#sorry for asking for asks and then dropping

[cheftsunoda]

hiii!

I love your writing sooo much and I just had an idea for a story with Lando (if you write for him)

The idea came to me when I was watching one of his interviews in which he gets asked if he likes cats or dogs and he says that he's DEFINITELY a dog person and hates cats (which should be a crime imo)

Anyway I was wondering if you could write a story in which the reader LOVEEEES cats and Lando likes reader a lot but they tell him that they refuse to date someone who doesn’t like cats so Lando tries to charm/befriend their cat/cats

nine lives — ln4

lando norris x !cat lover reader

smau + blurbs

You’ve always said you could forgive many things in a relationship—bad taste in music, questionable cooking, even the occasional forgotten anniversary. But not liking cats? Unforgivable. Which is why, when a clip of Lando—your boyfriend of almost a year—where he boldly declares “I just don’t trust cats. They stare at you like they’re plotting your death.”, your phone practically explodes with notifications. And right in the middle of your peaceful Sunday morning, curled up in bed with four purring furballs and one very smug grey baby sprawled on your chest, Lando walks into the room holding his phone like it’s ticking.

“They’re all sending me this video,” he says, deadpan. “And now half the internet thinks we’re about to break up because I disrespected Mister Whiskers the Third.”

You blink at him. “You did. And you disrespected me.”

And that’s when he sighs—loudly, dramatically—and looks your cats in the eye like he’s facing his greatest challenge yet.

“I guess I’m gonna have to win them over, huh?”

fc : random pinterest girlies

(a/n) : hi babyyyyyy. thanks for the love:) i am a huge cat person so this was very fun for me to write. my cat was stepping on my keyboard keys as i was literally trying to type it out. LMAOOO

ALSO NOT MY DUMBASS HAVING THIS EDITED AND READY FOR TWO DAYS AND NOT REALIZING. IM SO SORRY.

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lando’s ‘undercover’ GQ interview — 6/23/2025

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It starts innocently enough. You’re lounging on the couch in your sunlit living room, a tabby curled against your hip, a calico stretched across your feet, and your ancient, grumpy Persian—Count Meowcula—curled up like a loaf of bread on the coffee table. Lando is still asleep upstairs, likely tangled in the duvet with his mouth slightly open and hair sticking up like a dandelion. You’re scrolling through your phone when the first tag pops up.

@/username000 : NOT LANDO SAYING HE HATES CATS 💀💀💀 @/yourusername come get your man pls

You furrow your brows and click the link.

It’s a recent clip, from the GQ interview he just did the other day. The interviewer shows him an old clip of himself.

And the younger Lando on the video, without missing a beat, replies with boyish arrogance, “Dogs, obviously. Cats are evil. I don’t trust them. They just sit there and judge you.”

Your jaw drops a little. “Excuse me?”

He goes on—oh, he goes on.

“They’re always knocking things off tables. Like, why? For what reason? I could never live with a cat. I’d be on edge all the time.”

You blink at the screen, stunned. A moment later, your mentions erupt like fireworks.

@/username00 : so like… yn owns FIVE cats and lando said THIS?????

@/username0 : the betrayal. the slander. does Count Meowcula know??

@/username1 : if my man ever said this about cats i’d simply let them scratch his eyes out 😭

You let out a little laugh—half horrified, half amused—and glance around the room. As if sensing drama, your youngest cat, a tiny grey kitten named Pickles, climbs onto your lap and stares directly into your phone screen like she’s reading the replies.

“I know,” you murmur to her. “He’s got some explaining to do.”

Almost on cue, heavy footsteps pad down the stairs. You hear a yawn, then a groggy voice.

“Morning…” Lando steps into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s in one of your hoodies and a pair of mismatched socks, hair a complete mess.

You swivel your phone toward him, the video paused on the exact moment he says, “Cats are evil.”

He squints. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Lando flops face first onto the couch beside you, groaning into a throw pillow. “I was, like, twenty! I didn’t know better!”

“The internet disagrees.” You smirk, holding your phone up as notifications keep pouring in. “You’ve got approximately two million cat lovers and a grumpy Count Meowcula very disappointed in you.”

Lando turns his head, eyes squinting at the Persian cat who is, indeed, staring at him with an expression of utter betrayal.

“I told him it was an old interview,” you say solemnly. “He doesn’t care.”

“I’ll never earn his forgiveness, will I?”

“Not unless you make amends.”

He sits up dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Then I have no choice. I must… bond with the cats.”

“Oh?” you tease. “The same cats who are evil? The ones you can’t trust?”

“I was young! I was foolish!” He throws himself at your feet in mock agony. “Please, my love, allow me to prove myself to you—and to Pickles. And to Mr. Whiskers. And… Count Meowcula.” He pauses.

“God, why do they all sound like retired supervillains?”

“Because they are.”

Pickles meows at him, unimpressed. Lando slowly sits back up, adjusting his hoodie and patting his lap. “Alright. I’m ready. Send me your softest warrior.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“I’m ready to face the consequences of my words,” he says solemnly. “Bring me the cats.”

One by one, like some ceremonial trial, the cats are introduced. Pickles curls up beside him without protest. Mr. Whiskers claws his leg once, just for good measure, and then lays on his foot. Count Meowcula eyes him for a solid three minutes before climbing onto his lap and promptly falling asleep.

You grab your phone and take a picture of the scene—Lando sitting stiff as a board, surrounded by cats, one paw resting over his knee like a warning.

Moments later, the tweet goes viral. The top reply?

@/alex_albon : petition for Lando to do a cat photoshoot in apology form.

You grin and show it to him.

“Absolutely not,” Lando mutters as Mr. Whiskers licks his hand. “Okay. Maybe. Only if I get to wear the little ears too.”

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yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 1,201,005 others.

yourusername : should i leave this muppet because he doesn’t like my babies?

tagged : lando

—

view 72,075 other comments.

alex_albon : yes. absolutely. dump him. lily and i will take you and your cats in.

liked by yourusername and lilymhe

↳ yourusername : omw to the albon farm where me and my 5 children will be APPRECIATED.

liked by alex_albon and lilymhe

↳ lando : HEY HEY WE DO NOT HAVE TO GO THIS FAR

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : i am like the cat whisperer now. ask pickles.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : you screamed when mr whiskers jumped up on the couch behind you. mans was just existing.

liked by alex_albon

↳ lando : HE STARTLED ME.

liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1 : leave him. now. i want to see him walking down the road with one of those hobo sacks.

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : OH MY GOD. YOU ARE ALL SO OVERDRAMATIC. I WAS YOUNG.

↳ maxverstappen1 : do not care. you still said it.

liked by yourusername

username00 : i take it he is still in alot of trouble yn

↳ yourusername : oh yes. very much so. sleeping on the couch currently.

liked by maxverstappen1 and alex_albon

↳ maxverstappen1 : make him sleep on the sidewalk.

liked by yourusername and username00

lando : I AM SORRY BABYYYYY DO NOT LEAVE ME. I NEED YOU AND YOUR 5 CHILDREN.

liked by yourusername

alexandrasaintmleux : leave lando. not bc of the cat thing but just so you can date me😻

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : ALEX. OUT. DO NOT TRY TO WIN OUT ON MY MISFORTUNE.

liked by yourusername and alexandrasaintmleux

oscarpiastri : I, for one, stand for feline rights. #teampickles

liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc: just wait til she has a conversation with zhou about this…

liked by alex_albon, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, yourusername and zhouguanyu24

↳ zhouguanyu24 : oh i already know and sweetcorn and i are offended deeply

↳ lando : BROOOOOOOO

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f1gossipgirls

liked by yourusername and 1,100,100 others.

f1gossipgirls : Lando on live tonight with YN’s kitten Pickles!

tagged : lando and yourusername

—

view 175,007 other comments.

username000 : pickles pawing him in the head killed me #teampickles

liked by yourusername

username00 : @/yourusername you are so powerful. he went from hating cats to calling pickles his son in a matter of a week

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : that’s what good pussy does…bad joke?

liked by lando and username00

username0 : pickles had more screen time than max 😭

liked by yourusername and maxfewtrell

username1 : HE DID THE BABY VOICE AWWWWW

liked by yourusername

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The stream wasn’t even supposed to happen. It started because Max texted Lando “go live you coward I miss your face”, and then fifteen minutes later Lando was setting up his webcam while you sat cross legged on the couch, cradling Pickles in your lap like royalty. You had no intention of being on camera—until Pickles decided to launch himself from your arms and climb straight up Lando’s hoodie mid-intro.

“AH—oh my god—HE’S IN MY SHIRT,” Lando yelps, half-laughing, half-panicking, while you scramble into frame trying to extract the tiny menace from his hood. The comments explode instantly.

@/username0000 : IS THAT PICKLES??

@/username000: this is already the best stream of the year

You finally wrestle the kitten free and sit down beside Lando, both of you breathless from laughing. Pickles, smug as ever, curls into a perfect ball on Lando’s shoulder like he owns the place.

“He’s… decided to stay,” Lando mutters, eyes wide. “I’m not moving for the rest of the stream.”

“That’s called growth,” you tease. “You used to call him a demon.”

“I still think he is,” Lando says. “He’s just my demon now.”

Then Max joins the call. And everything goes downhill.

“Oi,” Max says, grinning into his camera. “Am I interrupting domestic bliss?”

“Pickles almost crawled into my ribcage five minutes ago,” Lando replies. ���So yes, but it’s fine.”

You wave at Max. “Hi Max. I saved your best friend from a feline induced death.”

“Legend,” Max says with a wink. “Though if Pickles had finished the job, I’d finally win our Fantasy league.”

Lando flips him off. The chat goes wild. Over the next half hour, it descends into total chaos. Lando’s trying to game, Max is throwing shade, and you’re in the background trying to keep Pickles from knocking over an open can of Monster with the energy of a feral toddler. At one point a conversation sparks.

Max started. “So YN, how many cats is too many cats?”

You thought for a moment. ”Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.”

“Ten.”

Lando spits out his drink, “TEN?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying. We have the space.”

Max laughed. “This is how it starts. First it’s one kitten, next thing you know, you’re on a reality show called My Strange Addiction..’”

You laughed, “I’d watch my episode.”

Lando sighed heavily, “Don’t give her ideas, she’s already been measuring out a catio for the balcony.”

The chat is unhinged at this point.

@/username11: lando is literally becoming the cat dad he swore he’d never be and I love it

Then Pickles decides to crawl back onto Lando’s lap mid game, and instead of pushing him off, Lando just says, “Okay okay buddy, you can sit there, just don’t touch the mouse—”

Immediately, Pickles touches the mouse. Lando loses the round. Max howls laughing.

“I’ve been sabotaged,” Lando groans. “By my own child.”

You hand him a tiny sweater. “He earned this.”

Lando holds up the sweater to the camera—soft knit, neon orange, a little lightning bolt stitched across the back.

“It’s giving superhero sidekick,” Max says. “He needs a cape.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you say, already pulling out your phone to text your Etsy supplier.

By the end of the stream, Pickles is asleep on Lando’s chest, purring, and Lando’s stroking his tiny head absentmindedly while bickering with Max about who cheated in karting back in 2015.

“He’s so gone,” Max mouths into the camera, pointing at Lando, who doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy whispering, “You’re my best mate, but if you ever touch my mouse again, I swear—” to a literal sleeping kitten.

The final shot before the stream ends? Lando kissing the top of Pickles’ head without even realizing he’s doing it. The comments explode. And the clip goes viral.

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You come home expecting the usual—a trail of cat toys on the stairs, a half consumed cup of Lando’s coffee on the kitchen counter, and Pickles dramatically lounging in your spot on the couch. What you don’t expect is Lando standing in the hallway with his hands behind his back and the guiltiest grin on his face.

“What did you do?” you ask instantly.

“Why do you assume I did something?” he replies, rocking on his heels.

“You only smile like that when you’ve either crashed a scooter or spent a suspicious amount of money.”

“I prefer the term invested.”

You narrow your eyes. “Lando…”

He takes your hand. “Okay. Just… come with me.”

He leads you to the balcony, practically vibrating with excitement. The sliding doors are already open, and the cats are pacing back and forth like they know something’s up. And then you see it. A catio.

Not just any catio. A custom, multi-level, architectural wonderland that stretches across half the balcony. There’s a tunnel system, clear bubble pods for sunbathing, platforms shaped like trophies, and tiny nameplates engraved for each cat. At the top—of course—is Count Meowcula, looking down on his kingdom like he’s about to demand taxes.

You blink. “Lando. What the hell is this?”

“It’s a Catio 2.0,” he says proudly. “Designed it with a guy from Reddit. Don’t ask how much it cost.”

You turn to him, stunned.

“And this?” you say, gesturing to the racing stripe hammock that literally says “PICKLES’ PAD.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Okay that part was my idea. And the tiny pit wall.”

There is a tiny pit wall. You burst out laughing, hand over your mouth. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He shrugs, pulling you into a hug. “You said they deserved fresh air and enrichment. And I figured… if I’m gonna be a cat dad, I might as well go all in.”

You lean up and kiss him, dizzy with love. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he grins. “But you love me anyway.”

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It started as a joke. You were scrolling through Instagram with Lando one night, curled up on the couch while Pickles aggressively kneaded his thigh. Zhou had just posted yet another selfie with Sweetcorn, his fluffy, spoiled cat, perched on his shoulder like a queen.

Lando squinted at the screen. “I’m starting to think Zhou loves that cat more than he loves people.”

You smirked. “I respect it. Honestly, I love sweetcorn too.”

“Okay, weird. But what if we got him, like… a Sweetcorn pillow?” Lando said, half joking, half serious.

You stared at him. “Wait. That’s actually genius.”

Two weeks later, the package arrives.

A two foot long plush pillow—an eerily accurate, almost too realistic version of Sweetcorn, down to the slightly tilted ears and smug expression. You nearly cry laughing when you pull it out of the box. Lando holds it up like he’s presenting Simba.

“We’ve peaked,” he declares. “This is our legacy.”

You’re both waiting outside the Ferrari hospitality unit when Zhou walks up, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, completely unprepared.

Lando grins. “Got you a present.”

Zhou raises a brow. “What’d you do?”

Then you pull the pillow out from behind your back and hold it up proudly.

Zhou stops. Blinks. Takes off his sunglasses in slow motion.

“You did not.”

“Oh, we did,” you laugh. “Meet… travel-sized Sweetcorn.”

Zhou stares at the pillow, mouth open, completely speechless. Then, without a word, he drops his coffee and takes the pillow in his arms like a long lost child.

“I’m never sleeping alone again,” he says.

Lando bursts out laughing. “We made it extra squishy so you’d get maximum cuddle support.”

Zhou is still cradling the pillow, already doing voices— “‘Who needs anyone when I’ve got you, Sweetcorn 2.0.’”

You snap a picture of him holding the pillow like a baby, and before long it’s all over social media.

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lando

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 4,001,008 others.

lando : i have made amends with all the cat people in my life. built a catio, traveled to the albon farm and got zhou a mini sweetcorn. and i can say i finally understand why max broke down the door for his cat children.

tagged : alex_albon, yourusername, maxverstappen1 and zhouguany24

—

view 175,001 other comments.

yourusername : this is the man i love. covered in cat hair.

liked by lando

lando : god i hate how i will do literally anything for you

liked by yourusername

yourusername : love you lannnnnnn

liked by lando

maxverstappen1 : and id break ten more doors.

liked by yourusername and lando

alex_albon : you still flinched when one of ours sneezed but we made progress so idc

liked by yourusername and lando

zhouguanyu24 : mini sweetcorn sleeps beside me every night. nothing will ever top this gift.

liked by yourusername and lando

yukitsunoda0511 : yn!! do you think we can get him to go to the cat cafe in tokyo??

liked by yourusername

lando : no

yourusername : if you love me you will

liked by yukitsunoda0511

lando : GOD damnit

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[rafeys-angel13]

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.

