as he pushed against you harder. The pressure, the heat, the way his breath shook as he rocked against your soaked shorts–it all blended into a high, aching tension that pulsed between your bodies like a heartbeat.

Then kissed you again, sloppier now. His lips were swollen, spit-slick, and desperate. Your tongues slid together in a wet, dizzying tangle, and you sucked on his again, drawing out a sound so obscene from him you swore you felt it echo in your chest.

His hips jerked against yours again and again, more erratic now, and his hands were clinging to you–one tangled in your hair, the other fisted in the bedsheets beside your head like if he let go he’d fly apart completely.

“You have–you have no idea what you do to me,” He gasped. “You have so much control over me. I’d give you anything. I’d let you ruin me.”

“I’d never ruin you,” You breathed, threading your fingers through his hair as you guided another slow, hard grind into your core. “You’re mine.” Bob let out a broken noise at that–a sound torn straight from the center of him–and buried his face in your neck as he rocked into you again, harder this time. The friction was sharp, overwhelming, a storm with no space to breathe between strikes. He wasn’t just grinding anymore–he was rutting, trembling, gasping, desperate.

His breath shuddered against your neck as he ground into you again, and then–like he couldn’t bear not touching more of you–his hand slipped beneath your shirt.

It was slow. Almost reverent. The backs of his fingers brushed up the curve of your stomach, over the warmth of your ribs, and then he flattened his palm over your sternum, splaying his fingers like he needed to feel every inch of your heartbeat to believe this was real.

At the same time, your hand slid beneath his sweater, fingers finding the warm skin of his back, and he let out a gasp at the contact, hips stuttering as he pushed into you harder, needier. You dragged your hand higher, feeling the dips and contours of his spine, the slight tremble in his muscles. And then he pulled back just enough to look at you–eyes dark, lips parted, chest heaving.

“We–We should…” He murmured breathlessly, fingers already curling around the hem of your shirt, “I wanna see you.”

You nodded, pupils blown wide, and reached for the hem of his sweater at the same time.

Clothes came off in a breathless tangle.

Your shirt peeled away with a soft rustle, and Bob’s sweater followed, pulled over his head in one quick motion. Both were discarded somewhere beside the bed, forgotten. But then–

Bob stilled.

Because he saw them.

The marks.

Long, thin bruises like fingerprints along your hips. A faint bite above your breastbone. The shadow of darkened skin on your ribs. Not violent… but unmistakable. The Void hadn’t marked you in rage. He’d marked you in possession. Claimed you like a canvas. A monument.

“Holy crap…” Bob whispered, his voice punched out of him like he’d taken a hit to the stomach.

His eyes moved over your skin slowly–no, not just your skin. The memory of what happened. The evidence of what he hadn’t done but had felt. And suddenly the weight of it was choking him.

You froze beneath him, heart lurching.

“Bob,” You said gently. Then again, a little firmer, fingers curling around his wrist, grounding him. “Bob…It’s okay.”

He blinked down at you, breath still stuttering, eyes wide with pain. You could see it–all the things he wanted to say but didn’t know how to shape. The guilt, the disbelief, the raw ache of seeing you marked by something like The Void.

“Come back down here and kiss me,” You whispered, running your free hand along his chest. Bob’s breath hitched. His hand–still trembling–hovered just above your ribs, as if afraid that touching the bruises might make them worse. But when your fingers ghosted along his chest, steady and warm, he finally exhaled. A long, shaking breath, like the guilt, was something living in his lungs.

He touched one of the marks gently, his fingertip grazing it like it might dissolve beneath too much pressure. His eyes stayed on the shape of it, lips parted, voice low and cracking as he whispered–

“O-Okay.”

Then he leaned down, kissed you again–softer this time.

There was no desperation in it now. Only reverence.

It felt like an apology. Like a promise.

His hand cupped your cheek as his mouth moved against yours, slow and wet and open. He kissed you like he was trying to speak through it, like every flick of his tongue and every shared breath was meant to say I’m here. I’m real. I’ll never hurt you.

Then he broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, lips brushing your jaw, “I’m gonna be more gentle than he ever was…”

His kisses trailed down to your throat. Slow. Patient. You felt them like electricity threading down your spine–each press of his mouth was careful, intentional. He kissed the hollow beneath your ear, your collarbone, the curve where your shoulder met your neck. And then–

“I want to take my time,” He whispered, voice thick. “I want to worship every inch of this body. I want you to feel safe with me, loved by me…And not used.”

Your breath caught.

His lips brushed over a fading mark near your sternum, and he paused there–kissed it once, twice, so softly it nearly undid you before returning to your lips.

“You’re in control,” He added. His thumb stroked along your cheekbone. “Everything is up to you. We go as far as you want. Nothing more. I just…” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I just want to be close to you. I just want to deserve you.” Tears pricked your lashes. Not out of sadness. But out of how much he meant every word. You nodded, reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead.

“I want this,” You whispered. “With you. However slow, however soft… Just don’t stop touching me.” Bob nodded, a quiet, trembling breath slipping past his lips like he was grounding himself in the gravity of your words. He leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you with a new kind of hunger–less desperate, more deliberate. You could feel it in the way his lips lingered, in the way he savored every brush, every breath, like he needed to memorize the shape of your mouth all over again.

Then he began to trail lower.

His lips ghosted along your collarbone–soft, reverent kisses that made your skin ache. His hand, warm and steady now, slid up from your ribs to the swell of your breast. He hesitated there only for a second, like he was asking wordlessly for permission, and when you arched into him, breath hitching, he exhaled like he’d been granted a miracle.

His mouth followed his hand.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your breast–slow and open-mouthed–and you swore you could feel it pulse all the way to your spine. Another kiss, lower now. Then his tongue flicked out to taste you, wet and soft, and your fingers curled in the sheets.

When he finally wrapped his lips around your nipple, you gasped.

It was tender at first–gentle suction, his mouth warm and soft as his tongue stroked slow circles over the sensitive peak. His hand cradled the underside of your breast, thumb stroking rhythmically across your skin. He moaned softly against you, the sound vibrating through his mouth and into your chest, making your back arch, hips lifting off the mattress in a slow, unconscious grind.

“Bob,” You breathed, the sound broken and aching.

He didn’t answer. Not with words. He just groaned low in his throat and sucked a little harder, a little deeper, and your hands flew to his hair, threading through the soft strands as you held him close to you. His other hand came up to cup your free breast now, kneading it gently, carefully, like you were something too precious to rush. His fingers brushed across your other nipple, teasing it to hardness before his mouth left its twin and moved over–wet and hot and aching for more.

He gave the same attention to the other side, lips parting to take you in, tongue swirling around your nipple with languid strokes, then sucking deep, like he couldn’t get enough. You gasped again, legs shifting restlessly beneath him as your thighs pressed together for friction. You could feel the wet heat of your arousal soaking through your shorts now, the friction maddening, but you didn’t ask him to stop. Couldn’t. His mouth on you felt too good. Too right.

Bob moaned again as your hips lifted, and his hand slid lower, fingers tracing the soft dip of your waist before gliding up again to cup the side of your breast, massaging it slowly as he kept his mouth latched to your nipple.

When he finally pulled back, lips slick and parted, his eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispered, voice wrecked, “So so beautiful…“ Your chest rose and fell under his praise, breath catching hard, and your voice trembled when it finally broke free.

“I need you,” you gasped, your hand sliding into his hair, tightening gently. “Bob–I’m so wet it hurts.”

His breath hitched. His eyes–already dark–dilated further, and you felt the shiver ripple down his spine.

But then he shook his head, slow and dazed, like he was in a trance.

“No,” He said, voice hoarse, almost reverent. “Not yet. I need to taste you first.”

You blinked down at him, heat coiling in your core so hard you thought you might come undone just from that alone.

“Please…Anything…” You whispered, barely able to say it.

He surged up to kiss you again–hungry, open-mouthed, the kind of kiss that made your legs tremble around his waist. And then he pulled back just enough to press his lips to your jaw, your neck, your chest–leaving a wet trail downward, his hands sliding reverently over your hips. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and dragged them down slowly, kissing every inch of skin as it was revealed. When he reached the damp cotton of your panties, he paused–just long enough to press his mouth against the soaked fabric.

“O-Oh god,” He whispered, voice shaking. “You’re dripping for me.”

You moaned, hips twitching, fingers curled in the sheets.

Then–without hesitation–he dragged your panties down, kissing the inside of your thigh as they came off. He eased you open with steady hands, and the moment he saw you laid bare for him, his breath left him in a ragged exhale.

“G-God, you’re perfect,” He said, his voice thick with awe and hunger. “So p-perfect.” He kissed the soft skin there, just at the edge of where you ached, breathing in deep like the scent of you alone could ruin him.

Then he exhaled slowly, and leaned in.

The first touch of his tongue was gentle. A single, slow stripe from the base of your entrance to the swollen peak of your clit, wet and unhurried. You shivered violently beneath him, fingers already reaching for his hair. He groaned softly against you, the sound vibrating through his mouth and into your core. And then he did it again–slower this time. More deliberate. Tongue flat and warm, dragging through your folds with the kind of focus that made your toes curl.

He didn’t rush.

There was no frenzy in him.

Only patience. Devotion. Worship.

He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, barely-there touches that made your thighs twitch around his head. Then he flicked softly–once, twice–and looked up at you.

His eyes were already half-lidded. Glassy. Like the taste of you had undone something deep inside him. And then he closed them again, like savoring the feel of you was a prayer.

You moaned when his nose nudged your clit, the angle forcing it against the sensitive bud as his tongue dipped lower, gently licking at your entrance. You were soaked. Bob groaned at the taste, tongue working you open with trembling reverence, and you gasped, your hips bucking up without meaning to.

He pressed his hands to your thighs, holding you down firmly but not forcefully, his fingers splayed wide like he needed the contact to keep himself grounded. His mouth moved slowly, methodically, lavishing every part of you. When he dragged the flat of his tongue up your slit again and wrapped his lips around your clit for the first time, you cried out, head thrown back against the pillow, fingers tightening in his hair.

Bob moaned again–deep and low–as he sucked, gentle at first, then firmer. His tongue circled, flicked, pressed. He moved with a rhythm that was impossibly focused, like he was studying you, learning every breath, every twitch, every gasp, and adjusting his pressure like a master of his craft.

You were panting now, whimpering, rolling your hips up into his mouth without shame. There was nothing detached or cruel in his touch. No domination. No edge of control. Just a man falling apart over the taste of you, letting himself be consumed by the act of giving.

He pulled back for a moment, lips glistening, breath ragged.

“C-Can I…?” he rasped, eyes blown wide. “Can I use my fingers too?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes, yes–God, please–”

Bob didn’t waste a second.

His mouth dropped back to your clit instantly, tongue circling it again as two fingers slipped into your entrance. The stretch was perfect. The angle just right. He moved them slowly, curling deep inside you with a tenderness that had you keening.

And when he moaned around your clit as your walls fluttered around his fingers, the vibration shot through your whole body like lightning.

You were unraveling. Quickly.

And all you could think was this is what The Void could never give me.

Warmth. Presence. Safety.

Bob groaned into you again, pressing soft kisses between strokes of his tongue. His nose nudged your clit with every stroke of his mouth against your folds. His fingers moved in perfect rhythm–slow, deep, patient–curling up and stroking the spot inside you that made stars flicker at the edges of your vision.

You looked down through the haze of your pleasure and saw him.

Face buried between your thighs.

Lashes fluttering.

Cheeks flushed.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, like this was sacred. Like pleasing you was the only thing in the world that mattered. He sucked your clit into his mouth again, softly but completely, and swirled his tongue as he fucked you deeper, harder with his fingers–and you cried out.

“Bob–Bob, I’m–” You couldn’t finish. Your voice cracked on a sob of pleasure as your body seized beneath him.

Your climax hit like a wave crashing into shore. Your thighs trembled around his head, your hands fisted in the sheets, and your back arched as you came with a broken, shuddering moan. He didn’t stop. He slowed, easing you through it, his tongue moving gently now, soothingly, like he was kissing the aftershocks from your body one by one.

