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hwaslayer · 2 days ago

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wildfire (cs) | fifteen.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 6.6k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, changes are happening??, namjoon again to the rescue, a bit of distant san 😔, a bit of yearning san ❤️‍🩹, alcohol consumption & intoxication, a very small kiss that was accidental and meant absolutely nothing, these two just 😞 over each other, some crying

—on rotation: next to you - bryson tiller | i'll be alright (tonight) - mura masa

Two months have passed, closer to 3, and you've been busy working your ass off in Namjoon's lab. You've brainstormed and came up with a project that Namjoon approved, giving you all the resources and space you needed to get started. You've also been working alongside a few people in the lab since their project was relatable to yours, finding guidance and a little bit of training and support to carry your project forward. It's been busy, and it's been a good busy.

It's been good enough to keep your mind off of San.

For the most part.

You could only avoid him so many times, and it's not like the ache you felt deep in your chest, your stomach, went away. It still lingers, and it still hits you from time to time.

And it doesn't make it any easier when you get reminders.

Like meeting San's eyes across campus— only for him to break loose and shift his attention elsewhere.

The shift is a harsh, cold reminder that this may actually be over for good.

—FLASHBACK

"Hey." Sunwoo says, gently nudging you. "You okay? Haven't seen you in awhile?" You nod, half smiling before looking down at your laptop.

"Was busy." You chuckle a bit. "Was working on the fine details of my rotation presentation, along with all the data analysis we worked on." You give him a small smile. "I came to clean out the last bits of my stuff."

"It'll all blow over." He says with a reassuring smile. "For the record, I don't think it really matters but I know Professor Kim is just trying to keep everything together before it all blows up again."

"Guessing the whole world knows now?" He shrugs.

"Maybe, maybe not. I haven't heard much lately, but you know me, I don't like to meddle in things like that in general. I keep outta that shit."

"People must think greatly of me." He chuckles.

"It doesn't matter what they think. In any case, you are a good person, you're super sweet and super smart. If they choose to fix on that, that's their issue."

"Thanks, Sunwoo." You look at him. "I'm sorry I won't be able to help you after this."

"That's okay. We'll still hang out and I'm sure we'll cross paths more before I finish up here. Plus, I love Professor Choi but having Professor Kim take you under his wing is fucking sick." You laugh, playfully shoving him.

"I don't know where this will take me, but I hope it works out."

"Are you two.. still a thing? Secret's safe with me. For real."

"I know. But, no."

"I don't know the ins and outs of what happened between you and Professor Choi, but I'm sure he did it for good reason. To also protect you."

"Yeah, maybe. Who knows anymore." You sigh. "Anyway. Gotta head out to do my rotation presentation."

"Goodluck. It'll be all good." Sunwoo gives you a small smile. "Text or call me? Let's get lunch on a weekly basis or something to catch up."

"Yeah, I will. Thanks for everything, Sunwoo."

"Nah, thank you. You really helped my ass out." You laugh and playfully ruffle his hair.

"I'll see you around." You gather your things and let out a shaky sigh as you head out. You're hauling your main bag, and another tote bag that has the rest of your things from your desk. You head over to the small auditorium that Namjoon booked for your rotation presentation, giving yourself some wiggle room to set up and get situated before the three would arrive.

Too bad someone else also had the same plan.

You waltz into the room and head straight for the podium, setting your things down onto a chair in the front row. You grab your laptop and settle at the front, eyes shooting up at the door when you hear footsteps approach the entrance.

And of course it would be San.

He slowly trails in with Namjoon next to him; except, Namjoon turns to speak with a student that stopped him right by the entrance. San is in his black dress pants, white shirt and a black leather jacket. His boots are leaving sounds with every step he takes, watch gleaming on his wrist. He meets your eyes and you instantly freeze— shifting your attention back to your laptop because you don't know what the hell else to do. He doesn't say anything as he heads down the aisle and to the front row, his greeting almost sounding dull.

Forced, even.

"Y/N."

"Professor Choi." The awkwardness and the tension fills the room, and you can't help but notice how awfully clammy your hands are getting. How nervous you feel yourself getting. "How are you?"

"Good." Is all he says before plopping into seat in front while you continue to work with the AV system to get your presentation up on the screen.

"That's good." You reply without looking at him. He feels cold and so standoff-ish— it's hard to tell if he's doing this because he has to or because he actually means it. Was he really done with you? "Hope the presentation's okay." You mumble lightly. San catches on, but he continues to scroll through his phone to distract himself until Namjoon finally walks in.

"Sure you'll be fine." And it sucks. Maybe he does mean it. He doesn't say anything else, and he doesn't reassure you the way he usually does. For San, it's a front. He has to distance himself or else he'll cave. For you, it hurts nonetheless.

"Sorry! Got caught up. The dean's on his way." Namjoon pops in and sits next to San in the front row. "All good, Y/N? Do you need help with setting anything else up?"

"No, I think I got it. Thank you." You smile at him and he nods.

"Course."

"Alright, let's get this going. Sorry for the small wait." The dean comes in last, taking a seat by the two. "Hi Y/N, hope you're doing okay."

"Think so." You chuckle a bit. "Well, I'll get started if there aren't any objections?" They shake their heads. "Great." You nervously respond while Namjoon and the dean give you a small smile.

San doesn't even maintain eye contact with you.

But, it's only because it's the hardest thing to suppress his feelings for you whenever you're in front of him and he can't exactly have you like he used to.

—END

"Yo!" Jiung waves, shifting your attention towards him across the lawn. You give him a small smile, stopping in your motions to wait for him to cross over. To your left is San, patiently waiting for Zara to walk over to him. You can't help but watch; the two only a couple of feet away, their voices slightly echoing around the courtyard.

His hand hovering the small of her back as they enter the Harvey Building together.

To this day, you can still feel your heart physically drop to your gut. You're not sure when it'll pass, but you hope it's soon. You're so tired of feeling this way.

So, so tired.

"Hey." You give Jiung a tiny smile as you hug your books against your chest.

"Whattup?" It took awhile for you and Jiung to get back to normal. You always knew you would, but you needed a little more time to understand his side of things. For awhile, you were angry and hurt. All you could see was red. All you could see was Jiung openly going behind your back to talk to Professor Kim about something he didn't know anything about.

You saw the surface level.

But, as time went on, and as your hurt continued to settle into something you just needed to accept, you understood Jiung a little more. You knew he had always cared about you and you knew he was always protective of you. You knew there wasn't any ill intention behind his actions. And when you two finally came together to talk about it more maturely, you've seen that Jiung had been more understanding of your side, too. He apologized for having gotten in the middle, but he did everything out of care for you and protection. It's clearer now that the relationship you had with San wasn't just any relationship— he saw you cry, and cry, and cry. Wondering where you went wrong or what you could've done to be more careful, to prevent this from happening. He saw the look in your eyes, the way your body physically called and yearned for San's touch and love; he knew this wasn't any of those cases of power imbalance or a one-sided relationship. He felt stupid having needed time to marinate on the whole thing when he should've known you better. But, he could truly say he acted in fear and felt better to err on the side of caution.

He just wished it didn't have to end like this; with you, sad and alone. Feeling like all of it was just too good to be true, a fleeting moment.

A quick chapter in your book.

He gets that now.

When he sees San walking around, he almost feels the same energy, aura, that he feels when he sees you. It's just too bad he can't help. Even if he did, he finds it better to no longer meddle.

Maybe it'll bring you two back together again. When the time is right.

"Nothing. I just need to get some stuff together before I meet with Professor Kim in a bit."

"Nervous?"

"No, not really." You shake your head. "Things have been going well for the most part, minus little hiccups. He wanted to talk about other programs and opportunities he found fitting for me."

"Huh." Jiung cocks a brow up. "More collaborations he wants you involved in, I'm assuming." You shrug.

"If it is, I'm for it. Just hope it doesn't take up my entire schedule completely." You chuckle.

"It'll be good either way!"

"Yeah, I know. It's been good. I have no complaints." You shiver from the breeze that's picking up, digging your face deeper into the scarf you have on.

"Did you hear? There's supposed to be a random storm coming soon. Spring weather, amirite?"

"I heard."

"Are you gonna head home? You should try and head home if you can. Who knows what it'll bring here."

