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nanamiskentos · 1 day ago

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LAY DOWN THE LAW — 五条悟 GOJO SATORU

PLOT 𐙚 Gojo Satoru is the city's hottest attorney and your maddeningly smug boss. Ten years of will-they-won’t-they office tension come to a head when a late night at the firm finally pushes you both over the edge, right onto his desk, and then some. You might be the secretary, but tonight? You’re the one running the court, with your hand shafted around a very big . . . gavel.

FEATURING Gojo Satoru x Reader

CW 𐙚 afab!reader, MDNI, Workplace AU, Boss x Secretary, Suits!AU, Lawyer!Gojo, power plays, possessive language, desk séx, couch séx, semi-public, oràl (f), cowgírl, swítch!Gojo, líght restraínts, praisé kínk, bíting/màrking, mànhandling, unprotected séx, GOJO IS A YEARNER

WC 𐙚 5.1k

NOTE 𐙚 one of my friends started watching suits for the first time and it got me thinking of the good old days...

The firm's office was quiet. Eerily so. The sterile kind of silence that only settled after sunset, when the junior associates had scurried off and the city skyline outside blurred into a sea of flickering lights and taxi horns.

Nights like this always felt heavier somehow, thick in your chest like an aching, hungry fog. Not because of the overtime, hell, you practically lived in this building and wore your stellar competence like a badge of honour, but because after hours meant only one thing.

You were alone. With him.

Satoru Gojo.

Senior partner. The best closer in the city, a hotshot lawyer snug in designer suits. A certified dream and nightmare wrapped into one tall, toned package.

And the worst part? You didn't even mind craving his presence, like a moth to a sparkling, blue flame.

Your gaze always lingered past the edge of your desk when Gojo strolled by in the mornings, leaving you with that casual wink as though gravity bent around him, and you just happened to be in its pull. His stupidly expensive Armani suits, his smug, whiny quips and that sharp-fanged grin that made you want to slap and straddle him in the same breath.

Which is exactly why your heart stuttered when the intercom crackled to life, and his voice slid through, smooth as a neat pour of whiskey, "Doll, can you come in here for a second?"

You knew the drill. Some last-minute filing. A deposition draft he suddenly had to review. Gojo would pour you a crystal glass of scotch, pretend to talk business, and shiver when you leaned in far too close behind his oaken desk, eyes lingering on the swan-curve of your neck.

And like always, you would pretend not to notice, pressing your thighs together to relieve the wayward tension he wrought in you.

But tonight? You were in no mood to play the pretty secretary as diligently as you had been for the past few years. You grit the tips of your heels into the soft carpet to heave open the heavy glass door to his office, not bothering to knock.

Gojo glances up from a stack of clean paper, leaning back in his pristine chair with the ease of a man who brought in millions upon millions of dollars in merger deals each year for the firm. His navy tie was loosened, top button of his starch-white shirt undone.

White hair tousled as though he had run a frustrated hand through it one too many times, and judging by the way his blue eyes greedily dragged up your frame and snagged on your collarbone, you were the reason.

"Late night?" You ask, tone clipped as you watch how the city lights spilled through the high-rise windows behind him, painting him in gold, and blue, and deep, dangerous shadow.

"Thought you could help me with something," Gojo tosses a crisp folder your way, and your nails snag into the thin cardboard without blinking, "Couple of items that needed sorting."

"You couldn't have done this tomorrow? This is just copy-room administration."

Gojo tilts his head, lashes pale as snow, and unfairly long, "You were still here," he shrugs with a casual indifference that doesn't match the tension gnawing at his jaw, "Figured I'd make use of your talents."

The bob of his Adam's apple clearly gave away the flimsy excuse, for Gojo Satoru has always been hungry for the sight of you, even when he was pretending otherwise.

Tonight, though, that smug smile and velvet tone hits different, like a match dragged too slowly across the box, and your jaw clenches.

Gojo had always hovered right there, just shy of indecent in the silent hours of the night. Just enough innuendo to make your thighs clench, but never enough to tip over.

Like he got off dragging the two of you to the edge, and then walking away.

No more.

You step forward, scuffing your heel into the soft weave of the floor, and slapping the folder flat on his desk, "You always do this."

Gojo blinks, jewel-blue eyes owlish and flicking innocently, "Do what?"

"Treat me like I'm yours. Flirt with me. Buy me expensive shit, –" You lean in, meeting the defensive scowl in his eyes, "You took me shopping privately for a Hermès bag this morning, apparently just because."

You know Gojo Satoru enough to recognise the twitch in his expression, the flicker of something real and not cloaked in his endless bravado.

You refuse to let up, "So tell me, Gojo. Are you ever actually going to do something about it?"

"I thought you were seeing that investment banker from the 46th floor," Gojo mutters, jaw tight as his eyes tear themselves away from you, the swell of your chest with considerable effort.

Ah. Nanami Kento.

That fling was brief, for while you liked your men strong, you didn't quite like them silent.

No hard feelings, of course.

"That ended six months ago," you say coolly, "And when I first told you about him, you didn't speak to me for a week. What was that about?"

Silence. You can't hear anything else but the hard, pounding beat of your pulse, and the faint hum of electricity running in the background, keeping parts of the office lit.

Gojo stands, not abruptly nor angrily. Just deliberately, like a man who already made up his mind long ago.

You inch back automatically, the edge of the desk pressing against the small of your back, below the crux of your spine. Gojo follows, close, too close. Heat radiates off your boss like static, and his scent, mint and cedar, curls in your lungs.

A large hand cups your jaw, and his touch isn't rough. Gojo uses just enough pressure to make you tilt your chin up to meet those storm-blue eyes. Darker now, dilated and devouring.

"Say the word," Gojo murmurs, voice thick with something you could even mistake as longing, "And I'll show you that I'm yours right here."

Your throat bobs, a hot flush beginning to kiss the tips of your ears, "What? Here, Gojo, –" You're hissing, even though you knew the building was entirely empty, and it was well past midnight.

Gojo's index finger is pressed to your lips, "You want me to be an honest man?" A wicked but almost bashful smile ghosting over the mouth of the most confident and self-assured man that you know, "Fine. I want to kiss you."

You don't give him the chance to ask again.

Grabbing the finely tailored lapels of his suit, and pulling the attorney down into you, kissing him hard. Tasting mint, coffee and the ghost of lemon candy on his tongue as his hand slams back against the desk, and you can swear he whimpers.

Gojo chases after you like a man starved. The press of his lips both hot and urgent, his clever tongue teasing until you groan, biting his lower lip hard enough to taste the tell-tale tang of iron.

That earns you another sound from deep in his throat, something that sounds almost grateful, and he pulls you closer. Looping a strong around your waist, already tugging at the hem of your top.

You think that the only downside of having Gojo Satoru like this, is the human need to pull back for oxygen.

But he seems almost magnetically drawn to you, eyes lingering on the glossy sheen coating your mouth, his breath shallow as he heaves a sharp breath, "Always wanted to know what you would taste like."

"Oh, yeah? Got your answer?"

"Well, one part of my answer," Gojo's large hands are running along the silky seam of your stockings, and you involuntarily shiver as you push against the firm planes of his chest, snaking your manicured hand lower.

"You're already hard."

Gojo gives you a faintly embarrassed, dull look, but it's true enough. There's a rock solid tent in his dark slacks, aching for friction against your thigh, as he murmurs against your jaw, "What, you think if I put my hands up your skirt, you're not gonna' be wet?"

What use is there in denying cold, hard facts?

Gojo's hands run down to your waist, spinning you around so fast that your palms slam against the hard surface of his desk for balance.

The wood is cold beneath your skin, spotless and severe, and each pen on his desk is lined up with military precision, not a page out of place.

For now.

You can feel the white-haired man behind you, his body heat pressing into your back as he leans over, pink lips brushing the delicate shell of your ear, "This desk's seen a lot of action," he murmurs, "But nothin' like this."

Your heart is thudding as soft, suckled marks are bruised gently into your neck, "You ever bend a client over it?"

"No," Gojo scoffs, dragging his hands up your sides once more, slow and reverent as though he wants to commit your form to memory, "Only ever thought about my favourite secretary."

You're gasping, lips slack, as he kicks your legs slightly apart at the knee, and then, fuck — his fingers are sliding up your inner thigh. Bold, skilled and confident.

When he find the wet heat, slick and searing between your legs, Gojo groans against your neck, "God, you really are mine, huh?"

"Check the paperwork, then, S-Satoru," You're hissing, trying to stay snide, even as your hips hungrily rock into his touch. Ensuring that you grind your dripping, plump folds against his fingers, coating his knuckles with your arousal.

"Oh, I will," Gojo purrs, "In fact –"

Gojo keeps a solid arm snug around you, holding you up as his other hand reaches for something on the desk, and before you can question what on earth he's doing now, you hear the rustle of paper.

He's got your file, that faded résumé that you had dropped in his lap when you had first demanded he hire you. You twist your head to blearily glare at him just as he flips it open.

"You had excellent references," Gojo muses, as though he's reading aloud to a jury. Meanwhile, two long fingers are filthily sliding into you, slow and deep, curling just right in pursuit for a sweet spot, "Punctual. Detail-oriented. Loyal. Mhm, tight too. Didn't see that in the résumé."

"S-Satoru," You choke out, nails already curling half-crescents into the polished wood. His palm now roughly angled so you can drag your throbbing cunt over his hand, and still catch enough friction to soothe your aching clit.

"Ah-ah," The white-haired man clicks his tongue, hooking his middle finger so a fresh wave of slick clings to the fine dusting of pale, white hair on his hand, "That's Gojo during business hours."

"It's past m-midnight."

"Heh, you're right," Gojo snickers, battering his fingers against that roughened, sweet spot, "In that case, call me whatever ya' want, doll."

You arch into his tender touch, breath hitcing as his fingers fuck you with the kind of steady rhythm that says he's had this moment planned, fantasised and rehearsed.

His other hand warmly slips under your top, pushing the fabric side just enough to tug your bra down, and palm your breast, thumb brushing your pebbled nipple as you whimper.

"You like this?" Gojo asks, the liquid-smooth tone of his voice now tinged with a hungry rasp, and his lips continue to delicately press kisses over the nape of your neck, "Letting your boss finger you over his quarterly earnings report?"

You try to respond, but your pleas come out more as a garbled moan, stifled as he probes his fingers against the elastic walls of your cunt.

Gojo grins, "Didn't catch that, sweet girl. You're gonna' have to say it like you mean it."

"F-fuck, yes, yes," you gasp, back arching as your thighs strain with the most delicious ache, "Want more, p-please."

Gojo stills, not all the way, just enough to make you squirm, hips rolling helplessly into the hand that no longer moves, breath catching in your throat as the heat and rhythm disappear.

His touch lingers, taunting, maddening, and you whine before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping past your lips like a plea you didn’t mean to give him.

He huffs a quiet laugh, the kind that curls down your spine like smoke, "More?" he echoes, faux-innocent and infuriating, his voice that same low, slick tone he uses when convincing clients to sign over the promise of ten million dollars, "You think I just give it away, doll?"

Your response is instant, breathy and heated, punctuated by the steady drip of your slick against his desk, "I earned it, didn't I?"

And that, that does something to Gojo. You feel the change. Like a muscle coiled too tight finally snapping loose.

It's in the way his warm grip tightens on your hips, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years, the guttural sound he lets out as he drops to his knees with a heavy thud, slacks creased, like a man possessed.

In one fluid motion, your translucent, sopping panties are around your ankles, torn down so fast the elastic snaps, and Gojo's murmuring a kiss of apology against your thigh, and his broad hands are dragging your thighs apart like he's carving out space for worship.

"Consider this your bonus," Gojo murmurs, voice dark with promise, ruined at the mere sight of your glossy, winking pussy, and then his mouth is on you.

Your gasp punches out of you like it's been yanked from the base of your spine. His tongue is hot and wet and obscene, sliding through your folds with the kind of deliberate slowness that makes you tremble. He licks you like he's determined to learn you, like he's done the theory, read the case notes, and now it's time for oral arguments.

And God, he's good at it. Gojo is really good at it.

He flicks his tongue over your swollen clit with practiced ease, teasing little circles that send white-hot pulses of pleasure through your gut. Every time your hips buck, he anchors you tighter, one arm locking around your thigh while the other drags you closer by the small of your back, forcing you to stay still and take it so perfectly for him.

"You're so w-wet," Gojo groans into your cunt, lips slick and voice reverent, like he’s drunk off the taste of your sweet pussy, "What's the matter, baby? Can't focus when someone's actually giving you what you need?"

Your fingers scramble for purchase on the desk’s edge as he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling against it with maddening rhythm. Your eyes flutter, head tipping back, your entire body buzzing with pleasure.

Your knees nearly buckle when he hums, hums, as though he's tasting vintage wine.

When Gojo pulls back at last, his mouth is shining, and he looks positively wrecked in the best way. Flushed cheeks, jaw damp, pupils blown wide. The front of his suit is creased, rumpled beyond salvation. His deep-blue tie's hanging off one shoulder. And his blinding grin is nothing short of smug.

"Gonna' bend you over this desk now,” Gojo says casually, like he's scheduling a client call, "Heels on. Hands flat. Keep your voice down unless you want HR to catch the encore on security footage."

You barely hear the rest of the sentence, you're already moving, limbs moving on instinct, spine arching as you brace yourself against the desk.

And you don’t even realise you're obeying until your palms hit the polished wood and you feel the weight of Gojo behind you again, hot and solid and absolutely unrelenting.

And when he finally pushes into you, all thick, hot, and utterly unforgiving inches upon inches, it knocks the breath straight from your lungs.

There's no teasing now, no soft wind-up or slow drag. Just the blunt, overwhelming stretch of his fat mushroom-tip probing and filling you in one deliberate thrust that has your back arching and your mouth falling open in a wordless moan.

You gasp, the sound stuttering against your forearm as you brace yourself on the desk, eyes squeezing shut from the sheer intensity of it.

Gojo's big. Oh, he knows it's big, and he fucks like he's trying to remind you of it with every single stroke. Ensuring that you never forget the sticky slap! of his thighs tacking against your own, dribbling with arousal and the prelude to his seed.

The white-haired man's hands clamp down on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there with a bruising grip as he snaps his hips into yours, relentless and smooth, like he’s been waiting years for this.

The desk jerks with every thrust, drawers rattling. Loose pages scatter to the floor. Gojo's gilded nameplate goes flying with a clatter, landing somewhere near your pricey heels, and the coffee mug you brought him earlier tips over, soaking a stack of contracts you'd spent the whole afternoon organising.

