sadndnboii-reads

[sadndnboii-reads]

Date everything is so fucked up cause now I'll be chilling and suddenly feel a gust of wind on my neck from the ac and im flooded with thoughts about a freaky ac unit. What have these devs done to me

[sadndnboii-reads]

Ok NSFW but Hector is ABSOLUTELY into temperature play. Blindfolding his partner and then playing with ice cubes/hot wax on their body, watching goosebumps form and their skin flush... And since it's basically an extension of his toying with the temperature of the house, he'd be a natural at it 🙂‍↕️

Edit: Now includes versions with she/her, he/him, they/them pronouns. Anatomy specified accordingly!

LMFAOAOA the literal HVAC being into temperature play is so fucking funny but makes so much sense. i mean, he literally tells us as much, albeit him admitting so in much more... flowery language.

okay but also imagine his partner wanting to demonstrate what it's like being on the receiving end of his kink?

hope you don't mind i'm hijacking this ask for my thoughts!

descriptors of Hector's physical appearance down below!

>>>mdni

She/her version:

The bedsprings squeaked, metal rattled, and to any onlooker not clued in, they might assume the man cuffed to the bed and blindfolded was undergoing a torture of the highest cruelty; his limbs writhing against the sheets, black coils turned to tendrils on his salty brow, groans hissed through a clenched jaw. However, they'd be mistaken. Hector was right where he wanted to be. With the person he wanted most. And they were on top of him, like a huntress savoring the last throes of her quarry, rapt with his every twist, salivating over what exquisite depravities she could extract from him next.

Her fingers, raking him over like talons, dragged the ice down his pebbled pecs, then his stomach, swirling below his navel, provoking another tender gasp from his heaving chest. He arched, skin turned gooseflesh. A hot pang rolled through her belly. Her lips curled into something wicked.

With a smile that could rend steel, though she boasted no fangs, she leaned in, whispering, "See? This is what it feels like, Hector: what you feel like to me." Her deft hands arabesqued his thigh, traveling up, up, up, a pinky catching on the hem of his boxers, threatening to invade further. And despite how she wished to plunge deep into his underwear, to feel him, febrile and velvet, pump his hardness with the same rapacious hunger compelling her to spill his belly and sink her teeth into his muscle, she held her ground, breath bated, eyes fixated on the man her heart ached for. She wanted the ache. She wanted him. But, not yet. Their game wasn't over.

Hector keened against the restraints, the bar between his plush lips muffling a shaky cry, teeth baring leather. He pretended like he wanted to get away, but his tip beaded a dark blot against the cotton. His brows wrinkled, the corners of his mouth went upturned, then quickly corrected to that helpless wince. Her laugh was all smoke and suede, without an ounce of remorse.

"Hector," her fingers edged an inch deeper below the fabric, chiding him in a sultry and low coo, "we both know how good you are with your words." Another inch. He flexed. She hummed. "But..."

She whistled cool air against his red-tipped ear. "No more words." she said, her fingers brushing his fraying curls, tucking a black loop into place. "Speak with your body, amorcito. Show me what you want."

The pretenses were gone, the inferno of his sweltering desire vaporizing them. Hector bucked his hips, seeking friction. His voice, sweet, desperate, begged unintelligibly. Her pussy throbbed. He debased himself so... easily, so willingly. She couldn't help but pant at the sight of him. Her fingers found her wetness then slipped under his boxers, all while praising that he was being so good for her, painting his hardened length with her sticky want, wrapping her fingers round him, squeezing, strangling. Her other hand spilled the burning candle's wax on his chest and he sobbed, suddenly becoming shy and facing away from her. She chuckled but didn't let up on her ruthless pace. She needed him to feel every ounce; to understand what he'd been doing to her all this time from his vents.

Her lush mouth found his nipple and she sucked, tongue laving him, teeth nibbling. The red wax hardened. His breath labored and his abdomen tensed, cock throbbing in her palm. He was close, and she knew it, so she slowed, lording her authority over his feverish state. She hoped he'd beg, shake his hips against her hand, but instead, he slobbered against the gag censoring him, attempting to say something. Concerned, she relieved him of the bar, and he sucked in a gasp.

"Is everything alright, Hector?" she asked, cupping his cheek.

He nodded. "It's just..." His head hung low, face flushing bashfully, blindfold visoring his eyes. She listened intently, suddenly full of worry.

"I—I want you, I love you, I need you. So please, kiss me. I'm so close, just, please, kiss me— "

Her mouth crashed into his, surprising him, and they sighed together. It was all breath and hunger, whimpers so saccharine she forgot she was the aggressor and he her prey, lost to the tang of him and his slippery feel. Her hand started up again, gradual, then marauding. He twisted, pressing against her eagerly. Between the squelching and tremors of longing wracking her lonely pussy, she speared her hand into his hair as if to search for more of him — for some other part of him she hadn't yet discovered. She needed him. Every mole, scar, wrinkle, it was hers. He belonged to her and she commanded so, greedily devouring his kiss-bruised lips, her hand pumping his twitching cock. Hector moaned and she worked him in earnest, guiding, loving.