"I don't know. I do need to catch up on some data analysis or else I'll be behind." You pause. "Dunno if I trust myself to work productively at home. We have backup generators, right?"

"I mean, yeah. But, what if it goes out? Then, what?"

"Yeah, I don't know. Let's hope that's not one of these cases." You stop in front of the Panama Building and turn to Jiung.

"Lunch later?" You nod.

"Might be a little late. I'll text you when I'm wrapping up?"

"Sounds good. We'll wait for you."

"See you later." You wave before heading inside the building, shimmying off the cold once you step inside and try to warm yourself up. You head down to the lab, setting your things down on your desk before immediately getting started on your work for the day. You try to pace yourself and plan out your tasks well so that you're able to step out for your meeting with Professor Kim and grab lunch with your friends in a few hours.

It's busy, and time flies. Busy is good. At least your mind is occupied with other pressing matters.

Time slips by so quickly you're almost running late to your meeting with Professor Kim. You put a pause in your current run for behavior, grabbing your laptop and a notebook before darting up to Professor Kim's office. You power-walk down the familiar hallway before finally reaching his open door, finding him occupied at his desk.

"Hey!" Namjoon smiles when you walk into his office and plop down in the chair. "Give me a second, just finishing up this email."

"All good." You chuckle. "Sorry I'm a few minutes late. Was running behavior."

"No worries, I figured. Get comfortable." You plop onto the seat in front of his desk, watching as his fingers move swiftly on the keyboard before he navigates to the mouse and clears his throat. "Okay! All good." He laughs a bit. "How's it going?"

"Good! Pretty busy per usual."

"Good busy, I suppose?"

"Yes, good busy. It's been productive. Days are going by quick. I've got some really promising data for this cohort and I think you might be happy with it."

"I'm happy with any progress." You laugh. "That sounds great! Any other ideas? Any other plans at the moment?"

"Well, I'm not sure yet. As long as I'm on the right path, I think there are other avenues I can explore if the results continue to trend upwards."

"Then, let's explore when we get there. I know you'll continue to do great work, and the results look promising. It all looks promising."

"Thank you, Professor Kim."

"There is something else I wanted to talk to you about." You cock a brow up and tilt your head to the side.

"Sure. I'm all ears."

"Professor Qi from the Mirae Biomedical Institute contacted me the other day. She was really impressed by your symposium presentation and the work you've done in Professor Choi's lab and mine. She thinks you'd be a great asset in their program, especially since she's starting a new clinical research study that I also agree you'd contribute well to. It's a study examining neural activity and behavioral patterns in individuals with conditions like bipolar disorder, anxiety, and OCD, etc. You get the gist. A lot of your work is relatable and can be used to push this study forward."

"Oh my god, wow." You respond in disbelief, shock, even. You didn't think anyone was really paying attention to your work like that, especially with what has happened. You kinda felt like a lost cause even though nothing entirely catastrophic has happened. "I was not expecting that."

"Why not?" Namjoon laughs. "You deserve the credit. What do you think about it?"

"I'm really honored, truly. I think it's a great opportunity."

"It is. Not a lot of people get recruited this way, especially with a research assistant position included in the package." You nod silently, still trying to take it in. "Now, if you do want to move forward, it does mean we'll have to get your transfer application in ASAP. They do offer housing assistance should you need it, and they're willing to help cover any other expenses until you settle."

"Right, transferring." You look down at your palms. Truthfully, Mirae wasn't that far from here; it'd be about 2 hours out, but you could easily get there by a drive down the less busier highway or the bullet train.

You'd have to make that effort to see your friends, meet halfway.

San comes into your head.

"I know it's a bit scary, you've already gotten accustomed to things here even if it's just been your first year. But, luckily, it's not that far away and you can always meet your friends halfway. The train can connect you to campus and back." He tries to reassure you because he really wants you to take this. Of course, he can't force you, but he knows this would be beneficial to your growth.

"Yeah, I know. It's not that bad."

"It's not. Plus, you guys all drive, right?" You nod.

"When do I have to get my transfer application in?" Namjoon pulls up the information on his desktop and lets out a small sigh.

"In two weeks. We can get that done. I can write up a letter of recommendation for you and have Professors Choi and Bahng do one each." He looks at you. "Do you feel comfortable asking Professor Jeong for one since you TA'd for him? It's not entirely necessary, but wanted to see how you felt."

"Um, to be honest, not really." He nods.

"That's fine. We don't need it. Us three should be more than enough." He gives you a tiny smile. "Think you can get a personal statement and everything else together by then?"

"Yeah, I think so. Shouldn't be too much of a hassle."

"I can help with official transcripts, too."

"That sounds great." Your expression is blank and Namjoon tilts his head to try and get a read from you.

"Why the face?"

"I truthfully didn't think I was qualified or that anyone was really paying attention." Namjoon chuckles a bit.

"Listen, your grades are fantastic. The work you do is incredible. I fully think you are capable of handling all the ins and outs of this transfer and transitioning over." Namjoon smiles. "The program isn't too different from ours, but it will definitely offer you a lot of different options and pathways with the clinical study picking up."

"It's alot, and I'm grateful you believe in me. I just don't know if I can handle it. The changes."

"Don't second-guess yourself, okay? You are more than capable. It won't be much different from what you're already doing. Just a 'lil more umph. More seasoning, if you will."

"You think so?" He nods.

"You'll still focus on research, but you'll be split between classes and eventually, the hospital. Unfortunately, that does probably mean there is some weekend work in store for you." You let out a breath, eyes still on Professor Kim. He lets out another laugh [of endearment] and nods, clasping his hands together. "I know that look. I've been there before, but trust me. You'll do amazing, and you'll excel, no doubt. You shouldn't restrict yourself just because you assume you won't do well. Your work and ethic has proved otherwise."

"Thank you, Professor Kim. I think I do wanna move forward with this."

"Cool, then we can work together and get you set up. I'll loop you into an email with her so we can all chat and finalize this. Hopefully before the week ends." You nod.

"And I mean it, by the way." You pause. "Thank you for everything. For supporting me and pushing me forward regardless of everything that's happened."

"You're welcome. I would never let that define you." You give him a small smile, fiddling with your laptop sleeve— dying to ask him about the one person that has been occupying your mind the most. "You okay otherwise?"

"Yeah, I think so. Just thought about some things, but nothing important."

"He's doing okay." Namjoon gives you a tiny smile.

"I— huh? How'd you know I was—"

"Because I just do. He asks about you, too."

"Oh." Is all you say, swallowing the thick lump forming in your throat. "Well, I'm glad he's okay."

"Him and Professor Choi #2 received approval for their joint program, so they'll be getting the real estate they wanted in the new building."

"That's amazing. I'm glad it all worked out." Namjoon nods.

"Anything else I can do for you in the meantime?"

"No, that's it. For now. I'm sure more things will come up when we meet next."

"Sounds good. Well, you let me know if anything comes up or if I can do anything else for you."

"Thanks, Professor Kim." You give him one last smile before grabbing your things and heading out the door.

And the rest of your day is pretty eventful, but not as eventful as San's turns out to be.

While you busy yourself with your new classes, lab work and hanging out with your friends, San is having to force himself to go out with his own group. For awhile, he kinda sulked. Stayed home, did his own thing. Kept quiet. But, it got old to Jongho [and the rest of them] quick— hence, now he's being forced to leave the comfort of his home.

He guesses he could use the fresh air, the night out. It is Mingi's birthday, so he doesn't think he could've said no otherwise.

"Ayo!" Jongho calls out as he enters San's house, twirling the key around his finger as he waits for San's response.

"I told you I'd be fine driving." San slowly comes down his steps, dressed in a simple tee, jeans and a bomber jacket.

"Okay, miss attitude." Jongho laughs. "I'm trying to make it easier so you don't have to worry about parking and what not." San sighs.

"Thanks." He shrugs. "Do I look okay? Not that it matters."

"Can you at least try to be somewhat happy? Especially when we see Mingi later?"

"I'm sorry, I really am trying. Just kinda hard to."

"I know, and I truly think you could use this night to get your mind off of things. It's been some time, give yourself a little break." Jongho nudges him.

"Yeah, yeah. You're right." San gives him a small smile.