Neither of you care.

"Fuck," Gojo groans, whiny voice fraying at the edges, rough and low and needy, "Look at you. Taking it so f-fucking well. Like this pretty pussy was made to be bent over my desk."

You let out a strangled moan, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick wood surface, the edge biting into your hips with every push forward. Your legs are trembling, heels still on, body taut with sensation, overstimulated already and aching for more. And you try to speak, to respond, but the words break apart in your dry throat, "Y-you are so –"

"Charming?" Gojo grits out, breath hot against the back of your neck as he leans forward to press his chest to your spine, one hand leaving your hip to curl around your throat, not tight, just enough to tilt your head up, "Devastatingly handsome? Ridiculously good at fillin' you up? You're gonna' have to be more specific, doll."

You let out something between a sob and a laugh, even as your eyes roll back at the next thrust. And Gojo's voice lowers to a murmur, but there's nothing soft in it, just heat, possession, a hint of desperation bleeding through the snark, "C'mon, baby. Say it. Say you're mine. Please."

You manage it on a gasp, voice wrecked, pleasure-drenched, "I'm —f-fuck, I'm yours."

That does it. Gojo groans like you just handed him a verdict in his favor, like your words scratched some raw, aching itch inside him that nothing else could reach, "Y-yeah, you are,” he growls, "All f-fucking mine."

He fucks you harder after that, messy, frantic, a little feral. One hand back on your hip, the other dragging down your back to press between your shoulder blades, holding you down, keeping you right there as he takes you like a man who’s been dreaming about this for far too long.

You can feel every solid, veined inch of him. The way he stretches you open, the obscene slick sounds between your thighs, the way his cock hits deep and perfect on every roll of his hips. His pace is devastating, measured and punishing and so fucking good it sends white sparks bursting behind your eyelids.

You must be drooling into the desk, heat curling in your belly, orgasm building again, fast and dangerous and unstoppable. And behind you, Gojo's voice breaks on a groan as he mutters against your ear, "You gonna' come for me again, pretty girl? Wanna feel you s-squeeze me while I fill you up. You gonna' let me, yeah?"

Your answer is a breathless, wrecked moan, because yes, fuck, yes —

And that’s all he needs. You barely manage to stay standing.

Your legs are jelly, trembling under the weight of overstimulation and everything he's just done to you, your thighs slick with him, your blouse clinging to sweat-damp skin, buttons half-torn and collar askew. Your breath comes in short, uneven pants, chest heaving against the edge of the desk like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

Gojo's still behind you, spurting cock slowly being dragged out of your puffy, twitching folds, not touching, but there, looming, panting, shirt untucked, white hair wild and matted with sweat. He looks ruined. Flushed. Like he’s just sprinted all sixty floors of the high-rise with you on his mind.

And then Gojo sees it.

The faint red imprint of his hand blooming across your hip. The angry mark his Prada belt buckle left above the curve of your ass. The glimmer of your slick smeared across his cock, still hard, twitching against his abdomen, and soaking into the fine dusting of white hair crawling over his groin, glistening like proof of what he just did to you.

Gojo's pupils dilate, and whatever blue was left in his eyes vanishes beneath the darker, more reverent hunger, "Mine," he murmurs, half to himself, voice hushed and hoarse, like he has to say it out loud to believe you're real, "You're mine."

You twist to look at him, wobbly on your heels but a faint ghost of a smile paints your lips all the same, "Yeah, Satoru?" you say, voice still a little wrecked, "Then sit down."

Gojo blinks, stunned for just a second, the most in-demand lawyer in the city whipped into flushed silence from the command. But you just jut your chin toward the couch, charcoal-grey leather, sleek and smooth.

"I said sit."

There's a pause. A flicker of something wild in Gojo's incredulous expression, like he wants to fight it. But then his lips part into a grin that borders on worshipping, like he's never been bossed around in his life and is so damn into it, "Yes, ma'am."

Gojo drops onto the couch, milky and muscular thighs spread wide, weeping cock hard and glistening and flushed an angry red from base to tip. White-haired head lolling back against the cushions as he exhales like a man undone. His tie is half-off, collar loose, suit beyond salvation.

You straddle him before he can get cocky again, knees pressed into the cushions, ruined skirt hitched around your waist, heat still pulsing between your legs as you slide over his broad lap. Gojo's hands fly to your hips automatically, gripping tight, like his body's already memorised every inch of your skin like a precious canvas already.

"I'm still ya' boss, you know," Gojo says, looking up at you through those sinfully pale lashes, trying for cocky and failing, it comes out breathless and wanting.

You roll your hips down slowly, grinding against Gojo's lap, until the head of his spurting cock slips against your entrance, snagging against your walls, and his head thunks back with a guttural groan and a raspy, "Fuck."

"Don't think so, 'Toru," you murmur, voice low, syrupy, and you can feel his cock twitch against your inner thigh, jumping at the abbreviated name, "Right now? I wanna' be in charge."

That does it. Whatever minuscule control Gojo had snaps.

He grips the plush flesh of your ass, and yanks you down as he thrusts up into you, burying himself to the hilt in one sharp, perfect stroke that leaves you gasping and mewling at the tip of his cock swabbing deeply within you.

It's so utterly messy and wet, and filthy, your bodies crashing together with the raw sound of sex, of urgency, of months, no, years of restraint finally shattered.

Gojo's hungry mouth finds your neck, open and greedy, licking and biting like he wants to leave a roadmap behind, a pattern he wants to follow forevermore. You gasp, manicured nails clawing down his chest, raking through the remnants of his tailored dress shirt.

"You like that?" You're whining, voice catching as your hips start to rock once more, adjusted to the sheer girth of him, pace steady and punishing, "Getting m-marked?"

"Fuck, yeah," Gojo groans, snapping his hips up so hard your breath stutters, and a steady plap! plap! plap! echoes in the empty office. "Want you to w-wreck me, doll. Wan' the whole d-damn firm to see I belong to you."

You're certainly not gentle when you kiss him again. You slam your mouth to his, teeth and tongue and something that tastes like vengeance and victory. He kisses back like he's still starving, like he hasn't eaten in weeks and you're his last meal, what he's been craving the most.

Somehow, somewhere in the chaos, his silky tie ends up wrapped loosely around your wrists, a makeshift restraint anchoring your hand to the back of his neck, keeping you steady as you bounce in Gojo's lap, feeling him sway the thick bulge of his cock in and out of you. You can feel the thrum of his pulse there, frantic and wild, syncing with yours.

"I dream about this, you know?" Gojo mutters against your mouth, nibbling on your glossy lower lip. "Y-you. Riding me and using m-me. Fuck, I wake up hard just thinking about your voice."

Your pussy must be drooling all over his lap, and your walls tighten around him and Gojo chokes, his blue eyes rolling back for a second as his chest flushes a pale shade of strawberry red.

"Then wake u-up, 'Toru," you whisper, lips brushing his jaw, gently nipping at the soft skin, "And t-take it."

And Gojo does. He thrusts his cock up into you, hard and deep, pace brutal and beautiful all at once. His hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, palming your breasts, fingers sliding down your spine to hold you in place while he slams into you with the rhythm of a man unhinged.

Gojo's mouth latches onto your collarbone, biting down hard enough to bruise, and when you do the same to his shoulder, he whines, "More," he begs, "Give me more. F-fucking ruin me. Leave your teeth in me, I'm yours."

His hand slips between your bodies, calloused thumb rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit as you ride him, and the pleasure builds fast, white-hot and sharp, until you're shaking with it, your moans dissolving into ragged gasps.

"Gojo, –" you breathe, barely above a strangled whisper as his cock carves out loud squelches and leaves you both boneless and breathless. Jewel-blue eyes snap up to yours like you’re divine.

"That's it," Gojo growls, lower lip slack as he watches the sticky, gluey strands of your arousal cling to his thighs, "C-come for me. Come allll over my cock n' be a good girl and fall apart, my girl."

And you do.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, sudden and seismic, your whole body spasming, thighs locking around him as you cry out his name. Gojo watches, utterly spellbound, as you unravel, sweat-slick and stunning and trembling on his lap.

"F-fuck, fuck, sweetheart," Gojo gasps, hips stuttering, and soft strands of white hair falling over his eyes, "Holy shit, gonna come, fuck, I'm c-coming, –"

He spills inside you with a ragged moan, all thick, pearly seed and the rhythmic pulse of his cock's release as he thrusts deep, clinging to you like he never wants to let go. The aftershocks roll through both of you, sticky and breathless and all-consuming.

You collapse against his chest, both of you panting like you’ve run a marathon. Gojo's arms wrap around your back immediately, hands splayed across your spine, holding you like something sacred.

"Don't you dare quit on me," Gojo murmurs, voice hoarse and broken, "Swear to god, if you hand in your resignation, I'll follow you into retirement and eat you out every morning like it’s my full-time job. We can get a nice, shiny penthouse and, –"

You snort, still dazed, chin tucked into his shoulder, enveloped by the sheer, searing exertion rolling off him, intertwined with his signature, smoky scent, "You're insane."

"What?" Gojo breathes, that indignant tone creeping back up into his voice, as he trails long fingers up and down your back with slow, reverent strokes, "I'd make a hot trophy wife."

#gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru #gojo smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo #jjk #daphworks #just chugging thru some writing practice 💛

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rafeys-angel13 · 1 day ago

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you get in a tiny accident and need rafe

- request a fic - masterlist -

— ⋆·˚ ༘ * requested! - blue!collar!rafe x sahm!reader

you had borrowed rafe’s truck to go to the grocery store.

you were backing into a space when the car came to a stop and there was a big crunch. you immediately drop your head onto the steering wheel and sigh.

when you finally build up the courage to get out and have a look at the damage, you walk around to the the back of the car.

there’s a huge dent on the back of the truck bed, from a pole. tears immediately well up in your eyes as you start panicking about what rafe will think. what the hell are you supposed to do?

you call rafe, sniffling when he answers. he’s immediately concerned. “what’s wrong, baby?” he asks, panicked.

“um- i hit a pole with your truck- im sorry it was so stupid.” you cry harder when you tell him, you’re scared of how he might react.

“are you okay, sweetheart?” his voice is a lot softer than you had expected, making you pause.

“yeah- yeah i’m okay…” you responds, confused by his tone.

“did anything fall off the car or is anything hanging off?” he asks. his voice calm and quite comforting.

“no… it’s just a dent…” you sniffle and wipe your face.

“come home, baby… forget about the shopping. you’re okay” he talks softly.

“okay… yeah” you nod and get back into the truck.

“okay… see you soon, honey.”

when you get home, he’s already on the porch. his eyebrows are knitted together. not angrily, it seems more concerned.

you walk up the steps and he embraces you tightly, you break down again— burying your face in his chest.

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asks softly with a small kiss on your head. his hand rubs small circles into your back as you sniffle.

“yeah- but your truck isn’t…” you mumble, wiping the wetness off your cheeks.

“fuck the truck, baby. as long as your okay, i’m happy.” he pushes some hair away from your face and looks down at you with a small smile. “— you’re precious cargo” he chuckles and your lips curve up into a small smile.

“no i feel dumb for crying” you chuckle slightly and he shakes his head.

“don’t feel dumb. you just got a little shock, huh?” he presses a kiss to your forehead and rubs your shoulders gently. “— let’s go get your comfies on… we’ll watch a move or something…” he pulls you into the house.

you feel asleep the moment you lay down. rafe’s soothing words and calming touch sent you straight into a deep sleep. you definitely needed it.

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mindless-existence1 · 3 days ago

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Kpop Demon Hunters

Baby Saja x Reader

Summery: You bring in snacks for the groups (Huntrix and Saja Boys) and Baby teases you a bit (hes your boyfriend)

Authors Note: I loved this movie and I loved Baby and Jinu from Saja Boys and all the Huntrix my requests are open for this movie this is my first fic for it tho

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You had gotten to the studio about 10 minutes ago to drop off lunch for the group. It had started out as just for Baby but then the others heard you were getting him some snacks and they begged you to pick something up for them too.

You didnt mind tho you were happy too, and Baby had told you about how hard they had been working recently. Saja Boys and Huntrix were working on a new song together and that ment long hours.

You sat on the couch of the lounge area, bags of food beside you. You just mindlessly played on your phone and hummed along to the songs playing in your headphones.

Finally you heard a door open an a collection of sighs coming from the idols. "Ugghhhh im so tired" you heard from Rumi and a chanting of "Couch! Couch! Couch!" From her costars.

The guys were more quiet just groaning and whiny about being tired and hungry and ready for a break. "Y/n!" The girls yelled when they saw you, Zoey and Mira jumped onto the couch and Zoey gave you a hug before they grabbed at the snacks.

The guys fought over different snacks and the girls downed their Ramen you specifically got for them. "Thank you so much" the girls cried. "Thank you y/n" the guys said through large bites of food.

"Of course, you guys are working so hard its the least I can do." They all hummed and smiled, Baby sat next to you eating his own share. "I really appreciate thank you babe." Your boyfriend said and kissed your cheek.

You smiled at him and started eating some od the food you got for yourself. "So how's the single coming along?" You ask after everyone began to finish their food. Zoey got a happy glint in her eyes and excited started telling about how she came up with the lyrics and what they all mean.

You happily listened leaning back into the couch, Baby's arm around you. You continued to talk and listen to the idols talk about their new single, half way through their break though you had put on some flavored chapstick not thinking anything of it.

But Baby noticed and if you guys weren't infront of your friends he would've started making out right then and there. But he was proud of himself for showing restraint.

Bobby walked through the door connected to the studio and called out. "Girls, Guys, im so sorry but break times over we need you back out in the studio!" The group collectively groaned but Rumi said "For the fans!" In mock enthusiasm.

"For the fans" the other idols repeated. One by one they got up with a sigh and walked towards the studio befor it was just you and Baby, "Ill be out in a sec!" He called to Jinu who was the last one to walk through the door, he nodded with a knowing smirk on his face.

When the door shut Baby immediately grabbed your chin and kissed you, you stayed like that for a moment just kissing untill he pulled away looking into your eyes. "Hmm, Strawberry. I like it." He said quietly while glancing down towards your lips.

You blushed and turned your head away slightly, "Baby!" You reprimanded. "Yes?" He put an innocent smile on his face and tilted his head to better see your face. "Go do your idol job you freak." He laughed but started getting up.

