#posting to photos and other things to the void
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nextstopwonderland · 29 days ago
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I guess it really does just annoy the fuck out of me that Bryan Danielson is irl this chill laid back non yelly guy who has the most well-adjusted, supportive, normal relationship (and no none of these things are me editorializing they’re stuff straight out of both his and brje’s mouth) which I suppose is what I was trying to ultimately express with this post by showing the irony and also the links and yet so much of fandom is gonna constantly headcanon him as some yelly guy with poor communication who is toxic and angry
and I’m not talking about in kayfabe which is fine. I’m talking about a default characterization that has for a large part become point blank across the board influenced by kayfabe, not even in fic like in just general passing or yes in the context of a storyline where he would just never really get any sort of leeway, meanwhile you don’t see that same stuff with someone like Claudio or yuta or even mox who are out there being evil on the reg. They still get a sort of woobified treatment.
like I get that ppl mostly do kayfabe around here but yet then i see claudio characterization or discussions as like ~sweet meanwhile the dude doesn’t even smile and has been killing people left and right but with Bryan it was usually always the same thing like no variety at all like even when the guy would cry and bleed on the floor or be yelling about love or be saying how much he loves Yuta and doesn’t want him hurt again not once but twice or constantly showing layers and vulnerability idk man I guess a girl gets fucking tired
And it’s not like any of this really matters any more I guess but I saw something that bugged me (not the thing I reblogged earlier) and it just made me kind of lose it
so yeah tl;dr: if you truly believe the guy is actually that way in real life as opposed to a character maybe ur on the wrong blog or at least check out the 4 pages of links I’ve put up that show stuff beyond wrestling clips or like i dont fucking know listen to the hike part 2 audio which legit made me cry that no one clicked on like this man is softer than fuck
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marigraphia · 1 year ago
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Hey remember when Kory was a Justice League member with a bangin' costume
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icewindandboringhorror · 2 months ago
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A few recent images once again
#photo diary#one of the few photo diary posts actually organized with mostly more 'aesthetic' looking photos lol#Image 1 is actually not directly the morning light but the early morning sun that reflects off o#the neighbor's window and through my window so I get like.. secondhand morning sun. PART of the reason I'm moving to another apartment#in a few months (to get the hell out of a WEST FACING building (aka during the hottest part of the day the hottest sun blasts through#my windows and makes the apartment a greenhouse just in time for it to be too hot to sleep at night. Whereas an east facing or other#apartment would only get the cooler morning sun and be SHADED in the afternoon... imagine such a thing... god gods..)#Image 2 - rainbows on the carpet from my shiny window ornament things. (3) - just a lovely gray cloudy sky my beloved. (4) - pastel#sky. (5) image of my knee as I lay down in the snow!!1 yay!!! at least ONE very very tiny snow happened this year -_- we still barely get#a winter at all. But I found a secluded spot to go lay on my back in a pile of snow and just be cold and at peace (< hard to do when I dont#have my own private yard so there is always a risk of people seeing you on the ground in a public space and thinking you fell/something#is wrong lol). (6) - cool flower trees in a public park I went to!#(7) - the classic parking lot oil puddle picture. ahh..#Anyway... of course due to the moving thing I am incredibly stressed. And just...... *gestures at the US * .. haha.. hee hee... ho ho#I want to get other things done but I've just been super focused on packing and trying to finish my game so I can publish it at least befor#the world explodes & if naught else I will have gotten a few of my ideas cast into the void lol..augh.. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
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secondbeatsongs · 5 months ago
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Food Crime: Frosty the Slawman
so a while ago, I saw this photo going around on tumblr:
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at first, I thought this was photoshopped. I mean, "welcome new man in your life"? that feels like a translation error, or someone being silly on purpose.
but guess what! turns out, Frosty Slaw Man is real!
and soon...he will be mine. let's get cooking
(full disclosure: I crafted this snowman and took notes about it over a year ago. and then, like with many things in my life, I forgot about him, and let him drift into the ADHD void of Things I'm Not Currently Staring At, where object permanence is tentative and largely unrealized.
but here we are! and here he is: the slaw man. it's time to share him with you, so that you can suffer as I have suffered, and/or rejoice in my gelatin creation!)
so this recipe photo originally came from Mid-Century Menu (archive link), a blog that seems like one after my own heart, and which once tried to make the Slaw Man (with not much success; but we'll get back to that)! but it's not just that blog that has copies of this ad. I also found it on reddit, and in a few different places on ebay!
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lookit that guy! he's a real guy!
both the reddit post and some of the ebay listings say that this is from 1963 (though I haven't been able to figure out which magazines it was printed in, to confirm this for myself). but in looking this up, I discovered something else fun! there's another version of this ad!
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Best Foods is what Hellmann's stuff is called on the west coast, and the "this is no place for second best" thing makes a lot more sense when you consider that the ad was probably made for Best Foods first, and then just reused and rebranded for the east coast
the more you know!
anyway the benefit of finding this alternate ad is that the scan on this image is a lot clearer, and so the recipe is more readable! and in looking at it, I've realized something important:
when Mid-Century Menu tried this recipe, they got an ingredient amount wrong.
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when they made their beloved Slaw Man, they had the water amount written down as 1/4 cup, but looking at this scan up close, it is actually 3/4 cup of water! something that might make a significant difference, considering we're working with gelatin!
(there's also another change I want to make compared to what they did, when I do this recipe. but we'll get into that in a sec.)
for now: we begin
so. there's no way I'm making a Slaw Man this large. I am just one person, and considering the ingredients of this, I don't think I'm going to be able to consume that much Slaw.
two entire heads of cabbage? three pounds of cottage cheese, a thing that I don't even like to eat? no. that's a bad idea.
so I'm starting small here and making this 1/3 the size of the original:
2 packets of unflavored gelatin 1/4 cup cold water 1 cup mayo 1 tsp salt 1lb cottage cheese 4 cups shredded cabbage
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surely this will result in a reasonable amount of Man
...okay, I started chopping the cabbage thinking it would be easier, but I've given up and pulled out a grater. this is much better! and somehow more violent (affectionate)
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the recipe says to soften the gelatin in cold water, and then stir over hot water until it's dissolved. I'm going to assume "stir over hot water" means a double boiler, so let's do that
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hmmm, the gelatin is very foamy? it’s melted, but the bottom of the pot feels really....sticky
okay. after a couple minutes more and no change, I’m calling this good enough.
so one thing that others who have attempted this recipe have not taken into consideration is the cottage cheese. you see, the others used normal cottage cheese, but the recipe says to use "cottage cheese, cream style"
I’ll be real, I’m not 100% what that means, since we don’t have that here. but I can take an educated guess! so let’s blend the cottage cheese!
(with an immersion blender. I am not willing to wash an actual blender because of this)
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mmm, yes. very smooth
...actually. why isn't all cottage cheese like this? the thing I hate about cottage cheese is the texture, so why isn't it all smooth and creamy like this?? I could eat this!!
a new discovery is made every day in this house.
okay, time to start mixing things together.
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ah, frosty. I opened a whole new thing of mayo for you! do you feel special?
(I'd make a "pre-dinner snack?" joke, but sometimes I think I'm the only one that remembers Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time)
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okay, the mayo, cottage cheese, and salt have been added to the gelatin. but as this cools, the texture is getting...hmm. less than appealing.
lastly: the cabbage
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oh. oh this is not very nice
next it says to pack the "salad" into a one pound container, and two six-cup bowls, but since I made this recipe so much smaller, I'm going to uhhhh. uh. find some bowls that seem like they'd be correct...snowman? proportions?
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ah. this bowl is too big.
hey, these'll work!
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now I just have to let them chill for a while, and continue another day.
(edit from current!me: ahhh oh my god I forgot this was pretty soon after we adopted Jackie! look at these cat pics that I took while I was food crime-ing!
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look at them having their little interactions! Knuckles was trying so hard to be friends with her! I love them)
hello! two days later and we are ready to assemble the slawman. and my sibling has started referring to him as "frosty: attorney at slaw", so that's fun.
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I've done a thing where, as these set, I flipped them around in the bowl so that hopefully they'd be more round. we'll see if they actually stay like this.
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I have also made some decorations for him out of peppers, olives, and carrots!
let's build our boy
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oh he's so heavy. and wobbly
no no no he almost fell over!!
okay. he's fine. but more skewers were needed.
and...okay. he is complete.
behold!
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gaze upon my beautiful man!
(he is not structurally sound! he wobbles unsteadily as I rotate him! there are already cracks forming in the gelatin around where his arms are! don't worry about it!)
 now it's time to stab him
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and...to devour him
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this tastes like...a bland coleslaw? and not even that. it's just sort of a salty, cottage cheese-y cabbage. the ingredients don't combine to become something greater, they simply...sit there. like this.
and the texture is...mmm. it's not a jello kind of texture, but it is a bit squashy in a way that's mildly strange.
it's very creamy once it softens in your mouth.
...I don't like this!
and look! taking just that one chunk from him was enough to destabilize him entirely :(
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RIP frosty. now I just have to see if I can eat all of you before you go bad.
(note from current!me: I could not.
 I ate maybe half of him over the course of many days, often adding other stuff to him to try to add some flavor: bacon, frozen peas, cheese, etc. but even with that, I just couldn't stomach him.
after a while I stuck what was left of him in the freezer, hoping that maybe I'd find the will to consume the rest of him some other day.
do you know what a frozen-and-then-thawed mixture of cabbage, cottage cheese, mayo, and gelatin looks and tastes like?
bad. the answer is: bad.
I threw him out pretty quickly after thawing him.
do not try this recipe at home)
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em1i2a3 · 5 days ago
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Adore Me
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!
Summary: When the air conditioner of the Watchtower breaks during peak summertime, Bob finds an odd solution to your overheating problem.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut and Fluff yall. Bob and Reader are in an established friends with benefits relationship (that has hints of something more), Bob is a problem solver lol.
Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up yall), Temperature Play, Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Nipple Play, Dirty Talk, Bob is a bit freaky in this, but it’s a great change up, Spit Kink (kind of…An interesting take on it lol) Bob is totally a super soft dom in here to be completely honest and he’s an absolute tease, Aftercare (cause it’s essential and we love aftercare scenes!)
Authors Note: It is disgustingly hot where I live at the moment and I got this idea when I was writing something else and thought ‘Jesus Christ this is perfect’ and EUREKA 💡 it’s been made and created. And it’s so fitting cause today is supposed to be one of the hottest days of the year where I live and I’ve been sweating it up, so CHEERS TO THAT! Enjoy the read yall ❤️❤️
Word Count: 9,364
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You felt like you were choking on the air you were breathing. It clung to your lungs like steam in a sauna, heavy and thick, each inhale a sluggish, labored thing that coated the inside of your throat with undeniable heat. The Watchtower had become a pressure cooker–walls sweating, tempers rising, body’s slowly melting into puddles of collective misery.
The central air system had sputtered its final breath two days ago, and since then, the compound had been thrown into environmental purgatory. Val, of course, couldn’t be bothered.
“You’ve been trained in worse conditions? So there’s a little bit of heat…” She said over the comms, dismissing the situation with a lazy flick of her tongue, “Adapt. Hydrate. Be resourceful. You guys are a bunch of trained professionals. Jesus.”
Bucky had tried to find a solution by rush-ordering industrial-grade fans for everyone’s room. It was a notable effort, but ultimately it turned futile–the machines just churned around warm air like oversized hairdryers, only adding to the misery. Everyone had begun to crack in their own unhinged little ways soon after.
Walker had abandoned his bedroom entirely, calling it a hotbox of death–because it was facing the sun head on–and was now taking refuge on the cool concrete floor of the weapons bay, curled up beside an icebox and using a half-eaten bag of frozen peas as his pillow. Nobody knew if he was the one who ate the peas, and truly no one wanted to ask.
Alexei had opted to walk around shirtless, unapologetically drenched, swearing in Russian every time his back stuck to the leather chairs of the common room. You hadn’t seen cotton touch his torso in thirty-six hours.
Ava had tried to stick her head in the freezer at least three times–silent, dead-eyed, standing with the door propped open like a statue. She once murmured, “There’s no use…Not even the freezer can cool me down,” Before slamming the door shut and stomping away angrily.
Yelena didn’t even pretend to tough it out. She booked a hotel in the city with central air and an infinity pool and sent a group text that read: Temporarily unavailable. Followed by a photo of her in a robe, flipping everyone off.
You, on the other hand, were stuck in the sweltering hellhole that used to be the Watchtower. Unfortunately, you had responsibilities. Paperwork, of all godforsaken things–an Everest-sized pile of clearance reports, post-op evaluations, requisition forms, and incident debriefs that needed to be reviewed and signed off yesterday. As you worked through it though you were convinced the paper pile was actively multiplying every time you blinked.
You had stripped down to bare undergarments midway through the first day of this whole ordeal–tank tops and boy shorts, cycling through a mix of fabrics and colours, and faded cotton that clung to your skin within minutes of putting it on. A real outfit felt like a joke at this point. The way your thighs stuck to chairs, the way your bra would turn into a soaked band of torture across your ribs–it was all unbearable. So you stopped pretending, cause everyone had seen you in much less–unfortunately. A little skin in the name of not dying seemed fair game.
You’d made camp in the common room, spread out across the wooden floor: limbs splayed, eyes half-lidded, lips dry, surrounded by open folders and half-filled forms. Your pen was stuck between your fingers, and your knees were damp from the humidity clinging to the floorboards. You used half-complete reports as manual fans, your wrist flicking back and forth in a tired desperate rhythm.
Under the dim overhead lights your skin was shimmering. Sweat collected in the hollow of your throat, slicked down your back in slow, miserable trails, and glistened across your chest in a sheen that was just enough to be maddening.
Especially to Bob.
Bob wasn’t bothered by the heat–not one bit. In fact, he seemed to be thriving in it. While the rest of the compound staggered around like melting wax figures, Bob was walking proof that some unholy fusion of celestial physiology and boyish stubbornness could, against all logic, turn a heatwave into a personal spa retreat. His body already ran hot, warmer than any humans should be, so the shift in temperature just…Matched him. Balanced him. He was in his element. You’d caught him once humming as he refilled your water bottle and didn’t even look winded. It had taken every ounce of your willpower not to throw a folder at him out of sheer spite.
But as much as Bob was coasting through the inferno like a Sun God in July, there was one thing the heat did make difficult, and that was you.
More specifically: being around you without physically attaching himself to every available inch of your skin. And that was a problem. Because all you wanted was to peel your limbs off your own body and shove your head in the freezer next to Ava’s.
The first night the central air had gasped its last breath, you had trudged into your room in a haze of exhaustion and heat delirium. Your tank top was soaked, your shorts were riding up in ways that made you irrationally furious, and your entire back felt like it had been slow-roasted on a rack. All you wanted was to collapse onto your bed, cool yourself down on your fresh pillow, and not die.
Bob had followed in behind you a few minutes later. Barefoot, shirtless in his boxer shorts, and radiating heat like a bonfire. You had barely flattened yourself on the mattress before you felt the bed dip and a very warm, very clingy arm wrap around your middle.
“Bob–no. No. You’re a human space heater. I am going to combust.” He had blinked down at you like you had kicked him, lip tugging downward, but he didn’t retreat. His eyes shimmered slightly.
”Just–Just my arm. I won’t move around and make it hotter! I pr-promise! How about my leg? Just a little le-leg.” You tried to slither out from his trap, but he was persistent, curling his body around you like a cat trying to fit into a shoebox, “You know I ca-can’t sleep without cuddling you…Please.” He begged.
In the end, you had given up just enough to let him have his victory–an arm draped over your waist, a thigh tucked between your sweaty ones. His skin was boiling, his breath stuck to your neck, and you were sweating so much your sheets were damp. But he sighed with such softness and content, like that moment of closeness was everything he needed. And even though you mumbled curses and threatened to sleep on the floor next time, you didn’t push him off.
Now, he was watching you from his usual perch in the common room, planted in one of the worn armchairs, looking relaxed, comfortable-and absolutely lovesick in shorts and a t-shirt.
Every movement made your tank top shift and stick in new ways. A bead of sweat curved down your chest, catching the attention of Bob’s traitorous eyes before he jerked his gaze away, returning it to the book in front of him, like he hadn’t been staring.
You weren’t even trying to be provocative. You were just trying not to pass out. But the heat had made you soft-limbed, loose-spined, and languid. It made you sigh out loud and stretch like a cat, chasing relief. And every time you did, Bob’s eyes trailed after you like he was tethered. He swallowed thickly when you adjusted your posture again, thigh flexing, tank top riding up a bit more, your sweat-dampened back arching ever so slightly as you reached for another form.
You didn’t look at him when you spoke, but your voice was low and teasing. “Your eyes are gonna burn holes in me if you keep staring like that.”
Bob stiffened in his chair, legs snapping closer together. “I–uh. Wasn’t–” You snorted softly, not buying it for a second.
“You forget how I can feel when you’re looking at me.” You said, still not looking up from your papers, “Your gaze is like a goddamn laser. Feels like I’ve got sunburn from the inside out.” You could hear the hesitation in his breath, the soft rustle of fabric as he fidgeted in his seat, gathering the courage to speak. And then–
“Well…Ev-even though you’re melting…” He started, voice cracking like a sun-baked sidewalk, “I still th-think you’re… pretty.” You paused, pen hovering above a requisition form like you were about to stab a signature into it, then slowly tilted your head up. Your eyes locked onto him from across the room, narrowing ever so slightly.
“Bob,” You warned, a soft edge to your voice. “You know I’m a softie for compliments and your face…”
His lips twitched into a nervous smile, hopeful–but you cut him off.
“…But I swear to God, I think I would kill you if you even attempted to take my clothes off to have sex with me right now.” Bob’s lashes fluttered rapidly and he swallowed hard, the book lowering to his lap slightly.
”I-I was just s-saying you looked p-pretty…” He mumbled, face turning scarlet. You squinted, pointing your pen at him accusingly.
”Yes. And then it escalates. It always escalates.” Bob’s mouth opened like he wanted to object, but you were already rolling, “You say I look pretty, then it’s something about how good I look in the outfit I’m wearing–which is barely even an outfit, mind you–then you get all sentimental and say something sappy like ‘I’m so lucky to have a friend like you’ and ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you’ and blah, blah, blah–I’m not falling for it.” Bob looked like a man trying to explain himself at a trial with no legal counsel.
”I–I didn’t–this time, I wasn’t gonna–“ You lifted a brow, and he wilted a little further into his armchair, “Okay…I might’ve said something sappy later…Maybe.” You snorted and went back to fanning yourself with a requisition form.
”Exactly.”
“But–“ He tried, hands wringing in his lap, “You do look really go-good right now. Even with the sweat…And the uh…Paper stuck to your thigh.” He added. You glanced down and sighed, peeling a requisition form off your leg and flinging it to the side. Bob let out a small laugh at the sight, before lowering his voice.
”I really wasn’t trying to escalate. I know you’d kill me if I even–tried. I’d pr-probably turn into the sun the second I touched you.”
“You would,” You replied firmly, wiping a drop of sweat from your collarbone, “I’d light you up like a match.” There was a pause, then he hummed.
”…It’d still be wo–worth it.” You looked up again, slowly. Bob looked sheepish, guilty, and totally sincere.
“You’re lucky I’m too exhausted to throw something at you.” Bob smiled a little wider now, cautiously hopeful.
”Could I at least get a hug?” You groaned.