At the most final moment, she pulled away, saliva trailing between them, springing his length free from the confines of his underwear, and she took his miserably erubescent head into her mouth, cheeks pitting, warmth sliding over the entirety of his cock. He winced, calling her name as his climax flooded her mouth.

At the head of the bed, Hector breathed raggedly, her drawing every last bit of him out from his half-hard cock. When she finished, she wiped her mouth and curled up next to him, a quiet adoration fuzzing her core. Discarding his blindfold and unfastening the cuffs, they looked at each other, their sex-mussed hair, their sweaty bodies, their glazed eyes, and they laughed. She tucked her head against his chest, on top of the wax, it smelling of jasmine, and Hector welcomed her, pulling her in, but it was clear there was something else.

She asked what he was thinking. She felt the rumble of his voice as he spoke.

"Well," his hand rubbed her shoulder, "your thighs, they're wet, and they're... touching me."

Before she could recoil, embarrassed over the state of herself, his arms caged her, strong and unrelenting. With a confidence she rarely glanced from Hector, he turned her chin up to him, both of their faces ablaze, and kissed her, holding her there, soft and delicately.

His other hand sank to the swell of her hips, tentatively as though waiting for her to stop him, but she didn't.

When she broke their embrace, she told him that she loved him, and he placed his lips on her forehead. His fingers finally met her there, brushing past a tuft of hair, then probing, curious and feeling rough against her drenched sex.

"After all this time, you have no idea what hearing you say that means to me. Please, let me show you."

He/Him version:

The bedsprings squeaked, metal rattled, and to any onlooker not clued in, they might assume the man cuffed to the bed and blindfolded was undergoing a torture of the highest cruelty; his limbs writhing against the sheets, black coils turned to tendrils on his salty brow, groans hissed through a clenched jaw. However, they'd be mistaken. Hector was right where he wanted to be. With the person he wanted most. And they were on top of him, like a hunter savoring the last throes of his quarry, rapt with his every twist, salivating over what exquisite depravities he could extract from him next.

His fingers, raking Hector over like talons, dragged the ice down his pebbled pecs, then his stomach, swirling below his navel, provoking another tender gasp from his heaving chest. He arched, skin turned gooseflesh. A hot pang rolled over his groin. His lips curled into something wicked.

With a smile that could rend steel, though he boasted no fangs, he leaned in, whispering, "See? This is what it feels like, Hector: what you feel like to me." His deft hands arabesqued Hector's thigh, traveling up, up, up, a pinky catching on the hem of his boxers, threatening to invade further. And despite how he wished to plunge deep into his underwear, to feel him, febrile and velvet, pump his hardness with the same rapacious hunger compelling him to spill his belly and sink his teeth into his muscle, he held his ground, breath bated, eyes fixated on the man his heart ached for. He wanted the ache. He wanted him. But, not yet. Their game wasn't over.

Hector keened against the restraints, the bar between his plush lips muffling a shaky cry, teeth baring leather. He pretended like he wanted to get away, but his tip beaded a dark blot against the cotton. Hector's brows wrinkled, the corners of his mouth went upturned, then quickly corrected to that helpless wince. His partner's laugh was all smoke and suede, without an ounce of remorse.

"Hector," his fingers edged an inch deeper below the fabric, chiding him in a sultry and low coo, "we both know how good you are with your words." Another inch. Hector flexed. He hummed. "But..."

He whistled cool air against his red-tipped ear. "No more words." he said, his fingers brushing his fraying curls, tucking a black loop into place. "Speak with your body, amorcito. Show me what you want."

The pretenses were gone, the inferno of Hector's sweltering desire vaporizing them. He bucked his hips, seeking friction. His voice, sweet, desperate, begged unintelligibly. Seeing Hector like this, his own cock ached. He debased himself so... easily, so willingly. His lover couldn't help but pant at the sight of him. He took his fingers into his mouth then slipped under Hector's boxers, all while praising that he was being so good for him, painting his hardened length with his sticky spit, it mixing with Hector's dribbling want, wrapping his fingers round him, squeezing, strangling. His other hand spilled the burning candle's wax on Hector's chest and he sobbed, suddenly becoming shy and facing away from him. He chuckled but didn't let up on his ruthless pace. He needed him to feel every ounce; to understand what he'd been doing to him all this time from his vents.