He kissed your forehead and started walking towards the studio, "Good bye my love, thank you for the food." You wave, grabbing your own things so you can get back to whatever you were doing before lunch. He blew you a kiss and gave you a wink, licking his lips as he closed the door to the studio

#baby saja #saja boys #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters fanfiction #kpop demon hunters x reader #baby saja fluff #baby saja x reader #kpop demon hunters fluff #reader insert #fanfiction

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juliettrulyyours · 20 hours ago

Text

Human Fangirl Turned Demon Manager

Human Fangirl Turned Demon Manager (Part 2)

Teaser Part 1 Part 2

synopsis: you’re a low-level paperwork clerk demon who somehow ended up hired (threatened) by a smug, too-pretty demon named Jinu to become the manager of the demon realm’s first-ever demon boy band. all because he accidentally found your boy band concept sketches.

warning: cursing and boys being boys (ugh)

i’m really bad at making accurate timelines so… just know i tried my best. also, same as before! if you’re not yet part of the taglist, you can just comment and i got you :)

For the next few days—ever since the King of Demons actually approved this fantasy plan of yours—you found yourself knee-deep in demon idol group logistics.

Which was a sentence you never expected to say in either your life… or afterlife.

You’d barely slept or eaten. You’d gone full-on manager mode and locked yourself in a dusty, abandoned hell-office armed with a whiteboard, sticky notes, five sketchpads, and a glowing coffee mug someone (probably Baby) cursed to refill itself with demon espresso. At least… you hoped it was espresso.

The name you decided on for the boys? Saja Boys.

It was catchy, slightly edgy, and translated to “Lion Boys,” which was what you thought Jinu resembled the first time you met him. You’d also assigned each member a carefully crafted idol persona, based on classic K-pop archetypes you knew by heart.

Now, with the group name finalized and their personas set, you were all gathered around a broken table in what was generously being called the Saja Boys’ training room (it was really just a rebranded storage dungeon), brainstorming something even more important—

“What if…” Romance leaned back dramatically, fingers laced behind his head, “…we call our first song ‘Demon Lord Explosion Dynamite.’”

“No,” you said immediately.

Abby jumped in next. “Okay, okay, hear me out… Demon Boys.”

“That’s literally just who you are,” you deadpanned.

Baby slaps his hands on the table. “Wait—what if—‘Demons.’ It’s simple and easy to remember.”

You inhaled slowly. “Do you guys not know any other words besides ‘Demon’?”

They all exchanged looks.

“…No?” Mystery offered.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a breath. Then another. This was fine. You were fine. You had trained for this. This was where your inner K-pop stan, human-era strategist, and demon-realm survivor came together.

“Okay,” you finally said, “how about trying one of the looks I sketched out before deciding on a title?”

You flipped open your sketchpad to a page filled with pastel-themed outfits, perfectly coordinated and soft on the eyes. You may or may not have added bunny ear options at the bottom. You glanced up. The boys were staring at the page… then at you… with identical “are you serious?” expressions.

“It’s called a cute concept,” you explained. “Just think finger hearts and aegyo. You reel the fans in with sweetness, then trap them forever. It’s basic K-pop science. I had spreadsheets on this when I was still alive. This will go viral overnight.”

Romance looked offended. “You want me to wear bright yellow?!”

“It brings out your hair,” you shot back.

Jinu raised a brow. “And you think this’ll work?”

You nodded—maybe a little too confidently, considering you were still scared he might bite your head off if you said otherwise.

He studied the sketches one last time, then snapped his fingers. There was a puff of pinkish smoke, and was that glitter? And when it cleared—

Your jaw dropped. Gone were the terrifying, edge-lord demon boys you’d been dealing with for the past few weeks. Standing before you now were five glowing, pastel-wrapped soft boy idols who looked like they belonged in a spring comeback teaser video.

Romance had hearts on the knees of his jeans. Baby wore a yellow beret that somehow made him look both adorable and dangerous. And is it just the demon magic or did he kinda look like Min Yoongi?

Well, now you know who’s your bias if they actually pull this off.

You stared—mouth parted, eyes wide—completely and utterly starstruck. Maybe Jinu wasn’t lying when he said the other guys were hot, too.

For a moment, you forgot you were in the demon realm. You clutched your clipboard to your chest and whispered, “Oh my god. They’re so cute.”

Then, out of nowhere.

Baby turned and smacked Abby across the face with his beret. Mystery levitated mid-air while cradling a mic stand he summoned out of literal nowhere. Romance pulled out a mirror and started whispering compliments to himself that you were absolutely sure should be kept between him and his ego. Jinu adjusted his cuffs while you stared. And then, as if he could sense your gaze, he turned and winked at you.

You flipped him off without thinking.

Just like that, reality snapped back into place. You shook your head, cleared your throat, and tried to collect what was left of your dignity.

“R-Right. So, anyway—”

You flipped your notebook open and started talking again.

“What about a title like…” you scribbled quickly, “…Soda Pop?”

All their heads turned to you. Each with a different expression, clearly reacting confused to what you’d just said.

“Sowda Fap?” Mystery repeated, his brows furrowed.

“No, I think she said ‘So The Fuck,’” Baby chimed in, completely deadpan.

You side-eyed Baby. You couldn’t believe this was the same demon who, just earlier, reminded you of your bias wrecker. Suddenly, your train of thought was cut off by Jinu’s voice.

“Explain,” he said simply.

You cleared your throat. “First of all. It’s SODA POP. Like, you know...” You gestured like you’re holding a can and drinking from it.

They all just stared at you. At first, it was blank confusion—then came the smirks and they all started snickering.

You blinked, puzzled, until it hit you. Your eyes widened in horror as you blurted out, “No! It’s a drink! In a can! Take your minds out of the gutter!” You tried your best not to stutter, even though your cheeks were heating up fast.

These perverts. Ugh. No wonder they were sent to the demon realm.

“Anyway! We’ll talk about soda next time.” You quickly waved it off, trying to reel their attention back to what’s important. “Let’s focus on the song.”

You tapped your pen on the notebook, regaining your focus. “It’s catchy. It’s got this bubbly, effervescent vibe to it. Something that sounds sweet on the surface but has a deeper, unexpected edge underneath. Perfect for grabbing fans’ attention and holding it.”

As you said that, they started bumping shoulders and wiggling their eyebrows. You nearly rolled your eyes out of your skull.

Still, you pushed on. “We’ll build choreography that’s clean, simple—something with shoulder movements and little signature gestures that fans can mimic. We’ll talk about that part later. For now, I want to focus on maximizing your visuals and crafting lyrics that get stuck in fans’ heads like a curse.”

You paused, tapping the pen once more. You looked at them, waiting for their thoughts. They were all silent now, actually thinking it through.

Then Abby whispered, “It sounds fine…”

Romance nodded and added, “Soda Pop... kinda hot.”

You looked at them with a small smile tugging at your lips. This was progress, they weren’t the easiest demons to work with but still! This was progress.

Jinu finally chimed in, smirking as usual. “So The Fuck it is.”

“It’s Soda Pop! You know it’s Soda Pop—quit messing with me!”

—

As more days passed, maybe you judged them a little too harshly.

Yeah, you were still terrified they might one day turn you into demon soup if this whole plan—all of you had been training for over a month—didn’t work, and they decided it was your fault. Especially since Jinu based this entire soul-devouring strategy on the sketches you made—the ones he confessed to finding after being asked to deliver your reports to the Third Circle.

But hey! Maybe you were just overthinking again.

Speaking of Jinu, you actually hadn’t seen him all day.

The last time you spoke to him was when you asked if he could search the realm for someone with a working printer. Since then, only the other boys had been bothering you—and always for the most unnecessary reasons.

Though, to be fair… some of those moments almost made you wish Gwi Ma would just eat you and get it over with.

For instance, the time Abby decided it was a great idea to dye his hair while Jinu left you in charge with very specific instructions: “Don’t let them do anything funny.”

“What did you do?!”

You screamed from the bathroom door as Abby turned to face you, his hair now split down the middle. Its color is half lime green, half bubblegum pink.

“The fans are gonna love it.”

You stared at him like he just slapped you with a stick. What fans?! You hadn’t even debuted yet.

“You’re not allowed to improvise! We had a concept!”

He spun to admire himself in the mirror, then winked at you.

“You said cute, right? Green and pink are cute, no?”

You tried not to roll your eyes before marching over to him. “Come with me.”

He raised a brow and leaned against the sink dramatically.

“Woah, just like that? I mean, you always stare at me, so it was about time—”

“Shut up and just follow me before Jinu gets back.”

An hour later, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor while you dried his now-normal hair with an old towel.

He exhaled, then mumbled, “Hey… thanks for not ratting me out to Jinu.”

You just hummed in response and kept drying his hair. He just lets you.

After that day, he didn’t try to sit on you as much as he used to.

Guess that was progress.

There was also the time you saw Mystery just sitting on the ground outside the building.

He was just… watching. Watching what? His hair? You didn’t actually know. You could see him staring upward, but his bangs covered his eyes so completely it was hard to tell.

You hesitated a little before quietly sitting beside him and offering him a soda pop.

He stared at the can, then looked up at you.

“None of you knew what a soda pop was, so… figured I could give you one of mine,” you mumbled. “The delivery guy sent me an extra dozen! It’s not because I—whatever.”

You placed it beside him and ran off before he could say anything.

The next day, when you came back to that same spot, there was another can of soda pop beside the empty one you’d given him.

You looked at it, then picked it up with a small smile. Ever since then, you’d always find a new one waiting for you.

You never saw him leave it.

Yet it was always chilled.

Another one was Romance bothering you for the eighth time that same day.

"Manager~" Romance croons as he drapes himself dramatically across your table. "Do you think the fans will cry if I announce I have a girlfriend?"

You don’t even look up from your clipboard. "I don’t care."

"You’re no fun."

"I’m your manager, not your life coach."

He pauses, then acts like he’s deep in thought. “Yeah, but still…”

You glare at him. "Romance, go to rehearsal and quit bothering me."

He pouts at your words and sulks all the way to the door. Though not even fifteen minutes later, you see an iced espresso floating over to you. You lean forward and spot a heart drawn on the lid with sharpie.

So that’s where your sharpie went.

Inside the heart is your name. Wow, his handwriting is really awful.

You take the cup and sip.

Hmm, so he does pay attention.

The most recent incident was with Baby. You were handing out the concept sheets, each detailing their assigned K-pop boy archetype. As you were about to explain it, you caught him chewing on the corner of the paper.

"WHY—why are you like this—"

"I'm hungry."

"You don’t even need food!"

Baby shrugs. "Still hungry."

He then finishes the entire paper in one go. He smirks at you while you glare at him.

The two of you just stare at each other until you’re the first to break and start your speech.

Later, while Baby was heading to his room, he opened the door and spotted a bag filled with spicy chips and soda pop. He just stared at it for a moment, then opened the chips and started eating without a word.

The next day, while you were sitting in the training room, Baby suddenly plopped down on your left shoulder, startling you.

“I’m sleepy. Braid my hair.”

You stare at him, confused. “Huh?”

He didn’t respond—his eyes were already closed.

You just started braiding, even though you didn’t have a rubber band.

—

Jinu is walking down the dim hallway of the building, a neat stack of freshly printed Saja Boys posters tucked under his right arm. He had just come back from the human realm—because apparently, all the printers in the demon realm were broken. Like, why even have printers at all?

He’s kind of annoyed. The trip took longer than expected, and when he finally got to the human realm, he got swarmed by a group of girls asking for his “number.” What does that even mean? He’ll have to ask you about it later.

As he walks, he takes one of the glossy posters and smirks. His plan is finally coming together. After this, after the debut—and if it becomes a success—he and the boys won’t need you anymore. He can take it from there. Oh, and your concept book too, of course. You could return to your simple, boring, underpaid demon office life.

He stops mid-way down the hall, pausing at a faded door with a paper heart taped to it. “Manager”—written in pink glitter pen (courtesy of Romance and your pen collection).

Adjusting the stack of posters in front of him, he pushes the door open without knocking.

“Manager, I got the post—”

(Cue dramatic slow-mo as "Everytime" by CHEN & Punch begins playing out of literally nowhere.)

His words get caught in his throat as he sees what’s inside.

There you were—standing in the side of your office, softly lit by string lights and bathed in wind from the broken window. The dusty mirror in front of you caught your reflection as you held a pair of yellow circular glasses in one hand, debating whether they looked better on your head or off.

And for the first time… Jinu saw you in your human form.

Your eyes are clearer, no oversized robe swallowing your figure, your cracked fang is gone, and you’re standing upright, hands fussing with your hair.

You looked…

Adorable.

You're wearing a fitted pastel-pink shirt and a pair of jeans. Perched on top of your head are round, yellow glasses. You’re focused on your reflection, debating whether to wear the glasses or not—putting them on, taking them off, again and again—until the sound of the door interrupts you.

Jinu is staring directly at you.

Your eyes met his, confusion flickering in your gaze. “…What did you say?”

He doesn’t reply—he just keeps on looking at you, which makes you furrow your brows.

“The posters?” you repeat softly, tilting your head.

Jinu finally snaps back to reality, stammering slightly as he tries to reply. “Y-Yeah. The posters. I… got them.”

You smile faintly. “Oh! Good job. Just divide them later between everyone. I’ll tell you where we’ll be handing them out in the human realm.”

He nods at what you said, yet he’s still standing in the doorway.

You tilt your head again. “...Is there anything else?”

You look at him, waiting for a reply. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. Your face scrunches in confusion. What is he? A fish?

“…Nope.”

He drags the “P” with a pop, then bumps his shoulder against the doorframe while trying to walk away—almost dropping the posters before catching himself with the wall to stay steady.

Without even closing the door, he just leaves.

You shrug it off and look back at yourself in the mirror.

Yeah… it’s definitely cuter with the glasses.

—

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glamourcheetah75 · 19 hours ago

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Jacked and Kind 📱

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Warnings: Mild jealousy, light angst, fluff, playful possessiveness

Summary: With TikTok possibly disappearing for good, you want to post one last trend video. Paige refuses. So you film it with someone else. And suddenly, she’s not quite as chill as she pretended to be.

“I’m not doing it,” Paige says for the third time, her arms crossed over her chest, completely unmoved.

“You literally already have drafts,” I protest, holding my phone like it’s proof in a courtroom. “You’ve got more saved TikToks than me, and I’m chronically online.”

“That’s different,” she mutters. “Drafts don’t count.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “It’s literally called the Jacked and Kind trend. You’re jacked. You’re kind—barely, but it counts. People would eat it up.”

Paige just shrugs. “Then let them starve.”

I groan, flopping back onto the couch. “Fine. I’ll ask someone else.”