”No…”
”A sweaty hug?” He corrected, as you dragged your hands down your face, shaking your head. He stood anyway, walking over with slow, careful steps. You felt his shadow fall over you, tall and soft at the edges, and when you peeked up, he was grinning down at you–dimples and all.
”I’ll just hover then,” He said, crouching next to you and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, tasting a bead of sweat on his lips, before settling down beside your paper fortress, legs stretching out beside yours.
You let out a soft laugh through your nose–quiet, breathy, the kind of sound that would’ve floated past someone else entirely. But not Bob. Never Bob. He absorbed everything you did like a sponge pressed to water–hyper aware, quietly observant, and always aching in the silence between moments. No matter what you were doing, he always made it feel like he was watching an artist paint their biggest masterpiece.
You could’ve been cleaning blood off your boots, half–catatonic from fatigue, or wearing yesterday’s tank top turned inside out, it didn’t matter to him. He looked at you like he was witnessing a miracle, and it was never just lust that filled his eyes, never only want–it was that stunned, adoring kind of interest that made you feel like the world quieted when you moved.
Even now, in this godforsaken heat, when your skin felt slick and your hair clung to the back of your neck, he sat beside you like he was somewhere sacred. His shoulder barely grazed yours, but you could feel it–the press of his attention, the steady warmth of his presence folding over you like a second sun.
And despite your endless complaints, despite telling him time and time again that you were overheating and one more inch of skin contact might kill you, you were glad he hadn’t listened. Not fully. Because the truth was–you liked that he didn’t give you space. Not really. You liked the orbit of him. The magnetism. The strange, constant gravity that pulled him to you no matter the setting.
Ever since the two of you started hooking up though, that tether had only grown stronger. It didn’t matter if you were in bed or on opposite ends of the training floor–your bodies reached for each other instinctively. Your minds always seemed to be aware of one another in a way that felt cellular.
And though you were actively trying not to spontaneously combust under the heat dome that was the Watchtower, though you’d explicitly told him not to try anything, you still craved him. The pull of his voice, the shape of his breath, the way he sat beside you like you were something holy that made him forget himself.
But until something–anything–cooled you down enough not to literally die during sex, you had to suppress it.
You kept working, even as the sweat made your pen slippery in your grip. Even as your thighs stuck to the hardwood and your spine ached from the sticky angle of your slouch. You scribbled notes into the margins of reports for Val–“Slight concussion, extreme belligerence. Unsure if it was the wound.” All the while, you felt Bob watching you.
Now that he was close, it was worse. His gaze was warm. Not burning. Not greedy. But hot–like you’d stepped into late afternoon sunlight and knew it was going to follow you until dusk. He watched the way your collarbone caught the light, the slow trail of sweat that disappeared beneath the line of your tank top, the rise and fall of your chest like a tide he wanted to wade into.
He could smell you now, too. Your body wash–the mix of basil, blueberry, and lemon–had softened and bloomed in the heat, curling around you like a halo of late-summer air. You smelled like a drink he wanted to taste, a memory he wanted to bottle and keep forever. It made his throat feel thick. It made something ancient and hungry stir in him.
You swiped a hand across your forehead again, let out a huff, signed another sheet–and that’s when you felt his gaze sharpen.
”Bob,” You said dryly, not even glancing at him “Keep your eyes to yours–“
”There’s ic-ice in the freezer,” He interrupted, voice cracking slightly like it was tripping on the edge of his desire. You paused, turning your head toward him with a squint.
”Yeah? And why are you bringing that up so randomly?” His eyes widened at bit, then he flushed, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck–a tell that he was nervous.
”Maybe I want to…Cool you do–down?” Your eyes narrowed, the corner of your mouth twitching up in slow suspicion.
“Yeah? And how would you do that?” He hesitated–just for a moment–and then leaned in ever so slightly, his voice low, uncertain, trembling with barely-leashed tenderness.
”Why don’t you let me sh-show you?” God, the way he said it–it wasn’t a line. It wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t even seductive in the traditional sense. It was something softer than that. Sweeter. Gentler.
It was Bob wanting to worship, not possess. To soothe, not seduce. It was in the way his voice cracked around the word show, like he meant something more than just a practical gesture. Like he wanted to lay you down and press ice to every patch of you that felt too hot, not to make you moan, but to make you breathe again.
Like cooling you down would be an honor.
He wasn’t talking about sex. Not entirely at least. He was talking about the intimacy of care. The small, slow rituals that said I see you, I know you, I’ll take care of this part too.
You felt it in your spine–the way the suggestion settled, the weight of the moment bending inward like a candle flame curling toward its own wax. You turned your head slowly to look at him and found him already watching you with that same melted-lovely stare. Eyes wide. Lips parted. Hope curling behind his lashes.
He looked like he was waiting for permission to make the heat bearable. Waiting to touch you only if it meant relief.
Your throat worked once, then you set your pen down.
“…Alright then, Bob,” You murmured, tilting your head. “Show me.” Bob shot to his feet like a firework, the shift from softness to sudden motion making you laugh a bit. He offered you both hands, palms open, eyes bright with some boyish spark you hadn’t seen since before the heatwave hit.
“C’mon,” He urged, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips like he was already proud of whatever plan had rooted itself in his head. You glanced down at his hands, then back up at him.
”You’re not gonna do it here?” He shook his head quickly, his light brown, sun-kissed strands of hair flopping slightly.
”Tr-Trust me,” He said with a nervous unmistakable glimmer in his eye, “You want to do it in a be-bedroom.” Your stomach flipped. Not because it sounded dirty–though your traitorous mind was already sprinting toward some variation of shirtless–Bob dripping ice water down your spine–but because of the tone, and the way he said it. So sure. So gentle. So full of barely concealed affection. Your skin prickled from anticipation. He helped you up from the floor with ease, and turned, starting for the hallway.
You followed closely behind, your legs stiff and heavy from too much time on the floor. He stopped at the kitchen, and you caught the distinct sound of the freezer opening, the crinkle of plastic, the quiet clatter of something.
Curious, you poked your head around the corner–only to find Bob standing in front of the counter, brow furrowed in focus, tearing open a large bag of ice with his teeth and pouring generous handfuls into a wide stainless steel mixing bowl. The ice chimed and cracked as it landed, a sound almost obscene in the still, overheated silence of the Watchtower.
Your eyebrows rose.
Bob caught your expression immediately and looked sheepish, shrugging one shoulder at you.
”The mo-more the merrier,” He commented, lifting the bowl like a trophy. You huffed a laugh, low and incredulous.
”This is either going to be really sweet or very dumb,” You muttered, shaking your head as he approached.
”It’ll definitely be both.” He replied, not missing a beat.
He took your hand in his free one, fingers warm and steady even as he balanced the cold weight of the bowl in the other. His thumb slid along your knuckles as he led you back down the hallway, his touch grounding despite the faint sheen of sweat that coated you, it only took a few steps until you finally reached your room.
It was hot there. Thick, slow, swampy heat. The kind that stuck to the corners of the ceiling and refused to move. The blackout drapes you’d thrown up were trying their best, but the sun still managed to bleed in around the edges–gold streaks slicing through the air like knives. The only saving grace was the cracked window above your headboard, which at night had allowed the barest hint of a breeze to creep in. It didn’t help much–but it was something at least.
Your room was a lived-in kind of mess. A fan sat on your desk, humming uselessly. There were two half-drunk bottles of water near your nightstand, a crumpled hoodie discarded on the floor, and the sheets were tangled from restless nights. Still, it smelled like you. That same clean, citrus-sweet scent that clung to your skin. Bob inhaled it without even thinking.
He moved with purpose now, stepping around you to the bed, placing the bowl of ice on your side table before grabbing the nearest towel from your hamper–fresh, fluffy, cream-colored. He spread it over the foot of your bed carefully, smoothing out the creases like he was setting a picnic for something sacred.
“Okay,” He said, crouching slightly and patting the towel with one hand, “You sit th–there. And I’ll sit behind you.”
His voice was soft. Intentional. No teasing now–just quiet care threading every syllable. And it did something to you. Something that reached down into the heat-numbed center of your chest and gave it a gentle squeeze.
You obeyed without a word, stepping forward and sitting on the edge of the bed, the towel rough and cool beneath your thighs. You could hear the clink of ice behind you, the shifting of his body as the mattress shifted under his weight. And then, slowly, the warmth of him pressed close behind–legs on either side of yours, his knees bent so he could sit just barely higher, his breath ghosting near the back of your ear.
”Ready?” You nodded–immediately, instinctively–before the word even had time to form in your mouth.
The air was still thick and stifling, but the anticipation split through it like a thunderclap. You heard the soft rustle of movement behind you–the dip of Bob’s arm into the bowl, the telltale clink of shifting ice. A pause. A breath. And then–
Cold.
Your spine arched in reflex as the first piece of ice touched your upper back, the sensation so stark against your overheated skin that you gasped. The cube dragged in a slow, deliberate line between your shoulder blades, leaving a shivering trail in its wake. Your breath hitched.
Bob’s free hand came to rest against your waist–not forceful, not possessive, but anchoring. His palm was hot, fingers splayed across your damp skin like he needed the contact just to stay grounded.
He was slow with it.
The ice danced across your skin, trailing up and then outward over the curve of your right shoulder blade. And then the left. The path was meticulous, methodical, melting little rivers that trickled down the curve of your back until they disappeared into the band of your tank top.
You shuddered–eyes fluttering shut–just as you felt his breath behind you, warm and steady, before his lips grazed your skin.
Bob leaned in.
And then he licked the droplets off your back.
Your entire body jolted like it had been kissed by lightning. His tongue was hot, a perfect, obscene contrast to the cold that came before it. He followed the rivulets the ice had left behind, slow and deliberate, his mouth brushing against your skin with almost unbearable care. You could feel his breath between licks, the air stirring goosebumps in its wake.
“Jesus, Bob…” You whispered, voice already shaky, barely above a breath.
He didn’t respond. He just kept going.
He trailed the ice once more–lower this time, letting the cold slip just beneath the band of your tank top before dragging it back up in a long, trembling sweep. Then came his mouth again. His lips. His tongue. You felt his teeth graze your shoulder–not biting, just there, like he couldn’t help but taste the saltiness of your skin.
Every time he kissed the water from your spine, it felt like he was drinking in something sacred.
You leaned forward slightly, head bowing as your hands clutched at the towel beneath you. Your breathing was shallow, pulse thrumming behind your ears. Bob’s hand on your waist squeezed just once, steadying you.
And then his voice, soft and low and trembling with something barely restrained, broke the silence against the shell of your ear.
“Take off your sh-shirt.”
It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t even a request.
It was a prayer. A plea.
Like he couldn’t bear the barrier between you a second longer. Like he needed more of you, not just for heat or for want, but for relief. For whatever spell that had overtaken both of you in the dense summer silence of your bedroom.
Your fingers moved before your mind caught up. You gripped the hem of your soaked tank top and–slowly, shakily–peeled it upward. It clung to your skin in stubborn patches, lifting in jerks until it passed over your head, leaving you bare from the waist up. Damp. Glowing. Breathing hard.
Bob’s breath stuttered.
You could feel his eyes on your back–devouring, worshiping, stunned silent. You started to turn your head over your shoulder, to ask what he was thinking–but you didn’t get the chance.
Because the next thing you felt was the ice again–this time sliding down your spine unburdened by cloth. And then his mouth. Hot. Open. Worshipful. He let out a soft moan against your skin, the sound low and trembling like it had clawed its way up from somewhere deep. His breath was hot, reverent. “Tastes s–so good…” he whispered, the words pressed into your spine like a confession–fragile and feral all at once.
You felt the faint scrape of his teeth next, dragging along the sensitive ridge of your lower shoulder blade, making your back arch into him involuntarily. His hand–still splayed wide on your waist–tightened once, then slipped away with purpose. A soft clink sounded beside you. Another piece of ice.
And then–
Cold.
This time, not against your back, but your chest.
You gasped–body jolting forward, spine bowing–as the ice skimmed the swell of your breast. The contrast was devastating. Your skin was already buzzing from the heat and his mouth, but the sudden bite of chill stole your breath.
Bob’s lips chased the line of melting droplets down your spine, tongue trailing them like he was memorizing every bead. Every curve. Every shiver.
And then the second piece of ice–still in his other hand–dragged across your chest in slow, deliberate passes. He brought it lower, tracing under the curve of your breast, then–so slowly it almost broke you–up toward your nipple.
Your mouth fell open. A moan spilled out before you could stop it.
“Bob…H–Holy fuck, Bob.”
You felt the corners of his lips lift where they pressed to your back–smirking. Smug and innocent like he hadn’t just unraveled you with frozen water and heat.
“Wh–What?” He asked, faux-innocent, his voice thick and trembling with barely restrained want.
He circled your nipple with the ice–quick, swirling passes that sent lightning through your chest. Then, without warning, he moved to the other, just as devastating.
“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, half a prayer, half a curse.
Your body leaned back instinctively, seeking him. The moment your spine met his chest, you felt it–all of him. His warmth. The racing thrum of his heart. The hardness pressed beneath his shorts. The quiet tremble in his hands as he reached around you again.
His mouth hovered near your ear.
“Can I…” His voice was barely audible now, so close it vibrated in your bones. “Can I lick the droplets off?”
“Yes,” You breathed, without hesitation. “Yes…”
You felt him smile against your temple. Not greedy. Not cocky. Just grateful. Devoted.
He slipped off the bed slowly, deliberately. His palms ran down your thighs as he sank, and then he was there–on his knees in front of you, golden in the streaks of sun that leaked through the curtain’s edge. His eyes were glassy, wide with awe, his curls damp from sweat, sticking to his forehead. He looked like he was looking at a fever dream.
He reached for the bowl of ice beside him and set it gently on the floor, then looked back up at you with a question in his eyes. You nodded once, breathless.
Bob guided you forward with careful hands, his fingers feather-light beneath your arms as he encouraged you to lean down toward him, your chest close to his lips.
And then–
His mouth latched onto your nipple.
His tongue was warm and needy, lapping at the cold water like it was something holy. You cried out–soft and broken–as he sucked gently, pulling the chill into his mouth and swallowing your heat like he needed it.
At the same time, his hand reached into the bowl and lifted another piece of ice. He guided it slowly to your other breast, circling the nipple with glacial focus, letting it bead and drip while his mouth worked the other in steady, wet rhythm.
Your fingers tangled in his hair.
He moaned softly at that, tongue pressing flatter now, lips tighter, like he couldn’t help himself.
And when you looked down at him, flushed and kneeling between your legs, worshipping you with his mouth and melting ice, you swore you’d never been touched more sweetly in your life.
He pulled off your nipple with a soft, wet pop, licking it one last time, tongue circling tenderly before he released it. His lips grazed the curve of your breast in a gentle kiss, trailing heat in their wake. Then he shifted–slow, purposeful–toward the other, where the ice had melted into a glossy sheen over your skin. He didn’t rush. He paused to admire you, blue eyes glazed with something more than lust–adoration, worship, the kind of awe that made your chest cave in. He was drunk on the taste of your skin, and all he wanted was more.
His mouth sealed around your other nipple with a desperate hunger softened by devotion. His tongue moved languidly, drinking the cold from your body and replacing it with his heat, like he needed to balance you out. As his lips worked, he moved the piece of ice in his hand–down your ribcage, trailing it along the edge of your ribs with devastating slowness.
You gasped when it passed the under-side of your breast, the chill biting in contrast to the molten heat of his mouth, then lower, across the dip of your stomach, inching toward the space just above your navel. You flinched as it reached the sensitive skin right above the waistband of your boyshorts, and he groaned low in his throat in response–like your every twitch was a prayer answered.
Your hands tugged gently at his hair, not to pull him away but to feel something tethered, something grounding, because your entire body was floating–adrift in heat and cold and sensation.
He pulled away from your breast with a breathless sigh, mouth shiny and pink, and leaned in to chase the wet path down your stomach. You watched his tongue trace the same line the ice had carved, warm and wet, mouth open and panting against your navel as he moved lower and lower. Every kiss was a blessing. Every lick, a declaration.
And then he stopped at the waistband.
His nose brushed it gently. His breath was a humid puff across your lower belly. He looked up at you through damp lashes, cheeks flushed, curls curling slightly with sweat, his tongue running absently over his lower lip before he tilted his head–so soft, so careful.
“Can I take these off?” He asked, voice low and quiet, almost bashful despite everything. You nodded immediately, breath hitching.
”Y–Yeah.” He helped you stand with that same steady grace, his thumb sliding along the elastic at your hips, eyes never leaving yours–not even for a second. Then he slowly tugged them down. The fabric peeled from your thighs with a sticky reluctance, damp with sweat and tension and heat. He bent as he went, lowering himself with each inch until he was on his knees again, breath ghosting across your inner thighs.
Your hands trembled as he sat you down at the edge of the bed once more, steadying you with one hand on your hip, the other bracing your thigh. You watched as he pulled your legs gently over his shoulders, a smile coming up on his lips.
Bob’s breath hitched the moment he saw you–already glistening, already soaked, slick with heat and want and sweat. He stared like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, like he’d stumbled into something mythic, something divine. And then, without breaking eye contact, he reached for the bowl.
The ice clinked gently as he dipped his fingers in, searching by feel. When he pulled one out, the cube was already slick in his grip, catching the dim light like crystal. He held it there for a second–then looked up at you.
“C–Can I put this on you?” He asked softly, voice breathless with awe.
You nodded without a pause, lips parted, heart thudding somewhere in your throat. “Yes… do it.”
He smiled.
And then he moved–slow, reverent, a priest in the presence of a miracle.
He brought the ice to your center, resting it just above your clit, and immediately–you felt it. A single drop fell.
You gasped.
The cold dragged across your head, contrasting so violently with the flushed wetness of your core that your hips jerked. Another drop slid between your folds, trailing downward like a teasing finger. Your whole body shivered–and that’s when Bob leaned in.
He licked the first droplet as it passed your clit.
And then he lost himself.
His mouth met you with heat so sharp it made your knees lock around his shoulders. His tongue licked up the length of your folds, slow at first, but with increasing urgency. The chill of the ice was still there–he never removed it, just held it against you, letting it drip while he worshipped you with his mouth.
You moaned–a high, breathless, broken thing–and your fingers dove into his hair, yanking just enough to feel him groan into you. It was obscene.
The ice kept dripping. His mouth kept moving. And the contrast was too much. Cold sliding into hot. Wet meeting wetter. His tongue was everywhere–flicking, flattening, curling against your clit, lapping up the melting droplets like he needed them to survive. Every moan that rumbled from his chest vibrated into you. He wasn’t holding back. He was devouring you.
Feral. Controlled. Utterly consumed.
You tried to speak–tried to tell him how fucking good it felt–but all that came out were broken syllables and a whispered, “Oh my God… Bob, please–”
He answered by moaning into your core, low and guttural, dragging the flat of his tongue up from your entrance to your clit in one long, devastating pass. The ice cube shifted slightly, grazing your skin, making you cry out as your body jolted again.
And then–he slipped two fingers inside you.
You nearly sobbed.
They pushed in slow but deep, curling instantly. He knew exactly where to touch you, exactly how to fuck you with his hand while his mouth never stopped moving. His lips sealed around your clit, tongue swirling, licking away each cold droplet before it even had the chance to fully fall.
“Fuck–Bob–don’t stop, don’t you dare–” You whimpered, legs trembling.
He didn’t.
His fingers thrust harder. His tongue licked deeper. And when you rocked your hips forward–desperate for more–he groaned again, rutting subtly against the bed, lost in the taste of you.