"Things will get better, but you gotta stop sulking about it or else you'll just keep enforcing this negativity to come for you."

"Wow, that's the deepest shit I've ever heard from you."

"And it won't come again, so fucking take it or leave it." San laughs a bit and shakes his head.

"Can we go? Before I change my mind and tell Mingi I'm sick or something."

"Hell no." Jongho starts power-walking to his car, making San take his time as he checks around the living room and kitchen once more before locking up and slipping into the passenger's seat. San slouches in his seat while Jongho drives off towards the busy downtown area, scrolling through the new group chat created for Mingi's birthday to catch up.

"They're all there already."

"Yeah, well. They wanted a head start."

"I thought Zara wasn't coming."

"She wasn't, but I think her initial plans ended up getting canceled."

"I see." San sighs and rests his head back against the head rest. The bar is ways away from campus, thankfully. It's a new bar that just opened a month ago, and Mingi's birthday was the perfect excuse for everyone to get together for a night and relieve some stress. When Jongho arrives at their destination, he's having to park down the block due to how crazy busy the area is tonight. It's a chilly night, and San has to tuck his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket to try and keep himself warm on the walk. When they enter, they see familiar faces near the back wall of the bar, Mingi's loud voice radiating towards the entrance.

"My fucking boys!" He says, already intoxicated. He pulls San and Jongho into a hug before the two start greeting the group properly.

"Hey. I didn't think you were coming." San says, pulling Zara into a hug. She's got on a jeans, high heeled boots and an off-the shoulder sweater on. She's got a bit more makeup on tonight— she's gone for the natural blush kinda look. San is not gonna lie, she looks good.

But, she will never be you.

"Yeah, plans got canceled and I was already dressed so, figured I'd make use of the outfit somehow." San chuckles a bit.

"Glad you were able to." He gives her a small smile before greeting the rest of the crew that was there, including Namjoon.

The night starts off pretty chill for San. He's taken a few shots to try and keep up with Mingi, no longer wanting to hear him complain about how no one wanted to take shots for his birthday. After the third, he tries to slow it down and cashes in for a small can of beer while Mingi continues on with spreading the love throughout the group by passing out more shots. The music is right up everyone's ally, making most of their group bounce along to the beats and sing along loudly. San's got himself next to Zara at the booth— both of them sipping on their poison for the rest of the night.

"So, San." She turns to him, her chin resting on the palm of her hand. "How's everything going?" San looks at her and despite the blush she's wearing, he can tell her cheeks are naturally flushing red at the question, at being tipsy. At the fact that she has him alone.

Because you aren't around.

"Good. Super busy, but good." San is pretty drunk, not gonna lie. He doesn't normally drink like this, but he figured he'd just enjoy himself while around his bestfriends. The beer obviously isn't helping his case, but he believes he'll be fine. He doesn't think anything will come out of this anyway. "Heard you've secured some new funding and you've got three more grad students."

"I did, yeah."

"Congrats." San smiles at her before gently tapping his beer can against her cocktail glass.

"What's new with you? We haven't been able to catch up for a bit."

"Yeah, sorry. It's just— it's been a rollercoaster."

"I bet." Zara sips on her drink. There's a slight pause before she's tracing the rim of her glass, then speaking up again. "I'm sorry about everything that's happened." San looks at her. They're sitting in close proximity; enough for San to feel her arm rub against him whenever she moves, her body heat.

"You don't have to be sorry for anything." He gives her a small smile. "It is what it is. Things are pretty stable now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"So, are you not seeing her anymore?" San takes a big gulp of his beer while keeping his eyes trained on the crowd in front of him. Her.

You always come back in the picture.

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"All good. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be." Zara looks up at him and they meet eyes for a moment. To her, the tension feels thick. But to San, he's just going with the motions. He's drunk, she's pretty, he's chillin'. Nothing more to it. But, she looks at him in a certain way and it has him slightly furrowing his brows when he tilts his head to look at her a little more, a little deeper.

"I'm sure it hasn't been easy." Her eyes are moving down to his nose, to his lips. San is following her gaze and he knows all too well where this could lead. He should've known to break contact, but before he could even think about it, Zara is the first to lean in and make her move— lips pressing against San's that he's instantly in shock and can't process right away.

But, what he does know is that this doesn't feel right, and his body is already rejecting the action because it isn't you.

"Zara—" San gently pushes Zara back with a frown on his face. "Zara, I can't. I— this can't happen. I'm sorry if I ever misled you, but—"

"Oh." She almost looks confused. "No, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, how embarrassing." She shies away. "I should've known."

"I'm sorry—" He tries to repeat again, but she's shaking her head and walking off towards the bathroom. "Fuck." He runs his hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. He feels terrible that it happened. One, it shouldn't have happened. Two, he didn't mean to hurt his friend.

Three, it wasn't you.

It sounds so fucked up, but even after all of that, his mind still takes him to you and he can't help but drunkly panic as if you were around to see it. It should've never happened, it should've never happened.

He didn't want that to happen.

They had been hanging out for awhile, but the last thing he wanted was to lead her on unintentionally. And he doesn't think he did, knowing she had feelings for him from the get-go. He was there for her and enjoyed her company, but kept enough distance to make sure it didn't cross any boundaries.

He didn't want that to happen.

He pushes his way through the crowd and finds his way outside, letting the cool air hit his skin. If he hadn't made his way out of the bar, he might've [quite frankly] yacked from the slight nausea and anxiety he's feeling. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, quickly scrolling through his call log to find your name.

You don't answer when he calls.

So, he texts.

san: i'm sorry

san: i miss you so badly

san: i miss us

san: zara kissed me and you're probably gonna hate me for it

san: i'm so sorry baby, pls come back to me i miss you. i don't fucking care anymore, i just need you.

you: san stop

you: get home safely okay?

san: no i want you with me though

you: san, please stop making this harder than it already is.

And then he calls again. Because for some reason, he feels like you already hate him and want nothing to do with him over a dumb 'lil mistake that he had no intention of making.

He calls again.

And again. Even when he's got his back pressed against the wall, crouching near the ground until he can hear your voice clearly on the other line. Zara steps out to get a breather, but she sees that he's already on the phone and it must be with you. She doesn't know why she expected anything out of that stupid, silly little kiss.

He was always gonna run back to you.

It was always gonna be you.

You finally answer, but it's because you think something's wrong and you don't want anything to happen to San.

You don't even know if you can stomach hearing him right now.

"Baby." He drunkly murmurs on the phone and it causes you to swallow the lump forming in your throat— shut your eyes to prevent any more tears from falling. "Sweetheart, you there?"

"San, stop this. That's all I'm asking from you." You shakily respond.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? You shouldn't be calling ne as if things are okay."

"But, they can be, angel. We can make it okay again."

"Please don't call me that." You barely say above a whisper, tears sting your eyes, throat aching. "If you need a ride, I can call you a cab."

"No. Mm'fine. I just wanted to hear your voice because I miss you so damn much."

"You're making this way too hard. Please just go home and get sleep, okay?"

"You're gonna hate me more than you already do."

"I don't hate you. But, whatever your business is with her, is your business with her. None of this pertains to me."

"I don't have business with her. I want you. I just want you. It's always you." You purse your lips tightly when you remember his text— of course Zara would take the opportunity, and now he's confessing his love to you.

All of this was so fucked up.

"I love you."

"San."

"You don't feel the same anymore?" You feel the burn in your throat when you take a moment to pause.

"Can you just put Jongho on the phone, please?"

"Why?" He whines.

"Because I need to make sure you get home safely." He clicks his teeth.

"Fine." He whines some more before he's calling out to Jongho and telling him his girl would like to have a word. "Think my girl is mad. C-can you tell her we can work this out? I-I don't want her mad anymore." In which Jongho follows with a quick 'yeah, ok' before snatching up his phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi. I'm sorry to trouble you with this, but can you please make sure he gets home in one piece? I think it's best he stops calling me, too."

"Of course. I'll stay with him."

"Thank you, Professor—"

"Jongho."

"Thank you, Jongho." You hang up the call and instantly toss your phone to the side before your tears start overflowing. You let the sheets swallow you whole before you cry.

And you just.. cry.

Until you tire yourself and fall asleep, even though you tried to stay up to make sure nothing else came in from San.