I don’t really mean it. Or at least, I don’t think I do. But an hour later, I’ve got my best friend (and Paige’s teammate) Azzi standing next to me, smirking at the camera while I mouth the words:

We hit the poses. We flex. We laugh.

It’s dumb.

It’s perfect.

And when I post it? It blows up.

I don’t notice Paige’s mood shift at first.

But when we’re getting ready to leave the dorm, she’s uncharacteristically quiet. She doesn’t hold my hand in the hallway like she usually does. At the dining hall, she barely looks up from her tray.

Finally, I nudge her under the table. “Okay. What’s up?”

She shrugs, stabbing her pasta with a little too much force.

I tilt my head. “Is this about the TikTok?”

Her jaw tightens.

I blink. “Oh my god. You’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” she says too quickly.

I smirk. “You totally are.”

“I just think it’s interesting that the one time I say no, you’re immediately flexing with someone else on the internet.”

“It was for the trend!” I laugh. “It’s not like I posted a thirst trap with captions like ‘my favorite teammate 😍.’”

“You didn’t have to,” Paige mutters.

I lean in, voice softer. “Paige. Come on. You know you’re my favorite everything.”

She finally looks at me.

And under all the grumbling, I see it—the vulnerability. The tiny crack in her confidence that she’d rather hide.

I reach for her hand across the table. “I only wanted you in it because it’s true. You are jacked. And you’re kind, even if you act like you’re above TikTok. You’re also mine. And no trend’s worth more than that.”

She exhales, the fight leaving her posture.

“Okay,” she finally says.

I blink. “Okay what?”

“I’ll do it. The trend.”

I gasp. “Seriously?!”

“But only if we post it together. With that caption.”

“What caption?”

She smirks. “‘She’s mine. Get your own.’”

I laugh, already reaching for my phone. “Deal. But you’re doing the flex this time.”

“I always do,” she says, smug.

And this time, when she wraps her arm around me for the video, she pulls me a little closer—like maybe the real trend here… is falling for her all over again.

💌 Authors Note:

This was pure playfully possessive girlfriend Paige energy. I love giving her just the tiniest bit of jealousy—not because she doesn’t trust you, but because she cares way more than she lets on. And let’s be honest: she would have the best drafts but never post.

Also inspired by @prettygirl-gabi 💕

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viennajoell · 2 days ago

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Doubles & Drama

Summary: You and Luke team up for a hilarious pickleball game against Jack and Quinn.

Word Count: 384

Warnings: none ;)

You and Luke had been talking a big game all day.

“You know we’re gonna crush them,” Luke whispered as you laced up your tennis shoes.

“Obviously,” you agreed, flexing your arms like you had biceps the size of pythons.

Luke cracked up. “That’s terrifying,” he deadpanned, then gave you a quick kiss on the cheek. “My secret weapon.”

And so it began. The most ridiculous pickleball match in Hughes family history.

From across the net, Jack already had that smug grin like he was gonna drop 30 points. Quinn just rolled his eyes at everyone like the responsible sibling who somehow got roped into this.

“You two better stretch,” Jack taunted. “Wouldn’t want you pulling a muscle reaching for my serve.”

“Wouldn’t want you crying when we win,” you shot back. Luke gave you a fist-bump so enthusiastic you almost broke your wrist.

First serve was yours. You took a deep breath, did an unnecessarily elaborate wind-up like you were serving in the U.S. Open, and… completely missed.

“Nice one” Jack cackled.

“You’re lucky I’m being nice,” you threatened. Luke was trying not to laugh and failing.

The game was chaos. Luke would lunge halfway across the court like a golden retriever, chasing balls that bounced nowhere near him. Quinn kept it together like the adult he was. Jack was hurling himself into drop shots like his life depended on it.

“Luke, it’s PICKLEBALL, not hockey,” you wheezed as he dove and rolled after a point.

“Hey, I’m committed!” Luke shot back, face red and grinning.

By the end, everyone was sweaty, tired, and completely ridiculous. The score was close probably because you kept pulling off surprisingly good volleys between Luke’s antics, but most importantly, you were having so much fun.

“You guys got lucky,” Jack grumbled after you and Luke finally scraped a win.

Luke tossed an arm around you like he’d just won the Stanley Cup. “Luck? Nah. That was pure skill and my unstoppable partner.”

You smirked. “And also my terrifying biceps, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Luke agreed, grinning as you clinked your paddles together like they were champagne glasses.

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ichorai · 2 days ago

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xerox ; robert reynolds ; part four.

part one. | part two. | part three.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 6.6k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; violence, talks of mental health, mention of jacking off, human experimentation, child abuse, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, oh no i made the void sexy!

a/n ; sorry for the wait! this was meant to be a longer part but i honestly didn't want to wait to post HAHA, but i really hope you guys like it !!! guys i've gotten so attached to xerox as an oc you have nooo idea

main masterlist. read on ao3!

xerox's face claim :)

John’s morning started off as routinely as ever. Get out of bed at six-thirty AM sharp. Brush teeth. Stretches. Jogging. Muscle training at the gym. Scroll through hate tweets as he cools down. Shower. Then, finally, breakfast.

He made his way to the kitchen. To none of his surprise, you were already there—or a copy of you was—sitting at the farthest end of the island, completing a page of that ridiculously thick puzzle book of yours and nursing a mug of hot tea. Bob was beside you, hunched over what John spotted to be a Rubix cube. It was nearly solved.

John only grunted in response when Bob said, “Morning, Walker.”

He grabbed a box of raisin bran from the pantry (shoving aside multiple Avengers Wheaties boxes for it) and served himself a bowl. Then, when he made his way to the fridge—

“Where is the milk?” he asked, immediately turning to you two.

You didn’t bother to peer up from your book. “There was barely any left. We gave the last of it to Alpine.”

“You assholes,” John snarked. “You gave the last of my milk to the stupid cat?”

“It’s not yours,” Bob replied, defensive. “It’s for the entire team.”

“Well, what am I supposed to have with my cereal, then?” John hissed, much akin to a toddler.

“Yogurt?” Bob volunteered. “There’s Greek on the second shelf—”

“I don’t want yogurt,” Walker bit back as if Bob had just offered him mouse droppings.

This time, you looked up from your book to shoot him an unimpressed glare. “You won’t die if you skip cereal for a day. Make some toast, or something. Besides—Bob and I are going grocery shopping in a bit. We’re low on eggs, and Ava wants cucumbers. If you ask nicely… we can get you some more milk, too.”

John muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that?” you asked with a pointed look, exaggeratingly cupping a hand behind your ear. “Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Yes, yeah, get me some milk. Jesus.”

“Magic word?” Bob asked, looking all too smug.

John scowled. The two of you were so annoying together. “Please,” he gritted out.

Both you and Bob exchanged amused glances, then returned to your devices, leaving John to pour his dry cereal back into the box and grab two slices of whole wheat bread to toast, grumbling about his ruined routine all the way.

Bob felt a little swell of pride at the bottom of his chest every time you accepted one of the fruits he’d offered you. It wasn’t like he could tell which apples were better than the rest—he was honestly just picking at random—but the ones you rejected and put back onto the piles were said to be bruised, misshapen, or squishy. All things he thought were quite normal qualities for fruit, but he trusted your fruit judgment.

“What’s wrong with the squishy ones?” Bob asked, picking up an apple you tossed to the side and inspecting its waxy red peel. He felt bad for the fruits discarded for seemingly asinine reasons.

The sour face you pulled made Bob’s heart trip over itself. “Just trust me. I had to have a lot of squishy fruit during my time in Madripoor. It either means they’re rotten, rotting, or they’ve got worms wriggling around inside.”

Bob blanched. Suddenly he didn’t feel all that bad anymore.

After all the fruits, vegetables, proteins, and generally healthier options were tossed into the cart, the two of you went on a frenzy grabbing junk food to your heart’s content: chips and sweets and frozen fried foods galore. The two of you stood in front of the vast refrigerated section full to the brim with dozens of options for ice cream.

“Raspberry s’more swirl?” Bob ventured.

You wrinkled your nose in distaste.

“What?” he asked.

“That sounds so American. And, yes, I do mean that as an insult.”

The two of you toddled out of the aisle juggling half a dozen tubs of varying flavors, none of which being the Swirly S'mores or whatever it was.

After picking up the last of what was on the list, Bob began to unload the groceries onto the conveyor belt. The cashier asked for your autograph with a nervous grin, brandishing a pen and notepad for you to scribble on. You never really bothered to come up with an autograph—you didn’t need one for the first three decades of your life, and now all of a sudden everyone around each corner of the street was asking for one. Just the other day, you gingerly signed a sweaty guy’s forehead, and the ink was already running down his face before he could turn and jog away. Ava called him a pig, and you could only pray that he was far enough not to hear.

You haphazardly scribbled XEROX in large capitol letters across the paper, hoping it would suffice. The cashier made no complaint and pocketed the autograph with a giddy air about her.

“Sorry if this is weird to ask—can you split? I’ve always wanted to see it in person.”

You blinked. Then, with a small, relenting smile, you duplicated, and your copy waved awkwardly. The cashier snapped a quick photo of you and your copy without even bothering to ask—you hadn’t even seen her whip out her phone—and you could feel Bob’s concerned eyes bore into you. You didn’t want to make it a big deal, so you silently paid for the groceries (with one of Valentina’s credit cards), bumped Bob’s shoulders with yours, and stuffed the goods into the reusable Avengers bags Alexei insisted you take with you. It was embarrassing using your own merch, but you tried not to think about it too much.

“Are you okay?” Bob asked once the two of you slipped back into the car, having loaded the food into the back. “That was…”

“Our new normal,” you sighed, pinching the space between your brows. “I mean—it’s fine, I guess. They’re just excited. I get it. My face is never getting scrubbed from the internet now, though.”

“Yeah,” Bob said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel you.”

Yesterday, Walker showed him a tiktok of the Void in the sky, crashing helicopters into buildings. Bob watched the screen with a small, shameful frown, until you tugged him away insisting that he helped you reach for a cup too high for you to reach. Of course, he knew that you were more than capable of getting it yourself, but he liked how you made him feel useful. Plus—he liked how your hand cuffed his shoulder in gratitude once he handed the cup to you.

“I love grabbing groceries with you,” he blurted out.

You glanced over at him, drumming your hands along the steering wheel. Then, you looked back at the road and smiled—the particular smile that made Bob’s insides melt like putty. “I love spending time with you too, Pal.”

Bucky Barnes didn’t care for many things. Flashy trends the new generation kept cycling through. Texting etiquette, or his lack thereof. The dozens of settings on washing machines nowadays. Ava’s propensity to phase straight through his room because it was a “short cut” to the gym.

But one thing he did care about—a considerable amount more than anything else, honestly—was his cat, Alpine.

So it took a great amount of reluctance to hand her over to you and Bob for the weekend. He had to fly out for a last minute undercover mission, and he couldn’t leave Alpine all alone in his apartment for days in a row. Usually he would leave Alpine with Sam, but the two were in a weird funk as of late.

“I don’t give her more than three pieces of Whiskers’ Delights a day,” Bucky warned, having a nagging suspicion that you weren’t really listening to him. “I don’t want to spoil her.”

Your fingers curled beneath Alpine’s chin, cooing unintelligible noises. Bucky rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.

“Just don’t overfeed her. Make sure you leave out a bowl of water for her, okay? And if she starts scratching stuff up, just pick her up and put her in front of the scratching post. I’ve been trying to train her to stop ruining my furniture.”

“Got it,” Bob said, before joining you in your hums and coos to the purring feline.

“See you later, Alpine,” said Bucky, a rare sort of warmth seeping into his tone.

Alpine flicked her tail at her father, then rubbed her fuzzy white head against Bob’s sweatshirt.

Bucky grunted out something that sounded suspiciously similar to, “Traitor.” He stalked towards the elevator with a deep-set scowl. Though, once he turned to press the button, he caught sight of you tugging Alpine into your lap, pressed up right beside Bob, your head resting on his. The man beside you was as red as a beetroot.

And Bucky wasn’t stupid. Despite his callous nature to the rest of the new “Avengers”, he found that he was rooting for the two of you. You would be good for each other. He wouldn’t be caught dead ever admitting it, though.

“Where’s Bob? You two are usually glued to the hip.” Ava asked out of the blue, startling you so much that you immediately split into two copies. Two pairs of your shocked eyes glared at her.

“Ava!” you snapped crossly, before reabsorbing your copy. “You gotta stop phasing into our rooms without knocking first. And Bob went out with Yelena—apparently she needed him for something.”

The woman plopped down onto the couch beside you, languidly crossing her arms. “Right.”

You let the silence settle between the two of you, picking up the book you’d been reading and carrying on. Then, feeling her fidget beside you, you asked, “Is there a reason you’re here or do you just want to spend time with me? Because you could’ve just asked.”

The face she pulled was dour, but fleeting. “Well, I just—I had a question. It’s stupid.”

“Mhm.”

“You know how the both of us were… raised in labs our whole lives, y’know the entire schtick.”

“... Yes?”

Now visibly uncomfortable, Ava tugged at the collar of her suit. “I just—I wanted to know… how you deal with it. The memories of it all. It’s just that you make it look so easy. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Me?” you said in utter disbelief, bookmarking your page and setting the book aside. “I make it look easy? Are you sure about that?” You thought about your near panic attack two days ago in the training room that left you breathless and spiraling, over nothing in particular.

This made Ava scoff. “Okay, relatively speaking. In general, you’re still pretty fucked up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks.” Then, after a moment of thinking about it, you told her, “I think it helps that I can talk about it now. Not only to a therapist but to—friends.” The word felt foreign on your tongue, but it left a warm, homey feeling there, as well. “The puzzles help, too. Reminders that I’m safe and in control now.”

As she listened, Ava drew her knees up to her chest, chin resting over them. “I keep getting these memories. It’s like they attack me, and I—physically can’t breathe or move. Do you get those?”

“All the time,” you whispered.

“How do you stop it?”

You shook your head with a sad smile. “I don’t. I can’t just forget it all and push it away. I just… learn to live with it, learn to manage it. All the pain I’ve experienced.” You hesitated. “And inflicted.”

Pensive, Ava asked, “So you just—ride it out?”

“Not really. The past isn’t something that’ll just go away one day. It’s more of an acceptance, forgiveness, and moving on sort of thing. At least that’s what Janice tells me.”

“Who the hell’s Janice?”

“My therapist,” you said, giving Ava a nudge. “I can ask her if she can refer you to someone? Or we can just… talk to each other if that’s too much for now. I’m a good listener.”

With a brow raised, Ava retorted, “No, you’re not. You didn’t listen to a single thing Bucky said at last week’s meeting.”