The heat in your belly cracked wide open.
You felt the wave before it hit–felt your thighs tightening, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your back arching towards him.
“Fuck!” You cried, one hand gripping the edge of the sheets, the other twisted tight in his curls. Your orgasm ripped through you like wildfire, your whole body locking up before it collapsed into tremors, your thighs clamped tight around his neck, shaking. He held you through it. Tongue still moving. Fingers slowing just enough to prolong it, to guide you down from the cliff as gently as he’d brought you there.
When your body finally eased, when the waves started to ebb and your limbs stopped trembling, he pulled back–slowly, reluctantly.
His face was soaked.
Completely, reverently drenched. His lips were swollen, his cheeks glistened with your slick, your sweat, and faint trails of melting ice. His eyes were glazed with something carnal, but soft–softer than anything should be after what he just did to you.
He looked like he’d just returned from the edge of something sacred.
He exhaled, licking his lips slowly, pulling his fingers out gently before looking up at you like you’d just changed the orbit of his universe.
“…You ta–taste like fucking salvation,” He whispered, hoarse. Your thighs were trembling, your chest rising in ragged, shuddering breaths, your lips parting in the aftermath of the orgasm he had just wrung from you with nothing but his mouth, fingers, and a melting piece of ice. His tongue darted out again, slowly, to taste the last bead of wetness from your inner thigh.
Then, he lifted his hand–the one still holding the ice cube. It had shrunk to half its size now, slick and trembling between his fingertips. He raised it with the same care you might offer a relic, brushing it over your clit, before pulling it away completely.
”I wa-want you to open your mouth.” He instructed gently. You listened to him without hesitation. Bob brought the ice to his own lips, slipping it into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he chewed it slowly, the cold cracking and popping between his teeth. You watched every second like it was a ritual–like he was about to give you something sacred. And he was.
He slid your legs gently from his shoulders and rose to his full height, towering over you in the low, golden light. His face glowed with sweat and flushed a light red, as he cups your cheeks with his hands–fingertips damp, warm, trembling with care–and leaned in until his lips hovered just above yours.
Then–he parted his lips and let the water drip into your mouth.
You moaned at the first taste.
It wasn’t just water. It wasn’t just ice. It was you. Your taste lingered in it–your slick, your arousal, your salt and sweetness and heat. It tasted like shared sin. Like everything Bob had just taken from you with his mouth and was now giving back in liquid communion.
You swallowed slowly, lips brushing his, breath mingling.
And then—he kissed you.
Hard.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was intimate, filthy in how much love was packed between teeth and tongue. His lips crashed against yours, his mouth open, slick, tasting of melted ice and you and him. His tongue slid against yours, greedy and slow, like he was still trying to share the taste of you back and forth between your mouths.
You whimpered, hands flying to the waistband of his shorts, tugging at the tie. It loosened easily in your grip, and his hips jerked forward with a soft, broken sound.
Bob panted into your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re go–gonna get hot again…”
You shook your head, smiling through the haze of pleasure still coiling in your belly. Your voice dropped to a sultry whisper, lips brushing his as you said, “Not if my legs are on your shoulders and you’re fucking me with my hips on the edge of the bed.” His entire body shuddered. His throat bobbed in a tight, desperate swallow. He didn’t even respond. Just–moved.
His shirt was off in seconds, ripped over his head and tossed somewhere you didn’t care about. You moaned at the sight.
You always moaned at the sight.
His chest was flushed and glowing, the heat making every line of him more vivid–shoulders broad, chest rising fast, his skin glistening with sweat and want. And then–his shorts dropped. He stepped out of them like he was shedding a burden. His cock sprang free, hard and leaking, twitching at the air between you. He was painfully ready, his tip flushed, veins prominent along the shaft, his body trembling with restraint he no longer seemed interested in holding.
And still–he looked at you like you were a miracle.
He kissed you again before you could speak, devouring your mouth with a groan, hands gripping your hips with reverent, aching need.
Bob pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead still resting against yours, his chest rising and falling with ragged urgency. His blue eyes flicked over your face, searching, drinking you in like you might vanish if he blinked. You could feel the tremble in his thighs, the barely-restrained hunger in the way his grip tightened on your hips.
Then–gently–he guided you backward.
Your body yielded beneath his touch, melting into the mattress as your back met the damp sheets. The towel beneath you was bunched and wrinkled now, forgotten. All that mattered was him. The way he looked at you like you were something sacred, and the reverent hush that settled over the room as he bent to his knees on the bed, positioning himself above you.
He slid one arm beneath your thigh, guiding your hips down the bed ever so slightly, adjusting your body with the same care one might use to arrange something fragile–something precious. His touch was patient, but deliberate, until your hips were at the edge of the mattress and your legs could rise, slow and trembling, to rest over his shoulders.
The moment your calves draped across his skin, he paused. His breath hitched. You watched the awe flash across his face as he looked down at you–completely bare, flushed, and glistening with sweat. Your fingers reached for his hand, and he found yours instantly, weaving his fingers through yours, palms pressing tight like a lifeline.
Then–
He pressed his cock against your entrance.
The head of him was thick and hot, sliding slowly through your slick folds, smearing himself in the mess he had coaxed from you with ice and mouth and praise. He nudged your entrance gently, gliding in just enough to make your breath catch. Your lashes fluttered. His hips paused, trembling with restraint.
And then–he pushed.
You both moaned–broken and breathless–as he sank into you inch by inch. The stretch was slow, deliberate, perfect. His cock filled you in a way that made your whole body seize with need, the stretch burning just enough to make you tremble. He pressed forward until he was fully seated inside you–his hips flush with yours, his body rigid above you, the head of him brushing so deep you swore you saw stars.
Your hand tightened in his. His head dropped slightly, lips parting with a shaky groan.
“F-fuck…You feel so good…” He whispered, his voice hoarse, eyes screwed shut in overwhelmed bliss. Then, after a breathless second, he leaned down and kissed your calf–softly, reverently–before he started to move.
The first thrust was slow. Gentle. A pull and press that made your hips rock into his instinctively. He dragged his cock almost all the way out before easing back in, groaning at the way your walls clung to him.
You gasped, back arching. “Bob…”
He began a rhythm. Measured. Loving. Each thrust slow and deep, dragging against every aching spot inside you until your thighs were trembling and your core was fluttering with need. The sounds were obscene–wet, slick, breathless. Every push of his hips made you gasp. Every roll of your body made him moan.
“Feel so perfect,” He panted, his free hand sliding to your waist to anchor you. “So warm…So fucking tight…Fuck–”
He picked up the pace just slightly, hips rocking harder now, deeper. Your body jolted with each motion, the slap of skin against skin echoing beneath the hum of the useless fan in the corner.
Your walls began to pulse around him. You whimpered, breath shattering.
“I’m–I’m close…”
That was all it took for him to unravel a little more.
He let go of your hand and leaned down, bringing his weight forward until your knees were nearly touching your chest, his chest flush with yours, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss so hungry it knocked the breath out of you. He moaned into your mouth as he thrust harder, deeper, every drag of his cock stealing another cry from your throat.
Your legs tightened around his shoulders. His thrusts grew rougher, more desperate.
“I’m go–gonna finish so deep inside you,” He groaned into your mouth, voice low and trembling. “I’m gonna fill you up so fuckin’ deep–you’re ne–never going to get rid of me.” Your entire body convulsed.
The orgasm hit like a wave, hot and endless. Your mouth fell open in a soundless cry as your back arched off the bed and your walls clamped down around him, milking his cock with fluttering, pulsing waves of pure pleasure.
“Fuck–fuck fuck fuck–” Bob gasped, his rhythm faltering. And then–with one final, deep thrust–he came.
He buried himself to the hilt, cock twitching inside you as he spilled into you in thick, hot waves. You gasped as you felt it–his cum filling you, warm and devastating, the heat of it flooding your already over-sensitized body. His cock pulsed with every spurt, deep inside, pressed right against your cervix. Your hands clutched his back, fingers digging into his shoulders as you gasped in pure, broken pleasure.
You could feel it.
The way it filled you. Coated you. Seeped so deep it felt like you were glowing from the inside out.
Bob moaned against your mouth, his hips stuttering once, twice, as he gave you the last of it, trembling. He stayed like that, buried in you, his forehead pressed to yours, your legs still locked over his shoulders.
The room was quiet but for the panting–your breaths, tangled and uneven, and his, rasping against your skin like wind through trees. Your hands slowly began tracing soft, lazy circles along his shoulders, fingertips dragging through the sweat and heat still clinging to his flushed skin. You could feel the way he was still trembling–just a little–from the aftershocks. Every breath he took made his chest rise against yours, pressed so tightly together it was hard to tell where your heartbeat ended and his began.
And then–he laughed.
Quiet and disbelieving. Almost dazed.
You tilted your head, blinking up at him. “What?”
Bob shook his head, curls sticking adorably to his damp forehead, a flushed, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were half-lidded but glowing.
“You ju–just have so much control over me…” He murmured, voice still breathless. “And I lo–love it so much.”
Your lips curled in a slow, sultry smirk. You kissed him–soft and sensual, dragging your mouth across his like you had all the time in the world. You felt him melt into it, sighing, his hips still pressed to yours, his body heavy with contentment and heat.
Then–slowly–you slipped your legs down from his shoulders. The stretch burned instantly, a ripple of dull ache shooting through your inner thighs. You let out a soft groan, your face twitching at the sting.
Bob pulled back, eyebrows immediately knitting in concern. “You okay?”
You nodded, exhaling through the slight discomfort. “Yeah. Just…a little sore from the position. I may be flexible during missions, but when I have the weight of you pressing into me like that…” You gave him a pointed, teasing look. “It’s a different story.”
He flushed at the implication, letting out a shy little laugh before you reached up and brushed a strand of damp hair from his forehead. Your fingers lingered on his cheek, tracing the curve of it with a tenderness that made his lashes flutter.
Bob leaned into your palm instinctively, eyes slipping shut. Then he cracked a smile again, eyes twinkling with something mischievous.
“Y’know wh–what would be great?” He asked softly, voice low and hopeful.
You hummed. “What?”
He leaned forward until his nose brushed yours, his voice a conspiratorial whisper:
“A shower with you… Pr-Preferably a warm one. So neither of us are miserable.”
You huffed a laugh through your nose, shaking your head as affection welled up in your chest. “Sounds good…” You whispered. “Can you carry me to the bathroom?”
His brows raised like you’d just told him the sun rose for him. “Of co–course,” he said with no hesitation, already shifting. “Only you deserve the five star treatment.”
You let out a soft laugh as he gently pulled out, the stretch and warmth making you sigh, his cum slipping and pooling between your thighs with a hot, sticky glide. He moved carefully, placing a kiss on your collarbone before sliding his arms between your back and the mattress.
You yelped lightly as he scooped you up in one smooth motion–like you weighed nothing at all. His strength was effortless, infused with the serum but wrapped in the gentleness that was uniquely Bob. He held you against his chest like you were precious cargo, one hand tucked under your knees, the other cradling your back.
You looped your arms around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder, your lips finding the warm skin there in a soft kiss. He smiled at the contact, turning his head to nuzzle your temple as he carried you toward the bathroom.
With one foot, he kicked the door open, stepping over discarded clothes and damp towels without missing a beat. The bathroom light flicked on, flooding the space with soft golden glow. You heard the quiet thud of the door shutting behind him and the click of the lock.
The air inside was warm already–trapped heat lingering from earlier, but not unbearable. You felt it shift as Bob moved toward the shower and set you gently on the counter’s edge, making sure you were stable before reaching for the faucet.
The pipes groaned as the water sputtered to life. Within seconds, warm steam began curling in lazy tendrils from behind the frosted glass.
Bob turned back to you with a smile, silhouetted in the hazy light, and asked softly, “Sh-shampoo or no shampoo?”
You grinned, eyes heavy, heart full.
“Shampoo,” You murmured. “Might as well go for the full spa package.”
He chuckled, Bob turned back from the shelf with your preferred shampoo already in hand, fingers slick from the steam curling up around you both. He stepped into the shower first, testing the water with his wrist, then held a hand out for you to follow. You took it wordlessly, skin still flushed and legs still weak, letting him guide you under the cascade of warmth.
The water streamed down your back in lazy waves, soothing the tension from your spine as Bob gently eased your head back beneath the spray. His touch was careful, reverent. Once your hair was wet enough, he tipped the bottle, squeezing a dollop into his palm, and then set to work.
His fingers threaded through your scalp like he was touching something sacred, slow and deliberate, working the shampoo in with gentle pressure. He never scratched too hard, never rushed. It was more massage than anything–his knuckles dragging lazy circles, thumbs brushing along your hairline, his eyes locked onto you the whole time like you were the most important thing he’d ever been trusted to care for.
Just before he let you rinse, he leaned in again–lips pressing to your collarbone in a kiss so soft it barely registered, just heat and breath and affection. And then his voice, low and warm and dripping with adoration, spilled over you like another layer of steam.
“You’re incredible…So fucking beautiful. Yo-You know that, right? So smart…So strong, and you let me–let me to–touch you like this, hold you like this. God, I’m so lucky. You taste like the sun. You feel like home. You make everything good again…”
You huffed a soft breath, overwhelmed and flustered, tilting your head just slightly to rinse the lather away. Bob’s hands helped guide the water down, careful not to splash you in the face. When you blinked through the droplets, still breathless from how he spoke like worship poured from his chest, you couldn’t help but murmur:
“You’re always so soft after sex.”
Bob stilled behind you for a moment, as if processing it. Then he leaned forward, voice tinged with surprise and a faint, teasing pout. “Am I no-not soft any other times?”
You laughed, turning in the warm spray to face him, droplets beading along his flushed collarbones. “You’re soft other times, Bob. But you’re way more soft after sex. Like…Melted marshmallow soft.”
He grinned, cheeks going red as he ducked his head slightly, the water slicking his hair to his forehead. “Well…We are releasing bo-bonding hormones, so…” He said with a small shrug, “How could I not want to be attached to you and be so–soft with you?”
You stepped closer, chest brushing his. Your lips met his in a warm, lingering kiss, water slipping between you as your hands smoothed up his arms. “You’re right…”
What followed was a slow, shared ritual of care. Bob washed your body in sections, treating each limb like it deserved a love letter. He murmured praise against your shoulder, your belly, the back of your knee. His hands glided with reverence, touching as if your skin might flake away like ash if he wasn’t gentle. And when it was your turn, you returned the care—rubbing slow circles into his broad back, tracing over his chest, lathering his curls with the same tenderness he’d shown you.
“You smell like sunshine and sin,” he whispered as you rinsed him off. “Like citrus and heaven. Like something I’m not supposed to touch, but I get to anyway.”
You giggled softly, pressing your lips to his neck. “You’re insufferable.”
“You love it,” He breathed, eyes glowing.
You were just about to pull him into another kiss–foreheads close, smiles sticky sweet–when a shout rang out through the compound, muffled by walls but unmistakably furious:
“WHO TOUCHED MY BAG OF ICE!?”
You both froze.
Then, slowly, your gazes turned toward each other–eyes wide, lips twitching.
“…Oh no,” You whispered.
Bob’s eyes went round with guilt. “I-I’ll buy her another one–”
“She’s gonna kill us,” You said flatly.
And then the both of you burst out laughing, muffling the sound in each other’s shoulders as the water kept streaming, and the heat of the Watchtower still pressed in around you–but somehow, in that tiny sanctuary of steam and love and whispered giggles, you barely felt it anymore.
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brookghaib-blog · 28 days ago
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The quiet things that remain - II
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Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader
Summary: Bob and Y/N used to be the best of friends, he went to Malaysia to be better, only to leave her just with a ghost in the past and unresponded messages and calls. And return, but never to her. Never to the love she didn't had the courage to announce.
Word count: 10,1k
Warning: angst, depreesive thoughts, unrequited love, stalking, drug addiction
chapter I
--
The room in the Watchtower was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that brought peace — no, it was the other kind. The kind that echoed. That clawed at your ears and made every breath feel too loud, too alive. Bob sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, palms over his face, trying to hold in thoughts that had long since stopped asking permission to haunt him.
His thumb brushed something in his pocket, and his heart sank the way it always did when he remembered it was still there. He pulled it out — crumpled a little at the edges now, creased right through the middle from being folded and unfolded too many times.
It was a picture.
Their picture.
Prom night.
God, she looked beautiful. Not in the way people tossed that word around casually. Not like the glittering girls who bought their dresses a year early and posted rehearsed photos. No, her beauty was the quiet kind — the kind that struck him like lightning when she smiled, like she didn’t know she was doing it, like it just slipped out of her without warning. That night she wore this soft blue dress that barely fit right because they had bought it from a second-hand store, and her hair had been curled by her neighbor’s niece for free. But she was his.
And he — he was the guy in the too-big suit with a tie that Y/N had to fix twice. The guy who had dropped out months before, barely scraping by on gigs, sleeping in someone else’s garage most nights. He hadn’t been invited to prom, not really. He wasn’t part of that world anymore. But he had asked her. Not because she wouldn’t get an invitation — although, he knew she probably wouldn’t. Not because he pitied her, not even for a second.
But because he had wanted to. Before anyone else could see what he saw. Before someone could try to swoop in and act like they knew how to treat her better. He asked before it all changed. Before the Void got stronger. Before he started unraveling.
He remembered the way they danced — stiff, awkward, swaying in place while others moved around them with practiced ease. He had stepped on her toes so many times she just laughed and kicked his shin in retaliation. And he laughed, too. And for those few hours, he felt worthy.
But that was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.
When he went to Malaysia, it wasn’t because he had an adventurous spirit or some soul-searching excuse to make it noble. He went because he was a coward. Because every day in the States was a mirror to everything he had destroyed. Especially her.
She had held him through the worst nights. Nights when he was vomiting into buckets, shaking, crying, begging something he couldn’t name to just end it. She had held his face in her hands and whispered, “You’re not a monster, Bob. You’re sick, not broken.”
But he was broken.
And she wasted everything. Thousands of dollars in bail money. Rent money she didn’t have. Grocery runs that somehow always included his favorite cereal, even if it meant she’d only eat canned soup for the week. She gave him her bed when he had nowhere to crash. Washed blood out of his shirts when he’d get in fights. Hid his stash when he said he wanted to get clean. And when he failed, she still made him tea and said maybe tomorrow would be better.
He remembered one night, when she had worked a double shift and still came home to find him passed out in the hallway outside her apartment door. She dragged his half-conscious body inside and cried while she bandaged the new cuts on his knuckles.
That was love. That was her. And he let her drown.
No — worse. He pulled her under with him.
And still, she had smiled for the prom photo. Still, she had leaned her head on his shoulder like he was someone worth leaning on.
He wiped a thumb gently across the image of her face.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered to the picture, to the room, to the version of her that existed in the only place he could still hold her — memory.
Bob leaned back against the wall, eyes stinging, his chest tight with something unspoken. She could have had everything. College. A home. A future. But instead, she got him. And all he gave her in return was pain, fear, and an apology that never seemed enough.
The world saw the Sentry — a glowing god with impossible strength. But Bob? Bob saw a coward in a chicken suit who used to spin signs for cash and couldn’t even dance. A boy who ran to another continent because he was too ashamed to be seen by the only person who ever really looked at him.
And now he lived in a tower in the sky, surrounded by people who respected his power but would never understand his shame.