You collapsed back onto the bed, panting, fingers slipping weakly from his hair. Your body was humming, oversensitive, but sated in a way it never had been before. When Bob finally pulled back, his lips were red and slick, chin glistening. His eyes were wide and awe-filled. And he looked…Wrecked.

But in the most beautiful way.

“Was that okay?” He asked, voice hoarse, shy again now, like he hadn’t just brought you to heaven and back.

You laughed, breathless, tears of overstimulation prickling at your eyes.

“It was perfect,” you whispered. “So much better than anything I ever imagined. So much better than him.”

His expression softened, and he leaned up to kiss you. You could taste yourself against his lips–hot, slick, faintly sweet and obscene. It hit you like a jolt. The knowledge that he’d been buried between your legs only moments ago, devouring you like a man starved, and now you were tasting the evidence of it on his tongue. He kissed you deeper, filthier, letting you feel the way his mouth was still soaked with you. His tongue pushed past your lips, slow and deliberate, and you moaned into him like the sensation alone was enough to make you spiral all over again.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he groaned–long and low–as his hips bucked instinctively against you.

The thick press of his erection, still confined in those useless sweatpants, dragged against your bare, sensitive core. You gasped at the contact. He hissed between clenched teeth, rutting once, twice–shallow, desperate grinds that made you both tremble.

And then he broke the kiss.

Barely.

Foreheads pressed, his breath crashed against your lips as he whispered, voice hoarse, wrecked:

“I’m g-gonna take these off…”

He reached down with one hand, already tugging at the waistband of his sweats. The movement was slow, breathless. Then his voice dropped even lower–richer, rougher.

“…A-And you’re gonna get on top.”

Your breath caught.

His hand cupped the side of your face again, thumb brushing over your flushed cheek like he was grounding himself even now.

“I-I want you to do whatever you want to me,” He said, voice cracking with the weight of his need. “I just w-want you to be in control.”

You stilled.

Not because you doubted him–but because that sentence hit something primal. It was surrender in the truest sense of the word. The most powerful man you’d ever met–the man who could turn people into shadows and who held galaxies in his chest–was offering you everything. No fear. No condition. Just Bob. Letting you lead.

”I have to say…That’s so hot…” You whispered, your voice rough with awe and heat. A slow, shaky smile pulled at his lips, and his hands moved again—sliding his sweatpants down his hips and kicking them off. His cock was flushed, hard, thick where it curved up toward his stomach, tip already wet with precum. Your breath caught again.

Bob looked…Divine.

Raw. Unshielded. And still trembling under the weight of how badly he wanted this to be yours. Bob shifted back against the headboard, legs bent slightly, hands braced on the mattress at his sides. His chest was rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. He looked ruined already. Completely at your mercy. And he liked it.

He watched you with parted lips, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The flushed curve of his cock stood proud between his thighs, wet at the tip, twitching with every heartbeat. But he didn’t touch himself. Didn’t even dare. He just waited.

For you.

You rose onto your knees and crawled toward him slowly, deliberately. Each movement was precise. Controlled. Letting him feel the weight of your intent with every inch you claimed. When you reached him, you straddled his hips and felt him go still–completely, reverently still–beneath your thighs.

Your knees bracketed his hips, bare and hot, and you sat up fully. Spine long, hair falling around your shoulders, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you steadied yourself. Bob looked up at you like you were holy. Like you were something he’d dreamed of for years but never believed he’d get to worship this way.

And then–eyes locked with his–you reached down between your bodies.

Bob gasped as your fingers curled around the base of his cock, firm but slow, and you gave him one long, aching stroke. His hips twitched, a strangled sound caught in his throat. But he still didn’t move. He was giving you everything.

You dragged the head of his cock through your folds–once, twice, again–coating him in your slick, letting him feel how wet you were. How ready.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, head tipping back slightly against the wood. “Y-You’re gonna kill me…”

You smiled, breathless. Then, without breaking eye contact, you angled him perfectly beneath you–and slowly, so slowly, you began to sink down.

The stretch was…Devastating.

Thick. Full. Hot.

You let out a broken sound from deep in your throat as you took him inch by inch. Bob’s hands gripped the sheets at his sides like he was trying to anchor himself to reality. His head dropped forward to watch, pupils blown wide, chest heaving, a string of half-whispered praises tumbling from his lips.

“God, you’re–” His voice fractured, shaking, “–you feel so good, s-so perfect…”

You settled fully into his lap, and the moment you did, Bob let out a shuddering moan–quiet but guttural, like the sound had been lodged somewhere in his ribs.

He was buried deep inside you. All of him. The stretch still pulsed through your core like a heartbeat, throbbing and full, but you didn’t move. Not yet.

Instead, you reached for his hands.

“Hold me,” You whispered.

Bob obeyed instantly.

His hands slid from the bedsheets to your hips, then around your waist, arms wrapping tightly around you as if he could mold his body to yours. His palms splayed wide across your back, holding you so carefully, so reverently, like you might drift away if he didn’t anchor you down.

Your chest pressed against his. Skin to skin. Heart to heart.

You could feel the way he trembled. The tension in his thighs. The shallow rise and fall of his breath as he clung to you like salvation. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and his mouth opened against your neck, breath searing hot.

But still–you didn’t move.

You stayed seated fully on him, body wrapped around his, and just…Let yourself exist like that. Connected. Claimed. In control.

Bob whimpered.

Not from pain, not from frustration—but from the sheer intensity of it. Of being inside you, of being held still, of having to surrender to your pace. His cock throbbed inside you, twitching helplessly with every pulse of your walls, and he moaned when he felt it.

“This…O-Oh Y/N….Y-You’re so perfect.” He whispered, leaning forward so his lips could find your neck. He dragged his mouth over your pulse point, breath warm and uneven. He nuzzled the skin there, pressing one long kiss just beneath your jaw before scraping his teeth gently across your flesh.

You gasped.

He moaned.

“I love the way you taste,” He whispered, voice low and wrecked. “I’d mark you if you let me… Kiss every inch of your skin ‘til you couldn’t tell where I ended and you started…”

You pulsed around him again.

Bob choked on a gasp, forehead falling to your shoulder.

“I’d let you ruin me if it meant I got to stay like this. Inside you. Wrapped up in you. Y-You don’t even have to move, I’ll still come like this if you keep squeezing me like that.”

Your fingers found his neck, the column of it slick with sweat, the pulse there fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings beneath your palm. You held him gently—not tight, not possessive, just enough to anchor him. To guide him.

“Bob,” you whispered, breath brushing the shell of his ear. “Look at me.”

He obeyed, slow and trembling. His forehead lifted from your shoulder, lashes fluttering as he met your gaze. His eyes were blown wide, the deepest shade of blue, glassy and brimming. There was so much there—longing, awe, fear, surrender—and you held it all with your hand on his throat and your body wrapped around his.

You moved first.

It was a subtle grind of your hips, a slow press down and forward that sent his cock dragging deliciously against your walls and his pelvis flush against your clit. Your breath caught in your throat at the friction, the heat, the closeness. Bob gasped—his mouth falling open in a broken moan, hands tightening slightly on your back.

“F-Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh my God…”

You did it again. A slow, rolling grind that pressed you right there, and he felt every trembling inch of it. His head dropped forward with a choked sound, mouth brushing your collarbone.

“No,” you whispered, your thumb brushing his jaw, lifting his chin. “Keep looking at me.”

His eyes opened again, wrecked and obedient, and you gave him another slow, deep grind–your slick walls pulling around him as your clit rubbed in firm circles against the ridge of his pelvis. Bob trembled under you, his chest heaving, arms holding you tighter like you were the only thing keeping him from coming apart.

“I need you to stay right here,” You said softly. “I need to feel all of you.”

“I-I’m right here,” he choked. “I swear–I’m not going anywhere.”

You kissed him.

God, you kissed him like it was your last chance. Your mouth was soft and open, your tongue slow and sweet, like you were trying to breathe life back into both of you. And Bob melted into it—completely, utterly. His hands curved up your spine, not to control but to cradle. To keep you close.

Your hips found a rhythm. A deep, rolling grind that pressed you into him again and again—smooth and slow and so fucking full. You weren’t riding him for speed. You weren’t chasing anything. You were claiming him. Letting him exist inside you like he belonged there. Like this was always how it was supposed to be.

Bob’s breath hitched, and then–barely a whisper–

“I-I can’t believe you want me like this…”

“I do,” you said, voice thick. “So much.”

Your clit rubbed in perfect friction against him now with each roll of your hips. The wet sound of it was quiet but present, the heat building low in your belly again as you rocked in smooth, delicious circles. His eyes fluttered shut for a second–just one–but you gave a warning squeeze around his cock and he gasped, eyes flying open.

“Eyes on me,” You murmured, voice like velvet and lightning all at once. “I need you to see me when I come.”

Bob’s breath broke. He whimpered–a sound you’d never thought you’d hear from a man like him–and it made your walls flutter around him again. You moved your hand from his throat to cup his jaw now, brushing your thumb over the tear that had slipped free onto his cheekbone.

“Oh, Bob,” You whispered. “Don’t cry.”

“I can’t—I can’t help it,” He choked, another tear slipping free. “I-It’s just… you’re so close, you’re right here, and I don’t deserve it, and I–”

“You do,” You said firmly, kissing the tears from his cheeks, one after the other. “You do. I promise you do.”

His arms tightened around you and he pressed his forehead to yours as your hips kept moving. Your clit rubbed harder against his pelvis now, your body slick and hot and trembling with the mounting tension. You could feel your orgasm coming–slow and powerful, cresting like a tide inside you–and Bob felt it too.

“You’re shaking,” He whispered, voice thick with awe. “You’re gonna come like this? F-From just…Grinding on me?”

“With you inside me,” You breathed. “With your arms around me. With you crying for me.”

Bob moaned, helpless and high. His fingers dug into your waist, but he didn’t speed you up. He let you keep control. And that was what made it so fucking perfect.

Your breath broke first.

A gasp. A cry. Your head tipped back as your orgasm swept through you, deep and slow and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around him and your clit rubbed perfectly against his skin as you rode it out, sobbing against his mouth as he held you tighter, kissing your cheeks, your jaw, whispering praise in a broken voice.

“So perfect, so perfect, oh my God, you feel like heaven–”

Then you felt him twitch inside you. His whole body locked, breath caught on a desperate moan.

“C-Can I–Y/N–please, I need–can I come?”

“Come inside me,” You whispered. “Let go, you’re safe.”

That broke him.

Bob cried out, shuddering, hips jerking once, twice, then grinding deep as he spilled inside you–warm and thick, pulsing against your walls as he sobbed into your neck. His arms held you tight, breath shaking like every part of him was unraveling in your hands.

And it was beautiful.

You stayed like that–wrapped around each other, trembling, kissed in sweat and tears and come–until the shaking slowed, until the only sound in the room was your breathing, synced.

Then Bob pulled back, barely, and looked at you.

His cheeks were flushed. His lips swollen. His eyes still wet.

“I love you,” He said hoarsely, like it was the only thing he had left. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

Your heart cracked wide open.

And you kissed him again.

Soft. Tender. Final.

“I know,” You whispered. “I love you too.” His arms wrapped tighter around your back, his hand curling protectively over your spine as if to shield the last remaining fragments of you from the world outside your shared warmth. His other hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangled softly in your hair, holding you close to him.

”A-Are you okay?” He asked gently, and you nodded.

”Let’s just stay like this for a little while…Please.” Bob nodded, and buried his face into your shoulder, breathing you in heavily. His body trembled under yours. Not from exertion now, but from something gentler. Something raw. You could feel his heart hammering against your chest in steady, staggering bursts. His cock was still inside you, softening slowly, but neither of you cared. The sweat between your skin clung like sealant. Like gravity. Like home.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his cheek–just beneath the smudge of drying tear salt.

He didn’t speak again until a long, quiet minute later.

“…I didn’t hear him.”

Your breath caught.

“What?”

Bob pulled back just slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. His fingers brushed over your jaw. His voice was softer now. More certain.

“The Void,” He whispered. “I didn’t hear him… Not once. Not when I kissed you. Not when I touched you. Not even when I came.” His brow furrowed gently, like the realization had just fully settled in his chest. “He wasn’t there. Not at all.”