[nhmkhnh]

Pleaseee write for sevika or caitlyn x virgin reader who finishes stupidly fast and gets all embarrassed about it!!!

this ask was lost in my inbox, sorry for the late reply baby. by the way, the idea is so hot, so i decided to write both haha. (each char for each drabble)

dom!sevika x sub!fem!reader || dom!caitlyn x sub!fem!reader tags: nsfw content ;; virgin reader ;; soft dom!char ;; fingering (r.receiving)

sevika

“relax, sweetheart. i got you.”

her voice is rough velvet as she presses a kiss to your throat, pinning you gently to the bed with her thigh slotted between yours, metal hand gripping the back of your neck. she’s barely even started—just mouthing at your pulse, whispering filth into your ear—and already your hips won’t stop twitching, grinding without rhythm.

you’re so wet it’s embarrassing.

“i’ve barely touched you,” she murmurs, dragging the edge of her teeth up your jaw. “this your first time lettin’ someone take care of you like this?”

you nod.

she chuckles, deep and low. “thought so.”

when her hand dips between your thighs, fingers barely ghosting over your underwear, your whole body jerks. her eyes spark. you grip her bicep like a lifeline.

“s-sorry—” you gasp, already trembling.

“what for?”

you don't get to answer. because that’s when her fingers finally press in just right, rubbing lazy little circles over your clothed clit—

and you’re gone.

your breath shatters. you gasp and cry out, hips bucking forward as your orgasm hits you stupidly fast—barely thirty seconds in, underwear still on. you can’t stop shaking. and when your eyes flutter open, sevika’s watching you like you just handed her a gift.

your face burns. “i—i didn’t mean to—!”

she huffs a laugh and brushes a hand down your chest, so gentle it stings. “shit, baby, that was adorable.”

you hide your face. “don’t make fun of me—”

“i’m not.” her voice drops, low and possessive. “you came just from my voice and a little friction. you know what that does to me?”

she leans in, presses her teeth to your throat.

“round two’s gonna be fun.”

caitlyn kiramman

“darling, you’re shaking.”

caitlyn’s lips ghost over your neck, breath warm and steady, while your body feels like it’s about to explode. you’re spread out on soft silk sheets in her bed, completely bare beneath her. and all she’s done—all she’s done—is kiss you down to your chest, trail her fingers along your thighs, whisper sweet, devastating things about how long she’s wanted this.

“you’ve never been touched here before, have you?” she asks softly, fingertips resting over your mound.

you shake your head.

“that’s alright,” she purrs. “i’ll be gentle. let me make you feel good.”

she leans down. one kiss just below your navel. her hand moves lower, brushing over your slick folds. and when her thumb finds your clit—just the lightest, most teasing pressure—

you whimper. your legs spasm.

“cait—!”

the orgasm hits you like a bolt of lightning. your stomach clenches, body trembling, heat exploding outward from that one spot she barely touched. you let out a sob of surprise, and when your senses return, you’re flushed all the way down to your chest.

“i—i’m sorry,” you whisper, voice wrecked. “that was so fast. i didn’t mean to—”

but she’s smiling. soft, stunned.

“oh, sweetheart.” she cradles your face. “don’t you dare apologize.”

you bury your face in her shoulder. she pulls you close, dotting kisses along your cheek, your temple, your lips.

“that was the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” she murmurs, voice husky now. “so eager for me, you couldn’t even wait.”

she kisses your lips again, this time deeper.

“let me show you what happens when we don’t rush.”

and this time, you whimper for a different reason.

[maskedbyghost]

this is part 2 to toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader, smut, mdni

You hadn’t planned to cry, and honestly, you weren’t even sure why your chest felt tight in the first place. It was just supposed to be a walk, nothing more, just some fresh air and sunshine and maybe a break from your own thoughts.

You thought moving your body might help. Maybe if you just walked far enough, breathed deep enough, looked up at the clouds instead of staring at your bedroom ceiling, something would click into place and you’d feel like yourself again. Like a person again.

But the universe clearly had other plans.

Because every corner you turned, there was another couple.

They weren’t even being obnoxious about it. It wasn’t the affection that made you roll your eyes or want to vomit. It was worse. It was the soft stuff, the connection you could feel without even hearing a word of it.

A guy was walking with his girlfriend, and his hand was resting right at the small of her back. Another couple sat under a tree with a checkered blanket spread out beneath them. She was half in his lap, trying to balance her drink, laughing at something he had said, and he was holding her as if she were made of glass and sunlight, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other brushing her hair with his hands, slowly.

An older couple walked by, holding hands, their fingers intertwined so casually that it made your throat ache. She was talking, he was nodding, and they stopped every few steps to point at the flowers planted along the sidewalk like they had all the time in the world.

And you just… froze.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t even sadness, just this deep yearning that settled heavy in your chest and refused to budge, this desperate ache for something that didn’t hurt, something soft, something simple, something that didn’t feel like you were holding your breath all the time, afraid of saying the wrong thing or asking for too much.

You wanted to be held. Not grabbed, nor thrown onto a bed because someone couldn’t control themselves. You wanted to be chosen in the quiet moments, when there was no sex or tension or drama to sweeten the deal. You wanted someone to look at you and think, There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.

You sat down on the nearest bench, dropped your phone into your lap, and just stared at the grass. You didn’t want to cry in public, not really, but the sting was there, just behind your eyes, and you blinked fast, hoping it’d go away.

Your phone buzzed.

You didn’t even want to check. You already knew, somehow, like a sixth sense, or maybe just muscle memory.

“Come over. I’ll order Thai. You can stay.”

As if it was some kind of prize. Like the offer of food and his bed was supposed to feel anything other than a pity invitation. Like that sentence wasn’t the exact same breadcrumb he’d been throwing your way for months, just enough to keep you following, never enough to satisfy.

He wasn’t saying I miss you. He wasn’t saying I’m sorry I hurt you or I didn’t know what I had until you were gone. He was saying Come over. Like this was still a game he was winning.

And maybe a week ago, hell, maybe even yesterday, you would’ve paused. You would’ve stared at the message with that same dull throb in your chest and thought maybe this time will be different. Maybe he means it. Maybe he’s trying.

But right now?

Right now, you felt done.

Done with making excuses for him. Done with confusing attention for affection. Done with dragging your heart behind you like dead weight every time he pulled you back in with nothing more than a half-assed promise and a takeout order.

Your fingers hovered for a second, just long enough to acknowledge the part of you that still wanted to believe he’d ever be capable of giving you what you needed.

And then you typed:

“No. We’re done, Simon. For real this time. Don’t text me again.”

Your thumb hit send before your brain could stop you, before your heart could scream, before the echo of what if could take root and grow into something dangerous again.

And then, without waiting for the three dots to pop up, without giving yourself a chance to hesitate or soften or let him back in even a little you blocked the number.

And that was it.

Your hand was trembling, your eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall. And your heartbeat was steady in your chest, like it was relieved.

You looked up at the sky. Watched the clouds move slowly across the blue. They didn’t know what it meant to panic over someone who didn’t care.

You weren’t happy, not yet. But for the first time in too long, you didn’t feel chained to him anymore.

And that, in itself, felt like something.

...

You hadn’t seen him in over two weeks.

No texts, no calls, no sudden knocks at your door. No glimpses of him near your job, no DMs from new burner accounts, nor mutual friends trying to convince you he was “going through it.”

And honestly? You were starting to think he’d finally gotten the message. That maybe he’d realized what it meant when you said we’re done. That he’d felt the silence for what it was: a full stop, not a pause.

But then he showed up. Of course he did.

You were walking home from the grocery store, just a quick trip for bread and milk and some random snacks you didn’t need but bought anyway because the act of filling your cupboards made you feel happier. You’d just turned the corner onto your street, earbuds in, music low, mind somewhere else entirely, when you looked up and froze.

He was leaning against your building. And he had the nerve to be casual about it too, his arms crossed, head down like this wasn’t completely insane. He looked up when you stopped walking, and his mouth did that slow curl into a grin that used to make your stomach flip but now just made your jaw tighten.

You pulled your earbuds out and said nothing.

“Hey,” he said, as if this was normal or completely not out of bounds. “You’ve been hard to reach.”

“Simon,” you started, your voice flat, your pulse already kicking up. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “You blocked my number and my backup email. You weren’t really leaving me a lot of options.”

You blinked, stunned at how casually he said it. “So you decided to stalk me instead?”

“That’s a dramatic word,” he said, pushing off the wall and walking toward you like you weren’t already backing away slightly, trying to hold onto your grip. “I just wanted to talk. You made that impossible.”

“I made it impossible because we broke up,” you snapped, dropping your grocery bag onto the steps with more force than necessary. “I told you not to text me. Not to call. I said we were done—done, Simon—what don’t you get?”

He smiled again, that infuriating smirk, like you’d just said something cute instead of trying to set a boundary.

“Yeah,” he said, cocking his head. “We broke up, sure. But that doesn’t mean you get to erase me.”

You stared at him, jaw slack. “Are you actually hearing yourself?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Simon said, stepping closer now, his voice calmer, which, honestly, made you want to scream. “You think a couple texts and a blocklist are gonna make me forget what we were? You really think that’s enough?”

“I don’t want you to forget,” you snapped. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you to understand that this—whatever this was—is over. I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t belong to you.”

Something in his expression shifted then, just a flicker. A twitch of his jaw, a tightening of the eyes. You’d seen that look before, right before the walls went up. Right before the mask slipped into place.

“You keep saying we’re over,” Simon said slowly, “but you don’t get it.”

He stepped in so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the scent of his skin, that cologne he always wore too much of, the one that used to make you ache but now just made your stomach turn.

“You and me?” he whispered. “We’re never really over.”

Your breath hitched, and for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you felt that pull again. That old, broken, magnetic force that lived in the space between his mouth and yours, in the memory of what it felt like to be wanted by him.

But you were so fucking tired of confusing that with love. So you stepped back.

You looked him dead in the eye, and you said:

“What do you want from me, Simon? Seriously. Do you want me to scream? Do you want me to cry? Do you want me to fall apart in front of you just so you can feel something? Because whatever this is—it’s not love, it’s not real. It’s you, trying to control me. And I’m done letting you.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just stood there. And you picked up your bag again, turned on your heel, and walked away. You didn’t look back, didn’t have to.

Because this time? You were the one leaving him behind.

...

It had been weeks.

Weeks of silence, weeks of healing, and pretending you were ready to move on, even when your heart still felt like a battlefield he’d walked away from without ever looking back.

So when your coworker asked you out—the nice one, the one who remembered your coffee order and always held the elevator—you said yes.

You didn’t feel fireworks, nor did you get butterflies. But you also didn’t feel dread, or the bone-deep exhaustion that came from chasing someone who only ever looked back when you were halfway out the door.

And maybe that was enough. Maybe soft was what you needed now. Safe and simple.

He took you to a cozy little restaurant tucked off the main street, the kind with candlelight and mismatched chairs and a menu written entirely in cursive. He held the door open for you, pulled your chair out when you sat, complimented your dress without looking at your chest. And you smiled, even if it felt a little forced. You laughed, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You tried...

Halfway through the meal, you excused yourself to the bathroom. The ladies’ room was down a narrow hallway in the back, quiet and dim, music muffled through the walls. You were halfway there when you felt it.

That shift in the air.

That awareness that only ever came from one person. And you didn’t even get the chance to turn around before he was there.

He stepped out from the shadows of the hallway like a fucking ghost, like he’d been waiting, like he knew you’d be here and timed it down to the minute. And before you could speak, before you could even breathe, he had you pressed up against the wall, one arm caging you in, the other sliding slowly along your waist.

His mouth was at your ear in an instant, voice low, thick, dirty.

“Really, sweetheart?” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “This the best you can do?”

Your heart slammed in your chest. Your hands went to his chest, pushing lightly, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He leaned in closer, body not quite touching yours but so fucking close, you could feel the heat radiating off him like fire.

“You think he’s gonna fuck you better than I do?” he whispered, and it wasn’t even a question—it was filth wrapped in confidence. “You think he even knows what to do with you? Bet he doesn’t even know how you sound when you beg. Doesn’t know how your thighs shake when I’ve got my mouth on you—”

“Stop it,” you hissed, voice shaking, but your knees were already weak and your throat felt tight.

Simon smirked, eyes dark and gleaming. “Can’t stop thinking about it, can you? His hands won't feel right, will they? Bet you’d picture mine every time he touches you.”

Your hands pushed harder now, but he didn’t flinch.

“And what about when he’s inside you?” Simon rasped, mouth brushing your jaw, teeth grazing skin just enough to make you gasp. “You gonna close your eyes and pretend it’s me?”

“At least he’ll fucking stay,” you snapped, louder now, anger burning through the haze. “At least he won’t leave the second he gets what he wants. At least I won’t wake up to an empty bed.”

That got him. His jaw clenched instantly.

But he didn’t move. He just stared at you, breathing hard, hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to touch you or punch a hole in the wall beside your head.

You shoved him. Hard.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

Simon didn’t move right away. He just stood there, watching you like you’d gutted him, like your words had cut deeper than you’d meant them to—but you didn’t regret it.

Not this time.

You stepped around him, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you, head high, heart pounding like it was trying to tear its way out of your chest.

You didn’t look back.

You walked straight back to the table, sat down, and smiled at your date like your ex hadn’t just whispered filth into your ear in a hallway like a man possessed.

“Everything okay?” your date asked gently.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “The bathroom line was just long.”

...

The walk back to your apartment felt like an out-of-body experience.

Your date had walked you home, smiling the entire way, hands tucked into his pockets, making soft jokes that you tried to laugh at, even though your stomach had been turning since the second you stepped out of the restaurant. He was kind. He listened, he held the door open, and he even complimented your dress without leering. And when you reached your door, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and gentle, just like the kind of kiss you should want from someone like him.

And you felt nothing. Not even a flicker, not even a spark.

You kissed him back out of politeness, maybe even a little guilt, and when you stepped away and thanked him for dinner, he smiled like he’d had a good time. And you hated that you hadn’t. Hated that he was everything you said you wanted—safe, respectful, sweet—and all you could think about the whole fucking night was Simon’s mouth, Simon’s hands, Simon whispering filth and promises and pain in your ear like he was made to ruin you.

By the time you reached your door, your hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from rage.

From this endless, exhausting loop of trying to do the right thing and still craving the wrong one.

You fumbled with your keys, cursing under your breath, eyes burning. You wanted to scream. Wanted to punch a wall. Wanted to shove Simon’s face into the fact that he’d broken you so thoroughly that now, even when someone was good to you, it felt wrong.

The door opened. And there he was.

Simon.

Sitting on your couch but he didn’t look cocky this time. Didn’t smirk or lean back with that smug glint in his eye. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, head in his hands like he didn’t even know what to say anymore.

You dropped your purse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” your voice cracked, sharp and loud in the quiet room.

He stood, slowly, but you were already walking toward him, hands clenched, eyes blazing.

“How dare you?” you hissed. “How fucking dare you be here again. After everything.”

“Just listen—”

“No!” you snapped. “No, you don’t get to talk. You don’t get to sit there and act like you’re confused about why I don’t want you in my life. You ruined me, Simon.”

He flinched, and good. You wanted it to hurt.