All he wanted — more than redemption, more than recognition — was to go back to that night. To that version of himself that hadn’t yet failed her. To hear the music again. To dance — even if badly — and know she was in his arms.
Because he hadn’t asked her to prom to fix her. He asked her because for one night, he didn’t want to feel like a mistake. And she had made that possible.
She had always made the impossible feel possible.
And he had walked away.
And now all he had left was a worn-out photo and the haunting question he would never stop asking himself:
What if I’d stayed?
God, he loved her. He loved her like a man dying of thirst in a desert, stumbling toward a mirage he knew wasn’t real but couldn’t stop chasing. He had always loved her. From the first time she rolled her eyes at his terrible attempt to fix a coffee machine, to the night she fell asleep on his shoulder during a movie marathon they couldn’t afford snacks for. She’d been his anchor when everything else in his life had slipped away, a lighthouse in the middle of a violent, black sea.
But he left.
Because loving her was easy.
Staying was the hard part.
He hadn’t run because he stopped loving her — he ran because he did. Because the deeper that love grew, the more the truth screamed inside him: she deserved a life that wasn’t spent waiting outside police stations or hospitals. She deserved a partner, not a project. She deserved poetry, not paranoia. A home, not hiding spots for narcotics.
And now? Now the drugs were gone, the sickness replaced by something far worse — power. The kind that shattered bones with a flick of the wrist, melted steel with a scream, erased cities in a blink.
He had nearly destroyed a building last week because of a nightmare. He didn’t even remember doing it until they showed him the damage. And he had thought addiction was the scariest part of him. Now he had to live every second fearing the thing inside him, this thing that wanted to hurt, to unravel, to destroy.
What if she had been there?
What if she had whispered to him in his sleep like she used to, trying to soothe him from a nightmare, and he’d woken in fear, in power, and — God.
The images haunted him. Her broken body in his arms. Blood he couldn’t heal. Screams he couldn’t undo.
He couldn’t even risk it.
Bob squeezed the photo tighter, fingers trembling as tears finally broke through the wall he tried so hard to keep up. He bowed his head, forehead resting on his knuckles, as if praying to a god he didn’t believe in anymore.
She was too good. Too kind. Too alive. And he was a man half-alive, stitched together by trauma and chemicals and cosmic radiation, held together only because people were too afraid to let him fall apart.
He wanted her.
He wanted her laugh in the kitchen again. Her sleepy voice asking him to turn off the lights. Her hair in his hands. Her nose wrinkling at his burnt eggs. He wanted the sound of her humming while folding laundry, the way her lip twitched when she was concentrating on a book.
He wanted to dance with her again. Properly. Without stepping on her toes. Maybe in the living room, barefoot, no music, just the sound of her breath close to his ear.
But what did he have to offer her now? A room in a tower that he wasn’t allowed to leave? A body that pulsed with danger? A mind that barely held itself together?
She didn’t love him like he loved her — he had always known that.
He would’ve taken her love at the slightest sign. God, he would’ve fallen to his knees for it. But love like that, love he wanted from her — it didn’t come out of guilt or pity. It came from freedom. And he had never given her that.
So he mourned.
Mourned a life that never got to bloom.
Mourned all the ordinary things he’d never have with her: birthdays, burnt dinners, arguments about dumb things, the feel of her hand in his during a movie neither of them liked. A child, maybe. A home. A Sunday morning.
He had loved her when he was nothing. Loved her as he became something terrifying. And now, as he stood on the edge of being unrecognizable even to himself, he still loved her.
But he couldn’t reach for her.
Because loving her meant letting her go.
Even if it destroyed him.
Even if every day he had to wake up in this tower, look down at the world that held her, and remind himself:
She is safer without me.
Even if it was a lie he barely believed anymore.
--
He hadn’t meant to walk that far.
It had started as a simple attempt to stretch his legs, to escape the suffocating stillness of his reality — the Watchtower walls too clean, too sterile, too artificial to hold any version of peace. So he slipped into the streets of New York, a hoodie pulled low over his brow, sunglasses covering the burden of his eyes. No one knew him, not like this. Not without the cape. Not without the glow.
He walked slowly, headphones in, music pouring soundscapes over his thoughts. The playlist hadn’t changed in years — songs she once liked, songs she might’ve liked. Tracks with lyrics that spelled out everything he couldn’t say to her, and never had the right to.
He thought about her every day.
In the quiet, between missions. During briefings. While shaving. While trying and failing to sleep. Her voice was a ghost he welcomed, a hallucination he refused to fight. She lived in the melody of certain words. In the shape of his pillow. In the steam from his mug. In every peaceful thing he encountered, she was there. And in every violent thing, she was the reason he hesitated.
That morning, the wind had that strange, biting softness of early spring — too cold for comfort, but gentle enough to pretend. She used to love days like that, he remembered. Said they felt like a promise. Like the world trying again.
He turned a corner, not really paying attention. Passed bakeries, coffee carts, flower shops. All things she loved. All things he remembered seeing through her eyes.
Books. Coffee. Birds.
She once told him that birds were proof life could be both messy and beautiful. That they shat everywhere but still carried the sky. That’s why she liked them. That’s why he liked her.
And then he saw it.
The bookstore.
It was unassuming. Brick walls faded by weather, a neon sign that flickered “Open,” its ‘O’ stubbornly dim. The display window was filled with paperbacks stacked in uneven rows, a handwritten note on the glass: Buy 2, escape twice. He almost smiled. It sounded like something she would say.
Maybe he’d buy one. She always said reading gave you extra lives. And God knew he needed another one.
He approached the window.
And that’s when he saw her.
She was standing on a wooden stool inside, rearranging a top shelf, her fingers running lightly over the spines of books like they were sacred. Her hair was tucked behind her ear the way it always did when she was focused. Her mouth moved slightly as she read titles to herself, and when one fell, she caught it with a flustered laugh, looking around to see if anyone had noticed.
Y/N.
Bob’s heart stopped. His breath caught. The world tilted.
He reached out before he even realized it, fingers brushing against the cool glass between them.
It was her.
Not a memory. Not a dream. Not a hallucination conjured by grief or the Void’s twisted games.
Her. In the flesh. In her world. Moving on. Living. Smiling. Alive.
He almost collapsed.
His knees buckled under the weight of it all. His fingers curled against his chest, against the photo tucked always in his jacket. The same face. The same girl.
He wanted to run inside. God, he wanted to run. Grab her. Bury himself in her arms and sob like the wreck of a man he was. Tell her everything. That he never stopped loving her. That he missed her so much it ached every moment of his cursed existence. That he was sorry. So sorry.
He wanted to say he still remembered the way her voice cracked when she tried to sing along to love songs. That he still carried the tissue she once wrote a grocery list on, with her doodles in the margins. That every moment he lived, she lived in it.
He wanted to scream, “Please. Just look up.”
But he didn’t move.
Because in that second, the world reminded him of the one unshakable truth: he did not belong to her anymore.
He didn’t belong to anything.
Not the streets of New York. Not the weight of a future. Not even to himself.
He was a ghost. A ticking bomb wrapped in skin. And she was... safe.
She looked so at peace. Like she had found a place in the world. A place he could never, ever risk stepping into. She looked home. And if he entered that bookstore, that sacred little world she had carved out for herself, he would bring chaos. He would ruin it. Just like he always did.
So he turned.
And he walked.
Every step away from that window was like slicing open his own chest.
He didn’t look back.
He couldn’t.
But a part of him, the part that still dared to dream, smiled through the pain.
She did always look like a pretty girl who’d work at a bookstore. That had been his fantasy for years — her behind a counter, coffee on her desk, recommending books to strangers, changing their lives with a sentence. She used to say that stories could save people. That if you spent just an hour in a fantasy world, maybe you could make it through reality.
And now she lived inside one.
He hoped she believed it. He hoped it saved her.
Because no matter how much he loved her, and oh — he loved her beyond reason — he could not be the reason her life unraveled again.
So he walked until his legs burned. Until the city blurred behind him. Until the only sound was his own heartbeat whispering her name.
Y/N.
His home. His ghost.
--
The Watchtower was quiet. Too quiet.
A sanctuary of glass and steel floating above the world, above cities he no longer felt he belonged to, above streets where real life happened — the Watchtower was cold. Polished. Functional. Beautiful in that sterile, untouchable way. It had everything he could need, yet it felt like nothing at all.
He wandered its halls like a ghost in a mansion too big for him, surrounded by everything and still lacking the only thing that mattered. It wasn’t that he hated it. No — Bob Reynolds understood what this place meant. What he meant. The world needed him to be here. Needed Sentry to show up to the galas, the photo ops, the charity balls with champagne flutes and polite clapping. They needed the godlike figure in golden light, the tragic redemption arc in spandex. A symbol. A story they could control.
And for once, Bob didn’t resent it. Not really. Because he had a room with a bed that was always made. He had clean clothes. He had the luxury of silence, of warm food, of people who at least pretended to care. He had friends now — of sorts. People who texted sometimes. Who invited him to rooftop dinners with wine bottles and awkward laughter. He had space.
He wasn’t locked in a cell or passed out in some alley. He wasn’t high. He wasn’t screaming at the Void inside his skull. He was safe.
And for a long time, he thought that would be enough.
But Bob learned something in that safety: The difference between being alone and being lonely.
Alone was what he craved when the world overwhelmed him. Alone was where he hid when he felt the darkness clawing behind his ribs. Alone was silence and choice.
Lonely? Lonely was after. Lonely was standing in a room full of people who only knew the surface of you. It was going home to nothing. It was the silence you didn't ask for. The kind that whispered her name.
He had time now — too much of it. And with time came thoughts, and with thoughts came her.
So he started walking. Every day, every chance he got. He’d vanish from the Watchtower, put on a hoodie and a cap and sunglasses, and disappear into the city. Into her world.
He told himself it was just to pass time. That the city soothed him. That walking helped clear his head.
But the truth was simple. Ugly. Raw.
He walked because she was there. Somewhere. And part of him was still trying to be close to her, even if she didn’t know it.
After all, he had found out where she worked.
A bookstore.
He wasn’t surprised. Not really. It made too much sense. She always smelled like paperbacks and cinnamon, always carried books in her purse, always talked about fiction like it was real and reality like it was negotiable. She had dreamed of quiet things. Soft lives. And now she was living one.
He’d walk by and see her sometimes through the window — standing behind the counter with her hair pulled back, cat hair on her sweater, a mug that said “books over bros” in her hand. She would laugh with customers, bend down to hand a little girl a picture book, roll her eyes at an old man flirting near the mystery section. He’d stare through the glass like it was a screen and he was watching the life they never got to have.
Other days, he’d see her at the park.
She had a routine, it seemed. Mornings or late afternoons, always with coffee in hand. She’d sit on a specific bench, the one they used to nap on during summer breaks. She’d sketch. Crochet. Read. Talk to an old woman who fed pigeons. And beside her — a cat. Dusty, he’d overheard someone say. A fluffball with attitude who’d perch in her lap like royalty.
He watched it all from a distance. Sat across the street, behind trees, across café windows. He never got too close. Never dared. But he learned her life like scripture. Memorized the way her hair curled in humidity. The way she tucked her feet under herself when she sat.
And she looked... peaceful.
Painfully so.
She looked like someone who had finally found her rhythm. Someone who had survived. Who had let go.
And God — he should’ve been happy about that. And he was. Part of him was.
Because he wanted her to be okay. Of all people in this world, she deserved a life that didn’t hurt. She had given so much, bled for him, cried herself sick, thrown away her dreams trying to pull him out of the fire again and again.
She had saved him, over and over. And what did he do?
He dragged her down with him. Burned her. Broke her. Left her.
So yes. She deserved this peace.
But watching her smile at strangers, or hum softly while threading yarn, or lean into a warm coat with that soft, familiar sigh — it felt like a knife in his chest.
Because she looked like someone who didn’t miss him. At all.
And that? That shattered something inside him.
It wasn’t fair. He knew it wasn’t fair. He had no right to want anything from her. He had given up that right the moment he left, the moment he decided she was better off without the burden of loving him. And she was. Objectively.
But it still tore him apart to see her world thriving without him.
He used to be her world. He used to be the reason her eyes lit up. Now, she didn’t even flinch when he passed by her block. Didn’t even glance at the door like maybe he’d walk through it.
He used to be her Monday lunches, her midnight phone calls, her “let me show you this funny thing.” Now?
He was a ghost.
A man watching the love of his life become a stranger with a smile. A story he didn’t get to finish. A home he could no longer walk into.
He walked miles every week just to see her for five minutes. Just to remember that she was real. Just to remind himself that once — for a flicker of time — she had been his.
And every time he turned around and walked away again, he left a piece of himself behind. Until he wasn’t sure how much of him was even left anymore.
--
They never asked about her.
Not directly.
Maybe out of respect. Maybe fear. Maybe because they already knew.
They all knew that somewhere, buried beneath Bob's shattered psyche and the nuclear firepower of the Sentry, there was someone he couldn’t let go of. A name that never left his mouth, but lived in his silence. In the way he flinched when certain songs came on. In the way he sat at the edge of team dinners, eyes somewhere far away. In the way he would sometimes disappear from the Watchtower, returning hollow-eyed and quiet, the smell of old bookstores or street coffee still clinging to his clothes.
They didn’t need to ask. The Void had shown them.
It was during the final confrontation — when the entity burrowed into each of their minds like a serpent, peeling back their worst fears, their lowest moments. It knew them. It was them. It didn’t just attack with brute strength — it weaponized memory, shame, the things they hid from even themselves.
But Bob?
Bob got the worst of it.
The Void lived in him. Knew every crack in his soul. Every scarred-over memory he tried to forget. And when the battle turned mental — turned personal — it didn’t use monsters or fire or screams. No. It showed her.
Y/N.
On the bathroom floor.
Her knees bruised from the tiles. Her shirt stained with something brown and sharp-smelling — coffee, maybe, or old blood. Her hands trembling, but still gentle, as they wiped vomit from his face, cradling his unconscious body like something precious.
His limbs were limp. His lips blue-tinged. An overdose — or the edge of one.
And she didn’t cry loud. No, that wasn’t her. Her sobs were quiet. Desperate. The kind of crying that comes when you don’t want to wake someone, even if you’re terrified they might never wake again.
She whispered to him in broken, soothing words, rocking him just slightly, whispering apologies to him, as if he were the one in pain.
She wiped his face. Changed his shirt. Brushed back his matted hair.
“You didn’t mean it,” she whispered. “It’s okay. You’re still here. I’m still here.”
And the worst part?
She looked so tired.
Not just physically — but soul-deep tired. The kind of exhaustion you don’t come back from. And still, still, she didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t curse him. She didn’t scream or throw things or leave.
She just held him.
And loved him.
When no one else could. When no one else should.
And the Void made them all watch.
Every teammate. Every soldier. Every person who had seen Bob level cities or snap metal in his hands like candy. They watched as the strongest being on Earth was reduced to a twitching body on a bathroom floor, and the only thing keeping him tethered to life was a woman — too soft for this world — whispering that he mattered, even when he didn’t believe it.
When the battle ended, and they staggered out of that hellscape, blinking in daylight and breathing like they’d been underwater too long — no one mentioned it. No one said her name.
But they all remembered her.
And days later, when the question finally came — in a rare moment of honesty, maybe over whiskey or after a nightmare — it was Bucky who asked.
Just a quiet, low, “You loved her, didn’t you?”
Bob didn’t even look up.
He just sat on the floor, back against the wall of the common room, hands hanging loosely between his knees. There was blood still under his fingernails from the mission. A tear in his shirt. He looked like something that had survived an execution.
“She was…” he started, and then stopped. His throat tightened, jaw working around a sentence that would never do her justice.
“She was the only thing I ever did right.”
The silence that followed was sharp. No one interrupted. Not even Alexei, who always had something to say. Not even Walker, whose tolerance for emotion was about as deep as a puddle. Not even Yelena, who had seen the worst kinds of pain, but still flinched when she remembered the image of that girl on the floor.
“She was the one who pulled me out,” Bob said softly. “Again and again. When I got too deep. When the Void got too loud. When I couldn’t remember who I was anymore. She… she made me feel like I was a person. Not a god. Not a monster. Just a man. Her best friend.”
He smiled, but it broke halfway through. Twisted into something hollow.
“I told her I loved her, in a message, I never even told her in her face, I still want to be able to fantasize that she did love me back. But I wasn’t a man when I said it. I was still broken. Still sick. Still—too much. And I left.”
No one moved. No one breathed.
“I told myself it was to protect her. That if I stayed, I’d destroy everything.”
He swallowed hard. His voice cracked.
“She forgave me for everything. Every relapse. Every blackout. Every time I disappeared for days and came back bleeding or high or worse. She’d cry, but she’d still hold me. She’d whisper that I was still in there. That she saw me.”
He clenched his hands. His shoulders shook.
“And I still left.”
For a long time, no one said a word.
Finally, Bucky asked, “Why are you telling us this now?”
Bob looked up at him. And for once, it wasn’t Sentry who answered. It wasn’t the calm, press-ready voice. It wasn’t the controlled, trained tone of a soldier.
It was just Bob.
His eyes were glassy. His mouth trembled.
He stood slowly. Wavered. Like the weight of all those memories was still dragging at his spine.
“She was the one thing that made me feel alive.”
He turned his face toward the window. Watched the city skyline like maybe she was out there somewhere, reading a book, sipping coffee, living a life where she didn’t have to remember him.
“And I will spend the rest of my life paying for what I did to her.”
--
He stayed across the street — or sometimes on the opposite sidewalk, tucked in behind a delivery van or under the shadow of a lamppost. Hands shoved deep into the pockets of a worn jacket, the same one she used to hang by her front door whenever he passed out on her couch.
He came to see her.
Sometimes she was restocking books in the front window. Sometimes she was sweeping the leaves off the front steps. Sometimes she was just reading, perched behind the register with a soft, furrowed expression — brows knitted in thought, nose crinkled just slightly like she did when a sentence made her feel too much.
He loved watching her read. She was the kind of person who felt books — who mourned endings and fell in love with characters and whispered “no” out loud when something bad happened on the page. Her face gave everything away. No armor. No filters.
God, she's beautiful.
Even now — even after everything.
He remembered the first time he saw her again, properly, in the park. He hadn’t been trying to find her that day. He was just… wandering. Trying to walk off the pressure in his chest. The static in his head. And then he saw her.
Sitting alone on a bench, no coffee, no cat, no old lady from the neighborhood chatting her ear off. Just her. Her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. Crying.
Not sobbing. Not theatrically.
Just… quiet, crumbling tears.
Like her chest had caved in and she didn’t know how to fix it. Like the world had knocked the wind out of her and left her to fold in on herself without a word.
She looked thinner. Not unhealthy, but not like before. Her style had changed a little — different colors, less softness, a longer coat like she was hiding from something. But her face… her face hadn’t changed.
Still that same quiet grace. That same storm of kindness behind her eyes. Like she could still save people if she tried hard enough — even when she couldn’t save herself.
He’d almost gone to her. Almost crossed the grass. Almost knelt beside her and put a hand on her knee and said her name.
But then he remembered who he was.
What he’d done.
He stayed frozen, half-behind a tree like a ghost in someone else’s story. A man without a place in the only life he wanted.
She wiped her face eventually. Stood. Pulled her coat tighter. Walked away.
And he watched. Did nothing.
But the guilt from that day didn’t leave. It never left.
He started coming around more. Just to check. Just to make sure she was okay.
That’s when the plan started to take shape.