Your heart thudded so hard it hurt.

“…Me neither,” You replied, blinking. “I didn’t hear him either.”

You both paused.

Then Bob cupped your cheek and leaned in, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your mouth. This one wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t claiming. It was the kind of kiss that thanked you for every piece of what came before. The kind that whispered: we made it.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together again.

“I think he’s gone,” You said, voice shaking with disbelief. “I think–just for now–it’s quiet.”

Bob nodded slowly, eyes still closed.

“It’s just you in my head right now,” He said quietly. “You’re the only thing I hear.” You felt the tears prick your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t sharp. They didn’t ache. They flowed soft and steady as you pulled back slightly, looked him in the eyes, and brushed a lock of damp hair from his forehead.

“Let’s clean up,” You murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

Bob blinked slowly, then offered a dazed smile–half-exhausted, half-stunned.

“You just did.”

“I’m not done,” You said, gently shifting off his lap. He gasped quietly at the loss of contact, but didn’t resist as you helped him stretch out against the pillows.

You moved slowly.

Your body ached–in the best way–and you padded quietly across the room to retrieve a soft towel and the glass of water by your bedside. When you returned, Bob was watching you like he didn’t know how to stop.

You sat beside him and wiped him down with gentle strokes–starting at his chest, dabbing along the flushed trail of sweat down his sternum, then moving lower, cleaning his softening length with quiet care. His breath hitched when you did, but he didn’t flinch. He let you take your time.

When you finished tending to him, you leaned forward to press one last kiss to the center of his chest. His skin was still warm and flushed, the thudding of his heart echoing just beneath your lips. But before you could shift away, Bob’s hand gently wrapped around your wrist.

“Wait,” he murmured softly, eyes steady and shining. “M-My turn…”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Bob, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he whispered. “Please. Let me.”

There was a depth to his voice that left no room for refusal—soft, reverent, as if this was as important to him as any kiss or confession. You nodded slowly.

And Bob moved carefully.

He sat up with you, then gently coaxed you to lay back down, easing you onto the pillows with trembling hands. You watched him with quiet wonder as he reached for the towel you’d just used on him and dipped the clean edge into the water glass, wringing it out carefully. His movements were so tender, like touching you now required an entirely different kind of strength–one that didn’t come from the Sentry.

It came from love.

He knelt between your legs and brushed his fingers softly along the inside of your thigh, his eyes flicking up to yours. You gave a small nod, breath catching slightly, and let your legs fall open for him.

He swallowed hard.

The sight of you–still glistening from him, swollen and pink, your inner thighs kissed with the aftermath of pleasure–made him blink slowly like he was afraid he’d miss something if he looked away for even a second. You expected him to begin right away with the towel, but instead, Bob leaned in first.

And kissed the inside of your thigh.

Just once. Then again. And again.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses trailed up the curve of your leg, each one slower than the last, lips warm and gentle as he nuzzled and worshipped the skin just inches from your core. Your breath hitched as his mouth pressed a kiss just beside your entrance–like he was blessing the part of you that held him, loved him, trusted him.

“Thank y-you,” He whispered, voice hoarse. “F-For letting me have this. For… C-Choosing me…After what happened…”

You reached down, hand threading through his hair, and Bob looked up at you as he finally brought the towel to your center.

He was gentle. So incredibly gentle.

The cloth was warm, and the strokes were slow–he cleaned you with the care of someone handling sacred glass, careful not to press too hard, not to rush, not to do anything that might make you flinch. You didn’t. Not once. If anything, your body softened further under his touch.

When he was done, he set the towel aside and pressed another kiss–right above your mound this time, reverent and trembling. Then he looked up at you again. His eyes were still wet.

“You’re perfect,” You whispered. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.”

Bob exhaled hard, like the words shook something loose inside his chest. Then he crawled back up beside you, pulling the comforter up and over your bodies with one hand as the other cupped the back of your head. He tucked you in against him slowly, protectively, until your cheek was resting over his heart.

You could hear it beating fast.

“I don’t know what comes next,” you murmured against his skin.

His fingers traced soft shapes along your spine. “Me neither.”

There was a silence that followed–but it wasn’t heavy.

It was full.

Full of something new. Something unspoken. Something earned.

Bob kissed the top of your head, lips lingering like a promise.

And you closed your eyes against his chest, listening to the rhythm of a heart that, for the first time in a long time, was quiet.

No voices.

No shadows.

[zahri-melitor]

What's the Williamson thing? I don't think I've read much of his work

This is not exclusive to Williamson in any way, but he's part of it.

There are a bunch of DC writers who have a decided tendency to place more emphasis on biological relationships than adoptive ones. Williamson's a known example.

This affects variously families differently. Flashfam are less affected because they're almost all actual interrelated family members, however it's particularly noticeable in the writing of Bat, Super and Arrow titles.

(Aquafam is its own special case because 'biological v adoptive v foster' dramas extend back to the Bronze Age. Fortunately nobody seems to have let these writers near the Marvelfam/Shazamily much)

But essentially, it shows up as a tendency to define Damian Wayne, Jon Kent, Connor Hawke and Emiko Queen specifically by their biological relationships to Bruce, Clark and Ollie, and minimising the importance of adoptive bonds.

This is where you'll see things like Dick Grayson referred to as "Bruce's ward" in a title published in the 2020s, or Dick mention Bruce to Damian as "your father" (not ours), or have Ollie thinking about "my son Connor and my former sidekick Roy", or describing Roy as "like a son", or suggestions that there wasn't a Super Family before Jon arrived and that obviously the only possible Superman replacement for Clark is Jon, and so on.

It's this insidious "adoptive relationships and foster relationships are great but this here is your own flesh and blood, your biological child, and that is something that has its own special importance above and beyond any child you have chosen to look after". Which is something that some people do think and struggle with in blended families! But which gets really noticeable when it's prioritised in properties that were originally about families of choice.

Because we're talking about Joshua Williamson, and I was referring to his writing of Damian in particular:

It's having Alfred say to Damian “Bruce would have wanted you to be Robin” and claiming that is a scene that happened during Batman R.I.P., even though Tim was very much still Bruce's Robin at the time, had been promised by Bruce that he could be Robin as long as he wanted to be, and was literally in costume as Robin trying to hold the city together and track down and imprison Hush with Dick.

It's the attitude that Damian was entitled to be Robin because he was Bruce's son, and being Robin is a marker of being Bruce's Blood Son, whether or not Damian is actually doing the job of Robin.

It's scenes of Bruce and Damian going "Father and son. Batman and Robin. We don't need anyone else" even as Tim is currently also Robin and a very important thread of Bat family storytelling for the last 30 years is that yes, actually Bruce does need his family, he does need more than one single connection, the network is important at keeping him grounded and sane and able to do the job.

It's just...sigh. Joshua Williamson at it again.

[icycoldninja]

hey hey, love your writing a lot, first time ever requesting anything 😅 i thought reader comforting the DMC boys after a nightmare might be nice, those poor lil guys have gone through so much and i just wanna care for em

So do I 🥲

Sparda boys + V x Reader nightmare comfort headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante had another one of those awful nightmares where he relives every single traumatic incident that has ever taken place in his life all in one night.

-The loss of his mother, the supposed loss of his brother, the battle he had to have with his previously assumed dead brother, losing his brother again, etc., etc.

-It's honestly no surprise that he woke up screaming, covered in sweat and shaking like a leaf.

-You were immediately up and at his side, rubbing away the sleep in your eyes and wrapping the scared man up in your arms, resting your head against his shoulder and soothingly whispering to him that it was alright.

-Dante believed you, and melted into your embrace willingly, still shaken, but comforted in the fact that you were there for him.

-You ended up being the big spoon for the rest of the night, threading your fingers through his snowy white hair and assuring him you loved him, and that he was safe.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil had a really vivid dream of the day he lost his mother and presumably Dante, which wasn't all that surprising--these things happened nearly every night.

-Still, Vergil was scared. He hated the feeling of being so helpless and weak, forced to watch as his home burned down and demons ran him through with their swords. Everything hurt. Everything ached. All Vergil wanted was to wake up, and so he did.

-He rocketed upright, heart racing, forehead damp with sweat. He turned and saw you groggily rising from your nest of blankets and breathed a soft sigh of relief, glad that those tragedies hadn't happened all over again.

-Wordlessly, Vergil scooped you into his arms and mumbled a soft "it was nothing, good night" to silence your inquiries, assuring you he was fine, even if he actually wasn't.

-Whether you saw through his lies or not doesn't matter; Vergil will cling onto you tightly, as if you're his lifeline, shivering slightly as he does so.

-All he really wants is comfort from you, either verbally or non-verbally. Hold him, kiss him, tell him you love him, just ground him in reality and make him remember those dark times are in the past, that he's here now, and that he's safe.

□ Nero □

-Nero dreamed of being eaten alive by demons, not at all a pleasant experience, even if it wasn't real.

-The pain of being gnawed and chewed on was somehow so realistic, despite the fact that this whole scenario was dreamed up by Nero's imaginative mind.

-Just as Nero was sure he was dead, he woke up, gasping wildly for air. He opened his eyes and, seeing darkness, thought he really had been swallowed by a massive demon.

-Then you sat up and asked him what's wrong, reminding him that he was in his bedroom, and since you were there with him, everything must be fine.

-You then coax him into lying back down and wrap yourself around him, your head on his chest and your arms around his torso.

-Nero felt at ease with you cuddling up to him, so he was able to close his eyes and drift off to sleep again, this time having actually pleasant dreams.

● V ●

-V had dreamt of falling apart right in front of your eyes. He'd watched, helplessly, as you screamed and sobbed, clawing at his disintegrating form in a desperate attempt to save him, which you couldn't.

-He saw how watching him die broke you; as a result, he began to break down and cry as well. He hated seeing you like this--the last thing he wanted was to leave you behind in this horrible world.

-When he awoke, V didn't believe he was alive. He thought he'd just ventured into the afterlife and would be judged very soon.

-Then he saw your concerned face hovering over him, and thought he'd seen an angel. When you spoke, asking him if he was alright, V was sure he'd met an angel.

-He readily confessed what was troubling him, ending up crying into your shoulder at the end of this revelation. He was scared, shocked, and very sad, all at once. He needed you; needed to be with you, needed to be surrounded by you.

-This is how he falls back asleep, curled up in a ball and trapped in your warm embrace. V's never felt so safe.

[collapsedglasshouses]

TANGLED THREADS [Noah Sebastian x fem!reader, Nick Ruffilo x fem!reader]

COLLEGE!AU

CHAPTER TWO: TAKING THE LEAD SUMMARY: Nick knows. And he won’t let it slide. PAIRING: Nick Ruffilo x fem!Reader; mentions of Noah Sebastian x fem!Reader WARNINGS: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ [unprotected p in v, degradation, rough sex, …], no mentions of reader’s name, angst, reader is toxic, toxic dynamics, nick is a meanie but he kinda is right, mentions of nick and reader thinking about noah during intercourse, swearing, its not entirely proofread (ill do it eventually, pinky promise …) WORD COUNT: 2.2K A/N:Holy hell. My brain hurts after writing this. Nick finally made a proper appearance!!! I don’t even know what to say. There is one part left, but don’t ask me when it will come out. Hope you enjoy! Bye bye. READ PART ONE HERE.

You knew it was stupid. You knew you were incredibly stupid for doing what you were doing these past few weeks. You were so deep in this tragedy that the thought of calling your mom had slipped your mind for a reasonable amount of time, but you quickly realized that you were not quite ready to tell your mom that you had slept with two guys in the span of four weeks who, to make matters worse, were also best friends.

You wanted nothing more than to leave what had happened behind you, but for some reason you kept coming back to that one particular moment. Your thoughts revolved around that one night that changed everything. Nick had called you that night to catch up on your day, and you had asked him outright if he was in love with you. You wanted to be the bigger person, wanted to show Noah that you were really just casual with Nick, but when he did not answer right away, you felt something crack inside of you. You liked Nick. Maybe a little too much for your own good.