“It’s the same shit he says every week.”

“Doesn’t help when you and Bob are whispering and giggling in each other’s ears, too,” she deadpanned, making your cheeks flush with heat. “You two are like little schoolgirls.”

Which was funny of her to say, considering neither of you ever really went to a proper school.

You wrinkled your nose and stuck your tongue out at her, to which she only flipped you off with both her middle fingers. “You’re deflecting!”

“That something your therapist taught you, as well?”

“Yes, actually. Apparently I do it a lot, too.”

Ava grunted in irritation. Then, finally, she said with great reluctance, “I think that sounds nice. The talking thing. With you.”

You smiled an awfully wide smile. “Yeah?”

“Don’t expect it to happen all the time.”

“Sure.”

“I’m a busy woman.”

“I’m aware.”

“And I don’t want it to be a sobfest or a pity party. I just want to—talk.”

“I know, Ava. I got you.”

“And if you tell anyone, I’ll gouge your eyes out with a hot spoon.”

“Mhm. Wait—not even Bob?”

Ava glared at you.

“I’m joking!” you exclaimed, hands raised, though the idea of not debriefing every minute detail of your day to Bob seemed less than appealing. But, as hard as it was to admit to yourself, you cared for Ava, and you wanted her to feel safe to speak to you in confidence. “We can talk whenever you want, Ava. Real casual.”

“Will you tell me about your… feelings and shit, too? So it won’t feel like—”

“A therapy session?” you finished for her, smothering a laugh. “Yeah, definitely. Trust me, I’m not qualified to be a therapist. The nurses at my facility sure liked to trauma dump on me whenever they drew my blood, though…”

In all honesty, Bob wasn’t even supposed to be here. Yelena could’ve brought just about any of the Avengers along with her—but now that all of them were ultra famous—save for Bob—he was simply the safest bet. Plus it helped to factor in that he was practically indestructible. It was meant to be a very quick and easy stealth mission, anyway. Bob was going to create a diversion with the scientists, who were then going to alert the guards, and Yelena would sneak into the underground lab, grab a vial or two of the poisonous drug, and high-tail back to headquarters for some nerdy guy in a labcoat to start fixing up an antidote in case someone decided to commit some casual bioterrorism.

And as you dove into the stories of your past, Ava could feel the weight on her chest lighten. Not completely, not even a lot—but just a little. And maybe that was enough for now.

—

Of course, she should’ve known that not everything would go according to plan.

It was partially both of their fault. Bob fucked up by taking the wrong turn and swinging straight into the lab Yelena was currently swiping from, and Yelena fucked up by trying to push him out the way he came instead of helping him up the vent she had busted in with. She wasn’t very used to working with others—particularly those who had virtually no prior training in the field.

There was a loud crash as Bob careened into a metal cart with her crowding motions, and a few vials precariously wobbled in their holders, before toppling to the ground. Glass shards rained all over the floor, and a puff of green smoke filled the air between the two. Yelena danced back several steps, grabbing Bob by the shoulder and yanking him away, as well. She covered her nose and mouth with her palm, and Bob copied her motions with a slight delay.

Panic settled in Yelena’s chest. She thought, at first, that it had been the poison. She was going to die in a lab choking on her own vomit, and Bob would just be forced to watch.

But then—Yelena smelled it before Bob did. Familiar. It was sweet, almost. Like the free peppermint candies you would get at a nice restaurant after a pricey meal, or those flavored flossing picks Yelena liked to buy from the pharmacy three blocks away from her old apartment.

In the case file she read, it was said that the poison was gaseous and was instantaneous in its harm. But Yelena felt completely fine. She glanced over at Bob, who also looked to be alright, if not a little wide-eyed and sweaty. Which was normal for him.

If that wasn’t poison, what was it? Yelena cautiously removed her hand from her face.

“I don’t think we’re going to die,” she said. “Which is good, because I really don’t want to die before finishing the new season of this crappy reality show where hot people try not to mash their groins together. Seriously, I cannot believe non-asexual people are real.”

There was a moment of silence. Yelena and Bob blinked at each other.

“Oh, wow. I did not mean to say any of that. Weird. What we broke must be some sort of gaseous version of a truth serum. No wonder it smelled familiar—we used to use a liquid version in the Red Room. Are you okay, Bob? How are you feeling? Sorry I pushed you into the cart.”

Bob glanced over at himself, as if checking to make sure he wasn’t actually impaled or stabbed or on fire. “I’m, uh—I think so? I’m feeling really thirsty.”

“You know what, if we get out of here alive, I’ll buy you whatever drink you want from K-Mart.”

“Okay. God, I knew I shouldn’t have come. I fucked it all up. Literally anyone would have been a better pick. Xerox or Ava or, hell, even Walker—”

“Okay, well, first of all, it’s not all your fault. We both fucked up. Second, I picked you, so—nothing we can do about it now,” said Yelena matter-of-factly. She strode across the lab to grab a stool for Bob to climb on so he could shimmy into the vents. “And Walker is too busy doing Buzzfeed puppy interviews to join me, which was a shock to me—I didn’t even know they still did those. Ava claimed a break day, and Xerox had a therapy—”

At the sound of your name, Bob suddenly blurted out the first thought that came to mind, “I think I’m in love with Xerox.”

One second. Then two.

Bob slapped his hands over his mouth with wide eyes when he registered what he’d just said. “Oh, God. What the fuck? I didn’t want to say that! Why did I say that? Truth serum, I know! But I—Wh—? I didn’t want you to know that yet?! Please don’t tell Xerox!” With each and every word he said, the tone of his voice grew increasingly squeakier.

The blonde assassin eyed her friend with an incredulous look. “... Yeah, Bob, we all knew that. You aren’t subtle at all.” With a scoff, Yelena gestured to the stool. “Now get on, Mr. Lovebird. The guards will be here any second.”

Bob’s expression was cemented into a horrified twist. As he clambered onto the chair with wobbly legs, he began to pull himself up into the vents. “Does Xerox know?” he called out, wincing when he heard his voice echo back through the cavernous metal tunnels now encompassing him.

“I don’t think so,” Yelena said from below, following his lead and slipping into the vents. “But, honestly, you should say something as soon as possible—unless you want Alexei to blurt it out on live television to appease the fans.”

“What—?!”

Before he could finish, the lab burst open, crawling with armed guards in gas masks. The lone stool sitting just beneath an open vent was more obvious than a flashing neon sign saying: IN HERE!

Gunfire began to ring out below. Yelena and Bob scrambled onto their hands and knees and shuffled off as quickly as they could. Honestly, Yelena wasn’t too worried for Bob—after all, he was just about invincible. She, however, wasn’t the least bit bulletproof. So when Bob tugged her to move up in front of him so he could act as shield between her and the bullets, Yelena neither complained nor protested.

“Hey, Bob?” she called over the gunfire, which was beginning to fade to faint plinks behind them as they put more distance between them and the soldiers.

Bob flinched at a particularly loud gunshot. “Yeah?”

“I’m really happy for you.”

Creased confusion. “For—for being shot at?”

“What? No! For Xerox. You deserve to be happy. Both of you.”

And Bob, even though he was quite literally being hunted and gunned down, couldn’t help but feel a small spark of happiness in his chest, even if it was accompanied with the putrid stink of shame. He would be thinking of Yelena’s words the whole way out of the lab, the brief fight with the soldiers once exiting the vents, and in the car ride back to base. When you greeted him at the door, he didn’t hesitate to return the hug you had flung at him, running his warm palms over your cold forearms. He met Yelena’s knowing eyes over your shoulder.

He wanted to tell you. He did, of course he did. But—there was fear, puppeteered by the Void. Paralyzing. Stinging. Biting.

Time. That’s what he needed. So he wouldn’t tell you, at least not for now, when everything was so good. He didn’t want to fuck up one of the few good things he’d just got in his life yet. Even if it felt like his chest was about to cleave itself into two at the thought of not telling you the truth about his feelings.

There was hardly a night that Bob spent where he wasn’t tossing and turning when trying to go to sleep. Shirt shirked off because he was so hot, and then promptly put back on because the feeling of the silk sheets against his bare skin irked him. Pacing across his room one second, then curled up in the center of his bed the next. Hands in his hair, then balled by his sides. Tried counting sheep, but they would always end up mutilated and bleating sad noises, so he stopped doing that. Pillows, no pillows. Rain noises, lofi beats, whale sounds, complete silence. Reading, scrolling through his phone, hell—even trying to jack off.

Nothing worked.

And so, exhausted beyond relief and near the brink of tears, Bob swiftly left his room and without thinking, he found himself automatically heading towards yours down the hall. He stood in front of your closed door, swaying on the spot. Too tired to think straight, but still had enough sense not to barge into your room unannounced.

He did this often. Would stand in front of your room like a forlorn dog that had been kicked out—listening for signs of life in there. He would sometimes hear music softly playing, your soft murmurs to yourself, or, his favorite tinkering peals of laughter. More often than not, he would turn right back around and go back to his room, smacking himself in the head and thinking himself a loser for needing someone else to go to sleep. Because that was exactly who Bob was—a loser.

The few times he brought himself to knock on your door, however—he didn’t exactly feel like a loser when you smiled at him, hands immediately tugging him in, excited to show him a painting you’d been working on or Alpine curled up in the corner of your room. You made him feel wanted. Like he wasn’t a complete nuisance to be bothering you this late at night. The two of you would often accidentally fall asleep together. On the bed, on the floor—once even in the kitchen when you both meandered your way there for some midnight snacks and never left.

This time, Bob felt the shame weigh extra heavy as he knocked on your door. What if you were busy? Or you were tired, and not in the mood to see him? Or you didn’t want to have company? Or that he was invading your privacy? Or you—

The door swung open, and you were rubbing one of your eyes with a fist, blinking at him with an adorable sort of grogginess that only came with—

Oh, God, you’d been sleeping, Bob realized with complete mortification and embarrassment. Ugh, he was such an idiot.

“Palindrome,” you said, voice slightly hoarse from your rest. Despite Bob’s stiff demeanor, you pushed the door open wider. “Come in. I’m glad you came. I was having a really bad dream.”

“Oh,” he said, all soft and troubled. He stepped in, immediately hit with the jasmine-scented air. You’d bought the diffusor a few days ago and the aroma was just heavenly. Bob could immediately feel his tense shoulders loosen a smidge. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, waving your hands dismissively. One of them fell on his arm, guiding him to the bed.

Bob could feel his heart jump to his chest. If you noticed his eyes roaming all over you, you didn’t say anything. To that, he was grateful. He was already flustered enough. With your cheeks blown out into a sigh, you fell face-first into your pillows.

“Lie down with me. I’m so cold,” you said once you turned back around to face him, making a show of curling in on yourself and shivering.

Bob spied the thick blanket you were lying on top of. The easy solution would’ve been to peel it back and drape it over you. But the other solution sounded far more appealing to him.

With a hum, Bob settled beside you, looping his arms around you, your back flush against his chest. The two of you slotted together like puzzle pieces sliding into place.

“You’re so warm.”

“Yeah, sorry, I—”

“Run hot. I know. It’s so nice. You’re like my personal heater.”

Bob liked the feeling of your cold nose pressing against his overheating bicep. “And you’re my personal, er, ice block? AC unit? Whichever sounds nicer, that’s what you are.”

You let out an amused huff at that. “Back in Madripoor, it’s almost always terribly hot. But when it reaches a certain hour at nighttime, it gets all windy and cold. We don’t have heaters in Southeast Asia like we do here—they’re impractical. So back then I would multiply and hold myself to get warm. Problem was that I’m always cold, so it felt like hugging—just like you said—an ice block. But I kept doing it. It felt nice to be held… even if it was just me.”

Bob squeezed you tighter. “Sorry,” he whispered into your hair. He wished he was better at comforting you.

“Don’t be,” you replied, sounding perfectly content. “I’ve got you now, don’t I?”

Beneath his ribs, he could feel his heart swell. Of course you could make the most useless man in the world feel like he was worth something.

“When I was a kid…” Bob began, always nervous to speak about his past, “I would get so hot that I would get out of bed and take a pillow with me and sleep by the window.”

“That’s so cute,” you crooned. He could feel you smile into his arm.

“Mmh. My dad wasn’t very happy about it. Said I was wasting all the house’s heating by keeping the windows open.”

“Yeah, well, your dad’s an asshole. Fuck him.”

“Hah. Yeah… fuck h—yeah.”

There was a comfortable silence for a while. Bob could feel himself rocking in and out of the sweet realm of slumber. Your voice reeled him out like a fish being pulled on a hook.

“Hmhng?” was the strange noise he made, having not heard what you said.

“Sorry. Did you fall asleep?”

“Yeah.” Bob sounded sheepish. “But I want to hear it. What you said.”

“Sorry,” you needlessly apologized again, even though Bob would rather be awake so he could spend more time with you. “I was just… I said that I don’t remember my name. My actual one. Or if I ever had one in the first place.”

Bob blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think they—the scientists that experimented on me—ever gave me a name. I had a number. Patient 080. But I didn’t have a name.”

Now, Bob was nodding. “Xerox was just—a terrible nickname. It wasn’t your actual name.”

“Yeah.” You shifted in his hold so that your hand could intertwine with one of his, toying with his fingers. “But I do like Xerox now. It’s mine—I’ve made it mine. I just wonder if I ever had a real name before that. I don’t remember much from back then. It always feels like I’m missing a big piece of the puzzle.”

“Maybe…” Bob trailed off, muttering.

“What?”

“Nah, no—it’s probably a stupid idea.”

“Nothing you could say to me would be a stupid idea, Pal. Please tell me. I wanna hear it.”

Bob, wincing, suggested, “Maybe you could try to do some research? See if they have any databases anywhere or something?”

“I did. The lab is an illegal operation, so they’re wiped clean. If there are records, it would be encrypted, and in Madripoor.” You were silent for several moments. “I could go back, in theory. Look for something. Anything.”

Bob’s brows furrowed, a queer sort of dread settling in the pits of his stomach. “You wanna leave?”

Silence prickled the air like needles through silk.

“I don’t. Going back has always been the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do. I’ve spent years running away. But—it would be closure, in a way. Maybe I need to do this. You know?”

Bob hugged you close to him, breathing you and the jasmine-tasting air in. “Would you come back?”

“Of course I would. I would miss you too much to stay away. Plus—the news will go insane if one of the New Avengers suddenly disappears. Or maybe they would move on in two or three days. Just another faded headline.”

The frown wouldn’t leave his face, no matter how hard he tried. He was grateful you were facing away from him. “I’ll miss you, too. A lot.”