“You took everything I gave you, every part of me, and you made it ugly.” Your voice shook now, rage mixing with grief. “You used me when you wanted company. Tossed me when you were bored. And I kept coming back, like a fucking idiot, thinking maybe this time you’d mean it when you kissed me.”

He was quiet.

“I went on a date tonight,” you spat. “With someone who treated me like I mattered. Someone who held doors and remembered things I said and kissed me like he gave a damn, and do you know what I thought the whole time?”

Simon swallowed, barely whispering, “What?”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes now.

“I thought about you,” you said, voice cracking. “I thought about your fucking mouth, about your hands. I thought about how I’d rather have your soft kiss than his perfect one. And I hate myself for it.”

Simon took a step forward. “I never meant to—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice trembling now. “Don’t stand there and act like this just happened. You did this. You made me believe you’d never care, and now I’m so fucking broken I can’t even feel anything from someone who actually tries. I still picture you when I think about love, Simon. That’s the worst part.”

He was right in front of you now, his breathing shallow, his eyes wide as he just watched you split yourself open in front of him.

“I imagine you,” you whispered. “But better, softer, and kinder. I imagine you as the version I needed, the one I deserved, and it kills me, because I don’t even know if that version of you exists.”

Silence.

He reached out then, so slowly it made your breath catch, and placed one hand gently on your cheek, the lightest touch he’d ever given you.

“I can be him,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I swear to God, I’ll try. I’ll be him.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

And then another, on your temple. One on your cheek, your jaw, your nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between them. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You were crying now, full-on sobbing, body shaking like it had been holding this in for far too long. And he didn’t grab you, didn’t pull you into him like he used to. He just stood there, kissing every tear that fell like he was trying to wipe them from existence.

“I didn’t know how to love you right,” he murmured, voice breaking. “But I will. If you let me. If you give me a chance, I’ll change. I’ll do the work. Just… don’t shut the door on me yet.”

You didn’t answer.

Because even after everything, even through all the rage and resentment and raw wounds, his kisses still felt like home.

And that was the scariest part of all.

He kissed your tears like they burned him, as if each one that slid down your cheeks was proof of what he’d broken, and he was trying, pathetically, hopelessly, to piece it all back together with nothing but his mouth and the weight of his regret.

You didn’t say anything when he pressed his forehead to yours. Didn’t pull away when he wrapped both arms around you like he thought you might disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

You just stood there and let yourself breathe him in, his warmth, his scent.

“Let me show you,” Simon whispered, voice raw. “Please, just once. Let me make it right.”

You didn’t nod, you didn’t speak, but you let him take your hand.

He led you to the bed and didn’t tear your clothes off like he usually did. He didn’t grab or push or bite. He just kissed you, like you were something fragile, something he didn’t think he deserved to touch but was begging to try.

His hands trembled when he slid your top up over your arms. He took his time with every button, every hem, because rushing would ruin it. When your bra fell away, he kissed the center of your chest—not your breasts, not your neck—your chest, right over your heart, and rested there for a second like he was trying to feel it beat.

“You don’t have to forgive me now,” he whispered. “But I need you to know I’m gonna earn it. All of it. Whatever it takes.”

You didn’t stop the tears. You didn’t hide from them. They slid quietly down your cheeks as he lowered himself between your legs and pressed his mouth to your stomach, your hips, your thighs—anywhere but the place you were already aching for him.

“I’m gonna learn how to love you right,” he murmured against your skin. “I’m gonna give you every soft thing I never thought you’d want. You won’t have to beg for affection anymore. You won’t have to guess if I’ll stay.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then the other, then finally pressed his mouth to where you needed him. It felt as if he was praying with his tongue. Like this was how he was going to worship you now.

You gasped, hands fisting the sheets, more tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

And he noticed. Of course he did.

He looked up from between your thighs, his face a mess of want and pain.

“You don’t have to cry,” he said softly, crawling back up your body. “I mean… I know why you are. But I hate that I’m the reason for it. I swear, I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

You cupped his face, fingers trembling, and he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing holding him together.

He lined himself up, slow and careful, and when he pushed inside, he went still. Completely still. Just breathing against your mouth, his hands cradling your face like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this close again.

“You feel like home,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Fuck, you always did.”

He moved slowly, painfully slow. Like every thrust was an apology. Like he was rewriting the way he touched you, undoing every rushed, selfish fuck with something tender and earned.

Your tears didn’t stop. And neither did he.

He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, and your jaw. Whispered everything he’d never said when it would’ve mattered most.

“I’m gonna do better.”

“I’ll take care of you. I swear I will.”

“No more games. No more pushing you away.”

You whimpered beneath him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, clinging to him like you didn’t know how to let go anymore.

He rested his forehead against yours and kept moving, slow and deep, every thrust sending something hot and unbearable through your chest.

“You deserve flowers,” he breathed. “And check-ins. And hand-holding and fucking morning texts and someone who doesn’t make you cry every goddamn day.”

His voice cracked again. You felt it.

“And I want to be him,” Simon said, nearly choking on it. “I need to be him.”

Your body trembled beneath him. You were already so close, not just because of his cock, but because of the way he was inside you.

You came with a broken sob, your nails digging into his back, your legs shaking.

He came a moment later, groaning into your neck, and holding you tightly.

He didn’t pull out and didn’t move.

Just wrapped his arms around you, face pressed to your shoulder, and kissed you again and again and again, believing that if he just stayed close enough, the damage might finally start to heal.

...

Morning came quietly.

You woke to the pale gray light bleeding through your bedroom curtains, the kind of early morning glow that made everything feel hazy. For a few seconds, it was peaceful. Warm.

And then you remembered.

The weight behind you wasn’t just a dream.

Simon.

Still here, and breathing steadily against your back, one arm draped around your waist.

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t that last night had been bad. It hadn’t. If anything, it had been too good. Too soft. Too vulnerable. It was the kind of night you used to pray for back when you thought he’d never give it to you.

And now?

Now it just felt like weakness.

You untangled yourself from his arm slowly, carefully, trying not to wake him as you sat up and slipped your legs over the side of the bed. But he stirred anyway, and you felt his hand twitch behind you, reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

You stood up and didn’t turn around when you said it.

“Simon… you need to go.”

Silence.

Then the quiet sound of bedsheets rustling behind you.

“...You serious?” His voice was rough from sleep, low and uncertain in a way you weren’t used to hearing from him.

You nodded, still facing the window. “Yeah. I am.”

He sat up, and you could hear it, the shift in weight, the creak of the mattress, the pause before the sigh.

“Last night—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Was a moment,” you said, finally turning around to look at him. “That’s all. A moment of weakness. It doesn’t mean everything’s okay.”

He blinked at you, eyes bloodshot, hair messy, mouth parted.

“I meant everything I said,” he told you quietly. “Every word.”

“I know,” you said. “But meaning it isn’t enough. Not yet.”

He was quiet again, looking down at his hands, he didn’t know what to do with them now that they weren’t holding you.

“Okay,” he said eventually, dragging a hand through his hair and exhaling slowly. “Okay. I’ll go.”

You watched as he stood, pulled on his jeans, his hoodie, his boots. He didn’t rush, nor beg. He just moved with weighted sadness, like leaving was physically hard to do.

But at the door, he paused and turned around. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“I’m gonna prove it to you. That I meant what I said. That I’m changing. You’re gonna look at me one day, and you’re not gonna feel stupid for loving me anymore.”

You didn’t reply.

You just looked at him, arms crossed, your heart pounding.

And then he opened the door and stepped into the hall, casting one last glance back over his shoulder.

“I’ll win you back,” Simon said, voice like a quiet promise. “Even if it kills me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you didn’t breathe until you were alone again.

PART 3

-----------------------------------------

@nightunite I'm not done with this bitch yet.

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973

[keirareidss]

tight skirts and nerdy glasses - s.r

♡ summary: spencer gets flustered when you wear a short skirt to work pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut wc: 1.3k inspo

Spencer glanced at his phone again. Read 20 minutes ago. You'd been texting earlier, him telling you about the toast he made this morning, and you letting him know you were going to be a bit late to work because of your doctor's appointment. His last message to you read, 'how's everything at the doctors office?'

You read the message but never responded. Maybe your name was called. Maybe you got some really bad news and couldn't handle talking to anyone right now. Maybe-

The door to the BAU office opened, heels thumping quietly on the carpet floor, Spencer's head lifting to follow the sound. His eyes caught on your figure, watching as you strutted towards your desk, sending a dazzling smile at Derek.

"Hey, gorgeous." Morgan's chair spun slowly as he turned to follow you with his full body. Spencer understood the feeling. The magnetic pull of you, his body being tugged in your direction.

"Morgan." You drawled in greeting, reaching your desk where you set down your purse, turning your attention to the dorky man across from you. "Hi, Spencer."

"Hi." He said, his throat dry. "You didn't answer my text." He was deliberately keeping his eyes on yours, forcing them not to drag down to the short skirt clinging to your legs. The hem barely kissed mid thigh, surely not appropriate for work but you were on good terms with Hotch so he'd let it slide.

Spencer had noticed the skirt right when you walked in. The sway of your hips distracted him from the cute pink and black pattern, his eyes widening. He barely pulled his eyes away from your ass when you reached your desk, not confident that you hadn't seen him ogling.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you know what happened? I responded in my head and I forgot to actually text you back." You explained, chuckling as you tuck your purse under your desk. His eyebrows furrowed, confused.

"Oh." He said dumbly.

"Do you want a coffee? I'm gonna run to the kitchen." You asked, hesitating by your desk.

"No, I'm good." He responds, unable to help the way his eyes follow your ass. He tries not to stare, he really does, but he can't help but be bewitched by the way your skirt rides up the back of your thighs as you walk.

He forces his eyes back to the file on his desk but, out of the corner of his eye, he notices your figure bending down at the waist, picking up one of the stir sticks you dropped on the floor. He turns his head, his breath hitching as he caught a glimpse of your underwear under the skirt.

He quickly averts his eyes, a blush rising on his cheeks. He kept his eyes down as you sat back down with your coffee, sighing softly as you turned on your computer, heading to your email folder. Spencer didn't have to worry about accidentally mindlessly gazing at you, burying himself in his work.

The next incident is when you bump into Penelope as she hurries her way up to Hotch's office. She drops her pen which you bend down to pick up. Spencer's eyes find their way to you once again, burning into you. You hand Garcia her sparkly pen with the fuzzy top back to her, your head turning to find Spencer's stare.

You grin at him and he looks away, blushing as he adjusted his glasses. If there was one thing Spencer wore that you were absolutely obsessed with, it was his nerdy, black and gold glasses. They made him look so cute and innocent. They made you want to get on your knees and suck his cock until the glass fogged up.

You round his desk, leaning back against his and looking down at him. His eyes flicker to your thighs before he glanced up at you.

"Hi, Spence." You smiled, bracing your hands on the edge of his desk.

"Hi."

"Can I show you something?" You asked,

"What is it?" He tilted his head, the gold of his frames glinting in the light.

"Just come with me." You pulled him to his feet, starting to walk away. He doesn't follow right away frozen in his spot by the sight of your skirt, high on your thighs. He blinks quickly, rushing after you, following you out of the bullpen.

You lead him to a dark storage closet down the hall, following him inside. He turns to face you, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What did you want to show me?" You stepped forward, chest to chest with him in the small space, standing up on your tip toes, your lips inches from his.

"I've seen you staring, Spencer." You purred and his eyes widened, cheeks flushing a pretty pink to match your skirt. "Is there something about my skirt that's enticing to you?"

"No! No, I mean, well- yes but, it's just-" You chuckled, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the soft of his sweater vest under your palms.

"Or is it something other than my skirt?" His face got redder as his back met the wall. Your fingers untucked his shirt from his slacks, finding his belt buckle. His breath hitches as he watches your movements. "Do you want this?" You asked looking up at him. He nodded frantically.

"Yes- please, please." Grinning, you sank down onto your knees in front of him, pulling his zipper down. His head falls back against the wall with a thump when your hand palms him through his boxers.

You free his hardening cock from his pants, stroking slowly and watching a bead of precum dribble from the tip. Your tongue flicks out to taste him, taking him into your mouth, feeling him heavy on your tongue. You take as much of him into your mouth as you can, breathing deeply through your nose.

"God- you, you're so..." Spencer whimpers his hand gripping your hair as you bob your head. You swirl your tongue around the tip and he twitches in your mouth.

A trail of spit follows, clinging to your bottom lip as you pull back, looking at him. You were a sight for sore eyes, skirt bunched up your thighs as you sat on your knees, your hair tousled from Spencer's grip. You were his wet dream come to life. Well, it's more the other way around. His wet dreams were inspired by you, made of you.

His wide eyes stared down at you from behind his glasses as your hand continued to lazily stroke his length, his small whimpers music to your ears.

"I'm close." He warned you, moaning quietly.

"Do you want to cum in my mouth, Spencer?" He swore he stopped breathing when that sentence came out of your pretty pink lips. He could barely make his brain work enough to form a response.

"Y-yeah." You grinned, taking him past your lips again, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked. With a few more bobs of your head, drags of your tongue, and twists of your wrist on the base of his dick, he's coming down your throat, his hot release coating the inside of your mouth, dribbling down your lip.

He moans, cursing under his breath as his hips jerk, his eyes squeezing shut. Once you've pulled every last drop from him you sit back, climbing to your feet. You brush off your skirt as Spencer does up his pants.

"You, uh- you look really pretty in that skirt."

"Oh, honey, I know." You pat his chest, walking out of the storage closet, leaving him leaning against the wall, chest heaving deeply as he stared at the sway of your hips in that skirt. That damn skirt.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni

[sillygoose067]

hi!! is it possible for you to write one for lewis pullman in general or bob floyd inspired by this

Hi! Yes of COURSE it’s possible, I’m so glad you asked :) I chose to do Lewis for this one, but maybe in the future I’ll do a Bob Floyd version… 🤔💭

Also the tweet itself is so funny I swear I’ve seen it like 50 other times and still laughed at it. Thanks for bringing it back!

———————————————————————————-

Plus One, Minus Me

Lewis Pullman x Reader

You were halfway through another spreadsheet, fingers stiff from typing, when your phone started to buzz across the desk. The screen lit up with a name that made the corners of your mouth soften—Lew💞.

You tucked the phone between your shoulder and ear, already grateful for the break. “Hey, you,” you said, brushing a crumb from your lap. “What’s up?”

His voice came through, winded. “Quick question—where are you?”

You frowned faintly, clicking away from the screen. “Um. At work? Still chained to the desk. Why?”

There was a shuffle on the other end. Distant laughter. A thud, like someone had dropped something nearby. And then—faintly—a child's voice calling for someone named "Captain Lewis."

“…Wait,” you said, straightening up. “Where are you?”

“I’m at your family’s place?” he replied, like it was obvious. “The cookout. The one you told me about last week?”

Your brain did a somersault. You yanked open your calendar. June 25th — Family cookout, 3 PM — backyard, bring something sweet?

Oh god. You had told him.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “I completely forgot.”

“I thought you were just running late,” he said, unbothered. “Your mom texted me the address this morning, so I just showed up. Figured it'd be polite to shake some hands and make a quiet exit.”

You groaned, already burying your face in one hand. “I had back-to-back reports this morning. I didn’t even think—I’m so sorry—wait, how are you even surviving out there? My family’s like, full-contact socializing.”

There was a brief silence, and then a huff of laughter.

“Yeah, I didn’t really get a choice. Your aunt handed me a pair of tongs before I even finished saying hello. I’ve grilled, stacked chairs, lost a round of trivia, and now I’m being roped into a scavenger hunt by your cousin? I think I’m her team captain now?”