On the other hand, you really didn't know where to put Noah. You had noticed the way he looked at you before something had even happened between you. You saw how he always seemed a little too close to be just friendly with you. You had noticed the way he looked at you when you were with Nick, and somehow you understood how he felt.

It must have felt similar to the first time you saw him and Nick in that bar. They felt like this unbreakable team. Like a duo that really cared and loved each other no matter what. You had sworn to yourself that you would not try to challenge their bond, but when Nick kissed you just a few days later, you knew it was too late. You were already far more invested than you should have been.

You liked to think of yourself as rational and collected, but you really couldn’t understand the actions you had participated in, these past few weeks. You had sworn to keep your distance, even skipping classes to avoid Noah, but somehow he kept slipping right back into your life. Or literally… into you.

Not once had the two of you talked about Nick as if his name was a curse. But you soon realized that you were stupid to think that Nick would just let it go.

The air in your room was tense as Nick stormed in angrily. There had been weeks of silence and tension since your breakup, but this night would be different.

You sat on the bed, your legs crossed and your eyes fixed on the papers you had to finish soon. You knew exactly why he was here, but you weren't quite ready to face it.

"Please tell me you're joking." Nick hissed, his eyes glittering with anger.

"What?" You asked, your eyes still glued to the screen. Then he threw something at you. You jumped at the impact before examining the piece of cloth. A small piece of black lace with a little heart on the waistband. It was your panties. You vividly remembered the last time you had worn them. You had stood outside Noah's room that night like a desperate little shit.

Your eyes darted to Nick's angry face and back to the garment. Inside you were screaming, but there was also this intense anger bubbling up inside you.

"Could you explain to me why you think it is necessary to snoop through people's things and then barge into my room like that? I have things to do." You exclaimed as calmly as possible while throwing your panties to the floor.

"You know exactly why I'm here. You slept with him, didn't you?" It wasn't really a question, but an accusation that dripped from his lips like poison.

"So, what? The last time I checked, we weren't serious or exclusive." You answered him, the annoyance you felt lacing your words. It still stung. Thinking about how he had gotten to you and how pathetic you were to think he really wanted a real relationship with you. With Noah, things seemed easier. You knew something was there, but neither of you felt the need to talk about it, and you liked it that way.

"He's my best friend, for fuck sake." He said, his eyes cold and distant. If you weren't so sure that this had to do with his ego being bruised, you might have misinterpreted it as some kind of vulnerability.

He took two big steps to stand in front of your bed and leaned down slightly, causing you to close your laptop. "You knew it was wrong. You knew how he felt about you."

You quickly got up from your bed and looked him in the eyes with a fake smile. "And now? It's not like it stopped you from fucking me anyway, knowing damn well how he felt."

Nick clenched his jaw as he studied your face. Neither of you dared look away.

"To be honest, it sounds to me like you are jealous that he actually had the courage to show me how he felt." You almost spat the words in his face.

His gaze darkened, but that only made you ramble on. "Or maybe you're angry that he can get me off a lot faster than you can."

"You're a fucking whore, you know that?" He whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't flinch at his words, but leaned forward, his warmth radiating off your body. "And you're a fucking hypocrite, Ruffilo."

His eyes traveled to your lips for such a brief moment that you almost missed it. Anger was written all over his face, but there was something else you noticed that made you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

"Wait." You murmured, a small and mocking grin finding its place on your features. "This shit turns you on, doesn't it?"

Nick didn't say anything, but didn't dare to move away from you either, while you started to snicker bitterly. "You're seriously calling me a whore when you get all aroused at the thought of Noah and me together? "You're pathetic."

Nick was silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stared down at you with such intensity that you could almost feel the weight of his eyes as they bore into you. His hands were clenched into fists and before you knew it, he had grabbed your wrist and was pushing you against the wall next to your bed.

“Noah just doesn’t know how to deal with your fucking attitude.” Nick hissed, bringing you so close that your lips almost touched. You met his eyes, the warmth spreading through your body, while your heart still leaped with pride.

"Noah has a bigger dick than you." You answered him, knowing it was childish, but you wouldn't let it go.

"Yeah, that's a lie." He breathed. "Maybe you need a reminder."

With a quick move, he had turned you around. You leaned your hands against the wall for support as you felt Nick's breath against your neck. You tried to stifle a moan as his hand traveled over the curve of your body, but failed miserably. You cursed yourself internally for wearing only your thinnest shorts, making it harder and harder to ignore his touch against your lower abdomen.

“You still wanna tell me about Noah?” He asked as his hand slipped through the waistband of your shorts, teasing you.

“As if you wouldn’t like it.” You tried to say as confident as possible, while his hand slipped into your panties. 

“Aw, look at you. You’re so invested in Noah that you’re already soaking wet for me and I didn’t do shit.” He mocked you as his finger teasingly flicked over your clit. A stuttering breath escaped your mouth.

“Fuck you.” You hissed, but you also weren’t thinking about stopping him in the slightest. 

“Don’t be like that, princess. We both know you love this.” He snarled in your ear before retrieving his hand, causing you to shiver. You were about to push away from the wall, when you heard him hiss: “Don’t you dare.”

It merely took seconds for him to get you out of your shorts and also get rid of his pants. He kicked your feet further apart, one hand placed on your waist, the other lining up his hard dick at your entrance. You felt precum leak onto your leg, causing you to suppress another moan and you felt how you arch your back in his direction, without even realizing it.

“Look at you. All of the sudden, all desperate for my cock.” He said, as he slowly pushed inside of you. “You can brag about Noah all you want, he still can’t fuck you like I can.” With that he bottomed out, groaning quietly.

You clenched around him. Of course, he was right. But you would rather run into an open fire than admit that to him. You bit down on your lip when he started to move, his pace immediately as brutal as his emotions.

You wanted to say something. You desperately wanted to put him into his place, but you were too busy trying to lower the pleas that left your mouth, while your pussy throbbed with the burning need to come.

You gasped for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his cock, but nothing besides whimpers came out.

“I see why Noah couldn’t resist you. I think we both like it a little too much to see you fall apart like this.” Nick tried to hiss, but his words came out as a moan. You clenched your teeth, not wanting to moan out his name, as his right hand dropped from your waist onto your swollen clit.

“You sound like the desperate little slut you are.” Nick mocked you as heavy breaths left your mouth. You sputtered, one of your hands leaving the wall to grasp onto his wrist as if it would save you from falling apart.

“Tell me… Who do you think makes you come harder?” Nick whispered in your ear and your mind betrayed you. For a split second you thought about the two of them together. You wondered if they would try to compete against each other. You remembered how Noah’s tongue felt against your clit and with what precision he carried out his acts in comparison to Nick.  

The image alone of Nick and Noah sent you flying over the edge. “Nick - I…” you stuttered, your voice strained. “I’m gonna…” 

“Come on.” He almost ordered, his finger flicking over your clit in fast motions while he hammered into you. “Come on my dick just like you did on his.”

You let out a sharp cry as your head hit the wall, thighs shaking violently as Nick’s hips went on in his brutal pace. You tensed up, your vision becoming blurry as you moaned out his name in a repeating and pleading manner. Nick, in the meantime, didn’t stop, fucking into you in overstimulating manner. 

You felt how his nails dug into your hips, causing you to gasp for air immediately. It felt like something was missing to tip him over, when an idea shot in your head.

“The night…” You breathed out. “when he first fucked me, I was wearing your Limp Bizkit hoodie.” Your voice was so hoarse and quiet, you first weren’t sure if he heard you, but all of the sudden, he let out a groan.

“F-... Fuck you.” He cried out, his hips stuttering ever so slightly, while his grip on your hips became bruising. Without another warning he spilled into you so violently, you could feel each hot splash painting the walls of your pussy.

With a deep breath, he leaned against your back, his head resting on your shoulder. 

It took the two of you a few long minutes, before anyone dared to move or talk. You were sure if he suddenly decided to move, you would simply collapse to the ground. 

“You know, Noah would-...” You wanted to annoy him even more, but he quickly cut you off. “I swear to god, if you say his name one more time.”

Something in his tone had changed though. He wasn’t as angry anymore as he used to be. If you had heard right, he even let out a small snicker.

It took another minute, before Nick slowly pulled out of you, causing you to take a deep breath. You felt how his cum slowly started dripping down your thighs, but you couldn’t care less.

You silently cleaned up and got dressed again, before facing each other. 

“Noah told me, by the way.” Nick confessed, causing you to raise your eyebrows. “He did?”

“Yeah, and we both think the three of us have something to talk through.” Nick then exclaimed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. You started to pick the skin on your index finger, not knowing what was about to come, but you slowly began to nod.

“Text us when you’re ready.”

That was the last thing Nick said, before stepping out of your dorm without looking back. 

There was no way you could ignore that now.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @circle-with-me @jilliemiw86 @justeli6 @sitkowski @exitwoundsx

[chirpthingz]

i recommend everyone look through this thread (the link should be copied on the image) from community member @/Trakoll about things that were cut from enigma do medo (but are still in the files) because there is just so much to unpack

which i will rant about bits and pieces below if anyone wants to rant with me ^v^

(remember all of this got cut and is therefore Not Canon, so i am aware that any speculation i am doing is purely speculation. unfortunately)

first of all, it's so interesting that it looks like (originally) there were going to be maaany more opportunities for jaser to speak with the other members of the perimeter. especially when he's talking with lethicia in that clip, where he sounds almost exactly like calisto (urging lethicia to complete her role). i wonder when that would have happened?? because there is another bit of cut dialogue that looks like he would have had the chance to speak with diogo (at least via a letter/some sort of writing, based on the code below). also i just realized that he actually calls him by his name

also?? can we talk about that cut conversation with jorge? because jesus christ. the implication that he was stuck there with yuri (as in like, what was left of his mind) is interesting. i do like how these dialogue snippets explore more of how the castle actually affected diogo/jorgebecause outside of lethicia/calisto we don't really get to see what long-term paranormal exposure does to someone. and i know we see that they are affected based on the irregular aging, but i'm talking more about the mental side effects.

i also found it interesting that diogo would've have been one of the agents actively trying to prevent his death (as opposed to some others who had accepted it). however i understand why that part was cut because he seems like a smart guy and if you're trying to avoid getting turned into Sludge maybe he wouldn't go in the sludge machine!

also! a new writing system made up of spirals left behind by yuri. i have decided to headcanon this as the writing system used in santo berco (which you can only kind of understand if you squint)

anyways the convo with jorge it would have almost been a very similar conversation to the one between mia and jaser at the (other) ending of the game. i particularly want to talk about this one, which is obviously cut because jorge wouldn't have known that, but like. what. the implication that sofia would have also had the "same eyes"??????????????????????????????????? because he wouldn't say "her" if he was talking about mia (he would say "you"), and i don't know who else "her" could be in relation to verissimo/jaser. interesting...

and now for the funniest part: samuel and eliakim talking (via the transcend ritual) ft. eliakim believing samuel to be god and samuel confused as fuck. i have been laughing at this for ten minutes now

which thus causes eliakim to start searching for/looking to create the unhaunted one, "starting" the cycle. way to go samuel! sorry that shit is so funny to me. there is also another bit of dialogue that comes before this (that can be discovered during his secret arg) that says "you two have the same mark" to sam. which is. interesting? it could be talking about mia/jaser, but somebody else theorized that maybe it could be eliakim and samuel, which is how they were able to talk. so im going to chew on that for a bit. shame it was cut, because i really liked this segment, also i feel like it would have made his purpose a little clearer, bc i didn't realize that was what was happening until i was told (but i am slow. so. it might be a me problem!)

as ridiculous as it sounds i actually would have preferred if they kept all of those extra blood zombies in the cave, just because i feel like it adds another layer that really emphasizes just the quantity of agents that died in the perimeter, and especially in the cave as a result of goliath.

