FROM THE ANGST PROMPT LIST FOR YOUR 500 CELEBRATIOM----
"Why are you doing this?" (FOR BOB 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶)
OF COURSE! THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING MY FRIEND 🫶🏻 || NAVIGATION || 500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION !
RPOMPT: “Why are you doing this?”
PAIRING: Bob Reynolds x GN!Reader.
WORD COUNT: 686.
NOTES: Angst, hurt/comfort, emotional vulnerability, fear of abandonment, brief mentions of mental illness and past trauma, unresolved tension that gets resolved because I’m not feeling evil tonight.
Bob is pulling away again.
Not dramatically. Not in any kind of obvious, cinematic way. Bob doesn’t do explosions unless they’re sky-high and world-ending. This is quieter. Subtle. Like a light dimming slowly until you’re not sure when the room got so dark.
It starts with shorter sentences. Less eye contact. The way his fingers twitch like they’re reaching for something only he can see.
You try not to panic.
The first time he does this, it’s after a bad mission, one of those no-win scenarios where he saves the city but not the people in it. You didn’t push then. You waited. He came back, eventually.
But this time feels different.
This time, he’s leaving the room before you enter it. Smiling like it costs him something. Standing at the edge of the world and calling it safety.
And tonight, you find him on the rooftop. Of course you do. It’s always the roof with him, like he can only think straight when there’s nothing between him and the sky.
He’s leaning against the railing, hands clenched too tight, knuckles white. His eyes are fixed on the horizon, like it might give him permission to stay.
You say his name, soft. He doesn’t flinch. Just exhales like he already knew you’d come.
“Didn’t mean to be gone so long,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Time got away from me.”
You step closer. Not too close. You’ve learned not to spook him when he’s like this, all quiet electricity and brittle edges.
“You’ve been gone even when you’re here.”
That gets his attention. His head turns, just slightly, like he’s debating whether or not to lie. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says finally.
Your throat tightens. “By being near me?”
“By staying too long.” He says it like he means it. Like your presence is a countdown he doesn’t want to reach zero.
You take a slow breath. “You think that’s how this works? That if you love someone too much, you break them?”
He doesn’t answer. His silence is the answer. So you ask the question that’s been clawing at you for days. Weeks, maybe.
“Why are you doing this?”
It cracks out of you sharper than you mean it to. But God, you’re tired. Tired of chasing someone who looks at you like you’re the sun and still chooses the shadows. Bob closes his eyes. His jaw tightens. You can see the war behind his ribs. He’s all storm and guilt and longing, and you want to shake him. You want to hold him.
“I don’t know how to stay,” he says finally, voice tight. “Not without… messing it up.”
“You haven’t messed anything up,” you whisper.
He laughs, and it breaks something in you. It’s a quiet, hollow sound, like he doesn’t believe you but wishes he did. “You think I don’t want this?” he asks. “You think I don’t think about you every second I’m gone?”
“Then be here, Bob.” Your voice shakes. You hate that it does.
He’s looking at you now, really looking. Like you’re something he lost in a dream and doesn’t know how to ask for again.
“You don’t know what I am,” he says, and you know he means what I could become. The dark shape always crouched just behind his reflection.
You step closer anyway. “I know who you are when you choose to stay. That’s enough.”
He looks like he wants to believe that. Like he might reach for you. But still, he hesitates. Always one breath away from bolting. Always one second from burning.
You take the step for him. Your fingers brush his. Not grabbing, not pulling, just there. Just offering.
“I’m not asking you to be perfect,” you say. “I’m asking you to try.”
He doesn’t speak. But he doesn’t move away either. The silence stretches. Then, slowly, like a storm learning gentleness, Bob’s hand curls around yours.
And he stays. Not forever. Not in the way people without monsters in their mirrors do. But in this moment, in this breath, he chooses you.
Just gonna drop this in here but I had a little daydream that got me through some tough days at work. Picture this. Rocket and the reader has a history and they didn't exactly leave on bad intentions so picture Rocket's surprise when he enters a bar on Knowhere, could be the boot or somewhere new, and he sees her. On the stage, the way she wanted. Singing this little song with the Terran instruments and it kills him how she hasn't changed and how she's changed so much since they've been apart. and in my head, she wrote most of her songs about rocket.