You could almost see him: sleeves rolled up, awkwardly trying to blend in, probably blushing his way through small talk while balancing a paper plate.

“Lewis,” you sighed, equal parts charmed and horrified.

But he didn’t hear it. His voice had shifted, distracted again. “Wait—someone’s calling me—uh, hey, sorry, I can’t really talk right now, I’m being drafted into backyard dodgeball. Your dad’s on the opposing team and he’s been warming up for ten minutes—I think he’s taking this personally—okay, gotta go—bye!”

Click.

You blinked.

He hung up.

He actually hung up on you.

To play dodgeball.

At your family’s cookout.

That you forgot about.

A scoff caught in your throat—half disbelieving, half amazed. You shook your head and stared at the phone like it had betrayed you. Moments later, a message came in.

A photo. Blurry but full of motion. Lewis in the foreground, red-cheeked and triumphant, clutching a foam ball like a prize. Behind him: your dad mid-sprint, your cousin ducking for cover. Someone had stuck a makeshift nametag on Lewis’s shirt. It read: “TEAM MVP.”

Then came the text:

Lew💞: “Tell me this counts as cardio. Also tell your mom I’m winning? Sort of.”

You felt a smile start somewhere deep and involuntary. A quiet warmth that spread beneath your ribs.

You: “I can’t believe you’re just out there bonding with my entire family without me:(”

Lew💞: “Yeah, well. Someone had to represent you. I’m doing my best. Now if you’ll excuse me, your uncle just pulled out the water balloons.”

Pause.

Lew💞(follow-up): “P.S. Tell your boss you’re missing a great pasta salad.”

———

You managed to finish up your shift a little after sunset, eyes heavy and brain gelatinous from too many hours of spreadsheets and fluorescent lights. But as soon as you clocked out, your feet moved on instinct. You barely thought about it—just turned the wheel and pointed your car in the direction of home. Or at least, the temporary version of it: your parents’ house, backyard still glowing with string lights and the leftover echo of laughter.

By the time you pulled up, most of the chaos had thinned. The crowd had quieted to clusters of folding chairs and flickering citronella candles. A few cousins darted around with glow sticks; someone had put on an old playlist, the kind that lived in your family’s blood more than memory.

You stepped into the yard with a breath held like a confession.

Your parents were at the patio table, sipping something warm, plates scraped mostly clean. Your mom saw you first. Her eyes lit up, though she didn’t rise—just waved you over with a small smile.

“I’m so sorry,” you said as soon as you reached them. “I completely spaced. Work swallowed me whole.”

Your dad waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. We figured you’d show up when you could.”

“Besides,” your mom said, patting your arm. “Lewis made up for both of you.”

You blinked. “He did?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, grinning. “He’s been playing referee, grill assistant, magician, babysitter, and apparently—”

Your dad cut in. “—the reigning water balloon dodge champion.”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “Where is he now?”

Your mom stood, nodding for you to follow her through the side of the yard. “He wore himself out. The little ones ran him into the ground.”

You passed the garden hose, a collapsed beach ball, and a pair of soaked sneakers—evidence of earlier warfare—and then turned the corner into the screened-in sunroom.

There he was. Sprawled on the old futon like a crime scene outline, one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes. His shirt was damp, hair tousled, and someone had draped a beach towel over him like a blanket. Your youngest cousin had left a juice box balanced precariously on his chest.

You stood in the doorway and just stared for a second. He looked so comfortable. Like he belonged there. Like your family had absorbed him fully, and he’d let it happen.

“He kept saying he wasn’t tired,” your mom said quietly behind you. “Then he sat down for one second and passed out like a light.”

You glanced at her, grateful.

“Thanks for looking after him.”

She touched your back, light as a whisper. “He fits, sweetheart. Good one, that boy.”

You smiled, then stepped forward to kneel by the futon. You gently moved the juice box, then brushed a hand along his arm. “Hey,” you murmured. “Ready to head home?”

He stirred, blinking slowly, smile groggy and crooked. “Did we win?”

“You definitely lost consciousness, so… sort of.”

He laughed under his breath, voice husky with sleep. “Your cousin is terrifying. I think I work for her now.”

“Come on,” you said, nudging him upright. “Let’s get you out of here before she demands overtime.”

You guided him to the car, waving your goodbyes over your shoulder as he leaned sleepily against you, still radiating warmth from all the attention and adrenaline. And as you drove, his head tipped gently against the window, you couldn’t help but marvel at it all.

By the time you pulled into the driveway, the stars were out and the air had that summer hush to it—cool against your skin, the kind of quiet that only arrives after a long, noisy day.

Lewis was half-asleep again in the passenger seat, arms folded, head resting against the window like he might be dreaming something sweet. You hated to wake him, but the porch light flickered on as the car door opened, and he stirred on his own, rubbing at his eyes.

“Home?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Just about.”

Inside, you helped him kick off his shoes while he yawned like a cartoon character. He dropped his keys twice, then muttered something about how your cousins had “the combined energy of a nuclear plant.” You snorted as you tossed the spare blanket from the couch over his shoulders and went to fetch a glass of water.

When you came back, he was standing in the kitchen doorway, eyes soft and half-lidded, just watching you.

“You’re staring,” you said, offering him the glass.

He took it with both hands, sipped, then said, “Your mom likes me.”

“She does.”

“Your dad said I throw like a ‘real man,’ which I think was a compliment.”

You laughed and leaned your hip against the counter. “You made quite the impression.”

He gave a sleepy smile. “I just didn’t want them to miss you too much.”

That made you pause. Then step forward.

And tuck a hand into the curve of his elbow.

“I think you distracted them just fine.”

You guided him to the couch and sat down beside him, legs curled under you, shoulder brushing his. He exhaled, deep and slow, like he was finally letting go of the day.

After a moment, you reached over, gently pulling a stray blade of grass from his hair.

He watched you with that look of his—soft, a little amused, all affection.

“Thanks for showing up,” you said quietly.

He blinked. “Of course.”

“No, I mean… not just for me. For them. For being there, even when I wasn’t. You didn’t have to.”

He leaned back, head tilted, eyes studying you in that unassuming way of his. Then: “Yeah, but you love them. And I love you. It’s not that complicated.”

Your breath caught a little. Because of how easy, how logical he made it sound.

And how right it felt, hearing it here, in this quiet pocket of the night, after everything.

You didn’t say anything right away. Just reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his.

Outside, a cricket chirped somewhere in the dark. The kind of sound that only made silence feel more full, not less.

Eventually, he sank sideways into the cushions and pulled you gently with him.

And there, tangled together on the couch, your fingers still warm in his, you revelled in this love you'd found.

[sillymommy6969]

𝓢𝒖𝒃𝒕𝒍𝒆 & 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕, 𝓓.𝓐.

♱ 𝒚𝒕 𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒐; daniela’s a passionate woman, and the thrill of getting caught showing it really flicks a switch in her

♱ 𝒄𝒘; 7th member au!r, horned-up!dani, touchy!dani

𝑪𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆, pt. one, two, three

𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒊 𝑪𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝑨𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒀𝒐𝒖

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆ clip one: [ tiktok ] doing shit w dani (@katseye)

“like you’re such a fucking angel,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. though, you didn’t bother fighting the grin that spread across your lips at the banter. “drop the saint act, daniela.”

“oh, come on, mami. i’m as pure as they come,” the latina purred, her tongue tracing the corner of her mouth.

she had the phone set on her desk in her room, sporting a pink stussy beanie under the pulled hood of her black zip-up. she sat back into her black swivel chair, her legs spread wide, and a slice of pizza in hand. you sat in manon’s chair beside her, body just out of frame as you leant in close over her shoulder to engage with your eager fans and their comments on live.

“if you’re pure, then i’m the virgin mary.” you whispered, bopping the tip of her nose with your finger.

“you don’t meet the most important requirement to be the ‘virgin’ mary.” she teased. you scoff, shoving her.

she grabbed your wrist lightly, making loud grunts as she fake-gnawed your arm. you squealed, jerking away as daniela let out a loud series of laughter. she had yanked the slice straight from your hand, biting into it. you sat up, clicking your tongue.

user01 not religious but on my knees at this altar

user02 she can be barbie and i can be the box she comes in

user03 “till-” no we’re not stopping this threesome i fear

user04 call me benson goon cuz im taking off my blue jeans

“daniela andrea,” you called sternly. she just stared back with a teasing glint in her eye, smirking. “if you don’t give me back my dinner, i’ll send you up to meet the virgin mary.”

she shrugged, “sorry, mami, you don’t deserve it. you can’t be disrespecting me when you’re eating the pizza i bought.”

you stood, knocking manon’s chair back a couple inches. you shot her a faux look of irritant, scrunching your nose. “well, i’m grabbing another piece of the pizza you bought. you asked me to join you, so i expect some kind of compensation.”

just as you wedged yourself between daniela and her desk, she grabbed your hips roughly, pulling you back and down into her lap. her hand grabbed the underside of your knees, the other supporting the small of your back. she pushed her chair back with her feet, wheeling away from the camera. her name rolled off your tongue like a cursed chain, you grabbed onto her tightly in fear of rolling off her thighs and onto the floor.

daniela quickly stood up, taking advantage of the momentum to throw you on her bed. though, she couldn’t let go quick enough, and her body tumbled into yours. just out of frame.

user05 born to ride or whatever lana del rey said

user06 i’ll have what they’re having… and the pizza too ig

user07 okay guys jokes over who took my clothes

daniela laid atop of you, her arms still around your body as you playfully slapped her back. you groaned, struggling to move from under her. thankfully, the two of you were just conveniently out of frame. “dani--!” you whined, struggling to wrong free from her grasp. “get off, you’re heavy.”

she gasped, sitting up. “i’m not heavy! don’t fat-shame me.”

“maybe stop eating so much pizza, you little--!” you rolled over, grabbing daniela’s pillow and smothering her with it. you hear her scream at the top of her lungs into the fur, before grabbing at your hips anchored over hers.

user08 so y/n’s the type gf to straddle you?? scotty beam me

user09 we used to pray for a ankle reveals i feel so blessed

user10 i just know these two have the craziest sesbian lex

you managed to wriggle away from a laughing daniela. you returned to the desk, leaving the younger panting, lying alone on her bed. you grabbed a new slice from the box, biting into the corner. “anyway--sorry you had to witness that little pause, guys. dani woke up and decided to be a brat today.”

“aye, i leave you alone with the camera for a minute and you’re talking shit about me, mami?” the latina chuckled, setting herself down beside you. she pulled your chair by the armrest, close, and into her embrace as she leant over to bite your slice. “you’re the one messing up my momentum up in here.”

she refused to back away, getting in your personal space like her life depended on it. her head rested on your shoulder for the rest of the live, her hands roaming your midsection as she hugged you from the side. you didn’t seem to notice, or mind, as her fingers dragged across your body like she was writing.

user11 damn gotta pry y/n out of dani’s cold dead hands huh

user12 girl chill ain’t nobody tryna take her from you

user13 y/n got our girl acting up like how good is that strap

user14 i wish someone would put me in my place too

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆ clip two: [ yt video ] katseye’s routine (@glossier)

daniela could stare at you for days on end. it was an issue.

she’s seen the edits, she’s seen the tiktoks, but it didn’t matter how many times she told herself she was going to be careful the next interview or the next press event, she just couldn’t. it was almost like she wasn’t physically able to.

setting her up with you for the glossier video was such bullshit. she swore the team was praying on her downfall. this was their doing--can they really blame her when she couldn’t control it?

“good morning, people of america.” you sang, adjusting your headband in the mirror. daniela’s eyes trained on you, and though the camera sat faced away from the mirror, the fans were certain she was watching your reflection. “this is a ‘get ready with me’ with y/n and daniela from katseye.”

she waved to the camera, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth. “today, we’re showing you our makeup routine.”

“wait, i love the braid band.” you complimented, turning your back towards the latina. she couldn’t keep the smile from creeping on her lips. “that’s so easy, i wish i could do that.”

the video cut to manon and sophia, then the maknae line. it wasn’t long before the two of you were back on screen.

“personally, i love a more glossy look. i used to really enjoy the matte finish back in, like, 2013, when it was all about youtube tutorials and king kylie tumblr girls, y’know?” daniela hummed, watching you spray mario bodescu all over. your cheeks glisten, the mist highlighting your features. she stilled, like she had forgotten she was supposed to be starting her routine as well. “but now, i just think the sweaty look works.”

daniela laughed, “you did not just quote tyla at me.”

“no, but she’s so real for that!” you giggled, fanning your face as the primer set. “honestly, i don’t think i can pull off the matte look the way i did when i was like thirteen. my friends from home still clown me with those pictures.”

“like you could ever look that bad.” daniela rolled her eyes, “didn’t we do that style for the debut concept shoot?”

you glared at her, a small teasing smile on her lips. “okay, didn’t have to call me out like that--aren’t we supposed to start? why am i the only one doing a routine right now?”

one of her hands were around your waist, the other picking up her facial spray. she snuck one last glance at you through the mirror before her hand left your hip, misting her features.

after a few interludes of the others starting off their routine, the two of you were centre of attention again.

“valerie put us on this amazing foundation,” daniela said, holding the bottle up to the camera with a hand behind. she once again, snuck you a look, watching you put it on before she does it herself. “it’s the glossier stretch fluid foundation.”

“yeah, it makes me look like i actually drink water.”

“i know you drink water, mami,” the latina added, putting on her own foundation. “i got you that big owala, remember? i made sure you put that thing to good use. wait, isn’t that--!”

she leant over you, covering the camera with her arm for a brief moment before she pulled back, a large bottle in hand.

“oh, yeah, it’s here. i bring it with me everywhere.” you said.

daniela struck a few poses with it, pouting before handing it to you. as your lips latched around the straw to take a sip, her hand found the small of your back, before she got in close to take a large swig of water as well. “see? drink your water, kids.”

user01 is this a grwm or a third-wheeling campaign

user02 dani acting up again she be all over our girl lmao

user03 ok guys not funny who took my clothes

user04 so did glossier just decide we were third wheeling tdy

“i love this liner. i was asking ariana greenblatt about her lip combo at the barbie premiere afterparty last year, and she put me onto makeup forever.” your body leant in close to the mirror, pressing your lips together. you carefully dragged the tip of the pencil across your lips, but you were struggling to keep the tip within your lips. you sighed in frustration. “fuck, i need to sharpen this thing, it’s not working.”

daniela’s hand left your back, grabbing your pencil. she rummaged through her makeup bag. “here, i have mine.”

when she was done sharpening your pencil, she twirled her finger, and naturally, you turned towards her. your eyes flickered to the floor as her fingers gently grabbed your chin. she pursed her lips, you mirrored her action. she carefully fixed the missed lining, before dragging her thumb across the top of your lip for a cleaner edge. “there we go. isn’t that better?”

you knew it closer to the camera, smiling and tilting your head side to side. “we love a clean liner here.”

“si, mami, me encanta el buen maquillaje,” daniela announced in a sing-song voice. she circled her arms around your neck, burying her nose into your cheek. “y te amo, guapa.”

“yo tambien, te quiero, dani.” you whispered, hugging her hips.

user05 the fact she knows the spanish ilyt is crazy

user06 the way it rolled off her tongue so fast too she knew

user07 oh baby had that answer locked and loaded

“wait, i’ve never tried that one before.” you said, trying to read the label on daniela’s lipgloss. it was a new edition glossier gloss, one you haven’t seen yet. “can i try yours, please?”

she nodded, handing you the tube. you quickly applied it, but in the short couple seconds you were fixing your lips, daniela’s eyes never tore away from your face. she smiled.