He could hear you smile this time. “I’ll be back before you know it. I'll only need a few days. A week at most.” You made a few noises as you thought things through, and Bob felt the inexplicable, sudden urge to kiss your very soft-looking shoulder. He managed to restrain himself, albeit barely.

“I guess it’s settled, then,” you said, completely oblivious to his embarrassing thoughts of kissing you. “I’m going back to Madripoor.”

With you in his arms, Bob fell asleep in no time. The problem now, however, were the debilitating nightmares that haunted him whenever he was unconscious. Some days it wasn’t so bad—something embarrassing at his old school, or his nights high on meth… when he definitely should’ve been doing something better with his life. But most of the time, they were really bad nightmares. His father, red-faced, belt in hand. Or his mother, bleeding and crying. His friend he would do drugs with—who he couldn’t even remember the name of—foaming at the mouth and convulsing as he overdosed.

Tonight it was a strange combination of all three. And whilst Bob could try to keep the Void controlled and at bay when he was awake—it didn’t ever occur to him that it could take advantage of his unconscious self.

The darkness began to consume the bed as he twitched and shivered from his nightmares. You, sleeping away a very long day, didn’t notice. Typically, you were a very light sleeper—a habit you had since your hospital and mercenary days—but you’d grown accustomed to Bob’s regular movement during sleep.

And that was how the Void came to you in your dreams, dark as night, standing a full head taller than you. You blinked up at him, wondering if he was always this… big.

“Xerox,” he greeted, turning his head about to observe your dream-world with the tiny glints of light he had for eyes. The terrain was familiar to him—he’d brought you here before. “Do you often dream of hospitals?”

“Unfortunately,” you replied, picking up one of the half-solid scalpels with a frown. There was a hoarse scream in the distance, one that you’ve had to listen to a million times before: your own. You regarded him with a cruel sort of suspicion. “Am I dreaming you or—?”

“I came of my own volition,” said the Void. “I wanted to see you.”

“Hm.” You wanted to ask why, but you had a feeling you already knew the answer.

“You know I will never actually go away. Not for you, not for your precious Bob.”

“I know,” you said, voice cracking. With a sigh, you sat back down on the surgical operating table. “I wish you would, though. But that wouldn’t be very realistic.”

The Void came to sit beside you, leg pressed up against yours. He was freezing cold—a lot like you, and a stark opposite to Bob. You shifted away.

“You will always choose him over me,” said the dark mass. “But he is me. And I, him. There is no separating us. We all have our little void.”

“Nothing little about you,” you grumbled. The Void let out something akin to a laugh—like the quiet rumbles of thunder just before the angry, rageful clap.

There was silence as the two of you watched a surgeon enter, holding the hand of a little-you, leading you back to your cell. The child’s gaunt eyes were round with shock. Blood lined tiny-you’s mouth, slickened your hands and stained deep within the crevices beneath your nails.

“It stinks of death here,” the Void said.

“They used to make my newer copies fight the older ones,” you whispered to him. “See if any of their genetic enhancers actually worked. Most of the time it didn’t.”

Raising his hand, the Void turned the surgeon into shadow. The sight brought a small smile to your face. Swift, the Void hovered over younger-you’s shoulders.

“Oh, precious,” he crooned to the stricken child, who immediately leaned into the darkness’ touch. “Come.”

You watched with furrowed brows. “Where are you taking me?”

“Into my world. It’s stuffy in here. Smells antiseptic.”

His hand reached out for you to take it. And you could see it then—Bob within the Void. You softened just a little bit, though you still refused to take his hand.

“I hope in the real world you’re not taking over the city again. I’m a bit too tired to deal with my shame rooms at the moment.”

“Really? I thought they were fun. I enjoyed making them for you.” He laughed his timbrous laugh again, to which you only rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry. It’s just us two now.” The Void looked down at younger-you. “Well—three. Soon to be four.”

“What—?”

Before you could finish asking him what he meant by that, the dreamscape around you began to shift, dissipating like ink in water. You felt the ground turn from cold tile to a fibrous brown carpet.

There was shattering glass somewhere behind you. You whirled around to see a familiar man smashing a beer bottle against the wall, going straight for a woman and a young boy at the dinner table. The Void held his hand out, and Bob’s parents immediately turned into elongated shadows. The young boy—tiny Bob—cowered away from the growing darkness seeping into the carpet.

“Go,” the Void said to younger you, pushing the child forward.

With a lump in your throat, you stepped forward to take the shoulders of your younger self, kneeling down and using your sleeve to wipe away the blood from your face. Then, the child, both terrified and in awe of the Void, listened to his instructions and obediently went toddling off to young Bob.

Tiny you prodded at Bob’s shoulder, who only shrunk into himself more. It occurred to you that your younger self likely thought that this was a new opponent for you to fight. To your relief, however, your younger copy only slumped down the wall beside the boy, and began to recite the elements of the periodic table—something you used to do to help you go to sleep. Young Bob turned and listened with wide eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked when you finally tore your gaze away from the children, both out of genuine curiosity and confusion.

“You had no friends,” he said. “I had no friends. At least in here we can pretend.”

“That’s all you do, isn’t it?” you asked him. “Pretend. That’s a sad way to live.”

“It’s the only way,” he responded. “This way, he—we won’t get hurt.”

“But what about our real friendships? What about the rest of the team?”

The Void stepped closer to you. “Is what we have not real?”

No. Yes. Either way, the answer didn’t sound quite right.

“Whatever it is, it’s not as important as real life. I can’t be stuck in delusions forever. I… we have to live life. A real one.”

Something in the Void’s voice broke—Bob spilling through. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“You said it yourself. You’ll never actually go away,” you whispered. Then, you spared the Void a small, sad smile. “You can come visit. But I’m afraid you can’t stay.”

“You’ll miss me.”

“Oh, I will,” you said, not bothering to deny it. “But I think I’m far happier with where I am now. I don’t need you… hovering over my shoulder anymore.”

You looked to the children, who were now chattering quietly to themselves. Younger you looked happy to be talking to someone your age who wasn’t yourself, for once.

The Void stared at you for a long moment. Then, finally, he asked, “He makes you happy?”

“Bob?” You thought of his warmth. His kindness. His constant, soft touches. His spritely laughter. His stammering. His lopsided smile. His thoughtful gestures. His excessive emoticons in his texts. His love for animals. His strange habit of ad-libbing extra notes to catchy advertisement jingles. “Yes. He does.”

“Then I guess that’s reason enough for me to keep my distance. But I’ll come back. I always come back,” he said. “See you on the other side, Xerox.”

When you flinched awake, a loud, startled gasp emitted from you. You shot upwards on the bed, ripping yourself out of Bob’s warm embrace. The sudden movement made him jerk out of sleep, as well.

“Wha—Whuss goin’ on?” he sleepily muttered, looking juxtaposingly alarmed and ready to go back to sleep.

It was only when his warm arms wrapped around you again, did you realize that you were shaking. Immediately, you began sobbing. It was silent as always, but it wracked through your chest and made it difficult for you to breathe. You turned into his hold and buried your face into him, clinging onto him like an ant to sticky nectar, and he let you cry damp spots into his sweatshirt.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry,” rasped Bob, though he really didn’t know what he was apologizing for. Still, he was almost certain it was his fault. He rubbed comforting circles into your back. “I’m sorry.”

And, once you calmed down enough to regulate your breathing, you found yourself parroting the very same words to him.

#thunderbolts x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts bob x reader #thunderbolts bob #robert reynolds fanfiction #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds fanfic #thunderbolts fanfiction #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fanfiction #thunderbolts

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sunshinedaisywrites777 · 3 days ago

Text

Post-Mission Intimacy (Leon Kennedy x Reader)

A/N- Hello everyone! I'm deeply sorry for being late. Vacation got the best of me and I was (still am) slacking so hard right now but you're all waiting for a smut so here you go! I kinda rushed it to be honest and I know it's not going to be the best smut you'll ever read BUT it's my first time writing smut soo yayy! I hope you like it and don't forget to leave comments and give me feedbacks 🙂💜

Warnings- Smut! MDNI! +18, tigh riding, no foreplay?, aftercare, feels of aftershock, sex without lube, softdom!leon, praise kink.

The clock read 12:43 AM. You were curled up on the couch, lights low, the faint hum of the TV playing a rerun of some show neither of you watched. A cup of chamomile tea sat cold beside you. You hadn’t touched it in an hour. Not since the last time you checked your phone for any message, any update. Still nothing.

Then the door finally opened.

You were on your feet before you could think. Leon stepped inside, shoulders heavy under his black jacket, hair sticking to his forehead, the weight of a mission lingering on every inch of his body. His blue eyes found you instantly. And softened.

He didn’t speak right away. He just stood there, breathing in the sight of you — small in his oversized flannel, barefoot, eyes red from waiting. You closed the distance first, hands curling around the back of his neck.

“You’re home,” you whispered.

“I’m home,” he murmured back, voice rough and low.

He kissed your hair, your temple, your cheek, before you finally pulled back and wrinkled your nose. “Leon… you smell.”

That made him huff a tired laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“Go shower,” you said, nudging him toward the bathroom. “I’ll wait.”

He didn’t take long, but every second felt stretched thin. The sound of running water was oddly comforting. When he returned, steam trailed behind him, his chest damp and pink from the heat. His hair was messy, curling slightly at the ends, his body wrapped in nothing but a towel low on his hips.

He looked like a dream — exhausted, but clean, real, yours.

“Still waiting for me?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

You nodded, eyes lingering on the droplets trailing down his chest. “Always.”

Leon came to you slowly. The towel slipped to the floor before he even reached you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, skin-on-skin, his body warm and damp against yours.

You reached for the buttons on your flannel, but Leon stopped you. “Let me.”

He undid each one with deliberate slowness, exposing more of your bare skin with every pass. No bra, no underwear. You hadn’t been wearing anything beneath it. His eyes darkened.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You were just sitting there like this?”

You smiled and nodded.

He growled low and kissed you hard, backing you toward the couch, hands never leaving your skin. You dropped back into the cushions, and he followed you down, slotting his hips between your thighs.

“Need you,” he said, voice rough. “Been thinking about this since I left.”

You guided him in, no resistance, just slick warmth and the sigh of relief that left both of your lips as he filled you.

Leon moved slow, deep, deliberate. He wasn’t trying to fuck the pain away. He was savoring you, grounding himself in every kiss, every touch, every breathless moan you made. You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, nails in his back.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Take me. Let me feel you.��

Your orgasm built slowly, coiling in your stomach, heat pulsing behind your eyes. He whispered to you the whole time, telling you how beautiful you were, how perfect, how tight you felt, how much he missed you.

When you finally came, it was sharp and silent, your body seizing around him, head thrown back, lips parted. Leon held on as you broke, kissing your shoulder, your throat, your jaw. He followed you moments later with a deep groan, burying himself inside you.

You laid together tangled on the couch, your body still twitching from the aftershocks. One leg was draped over his, and Leon felt the slight pulse of your hips shifting.

“Still shaking,” he murmured, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face. “You need to ride it out, huh?”

You nodded, barely able to speak. He guided you, gently shifting your hips until you were straddling one of his thighs, bare skin against bare skin.

“Use me,” he whispered. “Come on, baby. Just let it out.”

You moved slowly, grinding against the solid muscle of his thigh, slick and sensitive, trembling as the last waves passed through you. Leon held you steady, kissing your cheek, his hand splayed on your lower back.

“That’s it… Good girl.”

When it was over, you collapsed onto his chest, breath ragged. He held you close, wrapping both arms around you, rubbing small circles into your back.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he whispered.

You believed him.

And in that moment, you didn’t need anything else.

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mona-risms · 2 days ago

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hear me out.. polytrix x reader where fem!reader doesn't know about the whole demon hunter thing and is still under the hypnosis from the saja boys and the girls try their hardest to snap her out of it. 🫦

◆ MAIN COURSE: poly!HUNTR/X x fem!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None

◆ NOTES: This might've SLIGHTLY teeny tinily missed the point but I hope you still like it!! I can't make a full-blown fic without getting paid bc I'm broke as hell and I'm lazy so the most you're getting is the usual hcs and snippets I fear 💔. But anyway I LOVELOVELOVE POLYTRIX 😩😩😩😩😩 I think they should all kiss together and kiss me too

This is the funniest shit ever and no one can tell me otherwise bc you've got three ninja popstars and one perfectly normal human being who just really really loves K-Pop. And you all LOVE each other????? #holyfcknairball no one would believe you until you show full proof that yes you do in fact kiss those celebrities on the mouth! Every day actually! Unless they're on tour but still! Yes you are a girls only poly couple! You couldn't be happier!

Unfortunately bc of the fact that you're normal, you won't even know that the hot new boy band, Saja Boys, are all drawing people in via brainwashing to sacrifice your souls to a Demon King named Gwi-Ma that looks like an oversized wildfire. Said people includes you I fear 💔💔. Imagine you were out coincidentally and you got to witness their debut performance and you were so drawn to them!! Why wouldn't you be??

They hear your voice before they see you—right there, right near the front row, right in front of them.

"What's she doing here?" Mira hissed, though despite her tone, the concern was glaringly obvious.

"I think she wanted to buy something? She said about baking," Zoey answered, her own concern matching up with Mira as she bounced on the balls of her feet in an attempt to both alleviate her sudden restlessness and to see you from the crowd. "But-- But what if they try to grab her? [Y/N]'s at a very grabbable distance! And the worst thing is I won't even blame them—she's really grabbable in general!"

Zoey doesn't even finish before Rumi's weaving through the crowd in an attempt to reach you, "Either way, no one is getting grabbed, least of all our girlfriend."

When Rumi does reach you, she taps your shoulder to gain your attention. Without fail, you turn around and smile widely in recognition, "Ru-- Ahem, babe! Did you see how good this new band was? They're called the Saja Boys!"

"Yeah. I heard."

Usually, you would've noticed her sudden deadpan, but you were buzzing too much under your skin from the sudden excitement of this new debut so you barrelled on, "Maybe you and them'll even collab one day! Wouldn't that be awesome?!"

"Yeah, awesome, now c'mon, we need to get out of the crowd," she effortlessly twines her fingers in yours, which you reciprocate happily as you follow her while still going on about the Saja Boys. But when she dares to look back at the boy band, she noticed the black-haired demon in disguise's eyes on you.. and then on her, as if he knew very well what was going on.

When you finally get out of the crowd, you rejoin your other two loves of your life with a cheek kiss for Mira and then a squealing hug with Zoey.