also trakoll was able to remove some of the blood on the cave documents so we could see the text behind it, and since that text is actually supposed to be there, it is canon. so that's neat. it's interesting to see how obviously calisto was lying to all of the other agents. now i don't know how early that letter was written, but we do know that calisto knew the prophecy inside and out, so when he essentially says "idk man" to alan, you know something is up. alan and oswald's relationship kills me man :( one of the saddest parts of the whole game for me. like they got each other killed and they don't even know it (well, oswald knows it)

also. just to talk about that cut music for a sec: that shit is /fire/. i need that on spotify right now holy shit

moving on to the cut dialogue from the other ending: as cool as it is, i am glad they cut it. lupi being on his own with everyone else was getting deleted in real time around him made that shit so scary, and if he was able to interact with everyone else, it would take away from that. it does make me think that particular phase was originally going to have a longer investigation bit, which is cool! however it would have been nice for someone (agatha) to address that lupi (a dog) can activate rituals. i also do love the general chaos of agatha/samuel/lupi running around desperately trying to solve that puzzle as quickly as possible (+ verissimo saying Olhos Sempre Abertos to lupi)

also some of this cut dialogue from the other ending is interesting:

it just looks like that "thing" that was trying to stop mia is also trying to convince jaser not to bring about the actual other ending. i wonder why it was so desperate. i wonder what it was? the actual fear? some sort of personification of the perimeter?? looks like the original other ending (based on the above dialogue between agatha/samuel/verissimo as well) was going to be very different than what we have now. maybe we will see it in the art book?

also! we would have finally gotten to see that phrase again, which based on what i can tell looks like it was either said directly to mia or directly to the player in some sort of cutscene

i have nothing to say about this one i just found it interesting

also i am a little sad we were never able to pick up interventus (jaser's sword) and use it. they had the animations and everything! it would have been cool. like father like daughter, yknow?

anyways thats all that trakoll found, go check out his original thread, he does a lot of cool stuff like this all the time!! the goat of all time. i understand why all this stuff got cut, a lot of it is unnecessary/makes no sense, but it's nice to look at

[nerdieforpedro]

Weekend Update 02/25/2024

Nerdie! You saw it right! He won! *hugs tightly*

Yes he did! 🥰 We're all so happy for him! Finally!

We're also buzzing about how he looks like he's on the cover of a romance novel. Maybe on a ranch, maybe in the 1800's. It's a pretty versatile look. He likes his deep V's....

As we all should. Also, I'm taking notes on that. *scribbles*

Anything new besides, well clearly pirate adventures?

Pirates have scurvy and Pedro is well nourished so none of that. Other ideas for his characters. Ezra and Pero might have scurvy though. I did manage to write some this week. It's been busy. 👀 Ugh...real life stuff. Nothing major. Just needs to be done.

Nerdie's fics:

Guiding Light (Ezra one shot - I was chatting with @lady-bess and had the idea for this. I always have Ezra in some crime. 😎)

Lunch is happening right? (Part two of my summer romance Javi G fic. Not sure how many parts.)

He told me his name (Din Djarin x plus size female reader) I wrote it after reading a new Din fic by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (will be listed below. I'd still call it moody because despite writing, I still have trouble with my vocabulary. 🤣 It is pretty though. I'm working on a follow-up since people asked 👀)

Can't win carino (Javi G one shot - for @i-own-loki because she gave me the idea and the moodboard so I ran with it.)

The Man Next Door (Jake Lockley one shot for @megamindsecretlair because she kinda asked, more like I asked her what she wanted in it. She asked for action and smut. I might try more action in fics later.)

Get a room you two and BONE (Part two of my Tim Rockford comedy series which now has romance? I binged too much B99, watched a bit of Castle and a few episodes of Kojak with my mom. The insanity will only increase with part three but maybe there might be some growth between Tim and Doc? Or a hippo.)

Nerdie I thought you said you were busy....that's six fics...

I was and some of them I had been working on for a while. I also had some insomnia (that lead to parts two and three of the Tim Rockford fic). Anyway, on to the main event! 😘

Nerdie's fic recommendations! or things I read this week. 😄

14 x kisses by @trulybetty (Jack Daniels x reader) Part of her 29 days of valentines for February.

Sorgan Girls Are Easy - Solo Din Djarin by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (the fic that inspired my Din - her Din has 100% more smut)

Half of you - chapter 3 by @foxilayde (Santiago Garcia x fem. reader) Slow burn series - love it and trying to read it slowly to savor it.

Falling for you by @toomanystoriessolittletime (Javi Pena x fem reader) A bittersweet read that had me wonder what was next but I was hopeful.

Sunday Naps by @javierpena-inatacvest (Frankie Morales x fem reader) More proof that cuddling with Frankie leads to wonderful things.

Poe Dameron falling in love with his shy best friend (GN reader) by @i-belong-to-the-stars What one hopes for if you're shy and you're in love with those curls...er Poe. 🫣

Mystery Strain by @rebel-held (Dieter Bravo x GN reader) All kinks are valid and who doesn't love Dieter with a belly? 😘

Bulletproof by @laurfilijames (Jax Teller x fem reader) She wrote poetic porn with feelings. I was overcome, titllated and confused.

A girl walks into a bookshop by @oonajaeadira (Ezra x fem reader) Soft Ezra with a bookshop, yes please! 😄

Beneath the mask by @saradika (Din Djarin x fem reader) A medieval knight Din...so where does one pick up the velvet dress?

Loneliness by @sirowsky (Pero Tovar x GN reader) Pondering Pero in your local Park? Highly recommended for Valentine's Day.

15 x cashmere by @trulybetty (Joel Miller x GN reader) What thread count was it that encouraged Joel to hop in bed in such a state? For my personal file. 👀

He sees you by @maggiemayhemnj (Joel Miller x reader) This writer will tell you she just loves words. I would argue that the words love her in a unique way that makes you see the things. 💜

16 x dance by @trulybetty (Tim Rockford x reader) I pictured him dancing with the reader in his trench coat. @secretelephanttattoo (El) is to the holsters as I am to the trench coat. 🤣 In my mind.

Quiet Moments Collection by @secretelephanttattoo (various Pedro characters x reader) It’s the small instances that you think don’t matter, that are the most meaningful.

Plus One by @always-andromeda (Frankie Morales x fem reader) Always a fan of two idiots in love, even with their spat.

A Strange Fate by @youandmeand5bucks (Silva x fem reader) Two people who came together because of life circumtances. Are they really satisfied?

A Beskar Valentine by @firstofficerwiggles (Din Djarin x female reader) Awesome username, it makes me giggle. Din will be ten steps ahead and still fifteen behind when it comes to matters of the heart. My guy is an overthinking champion.

Seven by @lokischocolatefountain (Javier Pena x reader) A simple discussion about children leads Javier to a drastic solution.

To be Explored Later by @legendary-pink-dot (Frankie Morales x fem reader x Santiago Garcia) aka Ms. Curls if ya nasty! 😘 Somehow I missed the gem of a sandwich. How the reader was able to think about anything is beyond me.

Red Light Glow by @missredherring (Lucian Flores x fem reader) This man has me and @rhoorl keeping track of his silk shirt and gold chain. We would accept his call. The guilt would go away too quickly if we felt it at all. 😌

Incarnadine by @iamskyereads (Pero Tovar x fem reader) This Pero has me swoon with his care toward the reader, his love of baths (I just want him to soak and relax - he's been earning coin!), and his word choice. This is another person that words appear to favor. 💜

Not like I fangirled over these writers this week or anything 👀

What on the docket for this week Nerdie?

Part three of the Javi G summer romance

Maybe...Roc & Doc part three I don't like sitting on finished parts but then I whine about having no motivation for the next part. 👀 I make no sense.

March is toward the end of the week so my March Spring Prompts will start! I scheduled the first six days I think. I got anxious about getting behind (which isn't the point of doing them but anxiety doesn't care) and did some in advance. I like how they're coming along and that they're short. Unlike this update. 🤣 They won't have summaries, but will have warnings, tags and notes.

And because I hear series and I think "I should start another one!" I decided to write an Ezra series. How did I happen upon our favorites prospector/scoundrel/reluctant father figure? I've been reading works by @morallyinept @maggiemayhemnj and @magpiepills

Ezra intimidated me because of his language, but actually, I think I'd get along with him because he puts on a persona with a great deal of performance. It's the audience's job to figure out if you're serious or not. Or at least that's how I approached him. 🤨 This could go badly. I stuck him on the bayou with an air boat and I want him to cook gumbo. *full delusional achievement unlocked*

Special shout-outs to @connectioneverywhere and @soft-girl-musings for sending me lovely asks this week.

Also to @inept-the-magnificent who called Tim Rockford her sidepiece and I am still very tickled. 🤣

This update was long 🤗 Hehe

Love Nerdie ❤️

[tocomplainfriend]

saw your thread on valentino and am curious how you would have written him instead (sorry if you have already answered this). Make his abusive actions more subtle? Take more time in establishing his relationship to the other v's so we see that he wears different masks? I wont get into it, but ive been through stuff in the past and i personally am conflicted on how I would (re)write the val character. The problems outside of the show are a different animal entirely (with twitter/the storyboard person), I'm just talking like in the show itself.

He does seem completely different from Episode 4 to Episode 6 (in the cases he is talking with Angel) so there must be something off with his consistency.

I guess for me Im trying to identify what the major mistakes are (of his charcter) and how the show could have handled them better. I doubt there's a consensus since we all experience it differently, but it's a very interesting topic.

Sorry for taking so long!

TW: RAPE/SA/ABUSE

God writing him! Could go so many ways (sorry for bad English btw)

A really basic idea! :

I personally would've taken the manipulative asshole at once. I think it is important to tell audiences going through something in the past, present, or future, how manipulation happens. Instead of taking, he is too stupid to do so. Many people that are or had being manipulated question themselves about this treatment so much. People don't need to be mastermind to be like this

I think of having the opportunity of having Angel's perspective vs Charlie! I hated they wrote Charlie as knowing what happen but never did anything? I think of having Angel by that point in the relationship where he is coming back to Val even if he constantly realizes how awful he is. Many people constantly judge the position (usually woman) coming back to an awful ex. Even r-pe victims can go thought this and face so much judgment cause people don't understand your actual state of mind nor your situation. Coming back to an abusive person never deletes their abuse. But when Charlie comes in, she meets someone who acts so nice and charming, specially to her being a princess. Which others in hell don't seem to do- thinking Angel is in good hands, making Angel feel more trapped.

Also, coming to Angel, I deal with Hypersexuality due to being a victim as well-. I believe is a really gross way of showing it. Hypersexuality doesn't equal saying cum all the time and sexually harassing others, it's a lot of unwanted thought, guilt, and feeling gross at your self. It is not something to double down on, it's something you shouldn't feel like it's your fault- indulging, without help, makes it worse for you.

Obcioulsy more than just that. Like Val making Angel feel like is worth comes from being under him, feeling like there is nowhere else to go. But again some small stuff, there are many others who their main thing is writing, many better people to ask!

Really basic, really. I'm not going to spend the little writing skills I have on this, sorry! But it was a nice ask anon!

Just a really basic idea.

There are many better writers than me out there! Search for their stuff! I mainly just like complaining than rewriting! I also recommend real stories like biographys of victims of abuse themselves if you want to read some real stuff.

Ty, for being so respectful!

[theroleplayclassifieds]

🎤 yep, it's me, still looking… 😭

franchise: CYBERPUNK 2077

pairing: your KERRY EURODYNE, my V

details: MxM, cis men, advanced literate, 2+ paragraphs,

themes: romance, smut, persevering at the face of hardship, two men with the complication of the threat of death / Johnny fuckin Silverhand / a rockstar life / age gap / a lifetime of loss and disappointment / Kerry's low-key bipolar mental health on their shoulders, yet both putting in effort to make things work.

dynamic: character study, figuring out who they are and how they fit into one another's life in a relationship. roughly 70-30 divide on most of the focus being on Kerry, with V basically being his support character and love interest. Kerry finally getting the support he deserves, and someone who STAYS no matter how much death might try to take V.

OTHER DETAILS ↠

•would adore a long-time writing partner; I’ve been known to commit to a ship for months and months if our chemistry is good!

•25+ only! I myself am 33, he/him, trans guy. European, but I don’t care about your location; my schedule is wack and unpredictable anyway, so I’ll be online at varying times.

• all characters will be not only 18+, but 30+.