“mmh. this isn’t really my colour,” you sighed, setting it down.

“no, no, you look good. you look sexy,” daniela assured, her lips spreading into a wide smile. “

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆ clip three: [ weverse ] making gnarly sandwiches

“absolutely the fuck not, that shit looks radioactive.” daniela scoffed, her head pulling back and away from manon’s sandwich. the older pouted, insistent with the way she kept leaning forward. “manon--stop! i don’t consent!”

“come on, it’s not even that bad. just try it!” the ghanaian woman barked back, chasing daniela around the set.

you focused on stacking the ghastly ingredients in between the two flimsy slices. mustard was sliding out, and as you crushed the bread into each other, the tuna juice dribbled all over your fingers. it was beyond disgusting, but somehow, not the grossest thing sitting at the table right then.

user01 danon divorce preachers been real quiet in this live

user02 y/n’s so focused this gg is so unserious

user03 omg not megan force feeding sophia her sandwich

the eldest eventually gave into daniela’s protests, growing tired of chasing the woman around with a plate in her hands.she managed to give yoonchae a tiny bite, as the youngest made a face, diving towards the sink to spit out the disgusting bite.

daniela found her spot beside you, shooting her roommate a disapproving scowl as manon tended to a hacking yoonchae by the sink. the latina rested her chin on your shoulder.

“someone said, ‘i need y/n in my life’.” sophia read off the ipad at the edge of the table. she peered over at you, who was still focused on the sandwich before her. daniela’s arms wrapped around your midsection tightly, she snarled at the main camera. you weren’t fazed, holding up your plate.

“too bad, she’s all mine.” the latina purred, “get your own.”

user04 damn ok girl ain’t nobody tryna square up rn

user05 until she forgets how to speak spanish

user06 don’t know who i want to be more honestly

you picked the sandwich off your plate, holding it up to daniela’s face. the girl instinctively pulled back, but upon seeing your look of excitement, she couldn’t deny the request that followed. “wait, dani, try mine. it’s not that bad.”

though the girl grimaced, and eyed your sandwich like it was radioactive, she didn’t need another beat to move in for a bite.

it was disgusting, gnarly, if you will. but still, daniela persisted. she managed to swallow the bite, but washed the gamy aftertaste down with half a bottle of water. you laughed at her reaction, dusting your hands off before brushing some hair out of her face. she faked a dramatic gag, a hand on her chest.

“jesus christ, it tastes like monkey ass.” she scoffed. you hit her chest lightly, clicking your tongue. “i mean--mmh, yum.”

user07 damn gotta fake it for the wife huh

user08 seven times a day or whatever jhope said

user09 they finna make me hit the ggum emote

“manz, will you come try it?” you pleaded softly, beckoning her over with a wishful pout. “it’s not that bad, i swear.”

manon raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. she dramatically eyed your plate, then back up at your eyes. “don’t play with me, babe, i saw the way daniela just choked to that.”

“no, dani loved it. right, babe?” you grinned, awaiting support.

daniela’s eyes widened immediately, she was about to choke out some lazy reply before she caught the hopeful glint in your eye. it was just too precious to ruin, so she bit back whatever sass she would usually spit. if you were anybody else.

“it wasn’t that bad.” she shrugged, her fingers trapping at your stomach as they found their way under your shirt. “y/n made it, so of course it was good. definitely better than yours.”

“uhm, excuse you?” the eldest scoffed, “you’re biased.”

“i don’t know… if you try it, you won’t think so.” you wiggled the sandwich in your hand, as if enticing manon. still, the older woman didn’t seem to budge from her stance.

“just try her sandwich, manz.” daniela ordered, “come on.”

the eldest groaned, slowly sauntering over before hesitantly leaning in for the tiniest bite she could manage. and though the mixture of ingredients looked atrocious, the taste was meshed awfully well. manon’s eyes narrowed, humming.

“oh my god, that’s actually not bad.” she was promptly pushed out of the way by megan, who pleaded for a taste too.

daniela smiled as you beamed at the members lining up to judge for themselves, front pressed against your back in a tight embrace. the only people who seemed fazed was eyekons.

user10 the fact that this is a normal occurrence

user11 dani fighting invisible demons for her woman rn

user12 “married couple making sandwiches for their kids” ahh

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆ clip four: [ weverse ] roommates hanging out

“okay, what’s a rumour you guys want to debunk?” manon read, turning to give you a look. you laid beside her on the bed, picking at your newly filed nails. “y/n? you wanna go?”

you looked off camera at lara, who smirked teasingly between you and daniela, who was eating the kimchi stew she ordered.

“uh--ooh! i saw some tiktoks like clipping that picture of me and dylan at coachella. we are not dating, guys, i’ve known dylan for years, he’s like my brother.” you announced, earning a loud series of hysterical laughter from lara and manon.

if only they knew how many you could’ve chosen from.

at coachella, you spent some time with dylan. it was such good luck katseye and the wallows were set to perform on the same day, because it gave you some quality time to see your friends. but tabloids being tabloids loved taking things out of context, so of course the pictures of you hugging him, or the ones of him with his arm around you as the both of you stand to tyler, the creator’s set, were posted as ‘dating confirmations’.

“oh my god, i remember my sister sending me this tiktok that’s like ‘y/n and dylan’s story’ and it was like clips of them from five years ago.” lara laughed, “she was all like, ‘y/n’s dating the guy from thirteen reasons why?’ it was so stupid and funny.”

you rolled your eyes, sighing deeply. “stop, it was so bad.”

“guys, stop exposing y/n and dylan like that,” manon whined, unable to hold back her smile. “leave the couple alone.”

“guys, dylan has a whole ass girlfriend, don’t get me in shit for something that isn’t true.” you warned, leaning close to the phone. “me and dylan are not dating. we’re not a couple. we’re just really good friends, stop tagging us in the ship edits.”

user01 the fake eyekons are forgetting they’re actual people

user02 yeah they’re both taken guys come on now

user03 dani going quiet rn is so out of character lmao

the latina sauntered around the beds, you felt manon’s bed dip behind you as she curled herself around you. she stuck her legs through your arm propping yourself up, you lay on her instinctively, your arm across her lap as you held your head up. her fingers stroked your hair, as you droned on and on.

“no, ‘cuz i remember you were like on the phone with dylan talking about it after coachella.” manon added, “it was like when… that one article dropped, right?”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, we were fighting for our life, girl.”

“it was actually such an era. dylan took it like a champ though, props to him.” lara chuckled, “dani? any rumours to debunk?”

it took her a split second to snap out of her daze, you shot her a look from under her. she coughed, clearing her throat.

“no…? nothing’s really coming to mind right now.” she faked a moment of thought, but ended up shaking her head anyways.

user04 girl is sweating rn lmao all eyes on her

user05 she knows she’s lying out her ass right now

user06 address the #dann/n allegations mother

manon, who was reading the comments, had a growing grin on her face. she snapped her head back, and all she needed to do was give daniela one sly smirk, the latina knew exactly what the fans were begging for. “you sure about that, dani?”

she glared at her roommate, who just made a very unsubtle face. you lightly smack manon, the eldest held her hands up.

“god, must you always instigate?” you asked, scowling.

user07 damn she got her wife stepping up for her

user08 she’s so hot guys i can’t do this shit anymore

user09 she said shut down those allegations fr

user10 manon is our strongest dann/n warrior i fear

“--lara!” daniela suddenly raised, her eyes finding the indian singer’s, but her hands still tending to your hair. “what about you, babe. you got any rumours you want to debunk?”

and though the topic of discussion seemed to shift away from you, clips of you and daniela cuddling and being unable to pry yourselves away from each other were a hot topic on weverse and eyekonville. the two of you might not need to verbally debunk anything, because your actions certainly prove the fandom’s speculation may be more than just rumours.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆ clip five: [ yt video ] katseye spilling truth on allure

“mami, don’t lie, we know you better than that.”

you were caught right then and there, as if you could ever convince anybody daniela wasn’t the first person you looked for when you entered a room. the girls collectively gave you ‘seriously?’ looks, pinning a spotlight all on you.

“y/n, how are you like when you have a crush?” lara repeated.

you hated answering questions like these. it gave the fans too much power. “uhm… well, i’m not a big physical touch person, but if i like someone, i’ll get really touchy.”

a quick compilation of you only letting daniela anywhere near your personal space was inserted. then a couple clips of you shying away from the other members’ grasp.

“let me tell you, one time, like a long time ago, y/n and i were on a double date. like, we snuck out of my parents’ house and we had a double date, and y/n was so disgusted by the thought of letting him hold her hand, she was like icing her date out the whole time.” lara laughed, “it was so funny, like she was allergic to his hand or something.”

the girls all broke into laughter at the story. they were no stranger to this inside joke, much to daniela’s dismay.

“well…” manon started, peaking at the card in lara’s hand, “the follow up question is, ‘do you have a crush on someone now?”

you fell silent, your cheeks flushing with heat.

sophia wheezed, poking the side of your cheek. you jerked away, trying to hide your smile. “look, y/n’s getting red. aww!”

“can i pass this question?” you asked, “is that an option?”

“no, no, you have the answer the question, that’s the game!” yoonchae yelled, standing from her seat. “spill, or drink!”

daniela was awfully quiet this entire turn. she only stared at you, not even tearing her gaze away for sophia’s shouting or lara’s vicious laughter. she had a small smile on her lips, her piercing eyes trained on your flustered state.

“y/n actually has a crush on our beloved eyekons.” the latina stepped up, you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. “she only has time for our fans, right?”

you grinned, grateful for her rushing to your rescue. “mhm.”

“dani’s helping her answer, it’s not fair!” megan whined.

“aye, no answer is an answer in itself, y’know what i mean?” megan mumbled, “keep your secrets then, y/n.”

daniela’s hand reached for yours under the table, fans zoomed in on the gesture the two of you tried keeping subtle. but of course, by now, you knew nothing escaped your fandom.

how much longer will #dann/n be subtle and secret?

𝒂𝒏; god gabriela era dani is doing sth to me. guys a bet fic is in the works trust the process. chat w me my inbox is open!!

𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒙𝒙

[mindless-existence1]

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

[nocturnebite]

Someone Like You ౨ৎ

(Its always been you) - bestfriend!enha (ot7) x fem!reader

synopsis: You’ve had enough of bad dates and bare-minimum effort. But when your best friend shows up for you in their own soft, thoughtful way… you start to wonder why you’ve never looked at them like that. Turns out, they’ve been waiting for you to. fic notes: friends to lovers || comfort & fluff || soft confessions || bad date recovery || dreamy slowburn mutual pining || emotional support kings wc: about 800ish per member (5.7k total)

ash's notes: heyy back again! this one was so fun for me to write, i'm a sucker for friends to lovers troupes.. especially when it's "they knew all along". get me a man like this PLEASE.. enjoy :3

౨ৎ Heeseung - You always know

The door clicks softly behind you as you slump inside your apartment, heels dangling from your hand, mascara slightly smudged from the stress of the night. Another date gone wrong. Another charming-on-text loser who spent more time talking about himself than asking a single question about you. At one point he even took a call at the table. You’d sat there swirling a straw in a watered-down drink, wishing you were literally anywhere else.

You drop your bag by the couch and sigh into the quiet. It hums back at you with the same kind of hollow loneliness you’ve gotten too used to.

Your fingers tap against your phone screen before you even think about it.

you: had another trash date lol sorry if im bothering u just rly bummed out

You don’t expect a reply right away. But before you can even toss your phone aside, it buzzes.

hee ౨ৎ: open the door

You blink. Then look up.

Another buzz.

hee ౨ৎ: i was already on my way. figured something was up

Heart hiccuping, you shuffle to the door, unlocking it slowly—and there he is. Hoodie half-zipped, hair tousled like he just left in a hurry, one hand clutching your favorite takeout and the other carrying a fuzzy blanket you've been trying to steal from him for weeks.

“I didn’t know if you’d eaten,” Heeseung says, stepping inside like he always belongs here. He doesn't wait for an answer, just sets everything down on the coffee table and opens his arms.

You melt.

Your face tucks into the curve of his neck like it’s muscle memory. He’s warm and steady and smells like laundry detergent and vanilla and home.

You mumble, “You really were already on your way?”

“Mmhm,” he hums against your hair. “Just had a feeling.”

You don’t even question it. He always knows.

You eat curled up on opposite ends of the couch, his long legs tangled with yours under the blanket. He doesn’t ask about the date. He doesn’t need to. He just listens while you vent, eyes soft, gaze focused on you like you’re the only thing that matters.

Eventually, you’re lying with your head in his lap while he scrolls through movies on the TV.

“Something comforting,” he murmurs, already queuing up your favorite. “The one with the sad girl who finds herself and the cottage with the vines—”

“That’s a romance,” you whisper, half-laughing.

Heeseung just smirks. “Exactly.”

As the movie plays, you watch him in the flickering light — the soft shadows against his jawline, the slight smile when a familiar line hits, the way he rests his hand gently over your arm like he wants to keep you tethered here with him.

And somewhere between your chest aching and your heart warming, it slips out.

“Why can’t the guys I date be more like you…”

Heeseung flinches.

The remote fumbles in his hand and clatters to the ground with a sharp clack.

Your eyes widen. He stiffens. “Oops—uh. Sorry.” He leans down too fast to grab it, smacking his head lightly on the table and cursing under his breath.

You blink at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Just—clumsy.” He clears his throat, setting the remote back carefully like it might explode again. His ears are glowing pink.

You stare at him, heart thudding.

He doesn’t look at you. Just leans back against the couch and mutters, “Want me to rewind the movie?”

You pause. “No. I’m good.”

He nods, quiet.

But the atmosphere has changed. Charged. He’s still close, still comforting, but his posture’s too stiff now, too careful, like he’s thinking too hard about breathing near you.

Later, when the movie ends and you both sit in the hush of the credits, you speak again.

“I just…” you whisper, watching the glow from the screen reflect in his eyes. “I wish I could find someone who treats me like you do. You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

Heeseung freezes.

Then turns to you slowly, expression unreadable. His voice is low.

“Then why don’t you date me?”

You laugh, confused. “What—”

“I’m serious.”

You blink.

His eyes are locked on yours. No teasing. No smirk. Just honest, vulnerable silence.

“You’re serious?” you whisper.

He nods once. “I’ve always known it was you. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. And then—flutters.

His fingers inch toward yours, tentative, until they’re brushing lightly, and when you don’t pull away, he laces them together.

“I didn’t think…” You breathe out. “I didn’t think you felt the same.”

“I do.” Heeseung smiles softly, then leans forward until your foreheads touch. “I have. Every time I showed up for you, every night I stayed over just to keep you company, every moment I wished you’d look at me like that…”

You do now.

And this time, when he leans in — slow, careful, trembling with hope — you meet him halfway.

౨ৎ Jay - The way you look at me

You’re already in tears by the time you leave the restaurant.

Not the dramatic, mascara-running kind. Just the quiet, aching kind — the ones that slip out even when you don’t want them to. This one stung a little more than usual. The guy didn’t just talk over you — he insulted your interests, made snide jokes about “emotional girls,” and scoffed when you said you wanted something real. It left you wondering if you were asking for too much.

You don’t text Jay.

You don’t have to.

The second your key turns in the door, the smell hits you — warm, comforting, something buttery and spiced — like childhood and safety all rolled into one.

You step inside and blink.

Jay stands in your kitchen in a dark t-shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a striped apron tied lazily around his waist. He looks up like he’s been caught red-handed.

“I was gonna text and say come over,” you mumble.

“I figured you’d need something sooner,” he says simply, stirring the pan once before lowering the heat. “So I let myself in.”

