#SentryAgent

[beeandthescreen]

Read somewhere that John Walker does his best when he’s taking orders.

[xvrxyz]

me too, bob. me too.. 🏳️‍🌈

thinking of them slow dancing under the stars.. 😢also someone save john before he's too far gone (bro does not want saving)

[p0stalcunt]

i think this goes for literally any character from literally anything

You can really ship John Walker with anyone if you put your mind to it

Its about how whimsical you wanna get

[strngedve]

[spongelll]

me walking to the bathroom at 3am in a massively oversized shirt using gay fanfic on my phone to light the way

[deeokanee]

Okay so the thing is Bob knew he liked men since he was very young, and despite probably never having the chance to experience a stable, healthy, normal relationship with a guy, he's always known what the specific kind of man that gets him all worked up is like.

What's funny, or not so funny, is that Bob has the most stereotypical taste in men. Like his type is the big, masculine, conventionally attractive guy, the kind of dude that swears on his life that he is straight despite having an anonymous Grindr profile.

And Bob knows it's a cliché and it's what any gay man with a brain would avoid at all costs, but he's never had the chance to do much with guys like that, so he's fine.

So imagine his shock when he wakes up in a bunker and one of the people pointing a gun at him is that exact type of man. But that's not the time nor the place to think about that kind of stuff, and the guy is a dick too, so no matter how fun it was to get the said blonde asshole to shove him against a wall because Bob pushed his buttons, that's not his top priority.

So imagine his frustration when he ends up moving in the same tower as that man, getting progressively closer with him over the course of some months, and having to fight the many indecent thoughts about his new friend on the daily basis, because said friend just ADORES to go around the building with gym shorts and tank tops, he definitely LOVES walking in the kitchen all sweaty from a workout and he absolutely CAN'T HELP IT to pat Bob on his back when he greets him and give him the warmest smiles he has ever received from a dude in his life.

[punch-aholic]

Some small warmup sketches to get me back in the drawing groove~

[k9effect]

Sentryagent sharing Sentry themed pajamas <3

[Click for better quality, reblogs and tags highly appreciated]

Bonus dumb doodles:

[qyvie]

another one for the sentryagent/voidwalker nation o7

[papanowo]

sparks flying ⋆｡°✩

[sara-likes-things]

[crimsonkingart]

Little reminder, there are extra sentryagent fan art on my Ko-fi profile and you can see them freely (there also the gay cowboys 😂😂)

sentryagent #voidwalker

[xvrxyz]

MY BABIES OHH MY BABUES 💔💔🥀

New hyperfix lately, will be practicing them more hopefully 😢🥹

[undyingdecay]

i have been only able to think about bob and john and reader for a while now. i think john is sooo into bob displaying his power he goes a little insane when he mandhandles reader or him. not from just the power of it, it is the way how he overpowers both of them easily like they are just toys. so that pathetic little pup bob has something to sink his teeth into 🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶

i have not been able to stop thinking about bob and john and reader either. it’s getting bad. like, they’ve set up shop in my head rent-free and refuse to leave. and i swear to god — john is so into watching bob lose his mind, it’s not even about the control anymore, it’s about the display. it’s about the performance of it. the way bob handles people when he’s half gone, pupils blown, mouth wet, hands rough in that way that leaves bruises without even meaning to. not because he’s trying to hurt, but because he forgets he’s capable of it.

and john’s not jealous. it’s not that. it’s worse. it’s pride. it’s sick, gleaming hunger. it’s the kind of thing that makes his cock ache behind his zipper when he watches bob get that look in his eyes, that flicker of animal need, when his fingers sink into your throat or fist in your hair and tug, and suddenly neither of you stand a fucking chance.

and you know it.

that’s the fucked up part.

you know it and you still lean into it.

because bob isn’t some careful, calculated sadist. he isn’t the type to ask permission, isn’t the type to ease you into it. he’s sloppy, he’s greedy, he takes. and john’s breath catches in his throat every time, sitting back like some goddamn king on his throne, watching his poor stupid dog get drunk off the way your body folds under him. watching how you twitch and whimper, the way your lips part and your eyes glaze because bob’s got you pinned against the mattress or the wall or john himself, and you can’t fucking move.

and bob — poor thing — he doesn’t even realize the show he’s putting on. he’s not doing it for an audience, he’s doing it because something inside him snaps every time you get soft under his hands, every time he feels your pulse race against his palm, every time you make that tiny, shattered noise in the back of your throat like you want this. like you’re begging for it without even realizing it.

and it’s not even rough, not always. sometimes it’s just… overwhelming. the size of him, the weight of him. the way he can cup a hand around the back of your neck and suddenly you’re docile, blinking up at him like some heat-dazed thing, your limbs loose, your breath hitching in your chest.

john loves that. loves the way bob doesn’t know his own strength, loves the way he manhandles both of you like it’s nothing, like you weigh less than air. sometimes john lets him — lets those big hands shove him down, lets bob’s teeth scrape his throat, lets himself get pushed to his knees between bob’s legs while you’re still catching your breath on the bed. and it’s not about humiliation, not really. it’s about the pure animality of it. it’s about the dynamic, the unspoken, snarling thing between them that makes john’s skin prickle, that makes his mouth water.

and bob — he’s such a pathetic little mutt about it too. like, the second it’s over he’s got this ruined look on his face, eyes glassy, lips bitten raw, shaking like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. he’s always chasing it, always starving for more. he’ll mouth at your skin, leave damp little kisses in the crook of your neck, whimper against john’s thigh like he’s begging for forgiveness or approval or both at once. the need rolls off him in waves, thick and cloying, and you both drink it in like it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted.

it’s not about sex. it’s not about love. it’s about ownership. it’s about that split-second moment when bob realizes he could break you, could break both of you, and you’d thank him for it.

and john?

john would watch.

john would grin that sharp, dangerous grin and say, good boy.

[blakellyl]