•I’d LOVE a minimum of a few replies a week, but I’m definitely okay with occasional longer pauses. life happens and as long as I'm kept in the loop about potential slow responses, I'm pretty chill. depending on how my schedule is, I can either do multiple a day or a few a week, so I’m good with either from you. if you know you will only reply every few weeks, I'm not for you.

•third person / past tense / multiple paragraphs preferred. I tend to write very long posts and, though I don't expect you to always match my length, I do at least require equal effort. I come equipped with writing samples!

•I prefer to write on discord, on a shared server, where we can sort all our stuff and threads - but I am open to side blogs on Tumblr if that's more your speed. whether we do or don't use Tupperbox is up to you.

•open to AUs, multiple threads, several timelines, crossovers, etc. definitely game to fill in the world with side characters and I'm happy to write Johnny in V's head on the side. I’m very flexible, as long as we’re both inspired and enthusiastic.

•NOT looking to double up as a default. I'm game to do multiple different ships with one partner, but don't approach me with the assumption of doubling up.

•communication is key! I’m very open with what I have going on, hope you can be too.

•I'm definitely okay with darker subject matters. I however am not interested in glorifying SA or the such, nor do I care for toxic relationships. I prefer a redemption arc and people fighting through obstacles and perservering at the face of peril together over writing them being actively bad for each other. "us against the world", rather than "us against each other.”

•NSFW / smut desired, open to both slow burn as well as "love at first sight" kind of scenarios. again, AUs galore.

↞

hmu and I'll be happy to expand over DMs! so, y'know, like this post and I'll come fetch you, or feel free to check out my blog in case it's a potential match! don't be shy; I'll let you look over my stuff first and you can decide if I'm for you.

please only reach out if you're genuinely interested; it's a drought out here and ya boi’s been ghosted enough times on this 😔 ✧ 🎤

⭐️

[doverpf]

🎤 I know this is an impossible ask at this point... but I'm still asking if someone's looking to write KERRY EURODYNE of CYBERPUNK 2077?

long story even longer; I'm seeking for your Kerry Eurodyne against my male V. m x m, cis men, I come equipped with a lil bio (available on my blog) for my version of our infamous MC. looking for themes of persevering at the face of hardship, two men with the complication of the threat of death / Johnny fuckin Silverhand / a rockstar life / age gap / a lifetime of loss and disappointment / Kerry's bipolar mental health on their shoulders putting in effort to make things work. pretty much a 70-30 divide on most of the focus being on Kerry, with V basically being his support character and love interest.

important deets:

↠

•would adore a long-time writing partner; I’ve been known to commit to a ship for months and months if our chemistry is good! I also often draw my ships and am often open for art trades, wink wonk.

•25+ only! I myself am 33, he/him, trans guy. European, but I don’t care about your location; my schedule is wack and unpredictable anyway, so I’ll be online at varying times.

• all characters will be not only 18+, but 30+.

•I’d LOVE a minimum of a few replies a week, but I’m definitely okay with occasional longer pauses. life happens and as long as I'm kept in the loop about potential slow responses, I'm pretty chill. depending on how my schedule is, I can either do multiple a day or a few a week, so I’m good with either from you.

•third person / past tense / multiple paragraphs preferred. I tend to write very long posts and, though I don't expect you to always match my length, I do at least require equal effort. I come equipped with writing samples!

•I prefer to write on discord, on a shared server, where we can sort all our stuff and threads - but I am open to side blogs on Tumblr if that's more your speed. whether we do or don't use Tupperbox is up to you.

•open to AUs, multiple threads, several timelines, crossovers, most things! definitely game to fill in the world with side characters and I'm happy to write Johnny in V's head on the side. I’m very flexible, as long as we’re both inspired and enthusiastic.

•NOT looking to double up as a default. I'm definitely game to do multiple different ships with one partner, but don't approach me with the assumption of doubling up.

•communication is key! I’m very open with what I have going on, hope you can be too.

•I'm definitely okay with darker subject matters. I however am not interested in glorifying SA or the such, nor do I care for toxic relationships. I prefer a redemption arc and people fighting through obstacles and perservering at the face of peril together over writing them being actively bad for each other. "us against the world", rather than "us against each other.”

•NSFW / smut desired, open to both slow burn as well as "love at first sight" kind of scenarios. again, AUs galore.

↞

is that it? probably not. but, I'll be happy to expand over DMs. so, like this post and I'll come fetch you, or feel free to check out my blog in case it's a potential match! don't be shy; I'll let you look over my stuff first and you can decide if I'm for you.

please only reach out if you're genuinely interested; it's a drought out here. 😔 ✧ 🎤

if interested, please like this post or reach out to the user above. ♡

[wingsoverlagos]

Hi, wingsoverlagos! Love your blog from The Bruce McMouse Show' Paul to your posts on magic Lewisohn. Thank you a lot! And not that it matters but I thought about you when read this comment on youtube (by @DrAnne-mc8er, who tells nice and seems truely stories about her family, especially on her unkle worked with The Beatles in 1969, and her own childhood near Paul, John, George and Ringo),

'… I've kept written diaries my whole life, which our youngest daughter is in the (necessarily) very long process of putting in date order with my help. These go way back to the early 50's, and include things which (now) seem so innocent and naive. Like when John knocked me off a swing in the local park, and when John and Paul had a real fight over a pair of £2 roller skates, both refusing to give up the one skate they each were holding on to for dear life! LOL Obviously this was when we were all still teenage kids fooling around.

Yes, I was contacted by a lady well over a year ago from "the office of" Mr Lewisohn in London, which to be quite honest, I thought was an arrogant way of him going about things, and I said so to the lady. Anyway he called back to "personally apologise". I should probably clarify that I'm now well into my seventies, and have a number of health issues. Yet rather than come up and see me at home in Liverpool, Mr Lewisohn assumed that I would be so keen to be in his book, that I would take the 3 hour train journey, to go and see him (or an assistant) in London, stay overnight if necessary, and then "hope" that anything I would say about the early days, might make it into his planned book. ALL at my own personal expense!

Needless to say I told my husband what Mr Lewisohn expected, and I also phoned Paul to tell him (in no uncertain terms) what I thought of the man. Frustratingly, our daughter who's here now, has just said I can't say what Paul said to me over the phone, here in a public forum. So that's as much as I can say. Well, other than I chose NOT to take the delightful Mr Lewisohn up on his offer! (I'm angry with him now all over again, just recalling what the arrogant sod expected me to do!) But anyway greenatom, you now know the story behind all that.

PS - Our daughter's gone home, so I'll quickly tell you that Paul said he'd talk to Richie (Ringo) about everything, and would phone me back. Anyway in the meantime, Barb phoned me and said Richie was furious with this Mark Lewisohn about what had happened, and that he should "stick his effing book where the sun don't shine!" LOL Then Paul phoned me back the same evening, and said he'd been round to Richie and Barb's (which of course I knew after chatting with Barb earlier), and said it was entirely up to me. but that he and Richie, both felt that I should tell Mark Lewisohn to "eff off". So I don't know for certain, but I think Paul and Richie might have temporarily fallen out a bit with Mr Lewisohn. Not just because of how he spoke to me, but mainly because as Paul said over the phone, the book is supposed to be about The Beatles. Not what the lads got up to as kids individually. Sorry for writing such a stupidly long reply, but take care anyway, and please stay healthy and wear a mask x' From https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3hv2EkzqUb8&lc=Ugy-Dnq03NdsYhh6xTB4AaABAg&ab_channel=YouCan%27tUnhearThis

Thank you so much for reading my posts, and for sending this message along! The comment thread in question is very interesting and sent me down quite the rabbithole. I wanted to believe! But I fear this person's story doesn't line up on close inspection.

The thread in question is at the top of the comment section on this video on the You Can't Unhear This Youtube channel. It's from the user "DrAnne-mc8er" who claims to be the neice of Bob Moog, of synthesizer fame. The thread is over 100 comments long with many replies by Dr. Anne. In addition to being the neice of Bob Moog, she claims to have known Paul and George as kids, being a couple of years younger than them, and to still be friends with them to this day. She says she has many handwritten journals starting in the 1950s and, most pertinently, she claims to have been contacted by the office of Mark Lewisohn. Her story goes that a research assistant of Lewisohn contacted her; Dr. Anne thought it was rudely done, and Lewisohn then conteacted her personally to apologize. She came away with the impression that he was full of himself, and then spoke to Paul & Ringo, who confirmed that Lewisohn was bad news.

Obviously, this story was like catnip to me. Having beef with Mark Lewisohn is such a specific thing to lie about, I thought, would anyone bother to add this detail if they were simply LARPing as someone celeb-adjacent? Still, there were some details that gave me pause. Dr. Anne said, for instance, that John was a devout christian at the time of the Maureen Cleave interview, which...lol. But one very wrong assumption doesn't necessarily invalidate her entire story. She also said that George Harrison had done uncredited backing vocals on London Town, which sounds improbable, but idk, you never know???

So I decided to dig in to see if anything she said held water. First, I image searched her profile picture (crazy how using a basic google function makes me feel like Sherlock Holmes), and the results were somewhat encouraging: the picture was indeed of a Dr. Anne Cremona, a psychologist. Further digging showed that the real Dr. Anne and the commenter Dr. Anne both professed to have at least four children. On the flip side, Commenter Dr. Anne purports to live in Liverpool, while Actual Dr. Anne practices in London. Not a realistic commute, eh?

But the story truly fell apart once I looked into Bob Moog, who I previously knew nothing about aside from the fact that he was the Synthesizer Guy. Commenter Dr. Anne said that her mother was Bob Moog's younger sister, who had moved to the UK in 1938. She named her grandfather as Robert Sr. There are claims with all of these problems, not the least of which is the fact that Bob Moog seems to have been an only child. I read the first few chapters of a biography of Moog--(Switched On by Albert Glinsky)--which provides plenty of detail on Moog's family going several generations back, but doesn't mention any siblings.

The second issue is the timing: based on this commenter's story, she would have been born around 1944 or 1945. Bob Moog was born in 1934. If he somehow had a younger sister who went unmentioned in his biography, she would have been at most three years old in 1938, when she purportedly went to Liverpool--with a non-parent guardian, as Bob Moog lived with both his parents. This sister would have been ten at the oldest when "Dr. Anne" claims to have been born.

Then we have her grandfather, Robert Sr. Bob Moog was actually the first Robert in a long line of Georges. His dad was George, his grandfather was George, and his great-grandfather was, I think, Georg. There may have been another George thrown in there.

So it seems like this commenter is just doing some high effort LARPing. The thing I'm left wondering is whether or not this commenter is actually Dr. Anne Cremona. If it isn't, they didn't just pick a random picture for their troll account, but used her name as well, all while incorporating details that seem pulled from her life. There's the number of children for one, but the commenter also sprinkles in some psychology talk.

What's the deal? Is this an actual psychologist doing some dedicated trolling (the comment chain spanned a time period of more than a year) with her actual name and picture? Or is this a troll impersonating an actual psychologist as part of their neice-of-Bob-Moog routine?

Thank you for sending this my way, @tavolgisvist! It may not be the genuine article, but I had a lot of fun digging into it. The Mark Lewisohn Tipline (my askbox) is always open!

[merge-conflict]

#5, #28, #31!

ty :3 questions are from here

5 - quote one of your fics out of context

I don’t know how he responds to that. I’m tired of looking at him. I wish I could talk to you properly, and I wish I could talk to you alone, and I don’t know if that will ever happen. I don’t know if you feel what I feel but I hope you don’t.

(from thread-safe)

28 - Which fic is closest to your heart?

definitely thread-safe. when i started writing fic in earnest again it was because playing cyberpunk all the way through inspired me to tear out my own heart by creating a v destined to be in hopelessly requited love with takemura and the idea rapidly expanded from there but through lots of practice i managed to create something that is simultaneously horny, devastating, and stubbornly hopeful. it's the piece that has made me realize no practice is wasted and self-indulgence is truly the spark of creation.