He knew he couldn’t do it himself. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But he knew someone who could — someone she might not push away. Someone big enough to take the hit if she got mad, but kind enough to genuinely want to help.
Alexei.
Bob waited for the right moment to ask. When the team wasn’t dealing with a crisis. When they were sitting in the Watchtower kitchen late one night, drinking tea instead of whiskey because Bob couldn’t handle the burn anymore.
“She’s not okay,” Bob said, out of nowhere.
Alexei looked up from his mug. “Who?”
“You know who.”
Alexei said nothing for a beat. Just nodded. Quiet. Respectful.
“I saw her crying,” Bob whispered, his voice barely audible. “She was alone. No one… no one should cry like that alone.”
“You didn’t go to her?”
“I couldn’t.”
Alexei sighed. “Why not?”
“She would want me there even if I'm still dangerous.”
Bob let the silence hang, heavy and pulsing. Then he looked up, eyes glassy, haunted.
“But I can’t… I can’t just not do anything.”
Alexei set his mug down. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
So Bob told him. About the bookstore. The bench. Her eyes. Her loneliness.
“I don’t want her to know it’s from me. Not yet. I just… I want her to have something good. Something stable. Something that isn’t pain or loss or… me.”
Alexei nodded slowly. Thought about it.
“Book club,” he said eventually. “She works in one, yes?”
Bob nodded. “Yeah. Tuesdays. I saw the flyer in the window.”
Alexei smiled. “Then I suppose I have some reading to do.”
Bob’s breath hitched.
“Thank you. I will help you with that.”
Alexei leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because she deserves someone to show up for her.”
“I know.”
“But I’ll keep you updated. And I’ll be subtle.”
Bob smiled, watery. “As subtle as you can be?”
Alexei chuckled. “As subtle as a brick, but I’ll try.”
And so it began.
Alexei would show up to the bookstore every so often. Chat with her. Talk about books he didn’t really understand. Laugh too loudly. Always brief, always respectful, never pushing. Just… being there.
And eventually, she’d invited him to book club.
The plan was working.
And Bob?
Bob stayed where he was — on the edges, in the shadows, watching from far away. Letting Alexei become his eyes and ears. His quiet penance.
--
At first, it was simple.
Alexei joined the club to spend more time with her — to talk, to listen, to make sure she was still putting one foot in front of the other. That was the arrangement. A quiet mission with no glory. No weapons. No enemies to punch or gods to fight. Just a lonely girl who used to know a man that was already half-dead inside.
Bob didn’t expect more than that. A brief update. A kind word. The knowledge that she was still smiling. Still breathing.
But then Alexei came back from that first meeting with a glimmer in his eye — not joy, but something softer. Protective. He told Bob how she spoke about stories like they were sacred. How she laughed at a joke in Pride and Prejudice that no one else caught. How she paused in the middle of reading aloud because a single line made her voice catch, and she had to turn away so no one would see.
“She’s... she’s still her,” Alexei had said, like it was a miracle.
And Bob had cried when he heard it.
Because he didn’t know. He hadn’t known. If she was still her — still the girl who made mix CDs for rainy days and hugged people like she could stitch them back together — then maybe the world hadn’t ruined her completely. Maybe he hadn’t ruined her completely.
That’s when the idea started.
It was stupid. Pointless, maybe. But it gave Bob something to wake up for.
Books.
Not just any books — his books. The ones he read in the quietest hours of the night, when his mind wasn’t screaming and the Void wasn’t clawing at the walls. The ones he’d never admit to reading aloud, just to imagine what it might sound like if she was there beside him.
He began highlighting passages. Dog-earing pages. Scribbling notes in the margins like she used to in college, back when she made a game of arguing with the authors in ink.
He would hand them to Alexei with no explanation. Just a book. A quiet nod.
“Give her this one next.”
And Alexei would. Without question.
Week after week, a new title. A new story. Always something with meaning. A message buried in the pages. A secret only she might understand, if she read between the lines. If she knew how Bob’s mind worked the way she used to.
“I would have followed you anywhere.”
“I think I started dying the moment you left the room.”
“I loved you before I knew what it meant.”
They weren’t written outright. Never a full confession. Just sentences, thoughts, little crumbs of devotion scattered through prose.
Bob would stay up all night before each session, rereading and re-noting the pages. Sometimes he’d circle the same line six times. Sometimes he’d write “This is how I see you” beside a character’s monologue, and then cross it out until the paper tore.
He knew she never said anything to Alexei about it. Never mentioned the ink, or the handwriting, or the way every book felt like someone was whispering to her from another life.
But that didn’t matter.
Because he knew.
He knew she was holding something he touched. Reading the words he bled into the paper. Feeling something he could no longer say out loud.
In that tiny room above the bookstore, while Alexei sat in a too-small chair and cracked jokes to cover the silences, Bob was there too.
He was in the pages. In the sentences. In every comma and breath and pause.
And maybe that was enough.
Maybe that was all he had left.
He’d debated confessing before. So many times. Long before he became the Sentry. Long before he became a weapon. Back when he was just Bob, and she was just the girl who always picked out the marshmallows from her cereal and let him sleep on her floor when he was too drunk to remember where he lived.
But he never did. Because he knew — he knew — she didn’t feel the same way.
Not because she didn’t care. She cared too much. That was the problem.
She saw him as something worth saving. Something broken, but fixable.
Not someone you fall in love with.
Not someone you keep.
He could have handled that. He would have swallowed it whole just to have her in his life. But then the powers came. The weight. The blackness behind his eyes that pulsed like a second heartbeat.
And everything changed.
He wasn’t just a man who loved her anymore. He was a threat to her. A danger. A possible end.
To confess now would be cruel.
So he didn’t.
He gave her books.
He gave her himself.
And in the stillness between chapters, when no one was looking, he let himself pretend.
Pretend that maybe she read a line and smiled. That maybe she knew. That maybe she looked up from the page and whispered, “I miss you too.”
He would die a thousand times just to hear her say it once.
--
The despair came in waves.
Some days, Bob could float in it, numb, like a body in cold water—arms limp, eyes unfocused, just waiting for it to take him under. Other days, it crashed into him so hard he thought he’d drown before morning. He would lie on the floor of the Watchtower, fists clenched, the ceiling spinning above him as his mind screamed with every face he couldn’t forget. But it was always her face that brought the deepest ache.
Y/N.
He had built a life around her absence. That was the truth of it. A fragile routine of restraint and silence. He watched from a distance. He wrote messages in books. He let Alexei carry little pieces of him to her like a smuggler moving contraband across a border he could never cross.
It was the only way he could be near her—and the closest he dared to come.
But it wasn’t enough.
God, it wasn’t enough.
He missed her. And not just the memory of her. Not just the idea. He missed her voice in the morning when it was still hoarse. The sound of her laugh when she was trying not to. The weight of her hand on his arm when he said something reckless. He missed the smell of her shampoo, the warmth of her sweaters, the way she hummed when she didn’t know he was listening.
His body remembered it all.
And it was killing him.
He was touch-starved in a way no one could fix. Not just for warmth, or comfort, or sex. He was starving for her. For the way her presence once made the world seem a little less heavy. For the way she looked at him like he was still in there, like maybe he wasn’t all lost, not yet. That kind of belief—that kind of grace—was more dangerous than the Void itself.
Because it made him hope.
And hope, for Bob, was a curse dressed like mercy.
Every time he let himself think, Maybe I could just see her. Just once. Just for a moment, his mind betrayed him. Because it wasn’t just Bob anymore. It was Sentry. It was Void. It was the monster and the hero and the broken man trapped in between.
And what if they took over?
What if she smiled at him—and Sentry ripped the sky open behind her?
What if she said his name—and Void answered?
What if, by standing too close to her, by breathing the same air, he doomed her?
He couldn’t bear it.
So he stayed away.
But he was so tired.
Tired of living on crumbs. Tired of writing love letters she didn’t know were letters. Tired of watching Alexei carry his heart in paperback covers while he sat alone, drinking coffee that always went cold, with no one to tell.
He thought about ending it. Not his life—not exactly. But the visits. The watching. The books. All of it.
He thought about telling Alexei, It’s over. Don’t go anymore. Don’t mention her. Don’t bring her up. Let her go. Let her be.
Maybe if he stopped seeing her face from afar, his heart would quiet. Maybe if he stopped imagining what she looked like crying, or laughing, or reading his underlined notes, he could be free of this need.
Maybe.
But then the selfishness crept in.
It always did.
Because this—this pathetic, distant, hollow little routine—it was all he had.
He had no family. No home. No future. He had fists and firepower and a mind that split into two monsters depending on the day.
But this—this was still hers.
The bookstore. The book club. The books.
The way she once tucked a note into his coat pocket when he was dope-sick and barely breathing. The way she never turned away from him, even when she should have.
That love. That impossible, unspoken love that never got to breathe? It was still alive inside him. Mummified maybe, but still intact. And giving it up felt like murdering the only beautiful thing he’d ever been allowed to feel.
So he kept the books coming.
He kept watching her from across the street like a ghost with a heartbeat.
He kept dying for her in private.
He told himself it wasn’t love. That it was guilt. Or nostalgia. Or some warped savior complex. But he knew better.
He loved her.
He always had.
He loved her from the moment she laughed at his shitty joke in chemistry class and offered to share her lunch with him because she thought he looked hungry.
He loved her through every detox, every lie, every time he screamed and she didn’t flinch.
He loved her the day she fell asleep sitting against his door because he refused to let her in, but she still didn’t leave.
And he loved her now, more than ever.
But what good was that?
What good was a love you had to hide like a weapon?
What good was a heart full of devotion if it could level buildings when it broke?
Bob wanted her arms. He wanted her voice telling him he was okay. He wanted her fingers to touch his temple and whisper, “You’re still you, somewhere in there.”
But he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t ever have that.
So he took what he could.
He underlined another sentence. Highlighted another confession. Dog-eared another page.
He gave her pieces of his soul, one book at a time, and prayed she never figured it out.
Because if she did—if she knew it was him—it might give her hope.
And he didn’t want that for her. Hope was what killed people like him.
And she was never meant to die loving a ghost.
--
The Watchtower was quiet that night. Quieter than usual.
Bob was sitting by the window in his room, legs pulled to his chest like a child who hadn’t yet figured out how to stop shaking. He’d been staring at the stars for hours, pretending they were blinking just for him—pretending they meant something. Sometimes the silence helped. Sometimes it pressed down so hard he couldn’t breathe.
Tonight, it was both.
He almost didn’t hear Alexei come in.
His footsteps were heavier than usual, but not in the theatrical, attention-seeking way. No, this was something different. There was weight in them. Real weight. Emotional weight.
Bob didn’t turn to look at him.
“Tea and cookies,” Alexei said quietly, easing himself into the old chair across from Bob, setting down a book neither of them would read.
Bob blinked, not understanding. “What?”
“She made tea. There were these little shortbread cookies. She always brings some to the club. But tonight she invited me to stay after.”
Bob felt it instantly. That subtle shift in his chest—recognition, fear, hope. A name curled on his tongue like a prayer.
“Y/N.”
Alexei nodded.
Silence passed between them like static.
“I wasn’t going to stay,” Alexei said. “Didn’t feel right, you know? She looked tired. But she offered. Said she didn’t want to be alone. So I sat. And for a while, it was nothing. Just two people eating cookies and being quiet.”
Bob’s throat tightened. He could picture it too clearly—her small, chipped mug, her socks pulled up too high, maybe a blanket draped around her shoulders. She always had trouble sitting still when she was anxious. She’d shift, fidget, adjust the books near her elbows, touch her hair.
“And then?” Bob whispered.
Alexei looked at him. Really looked. Not like a soldier. Not like a friend. Like someone about to hand you your own soul.
“She asked me if I’d ever loved someone enough to ruin myself for them.”
Bob stopped breathing.
“I told her… yeah. I did. A long time ago. And that it hurt. That sometimes love isn’t enough. That you can want someone more than anything in the world and still have to walk away.”
He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t have to. Bob knew there was more in that silence than Alexei could ever say. But the words weren’t the part that undid him.
It was what came next.
“She started crying.”
Bob’s heart cracked so loud in his chest he thought it might split the room in two.
“She didn’t even try to stop it. She just let it happen. Tears down her cheeks, her hands shaking around that stupid little mug. And she said…” Alexei’s voice softened. “She said she was still waiting for someone.”
Bob gripped the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“She said there was a man who left. And he never came back. And she knows he was broken—knows he had problems, things she might never understand. But she loved him anyway. Or maybe she didn’t even know she did. Not until it was too late. And even now, even after all the pain, some pathetic part of her—those were her words, not mine—still wanted him. Still waited.”
The tears came without warning.
Bob didn’t cry pretty. It was never cinematic. It was raw. Silent. Heaving. His face contorted as the sobs tore through him like glass down his throat.
She was waiting for him.
After everything. After all the ways he’d failed her. After the vomit and the relapses. After the bruised knuckles and broken promises. After disappearing without a goodbye, like a coward.
She was still waiting.
“Alexei—” he tried, but his voice shattered.
Alexei stood and walked over, putting a firm hand on Bob’s shoulder. “She misses you, man.”
“She shouldn’t,” Bob rasped. “She deserves better.”
“Maybe. But she doesn’t want better. She wants you.”
Bob bent forward, forehead pressed to his knees, shoulders trembling like the ceiling might cave in on him.
He could see her now—eyes red, voice cracking, wrapped in that old cardigan she used to wear when she felt small. Crying not because she was weak, but because something inside her had finally broken under the weight of everything she’d been carrying.
His name. His ghost. The ache that never left her chest.
“She said she never got to tell him,” Alexei added quietly. “That she was proud of him, even when he thought there was nothing left to be proud of.”
Bob shook his head violently, tears soaking through his sleeves.
“I don’t deserve her,” he choked. “I don’t deserve one second of her kindness. I left her. I left her.”
“But you never stopped loving her.”
Bob lifted his eyes, watery and wild.
Alexei knelt down in front of him, squeezing his shoulder. “That counts for something.”
Bob wanted to believe that. He needed to. But the guilt was too thick, too rooted. He’d buried his love like a landmine—sooner or later, someone was always going to get hurt.
But tonight… for the first time in weeks, in months, maybe in years… he had something to hold on to.
Hope.
Alexei wasn’t the kind of man who usually gave pep talks. He broke bones, not hearts. But that night, something in the room shifted. The weight in the air was different. Bob sat hunched on the floor again, as he often did when his thoughts got too loud, too dangerous. His hands were clenched in his hair, tears drying on his face in the silence. It wasn’t a silence of peace. It was one of surrender.
“I can’t go,” Bob whispered. “I can’t.”
Alexei sat in the chair beside him, eyes fixed on the floor. “Yes. You can.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Bob snapped, voice raw and thick. “You’ve seen the surface—what the Void lets you see. But I know what I’ve done. What I’ve almost done. I could’ve killed her. Just because I wanted to be loved.”
Alexei was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice like gravel and mercy.
“Do you think love is safe?” he asked. “Do you think any of us walk into it without risk? I have done worse things, Bob. To people who trusted me. To people I loved. You think I sleep easy at night? No. I just… don’t run from it anymore.”
“I never stopped running,” Bob muttered, choking on the words. “Even when I had her. Especially then. She tried so hard. God, Alexei, she tried so hard for me.”
Bob pressed the heel of his palm into his eye until stars burst behind the lid.
“Do you think…” he asked in a hoarse whisper, “that my love can undo what I’ve done? Do you think that’s enough? That just because I love her, it makes the nights she cried worth it? That it fixes the way I shattered her, again and again?”
“No,” Alexei said bluntly. “Love isn’t enough. Not on its own. But it’s a start. It’s a reason to try. And Bob—she hasn’t stopped trying either.”
Bob shook his head, lips trembling. “She doesn’t know what she’s waiting for. She thinks I’m someone worth saving.”
Alexei reached into his coat pocket.
“Then maybe you should read this.”
He held out a single, folded post-it.
It was pale yellow, edges a little crumpled. Familiar. Too familiar.
Bob stared.
He didn’t reach for it at first. Didn’t trust his hands not to crumble it in disbelief. But Alexei held steady, offering it like an answer.
Bob finally took it.
He didn’t even have to open it. He knew the handwriting. Slanted, careful but with bursts of impatience in the curls of the letters.
And he knew the words.
“I’ll come back. For you. Always.”
And he remembered it again—the worst nights. The ones he could barely piece together through the fog. The clatter of the bathroom door, the stench of vomit, her hands trembling as she wiped his face with a warm cloth, whispering things he couldn’t hear but felt in his bones. No disgust. No anger. Just… tired love. Quiet devotion.
And the guilt that came after—so thick, it coated his skin. He stopped opening the door. Stopped letting her see him like that. She’d still come, knock softly, wait longer than she should’ve. And when he said nothing, did nothing—she’d slide a little post-it under the door.
“I’ll come back. For you. Always.”
His breath hitched.
“This—this is—” He stared at the note like it was the most sacred thing in the world. Like it could breathe.
“She gave it to me tonight,” Alexei said softly. “Slipped it into my book. Didn’t say anything. Just smiled. I think… I think she wanted you to know that she’s still there. Still waiting.”
Bob folded in half, pressing the note to his chest like it could stop the bleeding.
“But how—how would she know—?”
Alexei chuckled under his breath, and it wasn’t unkind.
“She’s not stupid, Bob. She knew from the beginning. From the first book.”
Bob lifted his head, dazed.
“She told me tonight. She recognized me right away. She remembered me from the photos. And the first time I brought a book with your handwriting in it? She didn’t say a word. But her whole face changed. Like a light she didn’t expect. Like a ghost she thought she’d never see again.”
Bob’s lips parted. “But she never said—”
“She didn’t have to. She knew you were talking to her. And she answered. She let it happen until she was ready.”
Bob’s mouth quivered.
“Every time she brought a specific book to the club. That was for you.”
He was silent.
“She chose them for you, Bob. You weren’t the only one using me to speak. She was doing it too.”
Bob broke.
"You know what Bob, I've had many experiences in life, but seeing two people love each other while thinking the same unrequited love bullshit it's the most frustating thing I've lived through."
--
The book club had ended hours ago.
The chairs were stacked, the lights dimmed except for one hanging low over the back counter where the tea kettle still hummed. The scent of old paper, lavender, and stale sugar cookies lingered in the air.
Alexei lingered too.
He never stayed this late, usually offering a polite farewell and a practiced smile before retreating into the night like he had somewhere else to be. But tonight, he hesitated, eyes trailing to the table where Y/N stood quietly, tidying up a few leftover napkins like she wasn’t just waiting for something—like she wasn’t bracing herself for it.
“I should go,” Alexei said, half-hearted.
She didn’t look up right away. “One second,” she murmured.
And then she turned to him, slowly. In her hand was a tiny yellow square of paper, slightly curled at the edges like it had been held too many times. There was no name on it. Just handwriting—familiar and aching and soft in its certainty.
“I’ll come back. For you. Always.”
Alexei froze.
His blood stopped.
He hadn’t seen one of those in years. Not since—
Y/N stepped forward and gently pressed the post-it into his hand.
“Please give this to Bob.”
Silence.
Alexei’s mouth opened, then closed. His eyes searched hers, stunned, confused—exposed. He thought he had been careful. Thought the quiet drop-ins, the vague discussions, the books marked with gentle nuance and wordless confessions had been subtle enough. He thought he’d played the messenger without giving himself—or Bob—away.
But she had known.
She had always known.
“...You knew?” he asked softly, barely breathing.