His lush mouth found his nipple and he sucked, tongue laving him, teeth nibbling. The red wax hardened. Hector's breath labored and his abdomen tensed, cock throbbing in his palm. He was close, and his lover knew it, so he slowed, lording his authority over his feverish state. He hoped Hector would beg, shake his hips against his hand, but instead, he slobbered against the gag censoring him, attempting to say something. Concerned, he relieved him of the bar, and he sucked in a gasp.

"Is everything alright, Hector?" he asked, cupping his cheek.

Hector nodded. "It's just..." His head hung low, face flushing bashfully, blindfold visoring his eyes. He listened intently, suddenly full of worry.

"I—I want you, I love you, I need you. So please, kiss me. I'm so close, just, please, kiss me— "

His mouth crashed into his, surprising Hector, and they sighed together. It was all breath and hunger, whimpers so saccharine he forgot he was the aggressor and Hector his prey, lost to the tang of him and his slippery feel. His hand started up again, gradual, then marauding. Hector twisted, pressing against him eagerly. Between the squelching and blood rushing to his own lonely cock, he speared his hand into Hector's hair as if to search for more of him — for some other part he hadn't yet discovered. He needed him. Every mole, scar, wrinkle, it was his. Hector belonged to him and he commanded so, greedily devouring his kiss-bruised lips, his hand pumping Hector's twitching cock. He moaned and he worked him in earnest, guiding, loving.

At the most final moment, he pulled away, saliva trailing between them, springing Hector's length free from the confines of his underwear, and he took his miserably erubescent head into his mouth, cheeks pitting, warmth sliding over the entirety of his cock. Hector winced, calling his name as his climax flooded his mouth.

At the head of the bed, Hector breathed raggedly, his partner drawing every last bit of him out from his half-hard cock. When he finished, he wiped his mouth and curled up next to him, a quiet adoration fuzzing his core. Discarding Hector's blindfold and unfastening the cuffs, they looked at each other, their sex-mussed hair, their sweaty bodies, their glazed eyes, and they laughed. He tucked his head against Hector's chest, on top of the wax, it smelling of jasmine, and he welcomed him, pulling him in, but it was clear there was something else.

He asked what Hector was thinking. He felt the rumble of his voice as Hector spoke.

"Well," his hand rubbed his shoulder, "it's... poking my leg. And it feels so... hot."

Before he could recoil, embarrassed over the state of himself, Hector's arms caged him, strong and unrelenting. With a confidence he rarely glanced from Hector, he turned his chin up to him, both of their faces ablaze, and kissed him, holding him there, soft and delicately.

Hector's other hand sank to the swell of his hips, tentatively as though waiting for him to stop him, but he didn't.

When Hector's lover broke their embrace, he told Hector that he loved him, and Hector placed his lips on his forehead. His fingers finally met him there, brushing past a tuft of hair, then probing, curious and feeling rough against his burning sex.

"After all this time, you have no idea what hearing you say that means to me. Please, let me show you."

They/them version:

The bedsprings squeaked, metal rattled, and to any onlooker not clued in, they might assume the man cuffed to the bed and blindfolded was undergoing a torture of the highest cruelty; his limbs writhing against the sheets, black coils turned to tendrils on his salty brow, groans hissed through a clenched jaw. However, they'd be mistaken. Hector was right where he wanted to be. With the person he wanted most. And they were on top of him, like a hunter savoring the last throes of their quarry, rapt with his every twist, salivating over what exquisite depravities they could extract from him next.

Their fingers, raking him over like talons, dragged the ice down his pebbled pecs, then his stomach, swirling below his navel, provoking another tender gasp from his heaving chest. He arched, skin turned gooseflesh. A hot pang rolled through their belly. Their lips curled into something wicked.

With a smile that could rend steel, though they boasted no fangs, they leaned in, whispering, "See? This is what it feels like, Hector: what you feel like to me." Their deft hands arabesqued his thigh, traveling up, up, up, a pinky catching on the hem of his boxers, threatening to invade further. And despite how they wished to plunge deep into his underwear, to feel him, febrile and velvet, pump his hardness with the same rapacious hunger compelling them to spill his belly and sink their teeth into his muscle, they held their ground, breath bated, eyes fixated on the man their heart ached for. They wanted the ache. They wanted him. But, not yet. Their game wasn't over.

Hector keened against the restraints, the bar between his plush lips muffling a shaky cry, teeth baring leather. He pretended like he wanted to get away, but his tip beaded a dark blot against the cotton. His brows wrinkled, the corners of his mouth went upturned, then quickly corrected to that helpless wince. Their laugh was all smoke and suede, without an ounce of remorse.

"Hector," their fingers edged an inch deeper below the fabric, chiding him in a sultry and low coo, "we both know how good you are with your words." Another inch. He flexed. They hummed. "But..."

They whistled cool air against his red-tipped ear. "No more words." they said, their fingers brushing his fraying curls, tucking a black loop into place. "Speak with your body, amorcito. Show me what you want."