Your chest tightens.

There’s a pot on the stove, steam rising lazily from it. A pan of something golden browning beside it. Plates already set. A candle burning low.

“You made—” Your voice cracks. “You made the pasta?”

“The one you said reminds you of your mom’s.” He shrugs, trying to seem casual. “You sounded tired last time we talked. Thought you’d need it tonight.”

Your throat feels too full to respond. You cross the kitchen slowly, eyes burning in that way that says thank you without the words.

He glances at you. “You okay?”

You nod.

“You wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head, stepping behind him, letting your arms wrap around his middle as you press your face into his back. He stills, surprised—but only for a moment. Then one of his hands reaches down to cover yours.

“You’re not asking for too much,” he says softly, like he’s already guessed the thing you didn’t say.

You don’t speak. You just hold on tighter.

Dinner is quiet, the way it always is when you’re feeling raw and Jay is being careful with you — soft glances, gentle hands when he passes the parmesan, a million unspoken things in every motion. Afterward, he makes tea and sets up the couch for a movie night without asking.

“You pick,” he says, stretching across the cushions to pass you the remote.

You curl under the throw blanket and sigh, not even looking at the screen.

Jay turns his head toward you. “Wanna do nothing instead?”

You nod.

So you sit. Shoulder to shoulder. Familiar and close and quiet.

After a while, he gets up and starts tidying the kitchen. And that’s when you catch yourself watching.

The way he moves—careful, confident, focused. The way he takes his time with everything. The soft hum in his throat as he dries dishes. The way he set aside the last bite of garlic bread because he knew it was your favorite.

And suddenly, something slips out.

“I wish the guys I went out on dates with were more like.. you.”

The sound of ceramic shattering on tile cuts the air in half.

You jump.

Jay freezes mid-motion, staring down at the cracked plate on the floor like it betrayed him. “Shit—sorry.” He crouches quickly to clean it, not looking at you.

You rush to help. “It’s okay, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s—” He’s already sweeping the pieces into his hand, face turned so you can’t see it. “It’s fine.”

But his hands are trembling.

You blink. “Jay?”

He doesn’t answer.

You touch his wrist lightly. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

He finally looks at you, and it’s like the air has changed again — his expression unreadable, jaw tight, eyes searching yours for something you don’t quite understand.

You try to laugh it off, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry, that was kind of a weird thing to say.”

Jay finishes sweeping and stands slowly, leaning against the counter like he needs a second to think.

Then you say it again, more quietly. “You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

He lets out a breath — sharp, disbelieving.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs.

You blink. “Why not?”

“Because…” He looks at you like you’ve cracked something in him. “I’ve been trying so hard not to say it first.”

The silence that follows is thick.

You stare. “Say what?”

Jay steps toward you, then stops — unsure, unreadable.

“That I’m in love with you,” he says quietly. “That I’ve been in love with you. That every time you cry about some guy who couldn’t see how lucky he was, it kills me because I’m right here. And I’ve been here.”

Your lips part, but you can’t speak.

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes wild and warm and terrified. “I know you weren’t ready. And I never wanted to make you feel like you had to see me that way, but tonight—” His voice softens. “Tonight you looked at me like you finally saw what I’ve been trying to show you this whole time.”

Your heart thunders.

You had looked at him that way. You’d always admired him — his calm, his kindness, the fire in him that always warmed you up when you felt too cold. You just never thought…

“I didn’t think you’d want me,” you whisper.

Jay’s breath catches. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He takes another step.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t want more than this.”

You look at him—really look at him—and all the times he showed up for you play in your mind like flashes of sunlight.

Slowly, you take his hand. It’s still a little shaky, but when you hold on, he steadies.

You whisper, “What if I want more too?”

He doesn’t speak. He just pulls you in and kisses your forehead, gently, reverently—like he’s waited a lifetime for this moment to finally arrive.

౨ৎ Jake - Never not you

It starts with your phone vibrating on your chest, just as your eyes are starting to sting from holding back tears too long.

You don’t check the screen. You don’t want to talk to anyone. You just stare at the ceiling of your bedroom, replaying the disaster of tonight’s date — the awkward silences, the backhanded compliments, the fake polite goodbye at the end. All you wanted was someone who’d make you feel seen. Instead, you feel lonelier than before.

Another buzz.

Then another.

Then a knock at your door.

You sit up, confused, wiping your eyes.

“Delivery?” you mumble, shuffling to open it.

But it’s not food.

It’s Jake.

He’s standing there, hair a little windblown, hoodie zipped up halfway and cheeks pink from the chill. In one hand, he’s holding a small bouquet of fresh wildflowers. In the other, a bag from your favorite bakery—the one that’s only open late on Fridays.

“I was already on my way,” he says softly. “Something told me you needed me.”

Your bottom lip wobbles.

You don’t cry, but you do fold into him the second he opens his arms.

He doesn’t say anything. Just hugs you so tight it’s like he’s holding together all the parts of you that want to fall apart.

Twenty minutes later, you’re in your pajamas under a mountain of blankets on the couch. The warm scent of baked pastries fills the air. Jake’s got your feet in his lap, his thumbs gently massaging the arch like he’s trying to erase all the tension of the night.

You’re both watching one of those cheesy rom-coms he secretly loves more than you do, though he always pretends otherwise.

“Tonight sucked,” you mutter.

He doesn’t ask for details. He just leans back, still holding your feet. “He didn’t see you, did he?”

You glance at him. “How do you always know?”

Jake shrugs one shoulder. “Because if he had, you’d be smiling. You always light up when someone gets you.”

Your breath catches. You don’t respond. You just look at him.

His profile is soft in the glow of the TV. There’s a slight crease in his brow, like he’s still worried. You want to reach out and smooth it with your thumb.

Instead, you say quietly, “Why can’t guys be more like you…”

Jake stills.

His eyes don’t leave the screen, but his fingers stop moving.

You sit up a little, trying to meet his eyes. “Seriously. You’re so thoughtful. You always know what I need. You never make me feel like I’m too much or not enough—”

Jake suddenly fumbles the pastry bag in his lap and spills the last croissant right onto the floor.

“Ah..shit—sorry,” he blurts, scrambling to grab it. He drops the tongs trying to pick it up.

You blink. “You okay?”

“Fine!” he squeaks. Then clears his throat and tries to play it off. “Yeah. Just… butter fingers.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure?”

He nods a little too quickly. “Totally. I just… wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

You tilt your head. “Say what?”

He carefully places the rescued croissant on a napkin, still not looking at you. “That you wish guys were like me.”

Your voice softens. “Well… I do.”

The silence stretches, almost like the room’s holding its breath with you.

And then, because the ache in your chest is too much to sit with, you add, “You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

Jake turns to you, eyes wide.

He looks like you just told him the moon said his name.

Then, very quietly, he says, “Then… why not me?”

Your heart skips.

You blink. “Wait..what..? Are you serious?”

He nods, slowly this time. The corners of his mouth twitch up—hopeful, nervous, a little amazed you haven’t laughed him off yet.

“I know we’ve been best friends forever,” he says gently, “but I’ve loved you for almost as long. I didn’t want to ruin what we had by saying anything. But it’s you. It’s never not been you.”

Your lips part. “Jake…”

“I didn’t want to be another guy who hurt you,” he whispers, voice shaking a little. “I wanted to be the one who reminded you how loved you are. I just never thought you’d actually—feel the same.”

You swallow hard.

Your chest is doing that tight fluttery thing again. Because you do. Deep down, you’ve always known it. The way you’d light up when his name appeared on your phone. The way his laugh made everything easier. The way you looked for him in every crowd.

You whisper, “I think I’ve always wanted it to be you.”

Jake beams.

Not a smirk. Not a flirty grin. A full, radiant, stunned smile like you’ve just made his entire year.

He reaches for your hand, then changes his mind and gently cups your cheek instead, brushing his thumb just under your eye.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, breathlessly.

You nod.

And when he leans in, it’s slow and sweet and full of every unspoken thing you’ve both carried for so long. And when he pulls back just barely, lips still brushing yours, he murmurs,

“You’re my favorite everything.”

౨ৎ Sunghoon - Say something

It’s late.

The kind of late where the streets outside are quiet and your bedroom ceiling is glowing dimly with the light of passing cars. You’re curled up under a blanket in your hoodie, trying not to cry but very much failing. Again.

The guy from tonight wasn’t mean, exactly. Just… indifferent. He scrolled through his phone when you talked. Showed up twenty minutes late with no explanation. Didn’t even pretend to walk you home.

And maybe it wouldn’t sting so much if it didn’t feel like a pattern.

You don’t text anyone. You just throw your phone facedown and try to forget it.

Until, barely five minutes later, there’s a knock at your window.

You freeze.

Another knock.

You scramble out of bed and yank the curtains aside — and there he is.

Sunghoon. In his gray zip-up and a beanie pulled low over his brows, standing on your fire escape holding two steaming cups of hot chocolate and a very unimpressed expression.

You open the window with wide eyes. “What the—Hoon??”

“I figured he’d flake,” he says flatly, climbing in like this is something he does every day. “You ghosted the group chat. That’s never a good sign.”

You blink as he hands you one of the cups.

“I made it with that fancy cocoa you like,” he mumbles. “With the cinnamon.”

You stare at him.

Sunghoon doesn't meet your eyes. He just kicks off his shoes and settles onto your bed like it’s his.

“I didn’t get ghosted,” you say quietly, sitting beside him.

He nods. “But you are sad.”

You sip the cocoa. “How do you always know?”

He shrugs. “You always blink a lot when you’re trying not to cry.”

Your throat tightens.

Silence passes for a bit. Your room is dim, your fairy lights casting soft little shadows across his jawline. You watch him — the way his hands cradle the mug, the furrow in his brows even now. He’s always like this. A little standoffish. A little too observant. And yet always there the second you fall apart.

And maybe it’s the warmth in your hands, or the fact that you’re so, so tired of being disappointed — but the words come out before you can stop them.

“Why can’t guys be more like you…”

He freezes.

Like actually freezes.

No blink. No breath. Just wide, stunned deer-in-headlights stillness.

Then he promptly chokes on his hot chocolate.

You lunge to pat his back. “Hoon??”

“I’m good—” cough cough “Totally fine—” cough “Jesus—”

You bite back a laugh. “You don’t look fine.”

“I’m great.” He clears his throat aggressively and looks everywhere but at you. “Just… went down the wrong pipe.”

“Mmhmm,” you say, clearly not buying it.

He shifts on the bed, suddenly tense. “You… didn’t mean that, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He swallows, hard.

You lean back against the pillows, watching him over the rim of your cup. “Seriously. You’re thoughtful, reliable, good with your words—when you use them—”

“Okay—”

“You always show up when I need you,” you add, voice soft now. “You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

Sunghoon just stares at you.

You don’t even realize how intense your gaze is until he finally looks away, the tips of his ears glowing red.

“You’re messing with me,” he mutters.

“No, I’m not.”

He sets down his cup slowly. His voice is quieter when he says, “Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them.”

You sit up straighter. “But I do mean it.”

Sunghoon finally meets your eyes, and there’s something raw there now. Something just barely holding itself together.

And then, because he’s Sunghoon and horrible at vulnerability, he blurts:

“Then maybe you should date me.”

Your mouth opens. “What?”

He looks away again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

You reach for his hand before he can pull it away. “Sunghoon. Look at me.”

He hesitates—then does. And your heart cracks wide open.

“I want to say yes,” you whisper.

He blinks. “You do?”

You nod. “I didn’t think you liked me that way.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever look at me that way,” he breathes. “You’re always chasing guys who treat you like crap. Meanwhile, I’m here, dying every time you tell me about them, and all I want to do is tell you they don’t deserve you.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“I was scared.” His voice rises slightly, then softens again. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But tonight… when you said that…”

He pauses, then lets out a soft breath.

“I wanted to kiss you so bad I forgot how to breathe.”

Your eyes soften. You shift closer.

“Then don’t forget now.”

He stares at you.

And then he kisses you.

It’s tentative at first — almost like he doesn’t believe it’s happening — but it grows, slow and sure and full of everything he’s held back for so long.

When you pull apart, you press your forehead against his and whisper,

“You know you can come through the door next time, right?”

He grins. “Where’s the fun in that?”

౨ৎ Sunoo - If only you knew

You don’t say anything when the door swings open.

You just step inside, drop your purse on the floor, and crawl straight onto the couch face-down, muffling a scream into the cushions.

There's silence.

Then the sound of slippers shuffling quickly across hardwood.

Then:

“Oh no. Which flavor of man failed you this time?”

You peek out of the couch to see Sunoo standing over you in an oversized sweatshirt, hair in a clip, face cream still dotted on his cheeks like he was mid-self-care ritual when you texted the dreaded “can I come over”.

You groan. “The worst one.”

He gasps. “Worse than finance bro?”

“Worse than vape in the Uber guy.”

“Girl.”

“I know.”

Sunoo lets out the most offended noise you've ever heard and immediately shuffles toward the kitchen. “I’m making tea. And I’m putting on that sad cottage movie you like. You’re not allowed to argue.”

You don’t.

You just melt further into the couch and let yourself exhale.

Because somehow, Sunoo always knows exactly what to do when the world feels heavy.

By the time the kettle whistles, you’ve been tucked in with three blankets and a stuffed animal you pretend isn’t yours.

Sunoo returns with a tray of snacks, two mugs of tea, and a disgusted look on his face.

“So what did he do? Tell me everything. I’m ready to judge.”

You shake your head. “He… didn’t even try, Nuu.”

He sets the tray down and climbs onto the couch beside you. “Try what?”

“To know me. To see me. I spent half the night trying to think of things to talk about. It felt like I was trying to impress someone who couldn’t care less.”

Sunoo's eyes narrow. “Should I fight him?”

You let out a laugh — small, watery.

He leans his head on your shoulder. “You know you’re not hard to love, right?”

You stay quiet.

Sunoo reaches for your hand under the blanket and squeezes it. “Some people just don’t know what they’re holding until it’s gone.”

You glance at him, heart aching.

He’s right here. Warm and thoughtful and sharp as ever. He always has been.

And somehow, you whisper it before you can think better of it.

“I wish guys were more like you…”

You feel him tense.

He sits up, blinking, and nearly spills the tray trying to set his cup down.

You blink back. “Nuu?”

“Did you mean that?” he says quickly, voice just slightly higher than usual.

“I—yeah?”

He just stares at you, lips parted, like his brain has fully exited the building.

You sit up. “Why does that freak you out so much?”

Sunoo clears his throat, crosses his legs, and clasps his hands like he's giving a TED talk to himself. “No no I’m fine. Totally calm. Just casually losing my mind that the person I’m in love with just said that.”

You blink. “Wait. What.”

He freezes.

You gape. “You’re in love with me??”

“OH MY GOSH,” he says, loudly, throwing a pillow over his own face. “FORGET I SAID THAT—”

“Nuu!” You pull the pillow away and stare at him, heart pounding.

He groans. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out, okay?! It’s not like I planned to tell you after a garbage date like some B-list plot twist—”

“You’re in love with me?”

He falters, looks at you properly — flushed, anxious, but still so Sunoo.

“…Yeah,” he whispers. “I’ve been in love with you for a while.”

Your chest tightens.

“You… never said anything.”

He gives a tiny, shy shrug. “You were always dating someone. I didn’t want to confuse things. Or ruin us.”

“But you always—” Your voice cracks. “You always take care of me.”

He smiles sadly. “Because I want to. Because you deserve someone who actually shows up when it counts.”