I NEVER KNOW WHERE IT ENDS BUT IN MY HEAD SHE'S SINGING "VAMPIRE EMPIRE" AND THEY MAKE EYE CONTACT WHEN SHE SINGS "I wanna kiss your skin and- your everything." And she's gets this flustered look on her face, shock as well. but she doesnt look away.
YOU DONT HAVE TO RESPOND BUT I DONT HAVE ANYONE TO TALK ABOUT ROCKET TO SO I THOUGHT ID LEAVE A LOYTLE RAMBLE.
babe. THE YEARNING.
maybe they met on some other planet, when rocket was on an early guardians-mission. he was still a serious jackass in those days, you know?
the meet-cute happens in a bar, during a conflict. maybe the fight had started there: the guardians confronting their target at the counter or on the floor. or maybe it started in the street, but they'd crashed through the wall during a face-off. who knows?
either way, i like to think your little songstress was just an innocent bystander. maybe her band had a gig at the bar — the only place they get to play, really — or maybe she's just singing karaoke with her friends.
then these a-holes come in and start shooting up the place.
it's hectic. it's chaos. and in the middle of it all, someone almost ends up getting shot through the heart with an ion-pistol. maybe it's rocket. maybe it's our singer. but either way, it's the other one who tackles them out of the way.
if it was rocket doing the saving, he'd be all growly and grumbly about it. but if it was her — well. he'd be trying to pretend he wasn't distracted by the idea of some soft, strange girl trying to protect him. they'd be crouched together behind a barrier — an overturned table, maybe, or the edge of the stage, or behind the bar itself — while the lasers and ion-blasts burst through the rubble around them, and she'd be skittish and scared. she's an aspiring singer, for chrissake — not a gunman or an assassin. and her nerves would twinge something in rocket — something he hasn't felt for a long time — so he would do the only thing he'd known how to do at the time:
run his fuckin' mouth.
at some point he'd startle a laugh out of her, and before he'd know it, he'd basically be chatting her up in the middle of a firefight. it would be an absolutely surreal experience for both of them. but eventually, the guardians would win the fight and bag up the bad guy — of course they would — and, hot-faced with embarrassment, our girl would ask rocket if he wanted to get a drink afterward.
he'll be blushing just as hard under his fur, scoffing as he agrees.
they'll spend that first cycle together around the clock. she reminds him to eat, and he watches her while she lays on her back on her bed, with her legs propped at a ninety-degree angle against the wall and a scavenged terran mandolin cradled against her belly. they both think each other is breathtaking.
maybe their little affair only lasts that brief cycle, while the guardians are planetside, recovering and enjoying the local scene. she and rocket would end things amicably, because they'd always known it was time-limited. or maybe the two of them keep seeing each other for a while afterward — rocket visiting whenever he gets the chance — before a gap that drags on too long makes him feel like he's got no right to come back, to keep stringing her along when he's got no aim or goals of his own other than the next pay-out.
but just because they end things on good terms doesn't mean that they don't dream about each other, damn near every night. she tries to find other relationships, but how can anyone compete with a guardian of the galaxy who used sarcasm to keep her safe and calm during one of the scariest moments of her life? and rocket — he tries to sleep around, but no-one can compare to the bright spark of her personality, flaring and glowing like a lodestar in the darkness. she thinks of him every time she looks at the night sky, and he thinks of her twice as often. he recalls the silken feel of her skin under his rough palms every night; she can't help but remember the way he'd swallowed each time before he'd touched her, as if her permission was a gift.
he hears the melody of her voice in every song he listens to, and she writes every lyric to the memory of his gruff kindness.
circs pass. circs, my friend. they're on opposite ends of the galaxy most of the time, but their thoughts bind them together like silver threads across the stars.
and then, one day, her band — which has been really growing its audience since the old days; they've traveled to a modest twelve other star systems! — gets a gig on knowhere. she knows rocket lives there now — knows its the guardians' base of operations — and her stomach's all aflutter with nerves. she keeps telling herself that the likelihood of running into him is low: that he's more likely to be off-skull on a mission somewhere than in the bar where she's singing. that he probably wouldn't even remember or recognize her if he did see her.
that's what she tells herself.
so when she's in the middle of a heartwrenching bridge — imagining the tilt of his ears and the softness of his fur, the way she thinks she can still feel the brush of his tail even though it's been ages — and he happens to walk in—
well. it sounds like you've already imagined the rest.
ahhhhh okie okie #380 from the big prompt list 💜 (god my goldfish brain cant remember which ones you've done so far)
I have no idea which ones I've done so far either haha - I'm fine repeating some too, depending on what they are, so all good!