The pretenses were gone, the inferno of his sweltering desire vaporizing them. Hector bucked his hips, seeking friction. His voice, sweet, desperate, begged unintelligibly. Their sex throbbed. He debased himself so... easily, so willingly. They couldn't help but pant at the sight of him. They took their fingers into their mouth then slipped under his boxers, all while praising that he was being so good for them, painting his hardened length with their sticky spit, it mixing with Hector's dribbling want, wrapping their fingers round him, squeezing, strangling. Their other hand spilled the burning candle's wax on his chest and he sobbed, suddenly becoming shy and facing away from them. They chuckled but they didn't let up on their ruthless pace. They needed him to feel every ounce; to understand what he'd been doing to them all this time from his vents.

Their lush mouth found his nipple and they sucked, tongue laving him, teeth nibbling. The red wax hardened. His breath labored and his abdomen tensed, cock throbbing in their palm. He was close, and they knew it, so they slowed, lording their authority over his feverish state. They hoped he'd beg, shake his hips against their hand, but instead, he slobbered against the gag censoring him, attempting to say something. Concerned, they relieved him of the bar, and he sucked in a gasp.

"Is everything alright, Hector?" they asked, cupping his cheek.

He nodded. "It's just..." His head hung low, face flushing bashfully, blindfold visoring his eyes. They listened intently, suddenly full of worry.

"I—I want you, I love you, I need you. So please, kiss me. I'm so close, just, please, kiss me— "

Their mouth crashed into his, surprising him, and they both sighed together. It was all breath and hunger, whimpers so saccharine they forgot they were the aggressor and he their prey, lost to the tang of him and his slippery feel. Their hand started up again, gradual, then marauding. He twisted, pressing against them eagerly. Between the squelching and tremors of longing wracking their lonely sex, they speared their hand into his hair as if to search for more of him — for some other part of him they hadn't yet discovered. They needed him. Every mole, scar, wrinkle, it was theirs. He belonged to them and they commanded so, greedily devouring his kiss-bruised lips, their hand pumping his twitching cock. Hector moaned and they worked him in earnest, guiding, loving.

At the most final moment, they pulled away, saliva trailing between them, springing his length free from the confines of his underwear, and they took his miserably erubescent head into their mouth, cheeks pitting, warmth sliding over the entirety of his cock. He winced, calling their name as his climax flooded their mouth.

At the head of the bed, Hector breathed raggedly, them drawing every last bit of him out from his half-hard cock. When they finished, they wiped their mouth and curled up next to him, a quiet adoration fuzzing their core. Discarding his blindfold and unfastening the cuffs, the two of them looked at each other, their sex-mussed hair, their sweaty bodies, their glazed eyes, and laughed. They tucked their head against his chest, on top of the wax, it smelling of jasmine, and Hector welcomed them, pulling them in, but it was clear there was something else.

They asked what he was thinking. They felt the rumble of his voice as he spoke.

"Well," his hand rubbed their shoulder, "I can feel... it against me. And... it's so warm."

Before they could recoil, embarrassed over the state of themself, his arms caged them, strong and unrelenting. With a confidence they rarely glanced from Hector, he turned their chin up to him, both of their faces ablaze, and kissed them, holding them there, soft and delicately.

His other hand sank to the swell of their hips, tentatively as though waiting for them to stop him, but they didn't.

When they broke their embrace, they told him that they loved him, and he placed his lips on their forehead. His fingers finally met them there, brushing past a tuft of hair, then probing, curious and feeling rough against their aching sex.

"After all this time, you have no idea what hearing you say that means to me. Please, let me show you."

yeah so hopefully this delivered. i'll also write hector being in a more dominant position eventually, but this is what came to me most immediately upon reading your ask! anyways, comments and reblogs bring me life. let me know what yall think ^^

spot any typos? please lmk so i can edit. i swear i read my writing a million times and something always manages to slip through the cracks lolol

[sadndnboii-reads]

Pretty much how my week has been going in the lead up to release

[sadndnboii-reads]

Hector nation how are we feeling about tomorrow💪

(Spoiler Warning: Hector face reveal below)

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i would go to war for this man

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All my yearning I keep locked in my chest

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My husband btw

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I love Betty… sue me…

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I'm enamored by his level of freak

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guys who aren’t afraid to moan are fucking hot

[sadndnboii-reads]

72?! We love ourselves some salt and pepper, more salt than pepper lately but i always loved salty things. Anyways Happy Birthday to my favorite Gilf

[sadndnboii-reads]

[Slowly lowers this into the tank of piranhas]