Nothing does, anyway.

Jongho throws San into the car and tells him to chill while he says his final goodbyes to everyone. Mingi, Yeosang and the rest of the group are laughing it off, assuming San is just drunk and slumped for the night. And he kinda is, but he's sad. He's completely heartbroken. He doesn't wanna be alone for the night, and Jongho says he'll take the guest room so he doesn't have to wallow in his drunkenness alone.

Yet, he still feels like he is.

When he gets home, he lazily kicks off his shoes and runs a quick shower. The world is still spinning more than he'd like, so he downs a whole water bottle before finishing up his routine and slipping under the sheets. Jongho has left him to his peace, also getting ready for bed in the guest bathroom and bedroom.

San can barely get comfortable because he can't even close his eyes and feel still for a second. He lies on his tummy, sprawled out across his bed since there's no use in leaving space for two.

He wishes he could.

Your side remains empty.

"You good?" Jongho pokes his head in to see a shirtless San facing the opposite way.

"Mhm." He mumbles. "Thanks."

"Yeah. Well, you know where to find me if you need anything." San stays silent, making Jongho shut his door gently before retreating to the bedroom.

San does know what he needs, though.

It's unfortunate your side remains empty.

Monday comes, and San is hoping he doesn't run into you.

He's hoping he doesn't run into you because he's not sure how to explain himself, and it's not like he can, anyway. But, it'll also make everything real for him— too real for his liking.

It'll be too real that he drunk texted you and called you, confessing his love after an incident that should've never happened in the first place.

It'll be too real that you aren't his.

It'll be too real that you never came to be by his side and that your side of the bed remains empty.

San sighs to himself as he quickly rushes into the Harvey Building, hurrying down to the basement and unlocking his office door. He sets his bags down and plops onto his chair, getting settled for the day. He couldn't sleep last night, so he decided to get up before the sun rose to workout in the faculty gym. He might've pushed himself a little harder than usual, his arms already feeling the soreness from the upper body workout he did. He'll be extra tired today, but at least his day will fly by with the shit he has to do.

He just hopes he doesn't run into you.

Because somehow, when he sees you, time stops and he feels frozen.

He lets out a sigh and starts working on a few progress reports that are literally due tomorrow. He's gotten through most of it and thankfully, just needs to add a few more details before sending it off. He also just got word that he won an award, and the foundation has been asking for a bunch of material to get ready for the award ceremony in a few months.

He hopes he can still share that news with you at some point.

Until then, he'll gather some childhood and school photos, candids he has from being in the classroom and doing lectures, other award photos; you know the deal. He's gotta write an acceptance speech that's 500-600 words and lasts about 2-3 minutes, plus answer a bunch of questions on a sheet they sent him.

It takes up a good chunk of his early morning that he's grabbing coffee right before his meeting with Namjoon and Jongho about the new program and real estate. He mutters a quick 'oh shit' to himself when he looks down at his watch, wrapping up his last thoughts before switching his desktop computer to sleep mode and gathering his phone and badge. When he slips out of his office, he finds the basement office more packed than usual. Lots of his lab members are meeting with people from other labs to collaborate or get guidance on a project. Sunwoo is busying himself with the data on his computer, working on his next data presentation for the lab meeting next week. He's noticed that him and Belle don't talk anymore, and he wonders why; he has an inkling it has to do with you, but he won't pry unless he hears about it somehow.

They all toss their 'hello's' his way while he rushes out to grab his coffee before making his way to the electrical engineering building.

Luckily, the walk is quiet.

San sips on his coffee and makes his way into a room that Jongho booked for their meeting. He's not here yet, but Namjoon isn't either, so San sits at the table by himself— mindlessly scrolling through his phone. He hasn't deleted your text thread [call him crazy], and he still has all your photos in his album. He hasn't changed the 'Baby 💕' listed as your contact name, he hasn't changed his home wallpaper that consists of a shot from behind you looking out at the beach view.

It's all equally tearing him apart and getting him by at the same time.

He can't seem to get his mind off of you and it makes him think that the universe is playing some kind of sick, twisted game with him.

Or, maybe it's a sign that he just has to accept his feelings for you. That you were always gonna be the one for him no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it couldn't work—

"Ayo." Namjoon pulls him out of his thoughts when he walks in and plops down on a seat next to him.

"Sup."

"I see Jongho's running a bit late." San checks his texts to see the unread 'running a few mins late - be there soon' text from the man himself.

"Yeah. I almost forgot myself. Was too busy getting the award materials together." Namjoon smiles.

"That's a big one. Definitely deserved."

"Thanks, boss."

"How's everything else?"

"Good, I guess." But Namjoon can see it's deeper than that, and San isn't all that great at hiding his true feelings.

"You guess?"

"Yeah, why?" He looks at Namjoon.

"She's doing great."

"Is she?"

"Yeah, really."

"That's good to hear."

"Qi Jaemi from Mirae reached out and is recruiting Y/N into their program. She started a clinical study not too long ago that's moving fast, and the work that Y/N has done in our labs is incredibly beneficial and relates well to what she's focused on. She offered to support her and give her a research assistant position while she's studying for extra financial support." Namjoon meets San's eyes. "I think she'd flourish and do amazing in it. Can't let her talents go to waste."

"I agree." San shifts in his seat. "So, she'll be transferring?"

"Yeah, sounds like. It's promising and I told her she has my support. I think she's gonna take it and not backtrack."

"T-that's great. I hope she does." San says.

"I'll need your help with writing a rec letter for her transfer application. If that's okay."

"Yeah, of course. Anything." He is truly happy for you and thinks it's the best move, especially for a very well known professor like Professor Qi. After everything, he's glad your work is still being recognized and that you're opening new doors to different opportunities.

He hopes you do move forward with it.

Selfishly enough, he hopes you take it and this will eventually lead you two back together. To a time where you don't have to hide your relationship and be loved undercover.

To a time where you two could just be happy without any outside noise.

"You miss her?"

"I do." San barely responds. "I really do, and I don't know how I'm supposed to get past this. I tried, Joon. I can't let her go." He sighs.

"Listen, I can't tell you what to do anymore. My job doesn't include policing you down to the T. Things have settled and brushed over, but it doesn't mean the dean isn't watching you or her. Luckily, if she takes this, it won't be as big of a deal as it is now while she's a student here. He'd still wanna make sure you aren't getting distracted, though."

"Okay.. but that's great, right? Things have settled for the both of us." Namjoon sighs. "If she takes the opportunity, it changes everything."

"Yes, which is why.. whatever you do, please just remember not to mess this up for her or you. The both of you are on great paths right now."

"It was never my intention to do so in the first place. I wanna add value to her life, not take away from it."

"So, what are you trying to say?"

"I love her."

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated @randajjjad

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snoopyhq · 1 day ago

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Can I request smut headcanons where his gn s/o worships Jayce, Viktor, Steb, Vander, Silco, and Ekko's bodies please?

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ the altar is my hips, even if it's a false god

type: misc. arcane characters x gn reader

summary: different body worship with different arcane men

warning: explicit content, mentions of restraints (silk), guided masturbation, mirror play (i think?? idk the name. uh, involves mirrors. viktor's part), implied sex positions, etc. i don't think i can write full blown smut, mainly because i'm not practiced, so i'll try to make it as romantic as i can with extra zealous passion

minors dni, thank you !!!

word count: 1555

a/n: false god is objectively a banger and is one of lover's most underrated tracks.

dividers used made by @/diviniyae

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ JAYCE

he's getting tied to the bedposts

no rope, no handcuffs, no nylon

red silk ribbons adorn his wrists and ankles, contrasting the warm brown of his skin like a trail of your freshly applied lipstick

which is now making its way down the column of his throat

he needs the stability and reassurance

you're restraining his limbs, not to hinder his movement, or as a play on his autonomy, but to hold him down so you could hold him close to you and dote on him like he deserves

he's completely shameless his breathy whimpers and gasps

which is great! it's exactly what you want

you want him to feel safe enough to express himself with you, especially during such an intimate setting

he's the most beautiful canvas in the world, and you're going to turn him into your next masterpiece

he's a marked up mess by the end. lovebites litter his inner thighs and upper body, and god forbid you's skimp out on his neck

each one is a physical reminder of the message you want him to carry with him everyday

i love you, jayce talis. don't you ever forget that

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VIKTOR

mirror, mirror on the wall. who's the fairest of them all?