You look at him — really look at him — and suddenly, all the late nights, all the surprise coffee deliveries, all the “I brought your favorite just because” texts make perfect, blinding sense.

And suddenly, this feels like the only real thing you’ve ever known.

“I think…” you whisper, “I’ve been in love with you too. I just didn’t let myself believe it.”

Sunoo blinks, stunned.

“You what?”

“I kept waiting for someone who’d treat me like you do,” you murmur, leaning in. “I just didn’t think that person could be you.”

“Why not?! I’m amazing!”

You laugh through a tear.

He grins, then cups your face with both hands. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but so fondly it makes your stomach flip.

Then, very softly, “Can I kiss you now?”

You nod, heart in your throat.

He kisses you like he’s waited a lifetime — careful, steady, warm. When he pulls away, you’re still smiling.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and whispers, “You’re never going to cry over another date again.”

“Because you’re going to fight them?”

“No.” He grins. “Because you’re done dating losers. You’re dating me now.”

౨ৎ Jungwon - What took you so long 

You don’t expect anyone to be waiting when you get home.

Your date was forgettable in the worst way — vague answers, barely-there eye contact, the kind of guy who asked questions only to talk about himself. You left early and walked home alone under a gray sky, the city lights blurred through a curtain of drizzle.

You don’t text anyone. You don’t want to talk. You just want the night to be over.

So when you push open your apartment door and find Jungwon sitting on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands and a small box of takeout on his lap, you stop in your tracks.

He looks up casually. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

You blink. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“I figured you’d need me.”

The way he says it — need me — sinks under your skin like something dangerous.

You walk in slowly, wet hair dripping onto your shirt, and collapse onto the couch beside him without a word.

“I brought your favorite,” he adds, offering the box. “That noodle thing you get when you’re upset but pretending not to be.”

You take it silently, the warmth of the container grounding you.

He doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t have to.

A while later, you’re curled up together under the same blanket, the food half-eaten and a soft playlist humming through the room. You’re both quiet, the way you always are when things get too heavy to name.

You tilt your head toward him.

Jungwon’s watching the rain trail down the window, his profile lit faintly by the glow of the streetlights. One arm rests behind your head, casual but close enough that your shoulders touch. Always close. Always almost.

“You know,” you say softly, “you’d make the perfect boyfriend.”

He blinks.

Then — too quickly — he shifts.

The blanket slips from his shoulder as he moves to set his drink down, knocking over a napkin in the process. He fumbles it. Misses. Swears quietly under his breath.

You blink. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he mumbles. Then, softer, “Just… surprised you’d say that.”

You smile faintly. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes flick toward yours, unreadable. “Because you’re always chasing guys who aren’t me.”

The words land like a pin dropped in a still room.

You stare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jungwon lets out a long breath, then looks at you fully — not shy, not sarcastic, not teasing. Just… honest.

“It means I’ve been here this whole time,” he says quietly. “Watching you get your heart broken over and over and wishing you’d just look at me.”

Your heart lurches.

“Jungwon…”

“I didn’t say anything because I thought maybe you already knew,” he continues, voice barely above a whisper. “But tonight, when you said that—when you said that—I couldn’t not say it anymore.”

You don’t speak. You’re not sure you can.

“I know I’m quiet about how I feel,” he murmurs. “But I show up. I always show up for you. Because I love you. And I’ve been loving you quietly for so long, I don’t know how to stop.”

Something cracks open in your chest.

You reach out, almost without thinking, fingers brushing his wrist. “I think I’ve always loved the way you love me,” you whisper. “I just didn’t realize that’s what it was.”

He exhales shakily.

And then — like gravity pulling him forward — he leans in, resting his forehead against yours. His voice is soft, barely trembling:

“I’ve been yours for a long time.”

You whisper, “Then maybe it’s time I caught up.”

౨ৎ Ni-ki - Not just a phase

The rain has stopped by the time you make it to his place.

You’re soaked anyway — not just from the weather, but from the date that ended in a fight over whether your standards were “too high.”

You didn’t cry this time.

Not until you walked home in the drizzle and realized how tired you were of pretending the bare minimum was enough.

You’re still blinking away the sting when the door swings open.

Ni-ki stands there in a hoodie and pajama pants, hair messy from sleep, one wireless headphone still in. He blinks once. Takes in your face.

Then without a word, he grabs your wrist and pulls you in.

“You look cold,” he mumbles, already guiding you toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll get the fluffy blanket.”

You don’t even argue. You just drop onto the cushions and watch as he disappears down the hall.

You don’t remember when it started—this instinct he has. This quiet caretaking. One second you’re friends who bicker over cereal brands and game scores, and the next he’s handing you tissues without asking. Wrapping you in the same blanket he used to cocoon himself in during movie nights. Like you’ve always belonged here, even if no one ever said it.

Ni-ki returns with the blanket and throws it over your shoulders, his hands lingering for a second too long.

He doesn’t ask what happened.

He just sits beside you, legs sprawled out, staring ahead like he’s waiting for you to speak.

So you do.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for dating.”

He glances at you. “That bad?”

You nod. “It’s like… I want something real. But everyone I meet makes me feel stupid for asking.”

Ni-ki stays quiet for a second.

Then: “They’re the stupid ones.”

You glance over. “What?”

He shrugs. “For not seeing it. For not recognizing you’re the kind of person people should want.”

Your heart stutters.

He doesn’t look at you when he says it. His eyes are on the floor, hands fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie.

You laugh weakly. “Why can’t I just date someone like you?”

His whole body stiffens.

You blink. “Ni-ki?”

He moves too fast. Reaches for the glass on the table. Misses. Knocks it over. It clatters loudly — empty, but loud enough to make you jump.

“Shit—” He rushes to grab it. “I—sorry, sorry. I wasn’t expecting—”

“What did I say?” you ask slowly.

He freezes with the glass in his hand. Doesn’t look at you.

You sit up straighter. “Ni-ki.”

He exhales hard, then sets the glass down. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not fair.”

You stare. “What do you mean?”

Finally — finally — he turns to you. And his eyes are bare.

Not guarded. Not teasing. Just real.

“Because I’ve spent years trying to convince myself that this—” he gestures between you “—was just a phase. That eventually you’d stop showing up at my place with tears in your eyes. That I’d stop wondering what it would be like to be the one you chose.”

You go silent.

Ni-ki lets out a small laugh, bitter and soft. “But I never got over you. I don’t think I ever will.”

Your throat tightens. “You never said anything.”

“Because I didn’t want to ruin it. I didn’t want to lose you just because I caught feelings first.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

The Ni-ki who made fun of your bad taste in ramen. Who used to walk you home in high school just because. Who showed up at every breakup with your favorite snacks and a movie cued up. That Ni-ki has been in love with you this whole time?

“I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same,” he murmurs.

You whisper, “What if I do?”

He stops breathing.

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his — slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

“I think I’ve been trying to find pieces of you in everyone I’ve dated,” you say quietly. “But no one comes close.”

Ni-ki swallows hard. “You’re serious?”

You nod.

The quiet between you stretches — long and full of something new. Something changing.

Then he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

You nod again.

So he does.

And it’s everything — every unsaid word, every held breath, every day he stood at your side wondering what it would feel like to be wanted back. His hands are gentle. His lips are soft and searching. And when he pulls away, his voice is the quietest it’s ever been.

“I’ve always been yours,” he whispers.

Thanks for reading! Reblogs + notes always mean a lot 💌

tl: (read rules before asking to be added to any list ᥫ᭡. )

[starcatching]

HONGJOONG ELLE Korea Under the Scene

[sinfulspeakeasy]

special forces operatives also readily admit to in their own memoirs that they will beat people for daring to question what they've done. Following excerpt taken from pages 92-93 of Seal Team Six- Memoirs Of An Elite Navy SEAL Sniper, written by former SEAL Team Six and Two operator, Howard E Wasdin, concerning a fight the SEALs caused while celebrating their comerades return from the Persian Gulf:

"Dick, Mike H, Rob, and I hadn't participated in that op because we still had more training to do, but that didn't stop us from wanting to celebrate the guys' safe return. After work, we left the SEAL Team Two compound, exited the Little Creek base's Gate Five, and headed to a little strip club called the Body Shop. Because the Body Shop was in such close proximity to the SEAL Team Two compound, a number of us had spent some time there. The bouncer was a new guy, sitting in for Bob, a SEAL Team buddy. One of us asked him, "A group of our guys just got back from the Persian Gulf. Can you give them a congratulations over the PA?" So he did. "Let's send out a big thank-you to our American fighting men who just returned from the Persian Gulf." Applause and cheers filled the room. We high-fived each other, buying beers. From the back of the room where a table of four Tunisian men sat, one said in fluent English, "Why doesn't America mind it's own damn business?" Dick didn't go around the runway where the girls were dancing. He went straight over it. By the time I got around it and got to the four men, Dick had the loudmouth in a choke hold. During our brief altercation, the three buddies of the loudmouth shouted expletives at their comrade. The four of us left the Tunisians in a pile."

For brevity, I have omitted the rest of the story, where "as we attempted to leave, the new bouncer tried to stop us. "You just had a fight in here. You're not going anywhere." We catapulted him over the bar." (Page 93) I have also omitted where, after the cops showed up, "The policeman inside cut off our explanation, suddenly becoming brave. "I'm sorry but you're going to have to come with me" He grabbed Mike by the shirt sleeve. Dick caught the policeman in the chin with a square blow, dropping him straight down." (Page 93)

The rest of the fight is too long to include here but it, and the results of it, span another 3 pages. Draw your own conclusions, but it's obvious to me that the spec ops subculture includes beating the shit out of people you'd love to kill on the battlefield in cold blood and then fighting the cops when justice is served.

Just typed up 3 paragraphs filled with vitriol aimed at this country's diseased hero worship of our special forces stormtroopers who often operate as a cartel in the conflict zones we initiate or insert ourself into, but I think the most important takeaway is that everything that'll be revealed to have happened at Fort Bragg and wherever else these goons were fucking around is also happening on countless overseas US military base with 1/100th of the scrutiny shown here. This is the imperial frontier coming home, or as this one meathead without a trace of irony or self-awareness put it:

[lucenra]

He Knew My Name

𝓟airing ↳ Abby X F!Reader

𝓘𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 .. you finally gain the courage to talk to the most known guy on campus.

𝓦arnings .. no warnings !

𝓐uthor's note .. this is a college au (he would def be a frat boy)

It was another day on campus, and for the first time ever, you were late.

The door creaked loudly as you slipped into the lecture hall — thirty-two minutes past the hour. A few heads turned, some with amusement, others with annoyance, but you didn’t really care. You scanned the room quickly and slid into the first empty seat you spotted, near the middle, hoping not to draw more attention than you already had.

You reached into your bag to grab your notebook and pen — and froze.

Of course. You’d left both in your dorm.

You let out a quiet sigh, already annoyed with yourself. Class was halfway over, and now you couldn’t even pretend to be productive. You glanced to your left, debating whether it was worth asking someone for help — and then your eyes landed on the person sitting next to you.

Abby.

Of course. Of all people.

He was one of the most recognizable faces on campus — always showing up in someone’s TikTok, always wearing that same silver chain, and always, always too pretty for his own good. People whispered about him like he wasn’t real. Girls giggled when he passed. Professors somehow always let him slide with late work. He had that calm, cocky energy, like he knew he didn’t have to try too hard.

And now, he was seated right next to you, calmly taking notes with perfect posture and a watch you were pretty sure cost more than your tuition deposit.

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. But not for long.

“Hey,” you said quietly, trying to sound casual.

He turned toward you, meeting your eyes, and up close, he was even more unreal. Sharp jawline, dark brown eyes, slightly messy pink hair, and an unreadable expression like he wasn’t used to being approached without a purpose.

“Do you have a pen I can borrow?” you asked.

Abby blinked once, then reached into his bag without saying a word. He pulled out a sleek black pen— probably some unnecessarily expensive kind, and handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours lightly. Just for a second.

“Thanks,” you muttered, suddenly very aware of the limited space between you.

“No problem,” he said, his voice low and smooth, before turning back to his notes.

You grabbed a random flyer from your bag to write on, pretending not to be hyper-aware of the fact that Abby just lent you his pen.

You felt his eyes on you once or twice after that. Not in a weird way. Just… curious.

And somehow, even with no notebook, no pen of your own, and no idea what the professor was going on about, the rest of the class didn’t feel like such a disaster anymore.

♡

After class, you made your way to the library to meet up with your best friend, Zoey. You spotted her at a long table near the back, headphones on, completely locked into study mode.

You crept up behind her.

“Boo.”

She jumped and yanked off her headphones. “Oh my—! You scared me!” she laughed, turning to face you.

You dropped your bag onto the chair next to hers and sat down, grinning. “Okay. You will not believe who I just had an interaction with.”

Zoey’s eyes lit up instantly. “Who, who, who?? Tell me right now.”

“Abby. As in the Abby. Abbs.”

She practically squealed, loud enough that a few people looked over. You threw your hand up quickly.

“Shh! We’re in a library, girl,” you whispered with a smile.

Zoey clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, sorry. But ohmygosh, he’s so hot.”

You leaned in, voice low. “Right? And get this— I forgot all my stuff, and he gave me his pen. Like, actually handed it to me.”

Zoey gasped. “Wait, handed it to you with eye contact, or like… tossed it in your direction?”

“Eye contact,” you confirmed with a nod. “And his fingers brushed mine. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it honestly felt like a scene out of a movie.”

Zoey dropped her head against the back of her chair in mock shock. “You’re living my fantasy. I’ve never even been in the same row as him.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, trying to sound chill, “he definitely knows I exist now.”

Zoey leaned closer, her expression serious in that overly dramatic Zoey way. “So what’s the plan? Are you gonna say hi next time? Make small talk? Seduce him with your perfectly winged eyeliner?”

You laughed. “I mean, I want to… but what if he just thinks I’m another girl trying to get his attention? He probably deals with that every day.”

“Okay, first of all? You’re not just another girl. You’re you. And second, he gave you his pen. That’s, like, sacred college bonding.”

You smiled despite yourself.

Zoey suddenly perked up. “Okay, forget the pen. Forget the tension. I have even bigger news.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Bigger than Abby’s hand brushing mine?”

She nodded, eyes wide. “Beach. Party. Tonight.”

You blinked. “What beach?”

“Haeundae Beach,” she said like it was common knowledge. “Apparently someone on the swim team’s cousin is throwing it. Bonfire, drinks, music — the whole scene.”

You gave her a skeptical look. “You know I don’t do sand like that.”

“Oh my god,” she groaned. “You’ll survive. And it’s not just any party, everyone is going. Even Mira and Rumi said yes.”

You laughed. “Okay, but are we talking chill bonfire vibes or full blackout-regrets-in-the-morning energy?”

“Both,” she grinned. “But like, aesthetic regrets. Trust me. We’re going. I already picked your outfit.”

You groaned but couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you love it.”

♡

The sun had just started to set when you and Zoey arrived at the beach. The sky was streaked with warm shades of orange and pink, and the breeze off the ocean felt cool against your skin. Somewhere in the distance, music thumped, heavy bass mixing with waves crashing against the shore.

Groups of people were already gathered around the fire. Some were dancing barefoot in the sand, others were lounging on blankets with drinks in hand. Someone had strung fairy lights between two wooden poles, casting a soft golden glow over everything.

“This is actually kind of… nice,” you admitted, pulling the sleeves of your oversized tee down past your hands.

“Told you,” Zoey said proudly. “Vibes? Immaculate.”

You were about to agree when your gaze shifted across the crowd… and your heart dropped into your stomach.

There, leaning casually against a log by the fire, red cup in hand — was Abby.