[sadndnboii-reads]

unreal | robert reynolds x reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: Bob offers for you to share his room while your room in the Watch Tower gets renovated... there's just one problem – he didn't think about the fact that he'd have to share a bed with you. Warnings: General mentions of mental health issues (nothing specific) Word Count: 2.1k A/N: Okay, so it's been over a week since I last wrote for Bob and the response on my last Bob fic is insane. I cannot believe how much love it's gotten 🥹 I have since seen Thunderbolts three more times and I love Bob even more. This was the fic idea that won in the poll I posted earlier today and it was so enjoyable to write. I am really looking forward to writing more for him (including the other ideas that I had in the poll). I hope you all enjoy this one as well. Requests are always open! 💗

“You can share my room” are five words that Bob regrets the second that they’re out of his mouth. Not because he doesn’t want you to share his room, but just because now that it’s out in the open, the prospect of you saying yes is terrifying.

When you’d all moved into the Watch Tower, you hadn’t considered the fact that most of the building was still a work in progress. There were so many rooms that still needed to be built and while there had been bedrooms, there weren’t many and Valentina had insisted on building you all your own. Nothing but the best for my New Avengers, she’d said.

Your bedroom was the last one to be renovated. Every other member of the team had gone through the room-sharing phase while their rooms were completed. Yelena and Ava had always shared, though they’d hated every second of it – both girls loved their personal space. Both Bucky and John refused to share with Alexei. Bob had managed to come out the other end without sharing a room at all. 

Until his offer to you, that is.

“Seriously?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you look around at the others. “None of you are offering to share with me so you’re making Bob offer?”

Walker scoffs. “You think we put him up to it? Please.”

“No one put me up to it,” Bob shakes his head. “I just thought I’d ask you since… y’know… none of the others have… and you probably don’t wanna sleep on the couch out here.”

He’s not really sure why he’d offered, actually. The words had been out of his mouth before he’d had a chance to think them over, which was strange for him. He supposes it might have something to do with the fact that he’s been crushing on you for a solid few months. It would be fine, though. He didn’t have a couch in his room, but he’s slept on his fair share of floors before and this one would be no different. Sharing a bedroom with someone he was slowly falling head over heels with was definitely going to end well.

You cross the room and put a hand down on Bob’s shoulder. “Are you really sure you want me to share with you? I know you haven’t had to share before and I really don’t want to intrude on your space.” Your voice is soft, for Bob’s ears only.

He nods once. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

You don’t completely believe him. He’s undoubtedly the most independent out of all of you, but it’s been proven that he really does love being around other people. The last thing you want is to get in his way or make him uncomfortable.

“Bob,” you meet his eyes. 

His lips turn up into a small smile at the tone of your voice. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to share with you.”

That seems to do the trick, because you nod your head and step away from Bob after that before announcing that you’re going to go and start getting all your things together. 

That afternoon, you move your things into his room so that the renovations can start on your own. Bob makes some space for you – not that he has a lot of things himself – but he wants to make you feel comfortable. He doesn’t want you to feel like you’re living in his room. He wants it to feel like it’s yours too.

It only starts to feel real once it’s gotten dark outside and everyone has started to retire to bed. Once he’s in his room again, sitting on a bean bag in the corner, a book in his hand and he sees you walk into his room, hair a little bit wet from your shower. 

“I just realised,” you say, stopping in the centre of the room and looking around, “that you don’t have a couch.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bob nods, closing the book and sitting up a little straighter. “I just sit here. I, uh, I changed the sheets on the bed earlier so that you don’t have to sleep in dirty ones.”

You frown and look over at him. “Me? I’m not sleeping in your bed, Bob. I assumed I’d sleep on the couch. But I can just sleep on your beanbag. I’ll go and find some blankets…”

You turn to go and leave the room when you see Bob standing up in the corner of your eye. He stumbles a little, the blanket on the ground in front of him briefly catching his feet, and then rights himself. 

“No, you don’t have to do that,” he says. “You take the bed. I’m fine with sleeping on the floor. I’ve done it more often than you think.”

“Bob… you’re not sleeping on the floor.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s really okay.”

He really doesn’t mind. As long as you’re comfortable, he will be too. He’s slept in worse places. Plus, he doubts he’d even be able to sleep soundly knowing you were uncomfortable on the cold, hard floor. How could he let the person he likes sleep there rather than on his perfectly comfortable bed?

You cross your arms over your chest and shake your head, slowly starting to walk towards him. This is a losing battle, you can see that. There’s no way that Bob is going to relent and let you sleep on the floor or the bean bag, and there’s no way you’re going to let him sleep there either. You couldn’t live with yourself if he did.

“Why don’t we both take the bed?” You suggest.

Bob’s eyes widen a little and he opens his mouth and then closes it again without saying anything. That’s the last thing he’d expected you to say. Sharing a bed? Had any of the others shared beds when they’d shared rooms? He highly doubted that. The members of the New Avengers weren’t particularly comfortable when it came to physical contact. 