it's viktor

this man would be living off work if he could. he doesn't take the time necessary to just spoil himself, so you're taking matters into your own hands

quite literally

after weeks of contradicting schedules, you both have a couple nights completely free

the floor length mirror had its cloth taken off and now stands opposite your shared bed, gleaming faintly in the dim light

you'd taken off his clothes too, slowly, murmuring praises about each newly revealed part of his body

viktor isn't one to blush, but your words always make a softie out of him

you sit behind him, your legs on either side of his as you two look at your reflections. he wants to look away, but your encouragement keeps him from shying away from the revelation of his naked form

your hands find his, and as the jazz music continues its sensual crescendo, you trail them down down down, letting the tips of his fingers ghost over his skin in a featherlight caress

you're kissing his neck and telling him just how great he's doing and how gorgeous he is, and how much he deserves to see himself from your point of view (i love you chappell roan)

his head is thrown back. his soft brown locks are on your shoulders, shifting slightly with his labored breaths as he finally takes the time to love his body the way you always have, with your steady hands over his, guiding his motions and coaxing him to climax

you see now, viktor? can you see just how beautiful you are to me?

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ STEB

i'm sitting here cycling through a myriad of options for him

my first thought was hot springs, but then hmm. gross lowkey. i am a hot springs enjoyer, leave the scenic nature place alone! i berated myself

and then i moved on to a luxury bath

but then i remembered outdoor jacuzzis are a thing, and baths inside in like a house or apartment kind of became boring compared to this

so picture this: outdoor jacuzzi, secluded in the shade of your guys' garden

the giant trees sway in the wind and the sunlight filter through the leaves to create dapples that dance on both your slick skin, your hands on either side of his face as you two move in sync to the slow lapping of the water

he isn't a vocal one, but he has his tells

the way his breath hitches, the half closed eyes, the fluttering his gills when you add extra emphasis on the next roll of your hips

this man's an enforcer (unfortunate)

the stress of work often carries over to other aspects of his life, but he's been trained to remain stoic in the face of adversary

these stolen moments of intimacy are the few times he truly relaxes. be gentle and patient with him, and you'll have him beyond whipped

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VANDER

the only vanderbilt i know is vander built like the man of mine and sza's dreams

more surface area = more space to love on. btw

being a single dad most of his life is stressful, even more so when you combine it with the leadership needed to keep the lanes in order

the worship you bring him is akin to one for a wine god

you're both getting blacked out wasted

it sounds irresponsible, but hear me out

a space where he doesn't have to be the responsible, upstanding adult in the room, where he can just go buck wild and release his inhibitions? that would fuck so hard, ok

especially having you as his drinking/party buddy

the amount of dirty dancing you'd be getting into with the drinking games available would make a sailor blush

the bedroom is empty, and the commodities of the bar have found their way to this little haven

pour out a cup for this much needed reprieve

maybe upon him too while your clever tongue provides the drunken declarations of love

the only vanderbilt i know is vander built like a fucking snorlax

more surface area = more space to love on. btw

being a single dad most of his life is stressful, even more so when you combine it with the leadership needed to keep the lanes in order

the worship you bring him is akin to one for a wine god

you're both getting blacked out wasted

it sounds irresponsible, but hear me out

a space where he doesn't have to be the responsible, upstanding adult in the room, where he can just go buck wild and release his inhibitions? that would fuck so hard, ok

especially having you as his drinking/party buddy

the amount of dirty dancing you'd be getting into with the drinking games available would make a sailor blush

the bedroom is empty, and the commodities of the bar have found their way to this little haven

pour out a cup for this much needed reprieve

maybe upon him too while your clever tongue provides the drunken declarations of love

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ SILCO

it's a game of tug-of-war

silco is a drug lord and basically rules the underground. he's not relinquishing power without a fight

crafty wit? physical passion? maybe even a game of chess. you choose

the game changes every time, which he finds refreshing and mentally stimulating

it eventually gets to a point where you're finally given the reins

your neck is covered in hickeys and there are scratches down your back by the time it gets there, but they're routine by then

you didn't leave him unharmed either

you may both be panting from the adrenaline and exhilaration, but the true reward comes from the deprivation of senses you love so much

the blindfold goes over, and silco's yours for however long you want to go tonight

you worship him the same way a feral animal would

it's pure instinct and desperation and hurts so good

the consequences can be felt in full later

when you've had enough of your fun, you finally remove the blindfold and let him see the wreck he's made of you, and you of him

make sure to remind him with extra kisses to the left one that he's the apple of your eye, no matter how rotten

aftercare. duh.

he's gotten his hands on the finest creams and bath oils, so you get cleaned and patched up in luxury. rivals a piltovan spa, really

the settle down from such ferocity to something so tame is the perfect balance for your stormy relationship

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ EKKO

worshipping ekko is an event that takes place over the course of the entire day

you've planned it down to the letter

similar to vander, he's in charge of so much and takes care of so many people, so you wanted to be the one pampering him for once

breakfast is brought to him in bed, and the watching the sunrise is a relaxing start to the day

here comes a medley of dates

a walk down his favorite street and hitting the shopping district

you insist he get himself something from at least three different stores

then treating him to lunch before heading off on your hoverboards as you guys race through the sky

back home, you'd put together a skincare basket to do together. the whole routine of exfoliate, moisturize, and then the face masks

you talk about the exciting day you just had, fingers intertwined the whole time until it's time to take the masks-and clothes-off

he doesn't let himself relax often, but around you?

completely gone

you make slow, leisurely love, taking every second as a chance to appreciate him, his body, his voice and that brilliant mind of his

everything about him really

as for aftercare, you'd go to the kitchen, and cook a simple meal to enjoy together before falling asleep right in the living room, too tired to trek back to the bedroom

he's the little spoon tonight

you left no room for argument, wanting to be the one to cradle him close to you and make him feel just as safe and protected as he makes you everyday

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thousandyearphantombunker · 12 hours ago

Text

Empathy is a skill that is useful for building relationships but is ultimately not tied to morality or being a good selfless person. There are many people who are deeply 'empathetic' who love their families deeply care about their problems and feel the feelings of others- which causes them to act and they sometimes have the most fucked up moral codes and can be overly moralistic bastards who can't separate themselves from others problems because they judge everyone the way they judge themselves. Empathy is just the skill that allows you to see other people's perspectives which is useful in forming relationships and solving certain challenges but ultimately having the ability or not having it has no moral value. You don't have to feel what the other person is feeling genuinely. You don't even have to mechanically understand what they might be feeling based on whatever their situation is- you don't need empathy to be a good person- and a lack of empathy doesn't make you a serial killer/rapist. narcissists and people with personality disorders that affect empathy aren't going to murder everything in sight because they don't feel bad that your a burn victim and a lot of them will still be nice or supportive of you. But like don't hold them to a higher standard than you would someone who has empathy- they don't have to prove themselves to you inorder to be 'good'

Intelligence is the ability to problem solve which even with severe impairments can be improved and even if you struggle with having a low IQ you can still be functional/independent if you have coping mechanisms/proper support. It's not a measure of worth and doesn't matter that much in terms of your ability to be successful/competent in a lot of situations. Being 'low IQ/R37@rd3d/stupid' isn't a choice to be ignorant and should not be attached to a person's worth- the intellectually disabled aren't symbols of the anti intellectual movement they are it's biggest victims. They have romantic/sexual relationships get into drama fuck nasty and drink. They hold down jobs and learn things at school and go to college and do the exact same things as a 'normal' person- and no it's not easier for them because they get help from the gov't or school- accomodations and financial support are not unfair privileges or signs they are too stupid/incompetent to go to school or get hired for this job because they need a tool to do it. They get to go to school vote and hang out in the grocery store just like you- just because they struggle with it doesn't mean they should hide their existence and starve to death because they can't go out in public because it supposedly inconveniences you that much- non one should have to confirm to a social contract they never signed and could never maintain for the majority's comfort

Emotions are responses to stimulation- emotions like fear or anger are like pain- stop doing that it's bad for you. happiness is like pleasure- it tells you to keep doing the thing or that the thing is good. This can get mixed up because of illnesses like depression or addiction but it's not wrong to feel good in response to something you know is bad. It's just a blip in your brains functioning. You aren't a bad person for having the wrong emotional responses or having moments when your emotions get the better of you- it's part of being human. Our minds make shit weirder than it should be. It's just chemical responses- having an inappropriate response is okay so long as you don't act on evil shitty behavior because of it. And even then you can get better after those moments. You can learn to regulate your emotions. You might still feel the 'wrong' emotions but who the fuck cares outside of controlling ableist assholes

For the love of god stop moralizing/insulting a person's lack of skills/abilities/competencies I beg of you people- it's okay to not be good at things!