Post writing note: oops. sorry.
"Eddie?"
The last voice Eddie had expected to hear today, in a random gas station in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, New Mexico, is Evan Buckley.
But Eddie turns his head and there Buck is. Looking as absolutely beautiful as he had the last time Eddie had seen him. A bit more scruff on his jaw and his curls are a little longer, but he's still the same man.
"Buck." Eddie replies stiffly, hand falling away from where he'd been reaching for a sweet treat, turning his full body to face the man.
"Uh, hi." Buck says shyly. "I...hi."
"Hi." Eddie's arms curl around his torso, an extra layer of protection for his heart.
"You...what're you doing here?"
Eddie lifts an eyebrow, "Really?"
"I just. Of all the places to run into each other."
"Yup." Eddie nods, not willing to offer more. Buck must sense it though. He draws back into himself a little. The clerk up at the front counter is, thankfully, too absorbed in her phone to notice the awkward stand off happening between the two of them.
"H-how've you been?" Buck asks, daring to take a step forward. Eddie's jaw clenches. "It's been a while."
Two years. Six months. And fifteen days.
Not that Eddie is counting.
"It has."
Buck waits, as if Eddie will answer the question. His shoulders sag when he realizes that isn't going to happen. "Eddie..."
"What?" Eddie snaps, keeping his voice a low hiss, "What do you want, Buck? Huh? Me to jump up and down with joy just because we happened to run into each other here?" He shakes his head, grabs a random candy from the shelf, even though his stomach is churning unpleasantly. "Not going to happen. You walked away. Not me."
He brushes past Buck, uncaring as their shoulders knock together, ignoring the way his entire body yearns for more. Eddie tosses the candy onto the counter, forcing the clerk to put her phone down.
Eddie is far too aware of Buck watching him from behind as Eddie tugs his wallet out, throwing some bills down and snatching the candy up. "Keep the change." He tells the young woman before stalking out of the store.
He isn't surprised when the bell jingles behind him, signaling the door opening again.
"Eddie, wait!"
"No!" Eddie whirls around, hating that his vision blurs with tears, "No, Evan! You walked away! You decided you didn't want this! You made the choice for us before we even had a chance!"
"I'm sorry." Buck whispers, face twisted into anguish. "Eddie, please, let me explain..."
"Explain what?" Eddie flings his hands out on either side of him. The clerk inside is watching now, eyes peering through the window. But she's the only one. There's no one else here. No one else to see him shatter apart. "What is there to explain, Buck? Huh? You left. You made it pretty fucking clear that you didn't want me. Didn't want this."
"No, I—"
"Stop!" Eddie snaps, "Just...fucking stop! You left. You bitched and whined to me about always being left. I bared my heart and soul. I told you that I wanted you. I wanted us. And then you fucking left."
"I know."
"I waited." Eddie's voice is barely a whisper now. "I waited for you, Buck. Waited for you to come back. To tell me it was a mistake. That you loved me too. But you didn't. You never came back."
Buck inhales sharply, eyes widening. He doesn't reply though.
"You never came back." Eddie repeats, shaking his head as he turns and walks to his car. He climbs in without being followed after this time.
He doesn't know why he thought this would be different. Buck had made it clear years ago that he doesn't love Eddie.
Eddie turns the key in the ignition and pulls away from the gas station. Buck stays where he is in his rearview mirror.
if i might ask for the wip word guessing game: hands
Thank you for the ask!
I have that in my as of yet unnamed ghost!Billy au
Sure, Harrington’s always been pretty enough to send Billy’s pulse racing. And yes, Harrington’s stupidly pretty face and dismissive fucking attitude were just the perfect combination to drive Billy to pushing any buttons he could get his hands on just to try to get some reaction, any reaction out of him.
WHAT IS "IM NOT WEARING MATCHING COSTUMES" FOR YELENA
FOR A THOUSAND POINTS
ALSO CONGRATS!!!!!!!!
FOR YOU THE WORLD MY FRIEND! AND THANK YOU!<3
PAIRING: Yelena Belova x GN!Reader.
PROMPT: ‘I am not wearing matching costumes’.
WARNINGS: Pure Halloween fluff!
750 FOLLOWERS FALLFEST | NAVIGATION
Yelena stares at you like you've grown a second head. She’s holding a fake vampire cape at arm’s length, expression flat, like it might explode. You’re trying not to laugh. Really, you are.