“I don’t think we have to do that,” he mutters.

“Why not? I don’t mind it. That way, we both get to sleep on the bed and neither of us have to be uncomfortable on the floor. I promise I’ll stick to my side.”

Bob stares at you for a moment. You’re really suggesting this. You really want to share a bed with him. But how is he supposed to share a bed with you? This is not going to be beneficial towards his crush at all. It’s definitely not going to help him in his mission to get over you… he hadn’t started on that mission yet but he was definitely going to start soon… oh, he really shouldn’t have suggested this…

“All right, then,” he hums, and then squeezes his eyes shut as he winces. What the hell is he doing? Why are the words he’s speaking and the thoughts he’s having so out of sync?

You smile at him – one of the beautiful smiles that always sets his heart alight – and then move towards the bed. “Which side do you usually sleep on?” 

“Closest to the door,” he says, starting to walk towards it.

“A man after my own heart,” you grin, voice teasing as you pull the sheets back to the other side of the bed and slip underneath them. “Can you get the lights?” 

Bob tries his best to ignore your words, thinking about how he is actually after your heart, and slowly walks towards the light switch. He turns them off, then makes his way towards the bed in the dark. His heart is racing in his chest. It’s not until he’s sitting on the bed, hands fisted in the sheets, that he realises he’s sweating bullets.

He’d forgotten. How could he forget something like this? He’s always run hot. He’s been known to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, especially after a nightmare.

Maybe, once you’re asleep, he can slip out of the bed and go back to the bean bag without waking you up… surely that would be okay. He could make up some excuse in the morning about not being able to sleep in the bed…

“Everything all right?” You ask from beside him.

The room is so dark that he can’t see you to tell how far away from him you are, but your voice is close. He trusts that you’ve stuck to your word, though, and that you haven’t crept over to his side of the bed.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea actually.”

He hears the sheets rustling and can somehow tell that you’re sitting up now. 

“Why not?”

Bob sighs and tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear. He doesn’t know why he’s so embarrassed about this. It’s not like you don’t know. You were there in the vault. You heard him admit it to Yelena. You’ve seen so many parts of him that he hates and you’ve never judged him for any of them, so why would you judge him for this now?

“Hey,” your voice is gentle. “You can tell me. If you don’t want me here, I can go.”

“No,” Bob shakes his head, quick to respond. He doesn’t want you to feel like you’re not welcome here when truthfully, all he wants is to have you here with him. He just wishes he wasn’t so awkward about it. “It’s not that. It’s just…”

“There’s no rush.” 

He turns to look at where you’re sitting, his eyes now adjusted to the darkness so he can see you just barely. “I run hot,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable if I sweat a lot during the night. I should just sleep on the floor by myself.”

There’s silence for a moment and Bob takes that as your answer. He swings his legs off the bed and is just about to stand up when he feels the mattress shift underneath him, and then he feels your warmth pressed against his side.

“Hey, no,” you hum, leaning your arm against his. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to worry about things like that with me. If you sleep on the floor, I’m sleeping on the floor too. You’re not giving up your comforts for me.”

Bob turns to look at you through the darkness. “I’d just make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” you reach down and find his hand, entwining your fingers together. It’s true that the members of your team are bad when it comes to physical contact, but you don’t mind it. Bob’s always been a little concerned about touch ever since the incident that had happened a few months back but you can tell by the way he doesn’t tense up at your touch that he doesn’t mind it. You’re surprised to find you can actually feel him relax a little. “You won’t.” 

“I won’t?” 

“No,” you repeat. “I’m really glad you offered for me to share your room, Bob. I don’t care if you run so hot that the whole bed feels like a giant inferno. I’m not going to leave unless you ask me to.”

“I won’t. ” 

You give his hand a squeeze. “Okay, so should we get back into bed and try and get some sleep then?”

Bob nods and then remembers it’s dark and you probably can’t see him. “Yeah, all right.”

He hates the feeling of emptiness when you let go of his hand. He can feel the mattress shifting as you move back to your side of the bed. It takes every part of him to swing his legs back up and to lay down. It’s only once his head hits the pillow that he feels truly relaxed. It’s strange, even just knowing that you’re right beside him puts him a little bit at ease.

“I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” You say, voice so close to him that he almost jumps.

“Okay,” he murmurs, staring up at the dark ceiling above him. 

He’s so certain he’s going to wake up in the morning and all of this will have just been a dream. Not a good dream, not a bad dream. Just an unreal one. One where you hold his hand and sleep beside him. One where, as he’s drifting off to sleep he can feel the warmth of your body inches away. One where he can remember the feeling of your arm pressed against his with such clarity it almost feels real. 