Its like claiming because a person can't do long division/drive they will clearly cause the end of the world and they are the source of society's ills because now people have to drive them places and they use calculators

I can walk and I can run because I have strong legs - that doesn't make me any better than a person who can't because of a physical weakness- they can still get around through other means and even if they can't it doesn't make them lazy or a failure

You can empathize/feel sad when your friend's uncle dies- that doesn't make you any better than the person who doesn't feel sorry for them- that person can still be a good friend without empathy-

You can solve complex math problems without accomodations because your smart- that doesn't make you better than a person who needs extra time or calculators

And if you try and argue that you are technically better because you don't need the help and that means you are clearly superior in terms of skill because your not deficient in some nebulous quality and how everyone has their place and should stick with it

or that people who can't feel empathy are secretly evil and just hiding it and if you have these issues and are acting like a good person still your just being manipulative because it's a mask guess what?

You're a fucking social darwinist. And someone who would absolutely support the thought police.

You feel the right emotions and have the right thoughts- but does that mean you act on those feelings and thoughts?

You're stronger than a guy who is physically weak due to a disorder

You are better at seeing than a guy who is blind

You are better than a guy on wheelchair at going up the stairs

Do you feel superior? Do you want to flex? Do us disabled people have to constantly go 'nonono no one with autism has incontinence or anxiety attacks or low iqs and we are all super friendly- we are good normal not even disabled autistic people' to be good enough?

Like the definition of disabled basically tells you we either can't do something or can do it but with a lot more difficulty and that it significantly impacts a part of our lives

The only good disabled person to some people is someone who isn't disabled at all.

Also at anytime you can become disabled. Not just physically but mentally or intellectually. It's not a sign of inherent superiority and your abilities can be taken away not because you failed but because that's how the world works

You could get a brain injury that impacts your ability to feel empathy

You could develop dementia or memory problems from a whole host of things

You can sometimes just wake up and have a mood disorder

Your at the top because of your skills not inherent 'good' qualities and those skills can be rendered useless or again get taken away because they don't make you superior- but you can also improve and get better- it's in flux- it's like working out a muscle you can improve these skills- maybe not get buff or strong but better and it's not tied to something you have or you don't

It's mainly about effort

You think other disabled people would understand this but a lot of them don't. Instead of preaching acceptance of people outside the mold people who are incapable of fitting inside it these people just go 'we actually fit the mold and better than you guys who made it we just chose not to because we are superior due to nebulous qualities that make us more logical and kind' and 'im just like a non disabled person and not impacted at all by my literal disability that wouldn't count as a disability if it didn't disadvantage me'

A lot of these people as kids heard things about their disabilities that were always said in an incredibly negative horrible way that impacted their self confidence and so they went 'well Im not like that- and I'm actually better than you guys cause I have all the good qualities you claimed I didn't because of my disability' they faced stigma.

They had these traits/symptoms applied to them regardless of whether they fit or not and then those traits got stigmatized and they were made to be these spoiled brat tyrants or future manchildren or abusers because of the way people act like these symptoms manifest. They made struggling with emotional regulation sound like you were an evil Karen or abusive partner in the making and that you cried over spilt milk and pointless things that you were the kid throwing a tantrum on the floor at McDonald's. They made the fact you didn't share the same interests as them into something terrible saying you were boring and would live a meaningless life

People act like if you have no empathy you're the next Hitler and you're going to eat babies with the kkk and sell kids into sex trafficking for profit because of you don't have empathy what's preventing you from being evil (a lot of people believe the baseline human is to be a selfish abusive prick who goes out of the way to be evil and that the only things preventing us from falling into those temptations are society and 'empathy')

People act like if you feel the wrong emotions or have the wrong thoughts you will act on them and become a pedophile (because of you think about doing something it's the same as doing it and your going to do it)

People act like we are going to blights on society and that our symptoms always manifest in ways that hurt others and that gave them the right to hurt us as children heck even as adults. Psyche abuse (which often gets brushed off due to stigma and creates insane power imbalances), infantalization (which no it is not fun to be treated like a kid all the time- it hurts people's self confidence and ability to care for themselves), neglect (because if you neglect a person with a developmental disability they will DEFINITELY start to mature and not just stagnate and suffer because they have to actively learn to take care of themselves with help from others- it won't kill the kid) etc it's uncomfortably common for disabled people to have trauma or atleast have faced adversity

So to protect their egos these people developed superiority complexes. Our symptoms arent fully neutral they impact us. But they aren't these negative or positive qualities like we try and make them out to be but when you've faced so much stigma so much ostracization so much 'if you can't sit with us then don't and know your place even if it means literal death and if you can sit with us if you try really hard (to the point it burns you out) your just lazy and need to change' you get angry. You got arrogant. You feel entitled or get indignant because you didn't deserve the shit you went through but it still hurts so bad. If that means dunking on others who are like (unintentionally because they still think these symptoms are evil/unsightly and often don't know other disabled people who do have these symptoms) then so be it. If it means dunking on people who are in the same group as those who hurt them so be it even if those individuals are innocent.

It's a toxic mentality but people can grow out of it. It's just also one of the hardest things to do.

"It's neurotypicals who lack empathy ACTUALLY'

stop. Lacking empathy is a common neurodivergent trait. It's common for people with personality disorders. We're not neurotypical. Empathy is a value neutral trait and says nothing about a person's character. You're not owning the NTs when you say that--you're just making other neurodivergent people feel unsafe around you and painting us as Bad People.

#Autism #IQ #empathy #Emotional regulation #personality disorder #trauma #mental illness #developmental delay #developmental disabilities #It's hard

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shurisneakers · 2 days ago

Text

unsolved (xi)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, ghosts,

A/N: hai. we're into the double digits. thanks for sticking around this long!! jsyk there are like 17 parts planned to this series so

Previous part || Series masterlist

This is a dream scenario.

It’s the weekend, which means he should be out somewhere fighting off bats in a haunted cave or sitting in a dark room muttering Bloody Mary’s name fifteen times like a broken tape recorder because you insisted the first three didn’t work.

Instead, by 5 p.m., he’s in bed. With a book. There’s even a cup of coffee sitting beside him, growing cold.

Really, he should be enjoying this. It’s rarely this quiet, and especially as the sun went down, the absence of your shenanigans, the lack of you dragging him into another bullshit horror hunt should be greatly freeing.

But something feels wrong.

Because something went wrong in his childhood, and then something very definitely went wrong in his adulthood, Bucky feels uneasy with the peace.

He turns a page. At least, he thinks he does. He’s not sure he’s actually read a single word. Gun to his head, he would not be able to tell you the plot.

By 6 p.m., his eyes have zeroed in more on the door than the actual book in his hands.

His phone is on full volume, waiting for a notification. He made sure his floor access was open. His windows are not blacked out. He has even left his door cracked open slightly, which feels wrong to the fundamental fibres of his being.

Nothing.

By 6:30 p.m., his coffee is still half full and lukewarm. God, he did not like that drink. The only thing he's done is flipped through pages for the sake of feeling like he’s accomplished something.

By 6:37 p.m., he’s out the door.

His grumbling is only half-hearted, which he hates. There is something much heavier that sits in his chest. Anticipation. Worry. Fucking blergh.

He’s never been on your floor before. He knows you share it with Nat, the way he does with Steve, but he's never actually visited it. Sure he regularly makes sure you're dropped off to your floor now , but he hasn't actually stepped foot there, no matter how much you invite him in to your bedroom.

He assumes it’s similar, just with fewer World War II relics and less The Price Is Right.

By 6:45 p.m., he’s knocking loudly on your door.

There’s no answer.

His jaw tightens.