31 - Which fic would you most like to see made into a movie?

man. tough question to answer because i'm not sure anything i've written is a good scope for a movie. most things are either too short or too long, or sequel material. I guess the damn things overlap would be the best candidate, just because it is setup fairly straightforward of one action-packed week, and I've thought about the scenes so much sometimes I think I have seen them as visual media playing out.

it's got a good balance of action & time to breathe I think would work well as a movie. starting in media res, introducing valentine & goro & johnny and following them through the world. their relationships really starting to deepen. all the bits of drama where valentine snaps and begets violence. goro struggling with his feelings. the montage where she fixes him up. the few moments of peace in the badlands. the stressful action of the parade where she's deteriorating in realtime. the midpoint climax where johnny takes the reins. i'd watch that in a theater on a big screen for sure. maybe more of an indulgent netflix limited series but the spirit is there!

[zahri-melitor]

Tom King's Batman (#1-85 2016)

And done.

I have a lot of thoughts about this as a contained run, because King clearly had some overarching goals and plotlines he wanted to tell through all of this, but equally I often had a difficult time trying to keep track of which plot he was working on and whether the story he was busy telling actually had direction.

Because one side of it was King having a lot of fun writing Bruce/Selina, and considering it in terms of their longterm relationship, all the way back to the Golden Age, with lots of references to previous events that may only be of dubious canonicity now, to pull out old events and point to them again, to show why they would reach this point that they might consider getting married.

And then dealing with the fact that editorial wouldn't let him have Bruce & Selina get married, because we were still firmly mired in Dan Didio Doesn't Believe Superheroes Should Have Permanent Happiness, but decidedly not actually breaking them up and having them just have a separation on page for a year or so (half of it in Batman spent in the middle of dream sequences revolving around the wedding) until people stopped breath down his neck, then... having Bruce and Selina running around like a couple again together.

And on the other hand, he is writing an over-complicated plot where Bane once again compares himself to Bruce and sets himself up in opposition; but this time he does it using, among others, Bruce's failures (and perceived failures) over handling Henry and Claire Clover (and their parallels to Bruce's origin story) as well as Flashpoint!Thomas Wayne (and bringing all of the Flashpoint and associated sequels storytelling into this) while not digging into the old Bane Half-Brothers story but existing in a universe where I had to wonder if Flashpoint!Thomas Wayne did know about the Bane Half-Brothers theory in his own universe.

And lining these two overarching plot threads up against each other: I think King had a bit of trouble navigating keeping both plots moving forward, particularly given the fact he really seems to enjoy telling nonlinear stories. He loves jumping around the narrative and hiding things and then showing them to you later too much.

Which can be interesting! Dropping people into the narrative and bypassing the setup and showing it later, using different styles of storytelling (flashbacks, dream sequences, asynchronous storytelling) can have fun effects in moderation, particularly in how it allows him to conceal things characters know and set up issue cliffhangers for effect. But I found it overused in the run, to the point when I had a number of occasions where I had difficulty picking up what had just happened, and why we were now in a 7 issue dream sequence.

It also slowed the story down significantly, in terms of moving the plot forward.

The other thing that really jumps out to me about the run is King's fondness for repurposing stories and mythology and setting up parallels. He likes referencing and adapting material and using it for the story he wants to tell, in what felt to me like quite a transformative-fandom style approach to storytelling. Examples of this included:-

Henry and Claire Clover's childhood shooting v Bruce's (and their similar yet different reactions to it)

Batman #38, aka "Tom King redoes Gotham Knights #1' and the child who killed his parents

Batman Annual #4 2016: where Everyday is just another version of Gotham Knights #32's 24/7 and what Batman does with his time

Batman #9, where he lines Bane's childhood up with its appearances in Batman: Vengeance of Bane #1

Batman #36 & #37: the Bruce/Selina and Clark/Lois double dates, which very much felt in conversation with their Hush appearances among others and I swear the elevator scene is a reference to an event during post-Crisis where Selina arrives on the scene in a Justice League story via the elevator shaft, but can I remember where?

The Animals in the Pit by Nikolaevich Afanasyev, which originally appears in Batman #57 and then continues appearing sporadically throughout

Batman #51-52 Cold Days, the jury trial two parter, which not only felt to me like King arguing with the perception that vigilantes contaminated evidence and his view that if Bruce sees Batman as above the law he cannot do the work, but also felt in conversation with Bruce Wayne: Murderer in a number of aspects

Rules of Engagement, Batman #33-35, which was not only the Selina v Talia face off and the kids dealing with the fact that Bruce was getting married, but also felt in conversation with a lot of the classic movie and novel depictions of the Bedouin that King was clearly drawing from in his perception of Ra's and the League (and say what you will, acknowledging the Lawrence of Arabia links to Al Ghul storytelling and the literary tradition surrounding it is better than shoving them in a drawer and ignoring it)

Overall, I think my perception of the run as a whole is 'bit off a bit more than it could chew' and 'needed a more linear plotline'. There are a lot of stories and arcs within it that I either enjoyed or appreciated the intent and references (even if I thought the story had been done better elsewhere). My major problem was that the connections between storylines were not solid enough despite having a through plot, to the point I found myself lost on a number of occasions where I felt I'd missed an issue confirming how we got from A to C.

A lot of the stand alones and two parters are solid in a way that you can pull them out and hand them to someone who doesn't want to get invested in 85 issues of storyline. It's not quite the level of 'writing for social media panel sharing' that you see pop up more frequently in recent years, but instead feels more like allowing casuals to drop in for a story at least once a year when they heard the hype.

I think I would recommend taking a look at the run under a qualification that it is absolutely worth dipping into for the bunch of the storylines that do not involve Bane or Flashpoint!Thomas Wayne plots. There are scattered issues in the Bane arcs that I do think were interesting, but generally that storyline I found less riveting and more 'waiting until we got back to the interstitial other stories'.

I actually think it would be one to pick and choose what stories you think sound interesting and drop in for them, because while you might end up a bit confused about the overarching arc, reading the whole thing doesn't necessarily fix that as a problem.

[ultrvmonogamy]

this is prob v random but this has been on my mind for a long time and now i’ve finally found the courage to send this (please bear with me, english isn’t my first language🥲)

i usually have a somewhat uncomfortable feeling with people (usually especially men) who post extreme paraphilia stuff like you do, just because idk how these men actually are and if in reality theyre entirely different from what they seem to be on here, but with you this feeling isn’t there. your blog, how gruesome it might be sometimes, is just for some reason comforting and just real and honest, and you just seem like a super wholesome person who doesn’t differ in person from how they show themselves on this silly little platform. please never stop being you, to me you’re one of the few “real” people on this platform, who aren’t afraid to actually be their real selves <3

i hope you’re having a fantastic day🫶

hey there, i don't find it random at all considering how things have been around here recently. in my estimation, it counts for a lot that you would gather your courage to reach out for my sake, especially if you're not entirely confident w your english (which at least in writing seems excellent).

i am v pleased to know that i do not cause that kind of unsettling feeling and that you find me real. i think that's perhaps the most meaningful thing i could hope to hear regarding how i come across. i've spoken abt this before, so i'm repeating myself (but it's been a while):

i started the first incarnation of this blog w neither the expectation of nor the desire to gain an audience. my only initial motivation was to create a place where i could vent or spout nonsense and maybe reflect my own thoughts back at myself as words on a page for insight or perspective or even just to get them out of my head to clear stagnation and make room for smth new (not sure it actually works that way, but that's another topic).

the specific content of my posts was largely irrelevant in that i did not (and still often do not) care whether it was boring or funny or unintelligible or interesting or trite or insightful or offensive or corny or profound or vapid. i did not intend for my content to be received by anybody but me, and i didn't always even necessarily care to receive it myself.

a short time after i'd established a habit of posting here (by which i again mean the first incarnation of this blog), a couple things began to unfold simultaneously. one was that particular themes began to emerge in my content, and the other was that for some reason i didn't understand at the time, my little vent blog began to accumulate followers.

regarding the emergent themes, well, the common thread is that they largely entailed aspects of myself and my psyche which i'd not, to a greater or lesser extent, integrated into my person. the reasons for that have been many including lack of self-awareness on my part, being uncomfortable or confused abt them, being pathologically guarded abt sharing them w others (for a variety of reasons), a disdain for the scar tissue and shrapnel that's remained inside of me due to past traumas etc. the consequences of this lack of integration (and/or unhealthy integration), as u might imagine considering the fact that you've rightly characterized some of my content as "gruesome", had been deleterious. they had for a long time and to a much greater degree than i was aware, stifled/limited my abilities to express myself, nurture myself, accept and love myself, to connect w others, to nurture and love others, to receive love from others, and to find any manner of living free of internal friction between parts of my own self.

a big chunk of all that involved sexual proclivities and power dynamics, sadistic tendencies, and similar. posts touching on those topics also happened to be the content that my blog's followers interacted w most. i'd never been part of a kink community before (my experience in the realm was essentially limited to private interactions w partners and within committed relationships), and through that follower interaction i found the opportunity to resonate and relate to others authentically in areas i'd been editing or repressing or guarding to a suffocating extent.

this blog, though i frequently riff off of things and kinda sorta embrace a caricature of myself at times, has always at core been a place for me to be authentic and to work towards further self-acceptance, nurturing, and healthy expression of my authentic self, even willing myself to dare to believe that perhaps that effort might even extend something positive to others who may also struggle to embrace their own authenticity in a healthy manner or in various contexts.

i've written in detail in the past abt why and how i feel hard kinks can sometimes be a powerful medium for transformation and transcendence for certain kinds of ppl and under certain conditions. i don't know if those posts or asks may still be floating around this site or have been vaporized or perhaps sit orphaned in tumblr's databases never to be seen again, but anyway that's its own topic, and although a lot of my content (and certainly my most popular content) is sexual in nature, i've never rly considered this to be a kink blog in any definitive sense, and i don't identify as a "dom" either for that matter (although i'm sure i've likely referred to myself that way as a comedic device).

alright, i've typed way too many words, and idk how much i might've meandered from my point, but maybe it helps to explain why it is i don't trigger that uncomfortable feeling for u. i'm literally just a guy over here who's had a lot of extreme experience, who has experienced a wide variety of trauma and tragedy--largely with no say in the matter but also due to my own poor judgment, naivety, or self-destructive impulses--and who has been striving to assemble something positive from a lot of torn and jagged parts in order to do better than simply survive. a lot of that effort has been hit or miss, but i am (at least from my vantage point) fairly steadily trending in the right direction. i understand clearly, though, that with too small a field of view to afford an awareness of that trend (or via cherry picking w some ulterior motive), or without some intuitive sense of who i am over here, a whole lot of the points in between can look p fucking unacceptably horrendous in isolation. thank you very much for finding the courage to share your perspective and experience with me. i'm grateful for it, and i wish you a fantastic day as well 🩵

[ladytauria]

2, 3, 5, 6 (and will you read it in the upcoming year), 10 ,14, 18, 20, 24 y 25!

thank you for asking!!! i had to grab books from last year bc this year was a bad reading year for me, but the questions were/are fun!

2. Did you reread anything? What?

i reread the last unicorn yesterday!!! bc i was feeling nostalgic. i made. a BUNCH more highlights in my kindle. (altho i read my physical copy lol.) there's just... so much good stuff in there, aah.

(oh ik u sent me an ask about this, idk if you saw it--ik tumblr is goofy--but its here! also, minor clarification: it doesn't have a *sequel* but there's a pair of novellas, released as one book, that are set in the same world!)

3. What were your top five books of the year?

i. didn't read very much this year at all. (er, published books! i did read a ton of fanfic). the beginning of this year was exTREMELY stressful, and in the latter half, all the books i started just. failed to grab me :/

that said!! i met my reading goal last year, so i will just include those!!

One of the books I did read this year was The Cybernetic Tea Shop by Meredith Katz, a v cute novella about a mechanic & an android. It's set a few centuries in the future, where robotics have advanced significantly. Intelligent AI were banned a long time ago, but those few whose bodies have not eroded / code hasn't corrupted are allowed to remain. The android in the fic runs a Tea Shop, which she inherited from her long-deceased lover <3 (The book is also sappic! I would love to read more of Katz's work.