But when he wakes up in the morning, the first thing he sees is you sleeping soundly beside him and he knows it wasn’t a dream. A small smile makes its way onto his face. He can’t remember the last time he slept through the night without waking up… not until right now. 

[sadndnboii-reads]

You were striking, to put it simply. The noises surrounding the fire were drowned out by your presence; neither boisterous laughter, arguments over a dinner roll, nor the teasing of his brother filtered into Fili's ears as he admired you from across the camp.

The firelight danced across your face in a warm ethereal glow, your smile stretched wide as you listened to Gandalf's stories. The brightness of your person beaming much like the stars overhead.

"You're staring," Kili's voice finally caught Fili's attention, making the blond snap his attention back down to his dinner plate.

Kili's snickers were an annoyance and while he would've typically shoved his brother and told him some very colorful words in Khuzdul, instead he felt flushed and warm in the face as he stared at the dish. Had you even taken a curious glance around the fire, you would've seen him.

A frown took hold of Kili's face, this wasn't like his brother. "I didn't mean harm by it," Kili reassured, his hand going up to pat Fili on the back but missed as Fili stood.

"No harm given," Fili spoke simply as he walked to return his dish for washing, a troubled look on his face as he realized the feeling he had held inside for so long; yearning.

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[sadndnboii-reads]

Writing Tips

Punctuating Dialogue

✧

➸ “This is a sentence.”

➸ “This is a sentence with a dialogue tag at the end,” she said.

➸ “This,” he said, “is a sentence split by a dialogue tag.”

➸ “This is a sentence,” she said. “This is a new sentence. New sentences are capitalized.”

➸ “This is a sentence followed by an action.” He stood. “They are separate sentences because he did not speak by standing.”

➸ She said, “Use a comma to introduce dialogue. The quote is capitalized when the dialogue tag is at the beginning.”

➸ “Use a comma when a dialogue tag follows a quote,” he said.

“Unless there is a question mark?” she asked.

“Or an exclamation point!” he answered. “The dialogue tag still remains uncapitalized because it’s not truly the end of the sentence.”

➸ “Periods and commas should be inside closing quotations.”

➸ “Hey!” she shouted, “Sometimes exclamation points are inside quotations.”

However, if it’s not dialogue exclamation points can also be “outside”!

➸ “Does this apply to question marks too?” he asked.

If it’s not dialogue, can question marks be “outside”? (Yes, they can.)

➸ “This applies to dashes too. Inside quotations dashes typically express—“

“Interruption” — but there are situations dashes may be outside.

➸ “You’ll notice that exclamation marks, question marks, and dashes do not have a comma after them. Ellipses don’t have a comma after them either…” she said.

➸ “My teacher said, ‘Use single quotation marks when quoting within dialogue.’”

➸ “Use paragraph breaks to indicate a new speaker,” he said.

“The readers will know it’s someone else speaking.”

➸ “If it’s the same speaker but different paragraph, keep the closing quotation off.

“This shows it’s the same character continuing to speak.”

[sadndnboii-reads]

[sadndnboii-reads]

Hi! Mind if I request a number 8 for Jack Russell?

A/N - Here you go, friend! I hope you like it!

Angel

Summary - Jack remember when he fell for you

Warnings - Just Fluff

“This broth is going to get you up and going before you know it,”

“Is that a promise, Amor?”

“Come on, take the sip,”

Jack chuckled as he leaned into where you had the spoon hovering, taking a massive bite to have the broth seep down his throat with ease.  You watched as his eyes rolled to the back of his head in relief and delight as he groaned from the taste.  You giggled as you pulled out the spoon, then gently placed the bowl in his hands and the spoon back into the rich broth.

“Here, feed yourself,” You hummed as you leaned up to kiss his forehead.  He grinned as he tilted his head at you.

“But I love it when you feed me,” he said, making you roll your eyes as you got up from the bed where he was perched and went to the dresser to rummage through the drawer that had his pajamas in it.

“Oh, do you?  Am I just a wet nurse to you?” You asked in a tease over your shoulder, knowing that he was watching you with his bright eyes zoned in on you as if he were a werewolf eyeing his prey.  

“You know you’re more than that, my love,” he reassured you as you got out of your pajama pants and thin T-shirt. Do you remember when I fell in love with you?”

“When?” You asked as you looked back at him with a raised brow, seeing him nod his head with a smile.  You shook your head as you went back to sit on the side of the bed again where you were perched before.  Placing the pajamas on the bed near Jack, you watched and waited as he took another sip from his spoon to eat the broth before speaking again.

“Some time ago, back before we got together, there was a job that went bad over in the Pacific Northwest Mountains,” He explained to you as you were trying to remember what he was talking about, but it seemed like a blur.  He’s had close calls before when it came to his line of work, he knew he would be not just a monster hunter but a werewolf.  You two were simply friends then, though your line of work was on the safe side as a nurse.  