He wouldn’t blame you if you had just upped and left. He just thought Maya would beat you to it, because the second the article dropped, it was like the Avengers personally made it their mission to have the next week become a shitstorm of them making headlines for the most insane things. He thinks she's on sick leave. Or she should be, at least.

Clint posted a picture from inside a JP Morgan bank vault. Nat walked straight into a national live broadcast and joined in on a debate she had no context to.

Sam did something. Bucky wasn't sure, but he saw Maya rubbing her temples and assumed it was bad.

Then, after Steve gets in an argument online and matches donations to Planned Parenthood and ends up donating nearly 100K, Maya declared a state of emergency.

Every single one of them was put on lockdown, all social media passwords were changed, and every future press interview was canceled.

Bucky never even got the chance to plan what his disaster would be.

But even after all that, he had heard from you. Big, congratulatory messages flooding the group chat. Dumb memes. Responses to inside jokes no one else understood.

So where the hell were you now?

He bangs his fist against the door again.

Nothing.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. He raises his metal hand, just one second away from really turning the door into a pile of splinters-

It swings open before he gets the chance.

And there you are, staring at him like he’s the crazy one. The audacity.

“Wha– oh.” You blink at him. “Why are you trying to break into my room?”

For a moment, it is just two idiots staring at each other.

Finally, he lets out a low, “What’s wrong with you?”

You raise a brow. “Could you be more specific?”

Only then does he really look at you.

The skin under your eyes is darker than usual, your arms crossed tightly over your oversized sweatshirt. Official Avengers merch, two sizes too big and the same colour you got him because you insisted you had to have matching fits. There’s a slump in your shoulders that wasn't there before.

“No video today?” he asks gruffly.

“Nah,” you sigh. “You’re free to do whatever.”

He stares.

You stare back.

“What?” you demand.

“Is this because of the news?” he asks slowly.

“I’m just tired, Buck.” You rub at your temple, like you're already exhausted with the conversation. “Haven’t I annoyed you enough this week?”

Logically, he should be happy about this. You did annoy him. Constantly. Every day. Even off the clock.

So why the hell is he still standing outside your door?

“Don’t you have something better to do?” you ask, leaning against the doorway. “I thought you were watching True Detective with Steve.”

“Dunno where he is,” Bucky mumbles. Which is a lie, because Steve was very much in his room, waiting for him but Bucky had ghosted him to instead come be a clown outside your door.

You squint at him. “What are you doing here?”

He shifts his weight. “Thought you were dead.”

A snort escapes you before you can stop it. “Why? ‘Cause I didn’t come knocking today?”

He doesn’t respond.

Your jaw drops slightly. “Wait. You came looking for me because you missed me?”

“I didn’t–” he starts, then immediately gives up halfway through the sentence because he already knows he’s lost.

Your grin is too smug. “You came all this way because you missed me.”

His entire body tenses. “I just came to check.”

You press your lips into a thin line, fighting back laughter. “That is so cute. Just say you’re in love with me. I’ll even kiss ya if you ask nicely.”

Bucky turns immediately on his heel. “Goodbye. You can die now.”

You laugh outright at that, and he shakes his head as he stalks back down the hall. Which is good. Which means things are back to normal. He can go find Steve and get done with the stupid fucking vampire show or whatever--

“Actually--” your voice calls out behind him. “D’you wanna come in?”

His body actually stops. Turns back slightly, warily asking over his shoulder, “…Why?”

You shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “No pressure. I was just gonna watch old conspiracy theories and figure out whether they’re legit or just old Avengers missions. You can sit in the corner and brood or whatever it is you do.”

“I do not brood,” Bucky says, brooding.

“Sure, buttercup.” You wave dismissively. “See you next week, then.”

Bucky stares for a second longer, then pivots.

Then pivots again.

Finally, with a deep sigh, he walks back toward your door.

Bucky doesn’t expect your room to look like his room. His room, by standards, was the second worst room in the Tower, only second to Clint’s fucking swamp dungeon.

But he also doesn’t expect it to look like this.

It’s too empty.

A bed, a desk, a laptop. A single, half-empty mug on the nightstand.

The only thing that makes it yours is the box shoved in the corner overflowing with fan mail, little gifts, and trinkets from people. Stickers, keychains, neatly folded letters– even a framed cross-stitch that says "if we die, we die together."

Which he doesn’t remember you saying, but sounds exactly like something you would. The thought makes his chest feel weird.

But beyond that, it looks like a room doesn’t require much time to be packed up.

Something about that sits wrong with him.

“You’ve done a lot with the place.”

“Finally get you into my bedroom, and the first thing you do is insult my interior design,” you say. You gesture at the lamp on your desk. “Look at that lamp. I got it from the same trashcan I found Alpine in. It’s got character.”

Bucky squints at the lamp. Now that you mention it, the shade is bent at a weird angle and the base is slightly burnt.

“Really livens up the space,” he tells you.

“Thanks, I try.”

You flop onto the bed, stretching your arms overhead with a sigh.

He hesitates for a beat before finally settling onto the floor, knees pulled to his chest.

You blink. “Why the hell are you sitting on my floor?”

“I’m comfortable,” he grumbles.

“You– I have chairs.” You gesture to them. “They’re free, I swear. You do not have to do this.”

“I’m good.”

You narrow your eyes, but let it go, shifting to sit near the edge of the bed. Your knee almost bumps his shoulder.

For a moment, there’s just the hum of your laptop, the faint flicker of the TV waiting on a selection screen.

“How are ya?” he asks, voice lower than usual.

“Mighty fine. You?”

He gives you a look.

You blow out a breath, arms crossing loosely over your stomach. “I’m fine.”

“Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Your lips curve up in the corners. “We can change that. Wanna sleep with me now?”

Bucky doesn’t react. At all.

Which is worse. Because he should roll his eyes. Should scoff. Should grumble some insult under his breath.

But he doesn’t. Your smirk falters slightly.

You clear your throat. “God, you’re no fun.”

“Why’d you call off the video shoot?”

“Why must I work all the time? Why can’t I take a simple break without being interrogated?”

He just keeps looking at you. It’s that new kind you’ve noticed him doing now. The kind that lingers half a second too long, that feels heavier than it should.

You shift. Rub at the edge of your sleeve.

“It’s…” You hesitate. “Not been the best week.”

Bucky adjusts how he sits. He doesn’t doesn’t dig, only keeps his eyes trained on you.

You take a deep breath, then force a grin. “Been watching Glee compilations till, like, 1 a.m. Pretty sure that’s the real issue.”

Bucky makes a low, unimpressed noise. Still, he lets it go—for now.

Instead, he asks, “So what’s your plan?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“For making yourself feel better.”

That makes you pause. What’s the plan? Like he’s already factored himself in, as if whatever comes next includes him.

You open your mouth, then shut it.

“Paranormal shit.”

You weren’t even thinking about it. It just… happened, probably because he’s here and it’s the subconscious working in mysterious ways.

But Bucky’s reaction is not what you expect.

He does not shut it down instantly. Call it nonsense. Leave the room. All of which he has done before, to varying degrees.

Instead now he looks at you like he’s used to it. Like he’s thinking about it.

Something in your stomach tightens. You beat it down with a stick.

You grin. “Oh, you want to.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “What paranormal shit?”

“Well, I don’t know. I didn’t expect you to agree.”

“I didn’t agree.”

“You told me so with your eyes. You gave me signals.”

“You’re insane,” he mutters. "I did not give you signals."

But you suddenly perk up like it’s given you an idea.

“What?” he demands.

“You ever talked to ghosts?”

Kinda.

“No.”

“Well, that’s what we’re doing today.”

“What?”

“Ouija time, baby,” you say, already moving towards the box in the corner. “Now I don’t have a board but fear not. I shall make one. Custom-built. And then we will auction it off for a lot of money when you fake your death.”

“Why do you already sound like you’re prepared for that?”

“Because I am.” You rummage through the box. “Let’s see. We’ll need a marker, some cardboard–”

“You got a ring we can use?” he asks with a sigh.

“No, ‘cause you haven’t put one on me yet.”

Bucky shuts up after that.

You grin, pulling out a shot glass and wiggling it between your fingers. “Classy, right?”

Bucky stares at it. “Has that been used before?”