Same smirk. Same chain. Same energy like he didn’t have to try to be the center of attention — he just was.

Zoey followed your gaze and gasped. “No. Freaking. Way.”

“Did you know he was going to be here?” you whispered, eyes still locked on him.

“No! I swear! But… okay, maybe this really is fate.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. “Don’t start.”

She grinned, nudging your side. “Start what? I’m just saying… the beach is magical. He’s here. You look hot. And maybe… tonight’s not about borrowed pens anymore.”

You glanced back at Abby — and this time, he looked up.

Right at you.

And smiled.

[goobstars]

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

summary : in which jax tells pomni stories about you after ragatha mentions how he didn't have a friend anymore.

tags : angst, implied crushes, she/her pronouns, and censored profanity.

notes : first work on here, i hope you enjoy !!

"not anymore?"

pomi's repeat of what ragatha had said was met with silence as jax only continued to glare at the doll, and ragatha only let out a nervous laugh before hastily walking over to kinger.

"what was that about?"

the words rang out through the quiet hills—seemingly hanging around until an answer was given.

"it doesn't matter...who cares?" jax mumbled as he flopped down on the ground, and he only stared at the digital stars with a frown while pomni tilted her head. it was obvious he was irritated, yet the curiosity of knowing what was behind his annoyance was far too great to push back.

"did...who was your friend?" pomni's question was one jax scoffed at before he looked over at her, and once realizing she was serious, he only rolled his eyes. "[name]."

"huh?"

"that was my friend—[name]." jax's words were quiet while pomni only slightly nodded. something had happened to you, she assumed, for she had never heard that name around here. was it like the thing with kinger's wife? or kaufmo?

"what was [name] like?"

the question was one pomni regretted asking as jax partially glared at the star-filled sky, but after a few seconds, his gaze softened into one that looked like...sadness?

yet, when she blinked, it was like the despair had vanished. maybe she was seeing things.

"she was cool." jax spoke as he slightly itched his chest—his eyes narrowing in a way that made it appear like he was attempting to remember things. "not cooler than me, but she was better than those losers." he gestured to everyone over by the picnic spot, and pomni nodded.

"what made her cool?"

"you're just full of questions, aren't you?" jax sarcstically spoke, yet despite his words, there was no hostility in them, nor did he avoid her question. "[name] didn't just deal with my pranks—she would prank me back. it kept the circus fun, y'know? like one time..."

"F&$#!" the cartoonish sound echoed through the circus—along with your laughter as you heard footsteps erupt from behind you. the person chasing you only got closer as you tried to run quicker, yet you were only met with arms wrapping around your waist before you were picked up from the ground. "I'M SORRY!" "IT'S TOO LATE FOR THAT!" you only laughed harder as jax poked your side, and you thrashed around in his grasp. "YOU-YOU STARTED IT! PUTTING CORN IN YOUR ROOM WAS MY REVENGE!" eventually, you squirmed around hard enough to make the both of you fall, and your body hit the floor. despite that, your laughter never stopped, and you could hear jax start to quietly chuckle. "i didn't do anything." "you poured a can of paint on me!" "me?" jax asked as he sat up beside you—placing a hand to his chest while acting offended. "i would never—S@*$!" he let out a scream as you held up a cob of corn in front of him, and you only wheezed as the corn dropped out of your hand.

"you're scared of corn?"

"no—" jax fibbed at pomni's question, and he only ignored her confused expression before continuing. "she also wasn't a crybaby, a lunatic, an a$$&)@%, or someone who always acted like everything was 'sunshine and rainbows'." jax peered over at gangle, ragatha, kinger, and zooble with a slight scowl.

the four were completely unaware of jax's words as they just continued to look at the fireflies around them, and pomni slightly narrowed her eyes as she looked at jax. "then what was [name]?"

jax's shoulders stiffened as his eyes dropped to the ground, and his pupils went wide while he fell silent.

what were you?

"okay, okay—" you spoke as you sat up from your bed, and jax only tilted his head at you as he rested beside you. "if caine ever used the suggestion box, what adventure would you want to go on?" "if you're going to ask me questions, give me a hard one." you only lightly smacked jax's arm at his attitude, and he only grinned at you before leaning against your pillows. "probably one with poaching. as long as i get to shoot stuff, i don't care." "of course you'd want to shoot stuff." your words only made jax place a hand against his chest, "what's that supposed to mean?" you only shrugged at him with a smile, and in result, he grasped your arm before forcing you back down. laughter rang out in your room as jax flipped you to be below him—one of his hands holding your wrists as he poked your side. "what do you mean by that, [name]?" "JAX!" you shifted around as your laughter only grew, and he stopped after a few seconds before resting both of his hands beside your head. he looked down at you with a grin, "anyways, what adventure would you want to go on? some lame library or something?" you went quiet for a moment as you hummed in thought, and a smile slowly started to cross your face. "i'd want to go stargazing." "LAME!" jax poked your side again, and you only smacked his shoulder before wrapping your legs around his waist. you flipped him over, to his surprise, and you teasingly smiled down at him. "says the one that just wants to shoot stuff. i bet you don't even know how to work a gun." as you talked, you were oblivious to the slight flush that appeared on jax's face, and the grin on his face never faltered. "oh, yeah? i'll prove you wrong." "i'd like to see that happen, jax."

your teasing words chimed in his head before pomni spoke up, "jax?"

"i don't know," jax answered before shrugging, "it doesn't matter."

"jax—" pomni attempted to continue the conversation, but jax only sat up from his spot on the grass before a lazy grin crossed his face. "anyways, let's forget ragatha even mentioned that because she's dumb and she looks weird."

a slight smile crossed pomni's face, "i think we all look weird..."

the conversation continued with jax informing pomni about how he was peak masculinity, but in the back of his mind, he kept her question in thought. what were you to him?

everything.

the grin on jax's face only grew at the thought.

that word worked for him.

[ichorai]

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.

[sloaneispunk]

"peach"

vampire!remmick x vamipre!reader

summary: you were the one who turned remmick and after that, he couldn’t seem to leave you alone. he craved and yearned for your attention, always.

the first few nights, you were simply testing boundaries. you took note when remmick left the house and when he came back, what his schedule was like.

luckily for you, he always returned home by the break of sunset.

remmick lived alone. no wife, no kids. absolutely perfect.

you never spent as much time stalking and watching your prey as much as you did to remmick but he was special. your paths had crossed when you bumped into him whilst fleeing his town after feeding. when your eyes met, you felt a surge of electricity run through your body.

you knew you had to have him.

that night, you carefully creeped onto his porch, sucking in a breath before knocking on the door three times.

within seconds, the door flung open, revealing him in only his towel tied loosely around his waist. your eyes wandered on their own. from his perfect carved chest, to his muscular arms that leaned against the doorway.

“what’s a pretty thing like you wandering late all alone?” remmick questioned, eyes scanning your surroundings in search of others.

“i’m terribly sorry, mister. but i seem to be lost.” you lied, giving him your best act.

“lost? where ya tryna get to, peach?”

“i-i’m not sure either, you see i was supposed to meet a friend of mine but, hell, i can’t seem to find my way.” you let out a defeated laugh.

he was charmed.

a beautiful woman on his front porch asking for directions, was he dreaming?

“what’s your name, sugar?”

“i’m y/n, mister…?”

“remmick. we can drop the formalities, no need for them now do we?” he chuckled as you smiled.

“i guess not… say, remmick? d’ya mind if i come in? it’s pretty chilly out here and to be honest i’m terrified standing alone outside.”

he hesitated.

“i won’t be long.” you tried to convince him.

with one last look of the meadows, he nodded. “c’mon in, sweetheart. let’s get ya warmed up.”

bingo.

as soon as you stepped into his home, you breathed in the atmosphere. you almost felt sorry for the devious ruse you used on his kind soul.

“you thirsty? can i get you something to drink?” you heard him call out as he walked into the kitchen.

he heard no response.

“y/n?”

still no response.

remmick placed the cup down, scurrying back into the living room, worried that something had happened to you. instead, he found you leaning over his fireplace, way too close for comfort as you hummed to yourself.

“you alright? i tried callin’ for ya but-”

“shh…” you cut him off, finger brought to your lips. “…c’mere.”

he was struck with confusion but he complied anyway.

it was so silent, the air was thick, the only thing that filled the silence was the fire crackling and the creak of the floorboards as he made his way to you.

“are you happy, remmick?” you asked him, now face to face.

“what do you mean?”

“i said, are you happy? and don’t lie to me, remmick. i can tell if you are.” you frowned, faking a pout.

he noticed how your whole demeanour had changed. what was once a scared and timid girl standing on his porch seeking refuge now confident and cocky in his living room.

but he wasn’t scared…he was intrigued.

“y-yes.”

you took a step closer, your breath fanning his face.

“bad boy. what did i say about lying?”

he gulped.

“would you like to be happy?”

“already am right now with you in front of me.”

unbelievable.

remmick was the first person that you’ve met that wasn’t on the verge of pissing their pants when you approached them. it was fascinating.

“d’ya mind if i show you something?” you asked again.

“don’t mind at all, ma’am.”

you grinned, taking a step back, you shut your eyes. there was a moment of silence. when you reopened them, they were glowing orange. the grin you had had become devilish as your fangs showed.

you heard an audible gasp from him, but he still wasn’t backing away.

“what are you?” he asked, his tone laced with fascination.

you cocked your head to the side. “you’re not scared?”

then, remmick dropped to his knees. “i think you’re the most enchanting thing ever, peach.”

your hands found their way to his face, gently stroking his cheeks as he leaned into your touch.

“would you like to be one?”

“yes.” there was no uncertainty.

that was all the consent you needed from him. you leaned down, your mouth going to the flesh of his neck, pausing for a moment before you sunk your teeth into him.

he let out a wince but kept still, letting you feed off of him as much as you wanted.

“so sweet.” you cooed, licking his wound when you were finished. placing a kiss on his cheek, you stooped down to his level. “now you’re one of us.”

ever since that night, remmick has been crazy over you. he was like a puppy following it’s owner around everywhere they went, he was head over heels.

it was always- “whatd’ya need, sugar?” or “where you going, peach?”

you couldn’t lie, you loved it.

but when there was news of a new place opening up one evening, oh, you wanted it bad.

rumour had it that a pair of twins had opened a ‘jukebox’ and there was gonna be plenty of people to feed on.

remmick wanted to accompany you and the other vampires to the joint but you wouldn’t allow it. afterall, these brother’s weren’t to be messed around with.

“for the last time, remmick. no means no.” you told him off sternly, but he kept persisting.

“c’mon peach, i don’t wanna miss out on the fun.” he whined, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“rem-”

“y’know i’ll do anythin’ ya want. just say the words and i’ll get it done for you, sugar.”

you rolled your eyes playfully at the man. god, he was gonna kill you one day.

“are you gonna get them to let you in with your charm?” you teased.

“that’s all you, baby. i got another way in.”

remmick gathered a pair of vampires with him, they carried instruments as you stood close by, waiting by your car as you watched them approach the door.

from where you were, you couldn’t make out much of the conversation. but you stifled a laugh when the trio started to sing a song, trying to convince the people to let them pass the threshold of the joint.

but it didn’t seem to work as remmick jogged back to you with no invite.

“aw, what happened?” you purred as he slung his arm over you, letting out a sigh.

“they wouldn’t buy it.”

you laughed, throwing your head back as remmick admired.

“follow me. watch and learn, baby.”

you brought him and the couple to the side of the road, waiting patiently for mary.

“howd’ya know she’ll be comin?” he asked.

“trust me, she will.”

just in time, a woman dressed in a white silk dress came stumbling in your direction.

“what are you doing here?” you called out, playing dumb.

“oh, nothing. i just came out to see if you were nice folks is all.” she replied, giving you a smile.

“well, i don’t know if you would consider us nice, but i do have somethin’ for ya.”

“oh yea? what is it?”

mary slumped onto the empty space next to you, her face on her palms as she watched intensely.

you picked up a small banjo from the ground and started to play an old folk song- ‘will ye go lassie go’, singing along as not only mary watched, remmick too.

and gosh, he was in awe.

somehow you knew that this song was the key to breaking mary. the more you sang, the more she could feel herself slipping. it was like a sailor being lured by sirens.

as the song came to its end, mary gave you a soft applause.

“so was the performace worth an invite in?” you half-jokingly asked.

“i can’t give you no promises, but i can surely try.” she replied, dusting herself off as she stood up, leading you back to the party.

you and remmick followed not too far behind her, carefully calculating your next steps.

“oh, hey, uh i think you forgot something.” you said, causing her to turn around.

but as she did, you lunged forward, biting into her neck with no mercy as blood began to spill out.

a few seconds later, you stepped back, turning to remmick to see the astonished look on his face.

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, leaning off the excess blood around your lips.

remmick was lost for words. he was overwhelmed was love and admiration for the woman that stood before him.

no matter how fucked up the whole situation was, he was infatuated with every single thing that you did.

“c’mon, we have a party to crash.” you giggled, taking his hand.

he was in for a long night.

[yukioos]

helloooo! can i request katsuki reacting to someone being an asshole to reader to his face?? :3

katsuki goes insane when someone’s rude to you

“move, bitch, you’re in my fucking way.”

for a second there, that boy thought that would be the last thing he’d ever say after he saw a fuming katsuki glaring at him. you and katsuki were just walking through the halls, pausing at your locker before you were aggressively shoulder-checked by someone in the general studies course. the force made you drop your books onto the ground, through you don’t say anything.

the footsteps stop once the boy feels a hand gripping hard onto his arm, and katsuki pulls him back, almost face to face with him. he scarily towers over the boy, trying to make him feel intimidated and ashamed for what he’s done.

katsuki asks, with a low voice, “the hell did you say?”

the boy rolls his eyes and sighs, “did you not hear me? i was telling her to move because she was in my way.”

katsuki raises an eyebrow and looks across the empty hallway, then states the obvious, “there’s a whole hallway, dumbass. you didn’t have to bump into her and act like an asshole.” when the boy ignorantly chuckles, katsuki’s hand moves to his blazer, “could blow you out the window if i fuckin’ wanted to,” he spits out with wide, dark eyes.

the boy’s eyes widen, and he shrinks into himself at the threat. he knows katsuki bakugo got first place in the sports festival in his first year, fought in a war, and went through some traumatic shit. he knows your boyfriend could beat the crap out of him if he wanted to.

so when katsuki demands, “apologize to her. now.” and he releases the boy, he can’t look you in the eyes.

but he murmurs, “‘m sorry.”

and katsuki, being the petty and protective man he is, asks, “huh? i don’t think she heard you, say it again.”

“i’m sorry!” the general studies student cries out, tears streaming down his puffy, red cheeks. it’s hard not to laugh at him when he looks like this, when he’s the one who was disrespectful first.

so katsuki pushes him in the opposite direction, telling him to go to class. he does as your boyfriend says, even going as far as running to his classroom.

but katsuki picks up your books from the ground, and his eyes soften when he looks at you. he asks, “are you alright?” holding your books in his left arm as he gently rubs your hand with his right.

you stay silent for a few seconds, then softly kiss him with overwhelming passion and love. he almost drops your books, but holds steady and brushes your hair away from your face with his free hand. once you pull away from his lips, you plant multiple kisses on his cheeks and neck, leaving him flustered and red.

even as you walk to your next class with him, you know nothing has to be said. he’ll willfully defend you anytime, and he knows you’re thankful for it. although he is filled with rage at the boy’s words and behavior, he can’t help but be content when he’s with you.

THIS WAS SO COOL TO MAKE!! thank u for requesting it