Mira doesn't hesitate to ask as you and the shortest HUNTR/X member basically wrapped yourselves on each other, "Are you okay? They didn't do anything to you, did they?"

"Yeah, like, did they ever, I dunno.. suck your soul out or something?" Zoey asked, and then quietly winced as Mira and Rumi both signalled not to say anything with exaggerated expressions and hand gestures behind you.

You giggled at the line of questioning, "What? No? My soul definitely felt like it ascended while watching them, though! You guys are funny."

While you and Zoey were busy clinging onto each other, Rumi pulled Mira in to whisper to her, "They know."

"Know what?"

"That we're linked together in some way? That she's a normal human? I don't know, but they know and I don't want to risk her to find out. Do you?"

And their gazes drift to you as you spoke animatedly with Zoey, equally rambling to you and matching your energy in turn—probably both invested in the situation and also well-aware of the much-needed secret debriefing.

And Mira shook her head with furrowed brows, "Absolutely not."

"Good."

Whenever the girls are all "DON'T FALL FOR THEM" you're so confused bc like. Why?? What's up with them recently???? Ever since the Saja Boys popped up, they've been so weirdly pressed about them every time you brought them up. Like, sure, rivalry's one thing, but you've seen them with rivalries before!!!!! It's not like the Saja Boys have like killed people or smth lmfao it's okay the world's not gonna end if you stan them too (cue the scene with them and Bobby looking at the same city and seeing Two Completely Different Views)

Every time you're ever with them one way or another and the Saja Boys are around/involved they are LOCKING THE FUCK IN. Constantly trying to redirect your attention and theirs like "Do Not Look At Her" and if you ever get too close they'll be all "back the FUCK up actually". And whenever thry try to pull all that hypnotising shit on you they are DRAGGING YOU AWAY and kissing you until you run out of air and forget what you were even thinking about like a min ago 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

They're so much more attentive towards you, and during the two weeks of the Saja Boys being there, you are NOT allowed to be without at LEAST one of them. Why?? Ohhhh yk cuz they just really really miss you, that's all!!!!! They did just come out of a world tour so like they wanna be with you for as much as possible ahahahaha definitely bc the boy band you're fawning over rn are actually demons that want to consume your soul!!! Especially yours!!!!!! Bc they know you're special to them all ahahahahaahahahahahahaahahhaa

Oh but it'd be devastating if Mira and Zoey saw you with the crowd after Rumi's breakdown. Not only Bobby was brainwashed, but so are you, mindlessly following the masses. And as much as they want you to fight it, to remember, they can't even blame you or find the strength; they failed, Rumi hid she was part-demon the entire time, it's over

You'd be one of the people closest to Gwi-Ma's flames on purpose I think—a twisted way for Jinu to make your sacrifice quick and painless. But when Rumi and then Zoey and Mira both clock it? Absolutely the fuck not dude Gwi-Ma just made them even fucking MADDER

At the end of it they know they'll definitely have to explain everything to you, considering. From the Saja boys to Rumi explaining herself properly ALLLLL the way to how they're Hunters and what they do. But at the very least you're not dead thank GOD

"You guys know I don't actually know how to feel right now, right? Finding out that my girlfriends have been constantly getting into near-death experiences as, like, idol ninjas with magic weapons isn't really for the faint of heart—let alone finding out demons and supernatural whatevers are real."

The four of you migrated to Rumi's bed after that whole ordeal at the Tower, tired and exhausted and in need of a good cuddle pile. Right now, you and Rumi were cuddled up against each other, her patterns casting a soft glow on your skin, while Mira was spooning you with her tall frame and Zoey clung onto Rumi like a koala.

The trio had the decency to wince a little, and Mira spoke first in defence, "To be fair, we did get trained for, like, years not to give anything away, including our Hunter profession."

"And I'm your girlfriend," you sighed as your hand traced the jagged glowing lines across Rumi's skin, "I thought we weren't going to hide anything. No wonder sometimes you lot disappear without any explanation—this whole time, you've been.. slaying demons?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You hummed.. before putting your attention on Rumi, "And you. You really think we were going to love you any less because of what you're mixed with?"

"Um. Kinda?" Rumi looked to the side, averting your gazes, "It's-- I was raised to think that I should be ashamed of it, that I need to hide. It's--"

"Why you always have a separate green room?"

"Why you don't go into the batthouse with us?"

Rumi nodded, though not without a flush on her cheeks, "..yeah."

Your gaze softened as you lightly bit your lip before cupping her face for a short but tender kiss, "You think that's gonna really scare me—us—away? Mira and Zoey came back to you after the shock, and I sure as hell don't care if you were part-turtle or whatever--"

"Being part-turtle would be cool! ..Or super slow, depends--"

"My point being," you interrupted Zoey with an affectionate chuckle, "we love you because you're our Rumi. Not an idol, not a demon, just our Rumi—the one that overthinks, overworks and gets so into her head that we'd have to shut it for her. ..No more hiding, yeah?"

Rumi doesn't respond, not for a long while, and thre three of you are content in just laying there in silence, with her patterns casting a brighter yet softer glow on all of you. But eventually she buries her head in your chest, muffling her eventual answer, "..Mhm. Thank you."

Zoey's hold on Rumi tightened as she practically nuzzled into the latter's back, all while Mira reached over to hold Rumi's hand, now back to its human shape compared to the claws she had briefly before. No one else says anything, and that's perfectly fine for the four of you.

"..So I guess I'm retiring from stanning anyone but you guys."

"Obviously!" "Duh." "You are."

#mona's main course...#rumi x reader #kdh rumi x reader #mira x reader #kdh mira x reader #zoey x reader #kdh zoey x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters imagines #kdh x reader #kdh imagines #huntrix x reader #huntrix imagines #huntr/x x reader #huntr/x imagines

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lalacliffthorne · 2 days ago

Text

a summer storm and movie night with the whole gang 🍿💕

(this is so long it might as well count as a one shot, but it's also just so wholesome and cosy)

"Cass?", I yell, my voice slightly muffled. "Help!"

I hear the creaking of the couch and heavy steps closing in quickly. Then they falter, followed by a loud snort.

"What the fuck -"

"Hlep," I mumble softly.

There's a deep, barely suppressed laugh somewhere on the other side of the mattress that I've been dragging from Cassian's room and somehow managed to get stuck in the doorway. Then a tattooed hand appears above me and pats my head.

"It's okay, sweets, I got you." Cassian sounds like he's grinning widely, and I grumble and somehow manage to flip him off.

"Get it off me!"

There's a tug, then the mattress drops forward, and I plummet forward with it, barely managing to catch myself in the doorframe.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Cassian holds out a hand, and when I grab it, he pulls me over the mattress and catches me before I can faceplant. There's a grin on his face as he holds me upright until I find my footing, squeezing my waist before looking down at the mattress, and I huff and straighten, blowing a strand of hair out of my face.

"Want to set up the living room before the others get here, and your mattress is the biggest, so -"

"Why didn't you say anything; I would've helped you, you little shithead." Shaking his head, Cassian leans down and easily lifts the mattress off the ground, propping it against the doorframe.

"I don't know, you were busy," I grumble and straighten my t-shirt.

"Never too busy for you, sweetheart." Cassian crunches his brows dramatically, then breaks into a wide grin when I kick his shin.

Chuckling under his breath, Cass nudges my side, creases forming in his cheeks when he nods towards the living room. "C'mon, let's move the coffee table out of the way before we get this thing in there."

Sighing, I slip past him, and Cass follows me.

The living room is dunked in warm light, the door to the balcony open. The first summer storm is brewing outside, thick dark clouds are covering the sky and the air smells sweet and faintly like rain.

Cass and I carry the coffee table over to the windows, then we push the armchairs together so they form a backrest. I squint at the now empty space between the couches, then I lean myself against the right one to move it to the side a little.

"Hrghhh..."

My feet slide over the hardwood floors, and there's a snort behind me. Then Cass starts laughing, his shoulders shaking and head tipping back.

"Stop laughing and help me," I whine, barely holding back the giggle beginning to bubble in my own chest, and Cass shakes his head with a wide grin, dimples digging into his cheeks when he helps me drag the couch a few feet back.

Together, we pull his mattress into the space between the couches. Then I go and get the blankets and array of pillows from my own. I can barely see over the big heap as I carry it back into the living room, but I manage to not run into any doorways. Cass disappears into his bedroom to get his own blanket before carrying Azriel's and Rhys' duvets into the living room.

When the pillows are finally arranged and the duvets cover the couches, I'm fanning myself. "Fucking hell, please make it rain soon."

Cassian plops down with a groan and stretches out in the middle of the mattress, his muscles bunching for a few seconds before he relaxes and drops his head onto one of my pillows, brows crunching. "Why don't we just always have it like this; this is fucking amazing."

"I don't know." I climb over the couch and happily plop down next to him. Shuffling around until I can rest my head on his stomach, I relax dramatically and exhale.

Slowly, my eyes slide shut. The scent of Cassian's cologne rises into my nose, mixing with the heavy scent of coming rain and a slightly cooler breeze brushing in through the window. Cassian's torso moves under my head with his slow, even breaths, shifting when he props his head onto his arm. Outside, the first raindrops hit the stone of the balcony.

The peace is abruptly interrupted when there's a deep call of my name.

I grumble, and Cassian's chest vibrates when he chuckles under his breath.

"Oi."

A pillow lands on my face, and I jump.

"Rhys!"

Cassian starts laughing properly, his body shaking mine and head tipping back, and I grab the pillow to pull it from my face, craning my neck and glaring, even though I can't keep a pout from forming on my face. "What the fuck was that for?"

A feline smirk is gracing Rhys' face as he rests his hands onto the back of the couch. "Gently waking you from your slumber, princess."

Cassian's deep chuckle shakes my head, and I flip Rhys off.

"What do you want?" Huddling in again, I blink sleepily. "I'm comfy."

"Oh, I can see that." A dimple digs into Rhys' cheek when he smirks at me, and I grumble, closing my eyes and flipping him off again.

"We're doing quality control." Cassian's voice vibrates through me, deep and lazy, the light smirk on his lips audible.

"Of what, your own mattress?" Sarcasm drips from Rhys' voice.

Cassian shifts, the movement making my head roll to the side lightly when he shrugs. "Hey, we need to see if it's still comfy when it's on the floor."

"And?" Rhys raises an eyebrow drily.

"Come and find out." Cassian grins shit-eatingly, and Rhys huffs.

"You know you want to..." I sing sang, patting the mattress next to me without opening my eyes, feeling a wide smile slowly spreading over my lips.

For a second, I can feel Rhys stare. Then he exhales deeply and pushes off the couch. "Whatever. You won't move anyway."

"Nope." I can hear the light smirk in Cassian's voice and giggle.

A second later, the mattress dips; the smell of something dark and expensive washes over me, then Rhys drops his head onto my stomach and sighs. "You two are an awful influence."

"Shhhhh...", Cassian and I mumble in unison, Cassian's face splitting into a wide grin while I reach out to blindly pat Rhys' chest.

"You love us."

I can feel him huff, but there's the trace of a grin in his voice when he mumbles: "Yeah, yeah."

Beaming softly, I exhale and bury into the blankets.

Outside, rain slowly starts pattering against the sandstone of the balcony. I can feel Cassian's chest rising and falling steadily with his breaths, and Rhys' hair tickling my skin where my shirt has ridden up. Warmth radiates from both of them, and something swells gently in my chest.

I'm a few seconds away from truly dozing off when the floorboards creak and a deep voice brushes over my skin, low and smooth and lazy.

"Do I want to know?"

My heart swells against my ribs until it feels like they might crack open, and a beaming smile spreads over my face.

"Quality control," it echoes from three mouths in unison, a giggle bubbles in my throat, and my lids flutter open.

Both Rhys' and Cassian's eyes are still closed. Rhys is smirking, and Cassian is grinning, creases forming in his cheeks.

Another giggle shakes my body softly, and I crane my neck. My gaze finds the doorway, and my chest swells.

Azriel is leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, one dark eyebrow arched slightly and a smirk tugging at his lips. The planes of his face look like carved from marble in the soft, warm light, his eyes filled with lazy amusement as they pierce mine, and my breath catches.

"Wanna join?" I send him a wide, cheeky smile.

The crease in Azriel's cheek deepens with his smirk, and he raises an eyebrow, his low voice vibrating through me lazily. "Didn't you want to finish your cake?"

Rhys exhales before pushing himself up with a soft groan. "God damn it, he's right." He pats my calf. "Alright, come on, princess; nap time's over."

I whine, and Cassian's chest shakes with his deep chuckles when he stretches out his hand. With a sigh, I grab it, and Cass pulls me up into a seated position.

"Thank you." I press a smacking kiss onto his cheek, then I laboriously push myself to my feet and climb over his legs. Rhys smirks and flicks my nose, and I huff and flip him off. Then I slip past him, and my eyes meet Azriel's, deep and amber and twinkling.

The doorbell rings, and I press the last blueberry into the cream I've spread over the homemade sponge, then I slide over the kitchen floor into the hall to buzz the downstairs door open.

Unlocking the front door to the flat and leaving it standing ajar, I pad back into the kitchen. Rain patters steadily against the window, and the candles on the table flicker. The air smells like petrichor, berries and chocolate when I lean down to pull the tray with little warm tartes from the oven.

I hear footsteps on the stairs out in the hallway when I start cutting the cake into big slices. A few seconds later, there's a happy groan, and when I look over my shoulder, Mor drops her umbrella onto the floor dramatically and closes her eyes as she breathes in deeply. Then she opens them again and grins widely.

"God, I love you two."

Rhys snorts, and Mor beams and throws her arms around me in a tight hug. She's wearing pyjamas as requested; a deep red satin set, her hair gathered in a messy bun at the top of her head that wiggles happily when she presses a smacking kiss onto my cheek before squeezing past me.

Behind her, Feyre closes the front door with her shoulder and sends me a wide smile. "Hey." She holds up two big paper bags. "Snacks, as requested. I brought you caramel popcorn."

"Mhmm..." Mor sniffs at the chocolate tartes cooling on the counter before beaming at the cake next to them. Then she blinks and raises her head, frowning. "We're still ordering pizza though, right?"

Rhys smirks. "Oh, yeah, I know this isn't feeding you nor Cass."

Mor grins and pats his cheek, raising her brows with a happy sigh. "You know us too well."

Feyre appears next to me, pulling me into a tight hug and beaming softly at me. She's also wearing comfy clothes; a hoodie I feel like I know from somewhere and a pair of soft wide pyjama pants.

I giggle and squeeze her back, then I raise my brows. "What else did you get?"