“I’m not wearing matching costumes,” she says, slow and serious. “No. No way.”
You give her your most innocent look, tilting your head just slightly. “Why not?”
The little costume shop you dragged her into smells like plastic and cheap face paint. Everything is either glittery or bleeding, or a morbid combination of both. Plastic skeletons grin from the windows. It’s stupid and overdone, but you love it. You always have.
Yelena, clearly, does not.
She’s in her usual black hoodie, sleeves pushed up, hair pulled back into a messy braid. Her nose crinkles as she eyes the cape again. “Because I have dignity.”
You cross your arms. “So you won’t be my vampire wife for one night?”
She snorts. “Wife?” Then raises an eyebrow, voice lower. “Is that what this is?”
Heat creeps up your neck. You regret speaking immediately, or maybe not at all. It’s hard to tell when she’s looking at you like that, all half amused, half curious, all too observant.
You try to recover. “I meant, you know. Creatures of the night. A powerful duo.”
“You are not powerful in this.” She gestures to the crushed velvet corset you’d picked out earlier. “You look like a drowned bat.”
“I think I look hot, actually.”
“Tragic,” she says, but her mouth twitches. You watch it closely, the way her lips tug upward despite herself.
She drops the cape on the rack, brushing past you to the next aisle, and you follow, still grinning.
“I just think,” you start, quieter now, “it would be fun. To do something silly. With you.”
Yelena doesn’t answer right away. She picks up a rubber axe, spins it once in her hand like she’s judging the weight. Her profile’s sharp against the flickering strip lights overhead. You’ve learned to read her silences, this one is thoughtful, not at all annoyed.
“I didn’t grow up with this,” she says eventually. “Trick or treating. Pumpkins. Whatever this… madness is.”
“I know.”
She glances at you, eyes softer. “So maybe I don’t get it.”
“That’s alright.” You step a little closer, your voice warmer. “You don’t have to get it. Just have to show up. Maybe wear a stupid cape. Humour me.”
She exhales, a little laugh slipping out. “You’re annoying.”
You nudge her side. “You adore me.”
“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Fine. But I’m choosing my own costume. No matching.”
You pretend to pout, but it fades quickly when she reaches out to fix the collar of your velvet monstrosity with surprising care. Her fingers linger.
IM BACK AND IM STILL IN LOVE WITH YOUR FICS AND IM SO HAPPY YOURE ALIVE AND THAT WE'RE ALIVE AND AND AND AUGH
YOU ARE THE SWEETEST THANK YOOOOU
also i saw your other ask (if you even remember leaving it three-billion years ago) and i WILL respond but i am going to try to get through some of my shorter asks first so my inbox looks less daunting °՞(ᗒᗣᗕ)՞° but i really love it just so you know)
saw your navigation post for the requesting rules and got distracted and saw send pet pics SO WHABAM!
the one taking up most of the left corner is Miss Cassie, also lovingly called Meatball. for reasons. She's almost one years old
and the one laying on the knocked over bin, is Mister Elvis, also known as Jelly Belly Baby Boy Belvis, he's 8 year old and has recently overcame a fever, or so I'm guessing. (THE GUESSING IS BECAUSE I WAS TOO POOR TO ACTUALLY GET THE TESTS DONE SO THEY HELPED US OUT AND GAVE US A COCKTAIL OF DRUGS IN INJECTION FORM.) (He's no longer the Roundest Beast in the house. Eyeing Meatball who would eat his portion when we were trying to get him to eat.)
!!! i adore them so much thank you for this! jelly belly baby boy belvis especially. he looks perfect to me. not a thought behind those eyes. miss cassie is serving face though truly a diva
GASP im having a long long day (not really but augh its late and tomorrow is a nonstop day so aauuugghhh) and i noticed you updated the rack & ruin fic and IM SO SO HAPPY I cant wait to read it when I get home 🥰🥰
who knew that this oneshot was gonna turn into a nine-part series? not me but i should have expected it lol
thank you for being the sweetest little stack of pancakes i ever encountered. your enthusiasm brings me SUCH joy and it’s an honor to know this lil fic may have brought you some relief after a long day of capitalism
also thank you because even though this sweet ask was from over a month ago, i am using it as motivation to focus on writing the next audiotransmission with the very few hours I have free tonight! cross your fingers for me!!! ♡♡♡