Y/N gave a tired smile, the kind that looked like it hurt to wear.
“Since the first book,” she said. “The underlined sentences. The margin notes. The way you looked at me when I laughed, like someone had told you a joke days ago and you were just now getting it.”
Alexei blinked, overwhelmed. “You never said anything.”
“I didn’t need to.” She let out a breath, bitter and sweet all at once. “It was the only way I could hear him again. I didn’t want to break it.”
She stepped away then, folding her arms as if trying to hold herself together. Her shoulders trembled.
“But tonight… I just needed him to know,” she whispered.
Alexei’s grip tightened on the post-it.
He didn’t know what to say. How to tell her that Bob had read every word she spoke, that he lived in the seconds she laughed, that he measured time by the days she showed up with her hair down or a new sweater or a different tea. That Bob was starving just to be near her. That every night he watched from the shadows was both punishment and penance.
But he couldn't say those things.
Because they weren’t his to give.
So he just stood there, useless in his stillness.
And then she broke.
“Why didn’t he come back?” she asked, voice crumbling like wet paper. “I waited. I waited, Alexei.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks in slow, silent rivers. Her hands trembled at her sides.
“I was angry. So angry when he left. I hated him. I told myself I did. But then I’d go to the places we used to go. I’d drink the same coffee. Sit on the same benches. And every time the door opened, I thought it might be him.”
Alexei swallowed hard, chest tightening.
“I’m not asking for an apology,” she continued, voice rising with the dam of grief. “I just want to know why. Was I not enough? Was I… was I too much?”
“No,” Alexei whispered, pained. “Y/N, no.”
“Then why did he leave me like that?” Her voice broke. “Why didn’t he come back like I always did for him?”
She sank into the chair beside her, covering her face with one hand, wiping at tears that kept falling no matter how hard she tried to stop them.
Alexei stepped forward but hesitated.
He couldn’t tell her everything. He couldn’t say that Bob had been dragged through every layer of his own personal hell—had been broken, drugged, used like a weapon, haunted by the very love he didn’t think he deserved. That every time he thought about her, it wasn’t with joy, but with agony, because he believed he’d poisoned every beautiful thing in his life.
He couldn’t say that Bob cried in his sleep.
He couldn’t say that he never went more than three days without watching her from afar, just to be sure she was alive.
He couldn’t say any of that.
Because those words were Bob’s to give.
But his voice was soft as he spoke.
“He never stopped thinking about you.”
Y/N let out a small, helpless sound, somewhere between a sob and a breath.
“I just want it to be over,” she whispered. “The waiting. The not-knowing. I took the first step. Again.”
Alexei knelt beside her, gently placing the post-it in his coat pocket.
“I hope,” she said through tears, “I hope this is the last time I have to.”
And then she wept.
Not quietly. Not daintily.
She cried like someone who had carried too many sleepless nights in her chest. Like someone who had waited at every metaphorical door, only to find them locked. Like someone who knew she had loved without boundaries and had bled for it.
Alexei didn’t say anything else.
He just sat beside her, listening to the sound of her heart breaking again—for someone who had never stopped holding it.
And in the quiet, somewhere between sorrow and forgiveness, the post-it in his pocket burned like a lighthouse finally being lit after years of storm.
He would give it to Bob.
And for the first time in years, Bob would understand:
He could hide, protect her all he wanted, run away from her from years on end. She will always find a way to make him come back. Even if it made her rot from the inside out.
"If I had someone fight for me this hard and I still made them doubt the value of their presence while living with that thought day after day Bob. Maybe that's why you will never be happy. No family, no friends, no hope, for years its was just her. What even made you think you could stay away when you're just as miserable as her?"
Bob looked up to Alexei.
Part of him confused, she wasn't miserable she was living, he saw her.
But...if that was the truth for her, what has she been thinking all this time seeing him.
It was kinda funny. How could two people who only had one another no so little of each other's mind.
Both seemed happy. Both were dying for each other.
681 notes · View notes
8housevenus · 9 months ago
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lilith through the houses
hii, it has been a while since i have made a post on here; hope everyone is doing well. i wanted to dive into a post about lilith, i see a lot of people who are curious about lilith and how it manifests in their charts. lilith represents many things; rebellion, dark feminine, jealousy, envy, and sense of freedom/power.
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lilith in 1st - blessing & a curse. you have a sultry-esque to you, can appear a bit intimidating and off-putting from some sort of intensity; unintentionally. you have habits to always appeal to other people, you have a need to feel approved by others and rejection has always been a hard concept for you. you might have been bullied from women who were jealous of you when you were younger, or often left out on purpose because you seemed "untrusting," people often would read you wrong because they were too afraid to approach you. luckily for you though, you can pick up on these things right away. you have gifts for discernment and are good at blending into your environments nowadays. you are much harder to crack while you age, and that is because you have worked on your confidence & beauty through time- nobody can get under your skin as much as you do.
lilith in 2nd - loves to feel different. you love doing things that go against the standards. while everyone else was stressing over financial issues, housing, and overall structure, you had other plans. you preferred to feel free-spirited with your spending, and always found a way to attract money whether you worked for it or not. others despised you, thought you had it easy, or thought you let yourself go. you have a tendency to let others go, not in a bad way, but in a way that if there's anything stopping you from obtaining something, you will cut ties. you hold onto things that can be used to prove others wrong, probably still clings to photos, messages, etc. hates giving up easily. points out hypocricy on others a lot. you typically hate any form of control over you, not a fan of commands or orders, dislikes an overly organized environment. you like feeling accompanied in your habits. you always play your cards well.
lilith in 3rd - says it how it is always. you notice people usually love you or hate you there's no in between. sometimes attracts people who are two-faced, or always downplaying their achievements. you will really see the ugly side from people because of the way you can easily trigger them. felt held back from a young age to express certain thoughts, always likes to interject, say the things that others do not want to. has a serious tone, usually sounding mature and easily believable. you love pushing the boundaries with society and taking the lead. you are one of one, and you might notice some people have humored you a lot because they don't take you serious enough. people usually never let your past go, or they want to have a say in your reputation. to you though, any attention is good attention.
lilith in 4th - family matters. usually mother or prominent female figure forcing you to follow a path you don't want to. lots of household turmoil's, probably the ones to break a generational trauma, feeling suffocated by family and close ones. you have a hard time with making long-lasting friends and relationships out of fear of being abused emotionally somehow. easy for you to feel drained by others, feels and moves better alone. might have family members who are jealous of you or leave you behind because they cannot stand to see you succeed. maybe you felt that you hadn't been caught up as much as other kids growing up, late learner & way too self-dependent. you are strong in the sense that you take care of yourself better than others have. your pain has taught you how to provide a safe space for other people.
lilith in 5th - felt like you had a lot of energy vampires around you, anytime you wanted to feel fun-spirited you always had some people trying to void that. you are actually very easygoing, attract attention very easily, and people really admire your fierceness. however you fall short depending on the people you surround yourself with. you need uplifting beings around you, those who match your energy very well. you can always decipher who fits for you and who doesn't. you have a tendency to push away your intuition and gut feelings, you like giving chances and the ability for people to restart with you, however you realize it is a waste of time. lot of people will cling to you to try and analyze you, study you. relationships or friendships have used you to try to get the upperhand. people steal your ideas. tired of feeling bad for being yourself. you hope to remain light hearted and unravel new interests that give you a chance to understand yourself a bit more.
lilith in 6th - usually gets bullied because they are healthier than others. i know that sounds kiddish, but im serious. you know how to work twice as hard to get to where you want to be, whether that is career wise or health wise. you experience a lot of significant changes with your appearance, and you will have people trying to tear you down and invalidate your efforts. can deal with people speaking badly about your body, wishing to have your body, or lusting over your body. can have jealous co workers, outside peers, or in general you will notice that as soon as you want to change, many people do not like this. people have this preset notion of you and hate to acknowledge that you are in a better position than you used to be. you like doing things on your own schedule, you are known to being very picky, but as long as it is convenient for you, you do not mind. you're not a heavy complainer, instead you observe a lot and make do with whatever you got.
lilith in 7th - dealt with narcissists a lot of your life, has a fainted image of love and relationships. you guys love to reject other people lol, rightfully so though, most of the time you guys will have people trying to spin back to you. you are unforgettable to the ones you have had close bonds with, specifically with the other gender. can lead to men/women hating you so they can try to get over you. you love being able to try new things in relationships, switching it up is super important to you, and you love a 50/50, good give and take. if someone is too simple with you or doesn't seem as risk take-y as you, you kind of repel that. you crave to be unconditionally loved by someone that loves you in the right conditions. loves speaking out on things you find abnormal. you don't have many standards, which is why you have a lot of experience with the dating realm; however you only feel safe to settle once you see the imperfections in your partner. you hate anything superficial. you feel you can only trust those who are as damaged as you are.
lilith in 8th - feelings of powerlessness, inability to change, or endless karmaic cycles. you have been through harsh times with your inner self, and it has depleted a lot of your confidence. you are naturally more "darker or deeper" than others, you like reading between the lines and that is your superpower. you pick up on the things that most people slip. you have a strong aura of sensual energy whenever you do come together with a partner. seductive and manipulative at times, if you feel that you do not get what you want, you have a way to really make shit break out. lot of internal chaos with trying to figure yourself out. you have a strong admiration for the occult, and it is very known off of you. people often feel jealous that you know more than them, or that you are with-holding information, or that your energy is the most magnetic thing about you. you want to be able to explore everything that nobody wants to. it brings you peace to look from within more than on the out.
lilith in 9th - felt that higher purpose was always a challenge to try to figure out, religiously could have dealt with a traumatizing incident, or felt disconnected. turned against morals at one point and never looked back really. hates feeling narrow-minded, opened to new possibilities, hates certainty because things are so variable. people jealous that you can etach easily, and that you can expand onto bigger and better things. could been troubled in school for minor or major things, free will is a thing you love to test a lot. could have a lot of enemies from different backgrounds and countries, feel easily attacked for thinking differently than others. you notice how your mentality is far more different than others; you tend to be more receptive and optimistic, while other people could be more sensitive and reserved to their own thoughts. you dislike people with the inability to be free thinking as you are. you have a hard time connecting with others because of this, you feel only you can truly understand yourself. you can get frustrated easily and silenced due to it.
lilith in 10th - could feel scrutinized by authority figures in their lives, you might have a father who is controlling or somebody who is a male figure that will try to steer you from your goals. you have tried to make a lot of jobs work, however none feel too important to you. sometimes you feel that work industry can even be useless, simply because it doesn't bring you the satisfaction you want. you can even feel afraid to tap into your power in front of others, maybe seen as too shy or timid to go after what you really want. you sought more attention to what others would think rather than what you think of yourself. attracts jealousy through their jobs and careers anyway, some people find you "too this, too that" to the things you want to accomplish. you put up many facades and fake smiles to people because you feel that a lot of what you do is on display or talked about anyway. people honestly really love to throw some confusion your way, or doubt. you might really like a career that is extremely perplexing or doesn't require much at all.
lilith in 11th - felt weird from everyone else. you learned a lot of harsh lessons when you were younger, matured fast and enjoyed life much later. socially, well liked and easily applauded by others, which means that you also do have folks who have been envious of your abilities to drive the masses. you are unique and set trends. people follow you around or follow you online just to keep up with your aesthetic, it is like you are a hidden gem that prefers to be hidden. you've probably dealt with people trying to get close to you to steal from you or get with your other friends or even partners. you are naturally independent and sometimes too isolating. the feeling of needing nobody can stem from the fact that not many people surrounded themselves with you when you were younger. you socially blend in very well and use it to your advantage, as a lot of people will behave like "kiss-asses" to you. might have also dealt with fallouts with friends that have blamed you regardless of if you were guilty or not. they switch-up just as easy as they befriend you. it is undoubtedly hard to connect with some others.
lilith in 12th - spiritually been at war with yourself for a while, felt like there wasn't a place for you to confide without being shunned. hard time making sense of feelings that actually are justified to feel. others expected you to be strong and to bottle up a lot of your feelings, there was a lack of fulfillment also in teenage years due to the isolation you have went through. felt like you weren't good enough to go through with your ideas, fantasies, and goals. some part of you feels resentment towards yourself, as you learned that you were so hard on yourself when all you needed was to just experience life for what it was. always searching for something deeper. prone to nightmares or visions that have made you cautious, traumatizing experiences that nobody knows about or that has happened that was hidden from you or forgotten. sometimes you feel you don't even know what you are fighting for. you have a unique ability to contact your spiritual guides, manifesting comes easy for you once you work on this burden. you can bring out such strong changes in yourself and are capable of ending your "hellish" loops. people can feel envious of you for your trauma, and i know that sounds off, but you have been through a lot and others will try to act like they understand or can relate when they in fact do not. beware of people who pretend to be in the same boat as you. some will secretly just not like you, plain and simple.
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thank you for reading this all through, if i was accurate or off, let me know i would love to see some of your input. there's so much more i can say about each and if you want me to elaborate i will! i know i have put more for some of these and less for others, regardless, i am open to your inputs, thank u <3
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sheeezu · 4 months ago
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Just a quick shifting PSA
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(sponsored by this bear! his name is... Cornelius. Wait seriously?)
have you ever wanted to know why some people attempt to shift right after they wake up?
It's because, solely based on my own research so don't hear me out if you don't want to
It's the exact moment when our consciousness adjusts and reintroduces it self into reality after being disconnected to it by sleep. Like a photo editor, making sure the saturation is correct, the colors aren't off, memories are in order, it's the correct reality, thoughts are aligned to current circumstances.
We can figure it out by observing our behavior right after we wake up
Groggy is the word.
But behind the scenes, we're talking to people not there, we're mixing dreams with reality, aka the things that never happen, we experience scenarios which never happened all in the short period right after we wake up. (also some other weird reality hijinks! come on you know this one, near void state experiences, your soul being sucked out etc etc)
And afterwards we get our bearings and everything falls back into order.
Moral of the story is try to utilize the time right THE SECOND you wake up to shift to your desired reality!!! (or the void state :)
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Posting this when you all are snoozing away in a mess of time zones.
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angelsafa · 17 days ago
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Hiiiiiiiiii😭😭😭 I'm here to share a void success story, it's preeetty recent and I'm still going crazy over it😭😭😭😭 (I'll probably share/spam this on other blogs' asks section too, srry ig😭😭)
Sooo, it's been two fucking days since I got my fucking dream life!!!😭😭😭😭 I revised sooo many things and especially since I'm an ARMY(fan of BTS) I manifested/revised A BUNCH OF THINGS
I manifested/revised knowing them very very earlier(debut time)
I revised that I went to many many concerts(at first I was like "wouldn't this be.. "wrong" to manifest I went to all concerts??" but after some little time I remembered that this is my reality + if the fact that i went to all their concerts would make me happy THEN BITCH WHY NOT😭😭😭) I swear there are SO many photos and videos from their concerts on my phone OH I ALSO MANIFESTED MY DREAM PHONE😭😭😭 which is a s20 bts edition samsung , it's become my dream phone from the moment it came out, many people were hopeless etc of getting it because it's apparently sold out but i never really felt that way, especially after getting to know void state and manifestation i just became even more hopeful about that, btw I had some beginner luck the first time I entered this state, but then it felt like I just couldn't be it again 😭😭 but LITERALLY 2 DAYS AGO I DID IT AND FOR SOME REASON(GOOD!!) I STAYED AN ACTUALLY LONG TIME THERE AND REVISED ANDMANIFESTED SO MANY TJINGS!!!😭😭😭🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
I have all of their albums and many other merchs and most of them are autographed and I KID U NOT I REMEMBER IT SOOOO CLEARLY AND PERFECTLY 😭😭😭😭😭 I also remember their concerts very perfectly ofcc😭😭😭
I woke up in this new house, IT'S REALLY PRETTY I LOVE IT andd i also have a pet ohbmy fucking gosh😭😭😭 It's a puppy golden retriever and it's called a specific name that I've always loved and I always wanted to have a golden retriever called this way SHE'S SUCH A CUTIE BTWW as I was saying i always loved this name and have always been in love with golden retrievers and this specific name ever since I was a kid I would watch lots of golden retriever videos especially puppies back then (I AIN'T KIDDING WHEN I SAY I'M FUCKING OBSESSED WITH THESE CUTIESS!!!🥹🥹❤‍🩹❤‍🩹) her name is so pretty and it actually fits my little baby soooo perfectly 😭😭🥹💝💝💝 I revised I got her like 1 week ago that's why she's such a smol and cute babie🤧 I had this heartwarming feeling when I was affirming for her at the void🥹 I just love her smm and I've been playing with her quite a lot <3 I've also been unboxing some merchs and other things I both manifested and bought(i revised being rich and I STILL CAN'T FULLY BELIEVE IT I MEAN YES BUT IT'S SOOOOO WNVDJSGJXH I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO DESCRIBE IT BUT I LOVE IT I MEAN MY BANK ACCOUNT IS SOOOO HUGE I MEAN I HAVE A LOT OF MONEYYYYYY AND I BOUGHT MANY MANY THINGS ALREADY 😭😭😭😭🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 omg I can't forget to mention thisss so I have a looot of followers in this tumblr acc THIS IS SO MAGICAL ISWEAR KWMGSJSGD I also have posts from the past, posts abt BTS and others too but mostly BTS and i just remember them so clearly i could be dreaming idk I LOVE THIS😭😭😭😭😭
Also I found two pics of me and tye members together at backstages and the same day while "exploring" my new house i found out i have two frames with these photos🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 man the fact I remember it all is what makes it all even crazier to me!! I also have this feeling like it was yesterday if u know what I mean <3
I revised showing up on specific BTS vids from Bangtantv's channel like for example BTS pop-up houses and I'm also on some concerts videos from the channel!!!!
I have two armybomb v1 and v3 and one armybomb v2 and SE(special edition), I have all albums and I said earlier 99% of them are autographed I have photos and videos of me at their fansigns and fanmeetings too I also found this P E R F E C T screenshot from when some MVS came out, including their debut mv, the screenshot was from 13 mins ago and I remember it very well as well <333
Now leaving BTS aside for a little, I also revised/manifested having my dream job and dream wardrobe too I'm so in love with my clothes and a dress in specific I just feel like using it EVERY DAY before getting into the state I saw it on Pinterest and it was like love at first sight😅🥹 ofc I remembered it when affirming for my dream wardrobe in void 🫶🏻🫶🏻
I really really wanted to share certain pics here but I prefer sending this on anonymous because I actually don't want people to find out abt this acc and find out that a random ARMY changed it all in her life🤣🤣🥲 but I swear I'm soooo on cloud 9 rnn and I have many things to unbox too well wait I'mma list other things I manifested : dream car, fluency in many languages including Korean ofc! Besides my cutie baby golden retriever i also have 2 cutie cutie kittens they're so lovely and I know they love me a lot like I love them too🥺🥺🩷🩷🩷 already said wardrobe but i also manifested a bunch of accessories and pretty shoes and especially boots too! I manifested being a good swimmer since I've always loved this sport lol(i affirmed that i can hold my breath infinitely idk if this is gonna be dangerous or idk in some way but i tested it on the same day too and yes i truly can hold my breath for a long time😳😁 i revised an account of mine being unbanned because it """had been banned"""(not anymore hehe) by some damn BTS haters but i revised that nothing of it happened and guess what?? I HAVE A POST FROM THE SAME DAY I WOKE UP IN THIS BRAND NEW LIFE!!!! I also manifested specific friends and some magical, spiritual, witchy items as well because I'm a very spiritual person and i loooove tarot cards i manifested a lot of decks and besides that i also manifested incenses, tons of crystals and pretty rocks, a caldron bcz why not lol, there's also a lot of things(not only spiritual and witchy things) that I didn't affirm when I was the void but since our higher selves always knows it damn all, I also had them when I woke up here.