Feyre raises her brows and plops the bags onto the counter. "So, we bought two more kinds of popcorn, pretzels, crisps, chocolate -"

"Did somebody say chocolate?" Cass appears in the doorway and sniffs the air, brows crunching inquisitively. He has showered, his hair half dried and haphazardly pulled back, and changed into a wide t-shirt and loose joggers.

Mor bounds over to hug him happily, and Cass chuckles, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and squeezing.

"Alright, there are bowls over there, just put whatever you got in there." Rhys sends Feyre a feline smirk. "Darling -"

Feyre huffs, but her cheeks tinge pink even as she glowers at him, and Rhys' grin widens as his eyes pierce her face.

Clearing my throat softly, I pull one of the bags with shopping towards me and gently bump my elbow into Feyre's back. She hastily turns around, and I send her a cheeky grin. "Bowls please?"

The blush on her cheeks deepens, and she glares at me and pulls the bowls towards us.

Over her head, I catch Rhys' staring at her, a small crease forming in his cheek.

A giggle bubbles in my throat, and he blinks, tearing himself out of it and meeting my gaze.

Whipped, I mouth, widening my eyes and sending him a bright, mischievous smile.

Rhys huffs and clears his throat, turning. "Alright, Mor, can you get me the whipped cream out of the fridge?"

Giggling under my breath, I start dumping popcorn into a bowl.

Feyre helps me unpack the snacks, handing the bowls to Cass who takes them into the living room. Then she picks up the rest of the plates Mor has carefully placed big slices of cake on, and Rhys follows after her.

Pulling open the fridge, I stack cans with soda into my arm, then I reach for the jug with homemade lemonade and call over my shoulder: "Hey, can somebody -"

A chest brushes against my back, a hand catches the soda can nearly slipping out of my arm, and a low voice mumbles somewhere above my head: "Keep you from trying to carry everything and risking dropping something?"

My heart swells against my ribs, and I start beaming softly.

Without looking, I hold the jug up over my shoulder, and long, scarred fingers brush against mine as they accept it. I grab some more sodas before moving back, my back presses into a warm chest, and a tattooed arm appears above my head, closing the fridge.

Turning around, I grin mischievously, crunching my nose. "Keeps me from going twice."

There's a low huff, and my heart leaps gently against my ribs when my eyes meet Azriel's, piercing my face and twinkling lazily. There's a crease forming in his cheek, a light smirk tugging at his lips, and I smile up at him, squinting. "We need glasses."

Azriel places the saved can in my arms and waits until I have tucked it under my chin before pulling his hand away. is knuckles brushing a strand of hair out my face. "I got it."

My breath catches gently when his rough fingers tuck an escaped strand of hair behind my ear, and the crease in his cheek deepens. Then Azriel dips his head, and my heart gets stuck in my throat when his fingers lightly hook under my chin, tipping it up. His nose brushes against mine, my breath hitches, and Azriel's lips curve when he slowly presses them against mine.

A soft noise escapes my throat. My fingers tremble around the cans when Azriel's rough fingers brush against my throat, then they slide into my hair, and I stretch lightly and kiss back.

Azriel makes a rough sound deep in his chest, his body pressing closer, flush against my side, fingers threading through my hair and pulling gently, then he lazily deepens the kiss. His tongue swipes against mine, and I cling to the cool cans in my arms, spine shuddering and something bursting low in my stomach.

Azriel exhales against my cheek, then he slowly pulls back, his thumb slowly brushing over the side of my neck. His breath grazes my lips, and my heart pounds against my ribs.

"Oi," Rhys' deep voice calls from the hall, and my heart missed a beat, swerving sharply. "Did you two get lost in the fridge or what's taking you so long?"

Azriel and I roll our eyes in unison, and he straightens, stepping to the side. His palm gently cups the side of my neck when he presses one last warm kiss against my temple, then it slides down my side, and I squeeze past him.

The living room smells like candles and chocolate. The window to the balcony is still wide open, letting in cooler air and the scent of rain and wet earth. Rain is splattering onto the balustrade, and the candles on the window sills flicker.

Mor helps me put the cans into the big bucket with ice while Feyre fills some glasses that Azriel brings in, his elbow brushing against my back gently. Then we curl up on the mattress, Mor on my left, Feyre huddled in on my right, burying into the pillows and blankets. The bowls with snacks are distributed evenly around us, and I snag the one with the caramel popcorn. Azriel stretches out on one of the couches, stuffing pillows into his back, and Cass flops into the armchairs behind us, draping his long legs over the arm rest.

Rhys is last, handing out the plates with cake and chocolate tartes that are drowning in whipped cream before stretching out on the second couch, grabbing the remote and smirking lazily.

"So, who picks first?"

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and I snuggle into my blanket, feeling Mor's elbow nudge against mine when she lifts a piece of pizza out of the box balanced on her knees, eyes glued to the screen of the TV.

We're halfway through the second movie of the night. The pizza arrived a lil less than half an hour ago, and the greasy scent makes my stomach grumble happily when I help myself to another slice. Rhys is lazily reclined on his couch, sipping from his drink. Feyre stretches to grab a napkin, and Mor fights with a string of cheese.

Over her head, amber eyes meet mine, and something swells gently against my ribs when a lazy twinkle flashes through them.

Behind me, Cassian shifts. Then he groans and grumbles: "Jesus fucking Christ, can you girls scooch, my back is killing me."

Mor snorts a laugh, and I crane my neck to grin up at him. "You okay?"

Cassian huffs, brows crunched. "No, sitting like this makes me feel like I've aged like a couple hundred years. I don't think I've ever felt my ass like this before."

Feyre's shoulders shake with silent giggles, and grinning, I dig myself out my blanket. "Alright, come on, old man, you can take my place."

Cass whines when he lifts himself out of his seat, making a face when his back cracks, and giggling, I climb over Mor's legs, squeezing past two bowls with crisps. Then I raise my head, and my eyes meet Azriel's, twinkling lazily in the warm light.

The corner of his lips curves, and he shifts, dropping his knee to the side and raising a brow.

My heart swells against my ribs, and slowly starting to beam softly, I climb onto the cushions, dropping into the space between his legs. Azriel huffs dramatically, and I elbow him, feeling his grin against my temple when he slides his arms around my waist and pulls me into his body.

Warmth spreads through me, and I melt into his chest, leaning my head against his jaw. Azriel's hand slides under my shirt, and my breath catches when his rough skin brushes over mine, cupping my side. His breath grazes my temple, then he drops his head to bury his nose in my hair. His knees come up to box me in tightly, and his thumb slowly starts to sweep back and forth over my skin.

My heart leaps high, and something starts thrumming under my ribs until a ridiculously wide smile threatens to spill over my lips.

I wake up with a slightly achy neck, my body curled against something warm and solid and a familiar scent filling my lungs that makes my heart swell slowly and gently against my ribs.

Curling closer, I force open my tired eyes.

Beyond the window, the sky is glowing warmly, the sun just starting to peak over the horizon. Birds are chirping, and the breeze brushing through the window smells like summer.

I yawn, then I raise my head, blinking against the sleep in my eyes.

A soft giggle nearly bubbles from my throat.

Cass is spread out belly down over the middle of the mattress, his face smushed against a pillow. Somehow, while asleep, he has gotten rid off his t-shirt. Mor's foot is hanging off the edge of the mattress, her hair unravelled around her face, and Feyre lays with her back to them, curled into a ball under her blanket. Rhys has turned her way on the couch, his arm hanging off the cushions.

Feeling my chest swell and a wide smile slowly spreading over my face, I drop my head again and curl into Azriel's body.

For a while longer, I stay smushed between him and the back of the couch, feeling Azriel's chest rise against my body with his slow, even breaths and the way his scent fills my lungs. Then the need to pee gets too strong.

Slowly, I peel myself out of Azriel's grip. His hand twitches against my ribs, and something tips over in my chest when his dark brows crunch gently.

Leaning down, I softly press my lips onto his cheek and whisper: "Be right back."

Azriel's lips curve just barely. Then his grip slowly loosens, and I slide off the couch, wincing at the way my back cracks.

I climb over empty bowls and Mor's feet to get to the door. When my gaze flickers over my friends, my eyes get caught on Feyre. Her hand is stretched out towards where Rhys' arm is hanging off the couch.

His fingers are brushing her palm.

Something swells gently against my ribs, and feeling my lips curve into a soft, beaming smile, I turn around and quietly slip out into the hall.

When I get back a few minutes later, Azriel's spot on the couch is empty, and I hear quiet clanking from the kitchen. Rubbing my eyes, I pad through the hall, raising my head, and my breath catches gently.

Azriel looks over his shoulder. The first golden sun rays spill around him, breaking through the tousled dark strands of his hair and reflect in his eyes, making them glow like liquid caramel.

One corner of his lips curves, and he lightly raises an eyebrow.

"Morning." His low, deep voice vibrates through me, lazy and hoarse with sleep, and something swells against my ribs.

Slowly, I start to beam back gently, starting to trudge towards him and crunching my nose against the light. "Hi."

The crease in Azriel's cheek deepens, his head dipping as his eyes follow me, and I slide under his arm and lean into his side. "Coffee?"

Azriel's chest vibrates with a low, soft laugh; something catches in my throat, and when I raise my head, I just catch the way his eyes crinkle.

My heart swells until it feels like it might burst.

Quickly, I stretch, and Azriel's arm slides down my back when I press my lips onto his jaw. His hand curls around my ribcage, and when I slowly pull back, he turns his head until his nose brushes against mine.

My breath hitches, and the corner of Azriel's lips curves. Then he dips his head and kisses me, slow, lazy, until my fingers curl into his t-shirt and my heart thrums against my ribs.

We only break apart when there's no breath left between us, my body is buzzing and my head is spinning. Azriel's thumb brushes slowly over my ribs, his nose gently nudges mine. Then he gently pulls his head back just enough to raise a dark eyebrow at me, his eyes twinkling lazily in the golden light. "Coffee?"

I blink up at him before mumbling: "Right, yeah."

Azriel grins, a slow, lazy thing that makes me breathless all over again like his scent filling my lungs, and I grumble softly, feeling my heart swell against my ribs.

Comfortable, warm silence settles over the kitchen as we start to move around each other in an easy rhythm. The sun slowly begins to rise over the roofs on the other side of the street, shining through the kitchen window, making Azriel's eyes glow like molten amber as he puts on a kettle and lets me pass him, his hand brushing against the small of my back, settling there for a moment. I pull the cups from the cupboard and the milk from the fridge and place them on the counter, my elbow brushing against Azriel when he fills coffee beans into the grinder. Then I pad over the cold kitchen tiles and slide my arms around his middle.

My heart swells at the feeling of his tall, solid body, and I slowly let myself sink into him, resting my cheek against his back and blinking sleepily.

I can feel Azriel turn his head to look over his shoulder. Then he turns back ahead, and his palm gently wraps around my forearm for a moment, his thumb slowly brushing back and forth. The warmth of his skin starts seeping through the soft fabric of his t-shirt, and I make a soft noise and curl into his back, feeling the muscles in his shoulders shift.

I stay like this until the coffee is done. Only then I slowly pull back, rubbing my eyes and accepting the gently steaming cup Azriel hands me, his rough fingers gently brushing some hair behind my ear before pressing against my back, softly guiding me towards the couch.

I climb onto the cushions, crunching my nose to suppress a yawn when I carefully place my cup onto the table.

The couch dips when Azriel slides in next to me, then his arm slides around my waist, and I make a soft noise when he pulls me into his body until my back is pressed into his chest. Curling into him, I reach out to grab my coffee, wrapping my fingers around it and blinking sleepily, and Azriel reaches for his own cup.

The golden rays of sunlight slowly wander over the kitchen floor as I sip my coffee, feeling Azriel's chest slowly rise and fall in my back, his arm sliding tighter around me and lips occasionally brushing against my temple. The quiet is sleepy and warm and comfortable, making my lids flutter gently.

The coffee is long empty and I've curled into Azriel's chest, my fingers slowly brushing back and forth over his forearm, feeling his thumb trace over my hip where his hand has slipped under my t-shirt when the others wake up.

Rhys is first to trudge into the kitchen. Azriel lifts his head from where his nose was buried in my hair, looking over his shoulder, and when I crane my neck gently, Rhys blinks into the morning light, brows scrunched and hair messy. Then he mumbles, deep voice raspy from sleep: "Coffee."

Azriel's lips quirk lazily, and I giggle softly into his t-shirt.

Feyre appears next, hair half fallen out of her braid and eyes tired. She flushes a little when her eyes find Rhys leaning against the counter, staring at the coffee machine like he's willing it to speed up.

Mor pads through the door a few minutes later just as Rhys hands Feyre a cup. There's a bit of smudged mascara under her eyes that she wipes away with her sleeve as she flops onto the nearest chair, blinking tiredly. Then she mumbles: "Hunger."

Rhys chuckles and places a steaming cup in front of her. "Pancakes?"

Mor slowly reaches for the coffee and takes a long slip. Then she nods slowly. "Pancakes."

Rhys smirks and pats her shoulder, then he turns around. Feyre climbs off her chair and joins him at the counter, and Mor gets up, slowly trudging past the table to plop down onto the other end of the couch, curling up against the arm rest and tangling her legs with mine, rubbing her eyes.

Slowly, the kitchen begins to wake. Mor sips her coffee, giggling under her breath when she bumps her ankle against my leg. Rhys and Feyre mix pancake batter and banter quietly, shoulders bumping as they move around each other like they have been doing so for years. Rhys' eyes start to twinkle every time he looks down at her, his smile growing until dimples dig into his cheeks, and even though Feyre huffs at him and shoots him glares, I can see her skin flush gently and the way she tries to hide a smile.

When Cass finally trudges through the door, bare chested and eyes sleepy, the sunlight paints streaks through the dusty air that smells sweet and greasy and Rhys is placing a plate with big stacks of pancakes on the table.

"Morning." Cassian's deep voice is so raspy, it sends a gentle shiver through me and makes him clear his throat and mumble: "Jesus."

Mor giggles and pushes herself up, and Feyre sets a plate with bacon next to the pancakes as Cassian flops down onto a chair, blinking tiredly.

Little by little, soft chatter starts filling the air. I stay curled into Azriel's chest, warmth pulsing through my chest as I watch Feyre and Rhys' bump elbows, Mor's concentrated frown as she meticulously assembles her second cup of coffee, and Cassian's sleepy nose wriggle when he starts piling pancakes onto his plate.

Rough fingers slide between mine, linking them together slowly and squeezing, and I squeeze back, reaching for my cup and hiding my slowly growing smile behind the rim.

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