“It was a rainy night in February, 6 years ago,” He reminded you, seeing you were struggling to remember what he was talking about.  It was then he reached over with his spare hand and laced it with your own.  He turned his wrist slightly, making you look down and notice the sliver of a scar along his skin.

It hit you like a bolt of lightning: You knew what night he was talking about.

The rain was pounding on the roof of your little home as Jack was passed out cold.

The air was chilly, he was sweating through a massive fever as a deep and infective cut on his wrist was close to infecting all his arm to the point of infection.  You were hunched over his body, Jack out cold from the medicine that you gave him.  He already sweated through his clothes thanks to the fever, not to mention several cuts and wounds that he infected when he stumbled through your home in the dead of night.

He called you an hour before desperate for you to help him since going to a hospital would be out of the question for him. You were his go-to when it came to more severe wounds that had to be mended out of the public eye.  Being a werewolf was a hindrance at times, especially when it came to him getting help when he needed it. Most of the time he could handle it himself since he learned from past experiences.  But that was basic first aid, stuff he learned as a kid and with trial and error in his earlier years as a werewolf.

What happened to him in those mountains was beyond his own work and knowledge.

 The slash on his arm was lethal, whoever was trying to kill him almost succeeded.  You were counting your lucky stars that he was still there and breathing, though he was out cold in your bed in the dead of night.  You were glad that you had some energy left in you since you recently got home from your shift at the hospital.  Yet when Jack staggered in, covered in blood and falling to his knees in your living room as the thunder clashed overhead, you were no longer tired. 

You were worried beyond words.  

 It took some time for you to work your magic on Jack after you half carried him to your spare bedroom, having some of your own medicine that you kept at home and your bag that was used strictly for the hospital or in the case of an emergency.  It was a good perk of being a nurse at a hospital: plenty of supplies that you got to keep and use at your disposal.  

By the time it was nearly 3 in the morning, you could see he was going to be okay and was going to make it through the night.  Although you’ve had plenty of experience and practice in mending wounds and stitching, you still felt as thoughyou could do better.  The stitch on his wrist was well done, it would leave a scar for certain, but better a scar than an amputation.  You cleaned him up well enough, making sure no wounds were going to have the risk of being infected, then decided to pull over a chair and sit next to him.  {perhaps to give him company or to keep a close eye on him.

You ended up reading a book while drinking some tea until the wee hours of the morning.

“You fell in love with me then?” You asked, Jack was sipping his broth now steadily as he nodded his head. You grinned and leaned back a bit on the bed as you chuckled, “The night was one of the scariest nights.  I didn’t think you were going to make it through the night,”

“Well I did, thanks to you,” he hummed as he placed the bowl on the nightstand, “And I remember that night very differently.”

“How can you when you were out cold most of the night?” You questioned him as he let his smile stay on his face.  He paused, once again looking at the scar on his wrist and then back at you.

“I remember waking up for a brief moment that night, still tired and feverish.  But something was a pinch better in that moment, even in the pain I had all over and the flash memories of what happened.  You were there, sitting in your dining room chair and reading your book.  I don’t know if it was the fever that I was battling or the relief I had for being alive, but I thought of you as an angel,”  He explained, his voice soft and calm as you were listening to all he was saying with a small smile and some tears in your eyes, “You were an angel, an angel who saved me.  It was then I knew…that I basin love with you,”

You felt so lost, almost like you were walking in a dream.  You never heard this from him, he has confessed he loved you after you two got together as a couple.  But this was a first, and it felt like you were hearing something so intimate and divine.  It would be coming from someone as kind and sincere as Jack.

“For someone as selfless and kind as you to tend to someone as tortured and damned as me,” he admitted, you tutting as you held one of his hands in both of your own, “You saw me as me, not as a monster or a cursed being as most others do.  Our friendship was always something important to me, thinking of you when I was alone on my darkest days made them a pinch brighter.  All simple because you chose to be my friend, and you never saw me as a burden,”

You were crying at that point, Jack sighing as he sat up and cupped your face in his palm to wipe away the tear with his thumb.  

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” You asked, trying not to sound all blubbery with your tone but you weren’t caring at that point.  Jack laughed and shrugged his own shoulders.

“I never got around to it if I’m honest,”  he admitted, “We got together soon after that night If I remember, and it was something I would hold close to my heart until now,”

You grinned, his palm now pressing against your lips as you kissed his skin.  Jack always had a way with words, for as long as you have known him and he's your boyfriend. He knew what to say and how to say it to move you.  Even now, hearing this new information, you were moved.  On one of the darkest days you’ve ever had, it ended up one of his brightest days.

You leaned in and kissed him, not being able to do anything else to show that you fiercely loved him. You knew deep down he loved you back just as fiercely.  

The End