There's so many things I swear I revised like 80% of my past, old life and now I literally have my dream life😭😭😭 I'm aware of skepticals who might say this is fake but I DON'T CARE LMAO VOID IS REAL MANIFESTATION IS REAL I LOVE THEM BOTH AND I DON'T GONNA PROVE MYSELF TO NOBOOOODY especially when it's a fucking skeptical person with no magic in their lives 🤣🤣🤣💅🏻💅🏻
I'm sooo happyyyy I think I'm gonna end this ask now but I may come back later(maybe, cause I'll probably sending this to different accounts who post about void success stories loll, but I'll try to come back later and give some updates if you replied to this ask!), I'll finish unboxing stuff and decorating my dream room even more, I'll also see more photos that I have in my phone from BTS concerts and other things WAAAAIT THIS IS IMPORTANT LOL i have a printer!! I can make my own photocards now loll😭😭🤣🤣 yess i swear this is important, maybe mostly for me but whateeever lol
Everyone who's also on their void state journey or such, I believe in you aaaall i know you all got this too!! Keep going, improving/increasing ur mindset and consciousness etc i know you will get all that you wish soon affff!! <3 thanks for reading this and i feel like saying that if it happens that this disappears in the future then you'll know why lol(universe making things even more truer, meaning that i didn't actually revise it all but i always had it all! AND I MEAN I ACTUALLY DOOOOO😭😭🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻) thanks and I'll go now, bye guyss!! 🥹🥹🩷🩷🩷🩷 I'll update if i can :)
Holy shit just realized how huge this ask is😭😭😭🤣🤣🤣
OMG GIRL IM SO SO HAPPY FOR YOUUOU
literally me when I entered the void
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roamingleaf · 7 months ago
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"Park Bench"
TW: Public Park, G@ngbang, R@pe, Creampie, age difference, Cnc
You filthy, needy, degenerate little whore. So many different posts, some flashing your perky, Hershey kissed nipples. Others showcasing the sloping curves of booty hiding behind a host of different panties. What a brazen call you put out into the depraved, horny void for men twice your age to tell you how they'd use your curving, hypnotic, canvas like it was nothing more than a Fuckdoll. Could you imagine what would happen when all of these hungry lions cornered you?
It would have been another dimly lit evening thanks to the watchful, chilly eye of the moon being shrouded by the swaying, swooping clouds passing before it. Daintily you would have been strolling along those emptied streets in the thinnest clothes your closet had to offer. Despite the darkness of the night being clutching, your glowing physique beautifully stood out. Why? In hopes of finding a place to pack your camera with provocative pictures of that perky, petite, portrait you call a body. Thankfully your adventure into the violet nightfall would not last too long before a perfect oaken tree stood out to you in the middle of a park.
With hurried breath you headed towards it, unaware of the silver Acura that had been following such a scampering, alluring canvas for a few blocks. Once your scurrying ways had landed you not in front of the tree, but instead, on top of a park bench on your knees your personal photoshoot had started.
Snap, snap, snap.
Went the subtle cold stare of your familiar phone camera all while that silver Acura calmly, as if stalking its prey circled to the back of the park.
There in that empty lot did four, brutish, burly men leave that car with only one intention in mind. As those shadowy monsters crept their way closer towards their prize, you would be foolishly drunk off the thoughts of attention these photos would reap for you. Before that familiar snap could be heard one more time you would feel it.
The sudden grasp of multiple hands clambering for a feel of that summer rain soft skin of yours. This rather bold move done in the middle of such a public place was one to send your head into a spiral. Though, sadly, much bigger things would swiftly start to feel those thoughts in your head. You could feel it, five? Six? Who could tell how many hands in that shadowy park had been helping weigh you down. All that could be told for certain was the long, thick, meaty shaft of one of these strange men had pushed past your pastel lips to invade your soft, dripping mouth.
The fighting spirit that would normally circulate through that tenacious frame was all but drained as you felt your skin, tight shorts being torn from your roaming, luscious hills you call hips. This couldn't be happening, one invader reshaping your throat into a Fleshlight was plenty. How could someone else hope to plunder the silken, sticky, greedy halls of your sacred shrine? But, like the toy they intended to turn you into, they proceeded to do just that. Test the holds of your hungry little body.
Through muffled, breathless, moans you tried your hardest to push with whatever you could. But atlas, these men were too strong for such a fragile doll to fight back. That's when you could feel it, the first of many loads to paint that once uncovered canvas. The first man grunted as he freed himself from the tight coils of your throat to start the painting process.
As you grunted, and gasped for air you could feel the firm grasp of the man pounding into your starved pussy clamping to your hips. With this hold up a delicate work of art you could feel his matching rhythm of his thrust by colliding your hips back into his. Sadly however, this intoxicating daze would be sullied by the feel of your hair being pulled so your regal face would be eye to eye with another hard, shaft that meant to continue the training.
For what felt like an eternity they passed you around between their grimey grasp. Each of them leaving their own bruises, marks, and of course seed planted deeply inside your once fruitful garden. Only once your dainty frame meekly lay sprawled across that park bench leaking from every single hole, and painted properly like a priceless picture would those gentlemen's hunger be satisfied and off into the night would they return.
-🪶
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zweetpea · 8 months ago
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Mrs. “Wayne”
Content warning: Swears, Arranged Marriage, talks of having an heir, Mentions of Bruce’s Affairs, Nightwing x Starfire mentioned
Based on this since no one else has done it (or at least not that I've seen...)
BTW guys if you want to write something based off something I write I ask that you tag me in it. (Unless it's like a broad thing... like if you see my post about Bruce bringing home a girl that he met and married that day then write a fic around that idea I ask that you credit me, but if you see my Yandere Bruce x reader and decide to make a "baby fever! Bruce x reader" that's more general so I don't think it would be fair of me to ask for credit.)
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"Honey I know you're angry with us but it's what’s best for you. He's the richest man in the country." Your mother fixed your veil.
"He's a whore. And what's worse is that he doesn't even consider how it even affects his kids. I just picks up orphans off the street like they're lucky pennies or a 20 dollar bill for him." You grimaced.
"You know what a..." She sounded appalled. "20 dollar bill is? Oh how I've failed you as a mother."
"Don't be so dramatic." You rolled your eyes.
"Are you ready to go?" Your father entered into the private room. "You look beautiful Princess."
"Thanks dad."
"Come on." He grabbed your hand as you grabbed the bouquet. You wrapped your arm around his as you two walked down the isle to your soon-to-be husband, Bruce "Brucie" Wayne.
You looked down through the entire ceremony, up until the Vows. Brucie's were short and sweet. "We may not know each other too well but I swear to be loyal, thoughtful, and truthful through our entire marriage." At which you heard a faint snort from the front row. You slightly glance over and see a young man a few years younger than you trying to hold laughter, his white streak bobbing as he shook with laughter. Brucie's glaring at him.
You turned back to your inevitable spouse and said your vows. "I promise to stand by your side in all your endeavors, even if that means adopting 10 more orphans you pick up from the streets like they were stray cats." You said in a monotonous voice.
You two finish off the ceremony with the standard ceremonial officiator speach.
"Do you Bruce Wayne take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
"I do."
He turns to me. "Do you-"
"I do." You cut him off. Surprising everyone with how forward that was. Some whispers were heard amongst the crowd, undoubtedly calling you a gold digger for being so eager to get this ceremony over with.
"Well at least she's eager! That's almost gotta ensure this marriage lasts right?" The officiator jokes to ease the tension. "If anyone objects to this marriage please speak now or forever hold your peace." The same young man who was laughing held up his hand but it was pushed down by a man about your age sitting next to him. "Then you may now kiss the bride."
You and your new husband shared a chaste kiss before you ran down the isle and out to the limo. And after a short drive you made it to the spot where you were scheduled to take your wedding photos and have the reception.
The reception was void of life, stuffy, like all those galas your parents forced you to attend. Hopefully this didn't end up like one of the incidents of Brucie flirting with milfs, sticking his tongue down a young squeezes throat, or twerking on ice sculptures.
Eventually Brucie takes you over to the loudest table in the place. "Wifey, these are my kids and co. Dick my oldest, the trouble maker who laughed during the ceremony is Jason, my oldest daughter Cass, the middles Stephanie and Tim, and Damian my youngest. Then there's Barbara Commissioner Gordons daughter, and our newest member of our family Duke."
"I'm the only blood child." Damian points out.
"Let's hope debauchery isn't hereditary."
Jason bursts out laughing at that. "I like her already."
"Really? Cause I had to hold your hand like a toddler during the ceremony to keep you from throwing a tantrum like a toddler." Dick points out.
"Can you blame me Dickie. She's your age. If anyone should be having a hissy fit it's you. Well you and maybe Babs."
"But we're not. So can't you be mature about this."
"I think Todd's lack of manners have become more acceptable considering what she said. Now it stands out less. Congrats Todd, you're now the family's second biggest embarrassment." Damian rolled his eyes.
"Haha" You laughed sarcastically. "What are you stray cats fighting over anyway that has you so rowdy? Someone throw out a can on anchovies?"
"No we're just excited to have a new Mom." Dick smiled at you.
"Oh looks like my new Father-in-law is calling me over for some business talk. I'll be back, Wifey. You just stay here and mingle." Your husband walks away and you turn back to the Brucie bunch.
"I know you guys probably don't like me or find it weird that I'm so close to your guys ages. Do me a favor and just put up with me for say five to ten years." They looked at you confused so you elaborate. "Brucie and I signed a prenup that if I asked for a divorce I'd get nothing. But give it a few years and he'll find a new fling. They'll get caught and he'll ask for a divorce to save his image. Don't worry I'll only ask for at most a million. Standard sum for a celebrity of his caliber."
Damian glares at you. "You skank."
"I'm being realistic. As a woman in high society you get to be a man's pretty young thing till you're 40. By then you've either started your own multi-million dollar business or you're the divorced crone who can't do any better. Most relationships of this caliber are shams held together by pool boys and secretaries. Or the few lucky ones that got married for love instead of PR."
"Bruce isn't like that." Tim defends.
"Oh please. I've seen him go to a date with a woman and leave with two completely different women than the woman he arrived with." You rolled your eyes
"Maybe when he was younger, but he's changed." Duke stood up to confront you.
"It's nothing personal kids, it's just business. I don't care if that's how he chooses to live his life. I won't be around much to see it anyway, I'm going to be rather busy." You shrugged, seemingly above it all.
"Busy with what?" Cass glared.
"Trading stocks and such, preparing for the inevitable divorce. Maybe I'll go sponsor some artists or a theatre production if I'm bored. I don't know, but what I can tell you is that it's coming." You turn around to walk away and see Brucie already flirting with another woman. "And from the looks of it, it's coming sooner than we could've ever guessed." You smirked, feeling vindicated. The rest of them looked on in horror.
After the reception you two left on a rather uneventful honeymoon. The private villa was garish and gaudy. It felt like a petty excuse to flaunt his wealth especially because you two spent the entire trip sleeping in different rooms. And on top of all that half way through he up and left you with his black card and flew back to the mansion to deal with an "emergency". Your best guess was a whiny sugar baby was getting pissy.
At the end of the trip you flew back and had to catch an uber home. None of them even came to pick you up from the airport. Though with how they reacted to your statements at the reception could you really blame them?
Regardless you practically snuck into the mansion with the help of Alfred who showed you to a small guest room on the first floor. It had a single queen sized bed without even a comforter, just a white duvet, and on either side of the bed were nightstands.
"Thank you Alfred." You nodded to.
"You're welcome." He bows. "If there's anything else you need please feel free to inform me immediately."
"Brucie left this with me in his vacation home, can you give this back to him and tell him I said thank you for the take out?" You handed over the black card.
"Take out?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. And for letting me use the Wayneflix account while I was there. If I may make a slight suggestion, give your regency era shows more attention. Thank you Alfred. I'll go unpack now."
"I've already taken the liberty of unpacking your clothes into the wardrobe and dresser." He revealed.
"You didn't need to do that."
"I know you requested that I not but I felt I'd rather have your room ready for you than for you to stress when you arrived." He bowed.
"That's very sweet but I have a very particular system. My outfits all fit together in a specific way." You start to rearrange your clothes in the way you see fit.
"Might I learn how you like them so I can properly sort them next time?"
"No, it's okay. I can do my own laundry." You offered.
"Have you ever done your own laundry?" He raised an eyebrow accusingly.
"Well... no." You confessed. "But you already have like 14 other people's laundry to do. I don't want to be a bother. Besides I don't want you to waste a few weeks when it won't matter in a few years."
"So Master Damian has told me you've said. Nevertheless I'm willing to learn to do this if you are willing to learn how to do your own cooking and laundry."
"Why are you helping me?"
"I've met many people whom Master Wayne has brought into his life. You are the first who's actually wanted to fend for yourself. If you are running a long con into Master Wayne's pocket it's either the smartest or the dumbest plan I've ever seen concocted. Besides, many of the Wayne's don't currently reside here full time. Master Dick lives with his wife missus Koriand'r. Master Jason lives in a renovated greenhouse studio apartment. Miss Barbara and Miss Cassandra live as roommates. And Master Wayne lives in either his WayneTech or home Office. I have more than enough time to learn."
You genuinely smiled for the first time since you heard about the engagement. The two of you spent the rest of the day organizing clothes and making cookies.
"-And that is the difference between Light Academia and Pastel Academia.”
He looked stunned. "How do you keep all this straight?"
"It's just something I got into because I wanted to disassociate from my hopeless reality. I figured fake it till you make it right? Someday I could have a different, more quiet life. And finding subtle nuances between aesthetics is honestly fun. Like a game of spot the difference."
“Oh my! Look at the time! It’s already 4 o’clock!” Alfred looks stunned at the time.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spend four hours talking about this.”
"It's quite alright Missus Wayne."
"I'll go bring these to Brucie. Might as well let him know that he's not getting any inheritance from a tragic accident that happened to me."
"Master Wayne cares for you. I hope you know that. It may not be in the most... romantic measure... but I swear that he was not lying on your wedding day when he said he'd remain faithful to you." Alfred tried to reassure.
"If you say so Alfred." You gave him a small smile.
Alfred looked at her sadly as she walked away. He wished there was more he could do to help you fit in around the manor. Someone as grounded as you would be a good addition in Brice's life, he just knew it!
Later in the Batcave, Alfred confronted Bruce
"Master Wayne I have an idea on how to keep your new wife busy."
"Why should I care about what's she's doing with her life? I have more important things to do than to worry about than some nepo-baby throwing a tantrum.
"Why should you care? How about the fact that you have never had a serious relationship and making this work is crucial for your public image? How about the fact that she has given up her entire life to cater towards your brash decision after one petty comment Mr. West made about your love life?" Alfred started listing off reasons; becoming more irate as he did. "How about the fact that if she's not kept busy during the day she'll eventually stumble upon the entrance of the Batcave?"
That peaked Bruce's interest. "I'm listening." He swivels around in his chair.
"Offer her a job as the family's social media manager." Alfred proposed.
"What? Why?" Bruce looked at him, skeptically.
"She's very knowledgeable about different aesthetics and trend. She could make this family look..." He tried to find a nice word to describe them.
"Normal?" Bruce interrupts with an almost bored look on his face.
"I was going to say civil but that works too." Alfred shrugged as Bruce groaned. "Don't take it the wrong way Master Wayne. I love this Family with all my heart but you cannot deny that they can be a bit rowdy at times."
"A bit is an understatement. It would look good for your PR... fine. Go ask her... but If it is not up to Wayne Enterprise standards you're firing her for me!"
So that's what you've been doing for the past few months.
"Jason, I'm telling you, motorcycles are out! Most girls aren't going for the bad boy vibe anymore! They're into Timothée Chalamet!" You argued over the phone with Jason, Bruce's most rebellious child, even more so than the 12 year old pain in the ass! "Fine, we'll talk later. I have an unexpected visitor anyway." You looked behind you as Bruce entered.
Bruce made a habit of being loud around the house for her. You knew he was being exceptionally weird but you didn't exactly know why. You didn't really care all that much either.
He came up behind you and started to massage your shoulders. "Jason giving you trouble again."
"...yeah." You said shrinking into yourself. The one thing you hadn't quite gotten used to was Bruce's attempts to flirt with you. You knew that he wanted to keep public image favorable, but it didn't make sense why he flirted with you behind closed doors.
He leaned down and started kissing your exposed shoulders in your off the shoulder sweater dress. You wriggled out and away from him in discomfort and he looked at you puzzled. "What's wrong?"
"I don't like you touching me." You confessed. "I don't- ...I don't see us that way... I'm sorry."
He sat on the edge of your desk. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who should apologize. It's just that... we haven't done anything yet and-"
"And what? You think I'm a slut that's just going to put out for you?" You interrupted.
"No! I just meant that you were probably wanting me to... be more romantic... I thought you'd want me to instigate something..." He stood there, not knowing what to do.
"Well you thought wrong." You left your office angrily. You stomped out of there and went to the library. You looked over all the books they had. Classics like the Iliad and Crime and Punishment to so many romance novels. But one book in particular caught your interest. The History of Taxes.
"Who wants to read about taxes?" You cringed. The book looked relatively untouched. 'Typical,' you thought. 'Rich people can't even be bothered to try and read the books they have in their house.' She went to pull it out and found the bookshelf moving.
On the other side was the answer to one of the greatest mysteries she's had since she came to Gotham, "Who is Batman and Co?"
There it was! The Batcave and All it's glory...
Oh... the bags under his eye of sleepless nights, the flirty persona, the stomping around trying to make his presence known to you.
"Bruce Wayne is Batman..." No sooner had you said those words did you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head and the world fade into darkness...
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thecafecryptid · 1 month ago
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So...I thought we were safe from cryptic stuff for at least a few months, but it looks like we're back in the building again.
We've got more posts without captions on Twitter
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The red and blue lighting here stood out immediately. In the blue images we can see Clancy without a mask on. We also see him gradually getting further away from Josh until there's just a picture with him by himself, looking defeated. A small thing I noticed that I don't know if it means anything is that in the image of Clancy by himself, there's a bit of yellow lighting we can see in the sea of all that blue.
In the red images Clancy has a mask on in all of them except for the one where he's lying on the ground. In the pic where Josh is present, his face isn't visible at all. It's just kind of a dark void like we saw in the video they posted, "Happy 10 years to Blurryface". This seems like another indication of Clancy being at a point where he can't see Torchbearer.
We got a post on Instagram as well where the only caption was the logo |-/. Once again we're getting blurry photos and several where their faces are either blurry, darkened, or covered. Something that really threw me off is that they added the song Paladin Strait to the post. They don't generally add music to their posts so this might be significant. Maybe it's a little nod to the fact that we're at that point in the story now.
Kind of a side thing, as I was thinking about how we've been seeing images of Clancy with his mask a lot, it reminded me of these lyrics from Message Man
A loser hides behind
A mask of my disguise
And who I am today
Is worse than other times
Anyway, that's all the observations I have for now, but I guess our job isn't over yet. I'll keep an eye out. 🫡
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littleacebee · 10 months ago
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I finally did it! So here is my silly little contribution to Fiction Podcast Zine Event!