Also, like I said, I reread The Last Unicorn, which I think would be on a top 5 in general for me, if I were ever to attempt to narrow that down xD. The prose in this book is beautiful; there are so many lovely lines. And the themes in the book--the play of mortality vs immortality, the structure of fairy tales & how the ppl in this setting are v much bound by them--are present from the very beginning, which was a fun thing to pick up on during my reread xD

All Systems Red by Martha Wells! I read a lot of sci-fi last year for some reason? Anyway, I adored this. Murderbot is a fascinating pov character & I love the choices Wells makes with it. My only gripe is that I could not immediately go out and buy the rest of the series.

Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger!!! this was. so cute. It's YA, I think? Yes, okay, Storygraph confirms this. The writing is lovely, and I adore the main character and the story! One thing you see a lot of--or, actually, I guess I should say I see a lot of--in YA is like. The rebellion against authority figures? Parents are often antagonists, and I understand why this is, but it was very refreshing that in this book Elatsoe's parental/adult figures were so present & involved & like. There was this mutual respect between them that I adored. Also, she can talk to ghosts? And solves her cousin's murder by doing so! And she has a ghost dog. What's not to love?? (Oh, and she's ace, which I think I remember her mentioning explicitly! Also, the way Native culture is threaded through the book is just. Lovely.)

Am. Am I already at 5. How did. How did I get to 5 already 🥺 *kicks foot* Okay. I. Would not be me. If I didn't mention Nona the Ninth. The only reason I didn't rec the Locked Tomb series to you is bc you mentioned not wanting sci-fi, and while there are a lot of fantasy elements, it is. Very sci-fi. Anyway. I admit that I was not enthused about going into this book. Nona was originally going to be a novella, released between Harrow & Alecto, and when I heard it was getting full novel status I was. Kind of not happy. But oh my god. It was so good. The first half, or maybe even 2/3rds, of the book is very slice-of-life, with Nona going to school & planning her birthday party (despite being only 6mo old). You can tell there is more Plot happening, but Nona is v much oblivious and also being kept out of it. And then the last half/3rd is Plot-Plot-Plot. And my god. That ENDING. Alecto can't get here soon enough, I'm. I need it. I need it. OH. Okay, no, I was right when I said half bc this book is the first split POV, in that every other chapter / every couple chapters is narrated by Jod. (The God Emperor, John Gaius) while he tells his story. It was fascinating, I thought I would hate those chapters, but he is. Such a compelling antagonist, omg. Also there were more memes uwu. First book I ever annotated along with as I was reading, too!! I---

Stopping. Cutting myself off. Sorry; these books make me gush.

5. What genre did you read the most of?

Normally the answer to this is fantasy, but! I think Sci-Fi won out <3

6. Was there anything you meant to read, but never got to?

Yes! Both last year and this year I meant to read some of my spooky-ish books for October and did not. Specifically! I meant to read:

Carmilla & Laura by S.D. Simper -> I have so many of Simper's books on my kindle, but this one is a standalone, which I've been prioritizing so I don't go buy more books w/o reading the ones I have. This is a re-telling, which I was going to read with / around the copy of the original that I have.

Plain Bad Heroines - Emily M. Danforth -> I believe this is told in a dual timeline? After three people are killed at a girls' boarding school, it closes its doors. Over a century later, a bestselling book is written about the girls and inspires a horror-film adaptation, filmed on-site. And I'm just going to use the last line of the goodreads blurb, bc it makes me want to read it now: But as Brookhants opens its gates once again, and our three modern heroines arrive on set to begin filming, past and present become grimly entangled—or perhaps just grimly exploited—and soon it’s impossible to tell where the curse leaves off and Hollywood begins.

My Dearest Darkest by Kayla Cottingham -> One of the books I did start. I'm 9% in. It's a YA novel, also set at a boarding school. A group of girls accidentally summon an eldritch horror who promises to grant their every desire... for a price, which becomes steeper and steeper as time goes on.

The Lost Girls by Sonia Hartl -> Also YA! I got this one recently. A vampire turned by her boyfriend ends up falling for his latest victim, while plotting with his other exes to kill him.

There are a lot more I'm carrying into next year, but I am most disappointed in not getting to those!

Oh, and the Priory of the Orange Tree. (I'm. 20% through. This one is a Beast!!)

10. What was your favorite new release of the year?

I don't buy a lot of new releases for cost reasons---these days most of my books are purchased through ThriftBooks or eBook sales (I am subbed to a few sites which notify you of deals; my favorite of which is BookBub). However! I had Nona pre-ordered <3 So. Nona.

14. What books do you want to finish before the year is over?

any of them.

going into the new year with only 2 books read last/this year makes me very sad 🥺

18. How many books did you buy?

i plead the fifth

also i have no clue

20. What was your most anticipated release? Did it meet your expectations?

gotta go with Nona. i was a weird mix of both unenthused (bc this was supposed to be kind of a side novella) and enthused (bc i love this series and i wish i could do what Tamsyn Muir does) but it not only met but surpassed my expectations. Nona was... Nona's identity was a core mystery of the book; she was, more or less, a brand new character who never showed up in the previous two books, so i was. skeptical of going in, let alone to her pov.

but.

it was so good.

i. already gushed about it. i'm not. i'm not going to do it again.

24. Did you DNF anything? Why?

think i might be DNFing The Bookshop & the Barbarian. love the premise but i've noticed. a few issues in the text.

one i have def for sure DNF'd is Alma Katsu's The Deep. her books are horror + historical fiction. i finished The Hunger (which follows the Donner Party) but it was. very much a slog. i didn't like most of the characters, the horror was there but the reveal was lackluster to me. it got 3 stars tho bc it was very much a "this book isn't bad, just not for me" type of read? (there was an aspect i did like / even found kind of funny, but i--- hm. ig if you go in not knowing like, the names of the party members it would be a spoiler to say it, but otherwise i guess its... not a spoiler? idk??? i dunno, there was a subversion that i loved, but also i'm not super familiar with the specificities of the Donner Party so it may not have even been a subversion, if her telling was that accurate? i realize this is vague. apologies.)

The Deep is supposed to be abt the Titanic which. i love the Titanic, and i love ocean horror (it's a close second to arctic horror for me, and one day i want to find a book that scratches the same itch as The White Vault podcast does). but i realized early on that it wasn't a match for me, and i wish i had DNF'd The Hunger as well.

25. What reading goals do you have for next year?

my reading goals are the same every year---26 books. that's a book every other week! originally i used to set it to 52 but i've had too many bad reading years.

my secondary reading goal is to cut my TBR (of books i own) in half. i don't. i don't want to admit how many that is bc. just looking at the number on my kindle makes me feel bad.

[findroleplay]

🎤 yep, it's me, still looking… 😭

franchise: CYBERPUNK 2077

pairing: your KERRY EURODYNE, my V

details: MxM, cis men, advanced literate, 2+ paragraphs,

themes: romance, smut, persevering at the face of hardship, two men with the complication of the threat of death / Johnny fuckin Silverhand / a rockstar life / age gap / a lifetime of loss and disappointment / Kerry's low-key bipolar mental health on their shoulders, yet both putting in effort to make things work.

dynamic: character study, figuring out who they are and how they fit into one another's life in a relationship. roughly 70-30 divide on most of the focus being on Kerry, with V basically being his support character and love interest. Kerry finally getting the support he deserves, and someone who STAYS no matter how much death might try to take V.

OTHER DETAILS ↠

•would adore a long-time writing partner; I’ve been known to commit to a ship for months and months if our chemistry is good!

•25+ only! I myself am 33, he/him, trans guy. European, but I don’t care about your location; my schedule is wack and unpredictable anyway, so I’ll be online at varying times.

• all characters will be not only 18+, but 30+.

•I’d LOVE a minimum of a few replies a week, but I’m definitely okay with occasional longer pauses. life happens and as long as I'm kept in the loop about potential slow responses, I'm pretty chill. depending on how my schedule is, I can either do multiple a day or a few a week, so I’m good with either from you. if you know you will only reply every few weeks, I'm not for you.

•third person / past tense / multiple paragraphs preferred. I tend to write very long posts and, though I don't expect you to always match my length, I do at least require equal effort. I come equipped with writing samples!

•I prefer to write on discord, on a shared server, where we can sort all our stuff and threads - but I am open to side blogs on Tumblr if that's more your speed. whether we do or don't use Tupperbox is up to you.

•open to AUs, multiple threads, several timelines, crossovers, etc. definitely game to fill in the world with side characters and I'm happy to write Johnny in V's head on the side. I’m very flexible, as long as we’re both inspired and enthusiastic.

•NOT looking to double up as a default. I'm game to do multiple different ships with one partner, but don't approach me with the assumption of doubling up.

•communication is key! I’m very open with what I have going on, hope you can be too.

•I'm definitely okay with darker subject matters. I however am not interested in glorifying SA or the such, nor do I care for toxic relationships. I prefer a redemption arc and people fighting through obstacles and perservering at the face of peril together over writing them being actively bad for each other. "us against the world", rather than "us against each other.”

•NSFW / smut desired, open to both slow burn as well as "love at first sight" kind of scenarios. again, AUs galore.

↞

hmu and I'll be happy to expand over DMs! so, y'know, like this post and I'll come fetch you, or feel free to check out my blog in case it's a potential match! don't be shy; I'll let you look over my stuff first and you can decide if I'm for you.

please only reach out if you're genuinely interested; it's a drought out here and ya boi’s been ghosted enough times on this 😔 ✧ 🎤

-

[theroleplayclassifieds]

🎤 I know this is an impossible ask at this point... but I'm still asking if someone's looking to write KERRY EURODYNE of CYBERPUNK 2077?

long story even longer; I'm seeking for your Kerry Eurodyne against my male V. m x m, cis men, I come equipped with a lil bio (available on my blog) for my version of our infamous MC. looking for themes of persevering at the face of hardship, two men with the complication of the threat of death / Johnny fuckin Silverhand / a rockstar life / age gap / a lifetime of loss and disappointment / Kerry's bipolar mental health on their shoulders putting in effort to make things work. pretty much a 70-30 divide on most of the focus being on Kerry, with V basically being his support character and love interest.

important deets:

↠

•would adore a long-time writing partner; I’ve been known to commit to a ship for months and months if our chemistry is good! I also often draw my ships and am often open for art trades, wink wonk.

•25+ only! I myself am 33, he/him, trans guy. European, but I don’t care about your location; my schedule is wack and unpredictable anyway, so I’ll be online at varying times.

• all characters will be not only 18+, but 30+.

•I’d LOVE a minimum of a few replies a week, but I’m definitely okay with occasional longer pauses. life happens and as long as I'm kept in the loop about potential slow responses, I'm pretty chill. depending on how my schedule is, I can either do multiple a day or a few a week, so I’m good with either from you.

•third person / past tense / multiple paragraphs preferred. I tend to write very long posts and, though I don't expect you to always match my length, I do at least require equal effort. I come equipped with writing samples!

•I prefer to write on discord, on a shared server, where we can sort all our stuff and threads - but I am open to side blogs on Tumblr if that's more your speed. whether we do or don't use Tupperbox is up to you.

•open to AUs, multiple threads, several timelines, crossovers, most things! definitely game to fill in the world with side characters and I'm happy to write Johnny in V's head on the side. I’m very flexible, as long as we’re both inspired and enthusiastic.

•NOT looking to double up as a default. I'm definitely game to do multiple different ships with one partner, but don't approach me with the assumption of doubling up.

•communication is key! I’m very open with what I have going on, hope you can be too.

•I'm definitely okay with darker subject matters. I however am not interested in glorifying SA or the such, nor do I care for toxic relationships. I prefer a redemption arc and people fighting through obstacles and perservering at the face of peril together over writing them being actively bad for each other. "us against the world", rather than "us against each other.”

•NSFW / smut desired, open to both slow burn as well as "love at first sight" kind of scenarios. again, AUs galore.

↞

is that it? probably not. but, I'll be happy to expand over DMs. so, like this post and I'll come fetch you, or feel free to check out my blog in case it's a potential match! don't be shy; I'll let you look over my stuff first and you can decide if I'm for you.

please only reach out if you're genuinely interested; it's a drought out here. 😔 ✧ 🎤