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ID in alt texts and under the cut (I did try my best with them)
[ID: Photo of the front page of a zine. On the top of the page there is text in big pink letters: „What to do while listening to a podcast”. Below is smaller text in purple and black: „LittleAceBee’s helpful fun guide”. Below is there is doodle of a bee wearing purple headphones. Next to it, in blue spicy cloud, there is a text: „with illustrations”.
Page 3. In the middle of the page there is big colourful text: „Make art & craft”. Above it, on the left there is drawing of cross stich project with „Podcast tim” written on it and there is text reading „cross stitching!” below it. Next to it, on the right is drawing of thread spool and needles. There is text above it reading „sewing!”. The furthest on the right there is a drawing of a painting on an easel with text „painting!” below it. Below the big text, on the left there is a drawing of hand drawing a drawing of two stick figures, one is signed „podcast blorbo”, the other one „me”. There is text saying „drawing!” above it. On the right of it there is a drawing of half knitted scarf and ball of yarn. Above it is text saying „knitting!”.
Page 2. On the top of the page is big dark blue text: „Clean”. Below it are to drawing of two girls wearing purple headphones. One on the left is holding feather duster and dusting a drawer. One on the right is mopping the floor.On bottom part of the page is bus window with a word „commute” written on it in cloudy font. On the right of the text is standing a girl in purple headphones.
Page 4. On the top half of the page there is drawing of a path in woods and girl with purple headphones walking on it. Below it there is green text: „Take a walk”. On the bottom half of the page there is drawing of a pink computer. On its screen there are three text posts: „Emotional liveblogging”, „hxkboayzmjkl” and „oh my god…”.
Page 5. On the top of the page, on the left there is a drawing of a person with short hair and there is a cloud with big word „talk” written in it. On the right there is a girl knitting a scarf with unimpressed expression on her face. Next to her lays a phone. Below is similar scene but instead of person with short hair there is a skeleton in their place and from girls eyes there are two lasers pointing at the skeleton. Further below there is word “talk” crossed out. On the bottom part of the page there is drawing of chopping board with knife rested on its corner. On the board there are pieces of vegetables spelling “cook”. Next to the board there is a phone and its screen there’s logo with big P and text “podcast”.
Page 6. On the top half of the page there is a drawing of a girl eating. Above her is big green text: „eat”. Next to her on a table there is phone with P on its screen. From the phone there is speech bubble and inside there is text: „choose episode carefully or you might hear the grossest thing ever”. On the bottom half of the page there is vertical written word „play”. Overlapping with its „a” there is „game” written. On the left of the text there are scattered ten colourful puzzle pieces. On the top right there are cards laid down for solitaire. Below there is computer with little house on its screen.
Page 7. On the top half of the page there is drawing of face of girl in purple headphones. She has horrified expression and tears streaming down her face. The background is dark. Above her is simple text: „stare into the void and cry*”. Below her is another text: „remember to cry quietly to still be able to hear the podcast”. On the bottom half of the page there is a drawing of a girl in purple headphones. She is watering flowers spelling a word “gardening”. Above there is flying bee.
Page 8. On the top of a page there is purple text saying: “I hope my helpful fun guide was helpful.”. Below in big pink letters there is a text saying: “thank for reading!”. On the bottom of the page there is small text saying: “#fiction podcast zine event”]
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aquamarixx · 6 months ago
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final boarding call
just like in the hallmark movies, you fly halfway across the world to see Rin but life isn’t a hallmark movie, especially not yours
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⁺₊ ❆ ANGSTMAS 2024 ENTRY ❆ ₊⁺ pairing itoshi rin x reader word count 1.6k words tags aged up, post manga timeskip, angst, hurt navigation
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It had been over four months since Rin left for Germany to play for PXG, and while you understood the demands of his career, the distance was starting to weigh on you.
It was hard matching his free time, no less the time zone he was in. At first, Rin still managed to chat with you consistently. But as he settled into a new routine, the distance only grew. The messages became less frequent. Facetimes eventually died down. His tone turned colder—so unlike the Rin you once knew.
His schedule was packed with training, matches, and media appearances. You couldn’t blame him; this was the opportunity he had worked his whole life for. The last thing you wanted was to burden him with your loneliness.
Still, you couldn’t shake the ache.
From your apartment on the other side of the world, you could only stare at his photos on your phone. Sometimes, you’d see his promo photos on the big LED billboards in Shibuya. You’d smile bittersweetly, pride and pain twisting together in your chest.
However, with Christmas just a few months away, the loneliness became unbearable. You tried to drown yourself in work, hanging out with friends, and visiting family in the countryside to crush the feeling. But nothing filled the void of not being with Rin during the holidays.
So, you decided to surprise him.
You had been saving for months, cutting corners wherever you could just to make this trip happen. The flight prices alone daunted you, but you were determined to see him.
A grand gesture, like those Hallmark movies you and Rin used to watch. Rin would scoff at the clichés, but you knew he secretly loved those warm, cheesy storylines.
Arriving at the stadium in Germany, you were practically buzzing with excitement, wearing his PXG jersey and clutching the ticket you’d paid far too much for. The roar of the crowd was deafening as Rin and his team claimed victory. You cheered louder than anyone else, pride swelling in your chest.
After the game, you waited outside, eager to surprise him. When Rin finally emerged, he was surrounded by his teammates and staff.
“Rin!” you called, waving.
His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, and for a moment, they landed on you. His expression froze in shock, a flicker of surprise in his usually stoic features. He approached slowly, his teammates nudging him with teasing smirks.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.
“I wanted to surprise you! It’s been so long, and I thought…” You stepped forward, arms outstretched, but the tension in his posture stopped you in your tracks.
Rin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
Your smile faltered, but you pressed on. “I made a dinner reservation for us. I thought we could celebrate. Just the two of us.”
His gaze flickered away, avoiding yours. “I—I can’t. The team has a celebration tonight. It’s mandatory.”
The weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You forced a smile, nodding. “Oh, it’s okay. I can wait. I just want to celebrate Christmas with you.”
“Uh… I’ll see what I can do,” he said, giving your hands a light squeeze before running back to his team, leaving you to your own devices.
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The restaurant was warm and festive, filled with couples and families. You sat at your reserved table tucked away in the corner, your green dress matching the Christmas décor, a red muffler draped over your shoulders. It was an expensive reservation, but you didn’t mind spending more than you had to.
The waiter brought a glass of wine, his polite smile faltering as time dragged on.
Ten minutes turned to twenty, then thirty. Your messages to Rin remained unread. The waiter returned with the whole bottle of wine, pity etched across his face. You could almost hear what he was thinking: Poor girl, waiting for someone who might not even show up.
Determined not to waste the evening, you ordered a small meal. The food was exquisite, but it tasted like ash in your mouth. By the time you left, the festive glow of the city felt mocking. Couples strolled arm in arm, their laughter amplifying the ache in your chest.
Look at me, celebrating Christmas Eve in a foreign country, alone.
Later that night, as you scrolled through your phone, your heart sank. On social media, you saw pictures of Rin with his teammates—and a beautiful woman. She was stunning, effortlessly charming, and from the comments, clearly a celebrity. The internet was already buzzing with speculation, shipping them as the next power couple.
You sent Rin a text:
“Hope you’re having fun. Saw the pictures. Let me know when you’re free to talk.”
Hours passed with no reply.
When Rin finally showed up at your hotel room, it was past midnight. His expression was blank, as though this visit was just another task to cross off his endless list of responsibilities.
“You finally decided to show up,” you said, your voice laced with exhaustion and bitterness.
“I told you, I’ve been busy,” Rin replied curtly, stepping into the room.
“And I’ve been waiting,” you snapped, the words escaping before you could stop them.
“I’ve been waiting for you to spare me even just a little of time. Is that too much to ask for, Rin?”
His gaze hardened. “You came here unannounced. What did you expect? I didn’t ask you to come.”
The words were like a slap to your face. “I expected you to be happy to see me! To appreciate the fact that I flew halfway across the world just to spend time with you because I thought maybe—just maybe—you missed me as much as I missed you.”
“You knew what you were getting into when we started this,” Rin said coldly. “My career would always come first.”
You laughed bitterly, tears stinging your eyes. “I know Rin! I know! That’s why I’ve supported you through everything, Rin. Your training, your matches, your dreams—I was there. But now, all I’m asking for is a crumb of your time, and you can’t even give me that.”
“That was your choice,” Rin shot back, his tone cutting. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask you to drop everything and come here.”
Your breath hitched, the weight of his words crushing you. “You didn’t ask for this?” you repeated, your voice trembling. 
It hits you like a big yellow school bus. It hits you hard. It shakes your core, looking at the man you love stare at you in such a way. Like you’re a burden. Something from the past that he has already buried.  
 “You’re right. You didn’t. But I thought we were worth it. I thought I was worth it. I’ve given you everything I can, Rin, and you’re telling me I shouldn’t have bothered?”
“I’m in the most important phase of my career,” he argued, his voice rising. “If you can’t understand that, then what’s the point? I can’t afford distractions right now.”
“Distractions?” you echoed, your chest tightening. “Is that all I am to you? A distraction?”
He hesitated for a moment too long, and the silence felt like a knife twisting in your heart.
“I can’t believe this,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I gave everything to this relationship, to you. And you’re standing here acting like it’s nothing.”
Rin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, maybe, or guilt. “I didn’t say that,” he muttered, but his tone was unconvincing.
“You didn’t have to,” you said, wiping your eyes. “You know what? I’m done trying to make you see me. If I’m not important enough for you now, I never will be.”
A look of panic etches across Rin’s face. He steps towards you, hands reaching out, “I’m sorry, I—”
“Please, Rin, just… just go. I have an early flight tomorrow.” You say, avoiding his gaze.
“You’re leaving already tomorrow?” Rin asked, freezing in place. Concern laced his tone.
“Yeah. I can’t afford to stay any longer. The hotel’s expensive, the flights costs an arm and a limb. Plus I have work in a few days. I just flew here to see you, that’s all.” It came out so bitter than you expected. 
“At least stay until tomorrow evening,” he said quickly, scrambling. “We can talk after my training—I’ll pay for everything.”
You give him a look. “I can’t Rin. I can’t just let you do this everytime. I’m leaving tomorrow. If you want to make this work, at least come see me off tomorrow.” 
But deep down, you already knew. He wouldn’t come. He couldn’t drop everything for you the way you always did for him.
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The next day, you sat at the boarding gate, your heart heavy as you replayed the fight over and over in your mind. You’d given Rin an ultimatum: if he wanted this relationship to work, he’d come to see you off.
You fidget on your seat, praying he’ll come through. Just this once, he’ll come through. Just like in the hallmark movies. He’d come running toward you at the last second, breathless and apologetic, and everything would be okay. 
It will end with a romantic kiss between the two of you in the middle of the bustling airport. And you’ll forget everything you fought about. You’ll forgive him in a heartbeat. And maybe you’ll stay for another day and worry about work and god forbid, your finances, another time.
But as the final boarding call echoed through the terminal, you realized you’d been foolish to hope. There were no texts, no calls, no Rin.
You bit your lip to stifle the sob threatening to escape, the truth settling like a weight in your chest: you would always be an afterthought to him. No matter how much you gave, no matter what place you held in his life.
Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. You knew what drove him. His need to prove himself, to chase the shadow of his brother. Maybe you were just another weight he couldn’t afford to carry.
When you stepped onto the plane, hot tears streamed down your face. You had poured everything you had into loving him, but it wasn’t enough.
And maybe it will never be enough. You will never be enough.
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amari's notes: im not a huge rin fan to beginning with, but when i thought of this scenario, he was the only person i could think of! anyway, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask or even a request! ⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
taglist: @inu1gf @100520s
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biancasaidstfu · 3 months ago
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I saw the anon who posted about Nicola's following. Just my two cents but I have this feeling that Nicola doesn't mind if somebody is going to unfollow her just based on her rumoured romance. She repeatedly expressed how much she wants to be recognize individually because of her hard work on her career, her achievements and so forth. She wants people to mainly focused on her achievements and I think she will not mind if people unfollow her because of her friend JD.
Second is, I saw somebody asks why Nicola have allowed to let the JD narrative for so long? One, after that NY incident, she seemed to tighten up. She closed her tags and now, only approved tags are thing that you can see on her ig. Also before the incident, she is removing the tags on her that she and jd are in a romantic relationship. Nic had done that for multiple times before, erasing the narrative that she is someone who is in a relstionship with JD. And we thought that's the end of it. Like we see them interacting, obviously they have been friends for years and yet only last year JD conveniently came into picture in the midst of Nic and Luke romance rumours. The thing that should got you thinking was, why now? Why again, now? When we thought she tried to end that narrative, it seems like we got back to zero. Very important note to add: JD dating rumours never came from her. She never initiated it. She never started it. It all started by fans who felt betrayed by Luke's seemingly relationship with Antonia, and also haters started to jump ship. It all started with the innocent festival photos of them cozying up.
For months Nic are trying to remove any traces of JD's pic on her tags that are saying they're dating, and now again. Like the timing should really get you thinking. I know looking at it with Nic's POV is confusing, but, if you add Luke's situation in the picture it made perfectly sense.
Also, Nicola is a grown woman. Its perfectly reasonable for her not to say anything about her love life. Its her business alone and alone. She's aware of the possibilities of allowing the JD narrative run, and she obviously knows people are saying she and JD are a couple. She knows it. She always knows the risks that came with it. But at some point, she will learn the consequences that came with it. Hence, the decrease in following. The invasion of privacy. And whole other things we don't know of. The question is why is she not saying anything? We don't know. But what we do know is that, its never because she and JD are a thing. When deleted that tags of him and her, we should have taken that as a hint of their status. It all came down to one thing, JD's appearance is convenient. Like super convenient. 👀
As a person who studies in the field of cosmology, my professor always says that don't take things literally. Because the things unseen and unsaid are the ones filling the void that the things seen have said. They are the ones who holds the most importance of all. And I agree, because both Nic and Luke's silence of all is what makes these whole thing really sketchy and it made me look the whole lore completely different, completely opposite of what tabloids are telling us.
Read this 👆👆👆
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r-bitfluffs · 21 days ago
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a hoof in a storm (dcxdp prompt.)
(more info about this au after the store but leaving it open to creativity for others to add on to if the brain worms hit that hard :3 )
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for the longest time Gotham had story's of the sound of horse hooves whenever things seem to be crashing down.
Wisper's in the wind of somebody who looked like it wasn't a good idea to give your name to speeding by on the bones of a burnt horse, always followed by how clear the sky looked for a couple of days after a new Wisper ran out.
story's of somebody getting pulled away from something that was aimed to kill them. followed by the flash of a fanged smile and the whispers of hope.
of "its okay i got ya' your safe now." of "its not your time. get home safe lost one." of "done worry i got ya. you are NOT diein on me today."
at first it was just a thing to tell as a story to a kid, a way of saying somebody was out there, caring. just like the bats and the birds who for the longest time was just a story. something to be told. hope in its rawist form. a story, but nothing more when it came to Gotham, a place where if you didn't harden up FAST you'd end up worse then dead in a dich somewhere.
.. yet the story of the fae'ed rider on the charcoaled skeleton of a life long gone still wisped around Gotham. they are barely ever seen, still a mystery of wisping green flame, flowing almost glowing white hair that stuck out like a sore thumb in the darkened sky's of of crime riddled city and what seamed to be a void of sky following them.
yet nobody said they believed that the story's where true. if you did, the folks around you sent you pitying glances thinking you where hit to badly with some sort of new poison gas.
it stayed that way for a long time, just whispers, something to talk about after the bat came to save the night and the scare was over, nothing more nothing less.
...that changed one stormy night somewhere in Gotham around 2am.
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it was a real storm tonight, some sort of hurricane had whirled in and it was BAD.
all that bats where on call for the night trying to get folks to safer grounds but it was not going smoothly.
a rouge of some sort had found out how to make WATERPROOF fire that glowed a sickly dark blue and the storm seemed to be alive. battering the people with water so fierce, it looked black.
batman and robin where doing recon on a roof talking with the rest of the crew trying to figure out the next line of approach to this battle when a ear splitting *creak* rang out making the bats turn and get ready for something. anything really.
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what they saw was a old building about crash down on a civilian in a place where they thought they had cleared.
it's a slit second panic from the bat and the small bird beside him not wanting to dig up a dead body, there was a split second scramble to get there and save the poor civilian that's about to have a metric clown ton of building on them.
all of a sudden the sound of hooves hitting the asphalt of the ground rang out. it slowly got closer until all of a sudden HE was there.
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almost as soon as the he had shown up, he passed by the civilian, swooping them up and putting them on the ... horse? horse. the horses back, making Shure to still hold on to the newly acquired passenger. and with the sound of hooves descending, he was gone again.
not even a second later a louder *creek* ran out and the building came crashing down right where the civilian had been.
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a lot later after the storm settled down and all of Gotham's flying themed fighter's where in the bat cave for there usual debrief, oracle pulled up a photo somebody had posted online.
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(if ya zoom in under the horses hoof that's on the ground you will see that I have my signature on it ^^ I'm really proud of this artwork, and i can firmly say it took a LOT of looking at horse bones to do-)
silence.
absolute silence for a good 3 seconds. and then? pandemonium.
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3 weeks later and a LOT of bat fuelled paranoia, led bat man and ---(dealers choice, I'm going with Damian cuz animals.) to a farm that was a little bit out from Gotham. that, for all the snooping they had done, seemed to have just popped up out of nowhere a couple of years ago. when they finally stepped out of the batmobile they where greeted with the sight of a tan-ish, black-haired male with a sunhat that seemed to have.. was that a crown on the sunhat? yup. that's a crown. and a Lichtenberg scar crawling up there right arm or for that person, there left arm. he had ripped loose jean-shorts on and was holding what seemed to be a bunny in his arms. he had no shoes on it seamed though.
standing besides the black-haired male is a gorgeous black horse that seems to be a Friesen, with the most green eyes ya'ed ever see on a horse
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"ah so the bat and one of his birds finally decided to show up its good to finally see you-"
"..hold on please for a second."
"i swear to all that is ancient and good" MERRY ANN STOP CHASEIN CUJO.!"
....well that was certainly a first impression that can do something.
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WHU story part done, now for some loose au ideas!
first up we have the farm, following him being crowned king he found out that there was basically nothing for the more animalistic ghost's. so, as to not get to stressed out being king, he open up a farm where he can give all the ghost animals a second chance at being cared for without being abused. plus! it benefits him to!, when he gets to stressed with paper work he can just go chill on the farm with some of his chill ghost pets :3
he still wants to protect but the bats have got that covered so he really only shows up when shtuff goes DOWN. most of the time taking the horse he has with him.
dw the ghost horse isn't alone there, there's definitely a flow of horses and other animals coming in and out of there!
I'm def thinking of naming the horse falkyie (pronounced falk-year)
if you look at the skelli drawing of falkyie you will notice a small bullet hole right behind his eye, lets just say he had a rough living life and i like the head canon that sometimes ghost have something that shows how they died (the scars on Danny's arms)
I also like to think that Danny has a way of disguising the animals to look normal idk how tho- maybe just some ectoplasm shifting?
i also like the idea of Danny being un able to not have the crown and ring on after becoming king so learned to live with it via shape shifting, argo, crown on sunhat and ring turned into a bracelet :3
...
ight im done yappin now, its 4am- yall know the drill by now
swim safe out there, good day, evening, and night, wolf, out. baiii!
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