“Any remnants are just a little treat for the ghosties” you reply, flopping onto the floor and immediately getting to work, drawing out letters in marker.

Bucky watches you, something unreadable flickering across his face.

This is so fucking stupid.

Still, all he does is shifts to sit properly, arms crossed over his chest, watching as you finish drawing out the board with little squiggles decorating the corner and everything.

He doesn’t even realize how close he’s leaning until you glance at him, something teasing and careful in your gaze.

And for a second– just a second- maybe he forgets how to breathe.

Then you smirk, knocking him right out of it.

“Alright, soldier,” you say, grinning. “You ready?”

Bucky gives you a flat look.

The room is quiet, except for the hum of the TV and the scritch-scratch as you add in finishing touches.

You hold up the board.

It’s terrible.

The letters are uneven and the numbers are already smudged from where you’ve dragged your sleeve over them.

You sit back, admiring your work, before grabbing the shot glass and plopping it in the center.

You nod solemnly. “It’s ready. Now put your hands on the planchette.”

Bucky sighs deeply, metal fingertips touching the top of the glass.

You clear your throat dramatically. “Spirits, if you are here, make yourselves known.”

Silence.

Bucky nods. “Guess that’s our answer–”

The shot glass suddenly shoots out.

His muscles tighten immediately. His fingers twitch like he’s ready to grab a knife out of thin fucking air.

You, however, fail miserably in hiding a grin.

Bucky’s eyes narrow immediately. “You’re pushing it.”

“I am not,” you lie.

He stares.

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

Bucky groans, dragging a hand over his face. “I cannot believe I am wasting my night on this.”

“You’re just mad that the ghosts like me more.”

Bucky does not dignify that with a response.

“Put your hands back there, boy.”

So he reluctantly places his fingers back on the shot glass.

You clear your throat again.

“Oh great and powerful spirits, what secrets do you have for us?”

Silence.

Bucky watches unamused, watching as the letters spell out in lightning fast speed:

Y - O - U - R -

A pause.

M - O -M.

Bucky lifts his hands and leans back.

“That’s the ghosts talking, not me.”

Bucky just sits there, silent.

You wiggle your fingers dramatically over the board. “Maybe you’re the problem. Maybe the ghosts just don’t like you.”

Bucky snorts, “Right. I’m the problem here, not the fool who used a shot glass to talk to them.”

“The shot glass is genius, alcohol is an ice breaker in most social situation."

"What about this is a social situation?"

"Well it's you, me, and a couple of babes from the underworld. By definition it's a social situation, and a cool one at that."

“Why aren’t your ghosts talkng to us then?”

“Maybe they’re ageist.”

Bucky glares at you.

“You’re practically ancient. Maybe they just hate old people.”

“Maybe if I was a centuries-old spirit and the first thing I heard from the afterlife was your voice, I’d go straight back to hell.”

Your mouth falls open, before you let out an outraged scoff.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from–”

You stop mid-sentence when Bucky shifts, leaning back slightly, arms stretched behind him, his body loose and relaxed.

There’s a stupid smile ghosting at his mouth.

“Oh my God.” You latch onto it instantly. “You’re enjoying this.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

The sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up just enough to expose the solid cut of his forearms, the angle of his jaw sharp against the dim glow of your terrible table lamp.

His expression is too neutral, too blank. Like he’s waiting for you to react.

Something about it catches you off guard. It’s not intentional. It’s not even anything. But your stomach tightens anyway.

And suddenly, you’re aware of how close you’re sitting, how he feels bigger in the small space, how there’s this awful, annoying sense of recognition curling at the edges of something you’re not ready to name.

Bucky notices the way your expression shifts even if it was just for a second, his eyebrows knitting together.

You clear your throat immediately. “Anyway. Let’s ask them something real.”

“Oh, now we’re asking real questions?”

“Spirits!” You slap your hands onto the board. “What is Bucky’s deepest, darkest secret?”

He rolls his eyes.

The shot glass has not moved in half an hour.

It’s honestly humiliating at this point.

You refuse to acknowledge this.

Bucky, however, has fully accepted it.

“So what now?” he asks, leaning back against your bed, fingers drumming idly against his knee.

You stare at the board. “Maybe it’s a slow connection.”

Bucky blinks. “Slow how?”

“Like two bars, not four?”

“You think ghosts have bad WiFi?”

“I don’t know, Bucky, I’ve never died before.”

“I have. WiFi’s not the issue.”

You shove his shoulder.

Bucky’s stupid smirk does not fade.

“Can we pack this up, or are you going to keep going until your humiliation kink ends?"

"I see you've been thinking about me and kinks in--."

"Stop talking."

You narrow your eyes at him, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like ‘fascist’, but place your fingers on the shot glass.

Bucky does the same.

You inhale deeply. “Spirits, is there anything you would like to say to us?”

Silence.

“Maybe they don’t know English.”

“Sure.”

“Should we try Morse code?”

“No.”

You hum, ignoring him. “What about—”

“Hey spirits. What’s the real reason why this one’s hiding from everyone?” Bucky cuts in smoothly.

It just slips out.

He looks as surprised as you do, but he recovers way quicker.

He keeps his eyes on the board, like maybe if he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, it won’t become a big deal.

The shot glass doesn’t move. Of course.

But you pull your hands away first.

Bucky watches, quietly, as you sit back, pressing your palms against your thighs.

“That’s a dumb question,” you mutter.

Bucky hums. “Yeah?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “Yeah.”

A beat.

You force a grin and shove the Ouija board aside.

“Well,” you announce. “That was disappointing.”

He stretches his arms over his head, not looking at you as he says, “You’re avoiding.”

You pause mid-movement. “Avoiding what?”

“You know.”

You freeze for just half a second, then shake your head, laughing awkwardly. “I haven’t–”

“You have,” he says simply.

It’s the certainty in his voice. Like he already knows the answer, and he’s just waiting for you to say it out loud.

You sigh. “It’s stupid.”

Bucky shrugs, looking back at the board. “Not what I asked.”

A moment passes.

“It’s the name thing,” you say finally, voice flat.

“The name thing?”

“Maya’s trying to relaunch me. Or, like, reintroduce me. Whatever.” You wave a hand. “She’s planning this whole… thing. New identity, new codename, new brand. Something public-friendly.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“She’s just doing her job,” you say quickly, like you’re cutting him off before he can say anything reasonable. “I get it. I do. But it pisses me off.”

Bucky hums. “Why?”

“It’s dumb,” you mutter, kicking at a loose thread in the carpet. “I shouldn’t care this much. But now, instead of just letting me deal with it, I have to make it a thing. I have to let everyone see me deal with it. They want me to launch like I’m some new product. Like they get to decide what version of me gets to exist.”

Bucky is silent for a long second.

Not because he doesn’t get it, but because he does.

Finally, after a while, he leans back slightly, “So what do you wanna do?”

You blink. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know? Or you just don’t like your options?”

Your mouth presses into a thin line.

Because hes right-- it’s not that you don’t know what to do. Stay silent? People fill in the gaps themselves. Let Maya spin it? You become someone else’s project. Reject it outright? You’re the problem.

It’s not even a big deal. It’s just a name. A stupid PR campaign. But every option feels like losing. Like a trap.

You exhale. “I just don’t wanna think about it right now.”

Bucky nods. Like that answer’s good enough.

And for some reason, that makes your shoulders loosen a little.

For the first time all week, it feels like someone actually heard you.

You shift, stretching your arms dramatically. “Anyway. That’s my tragic backstory.”

Bucky exhales sharply. “More tragic things have happened to you.”

“Yeah, like some blue-eyed Avenger-boy not asking me out.”

“No.”

“Let me have my moment.”

A silence rests lightly.

“Alright,” he mutters. “What dumb shit are we doing next?”

“I don’t know. You want pizza?”

“I meant about your situation.”

You sigh, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Nothing. It’s fine. It’s not like I have a choice, anyway.”

Well that’s not entirely true.

It’s an idea that creeps up a little too fast. It makes him worry about how much influence you’ve actually had on him.

Bucky hums. “You’ve got one more option.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He tilts his head, casual, almost lazy. “Yeah.”

When he finally tells you, your entire expression changes.

Slowly, deliberately, a grin spreads across your face.

“Oh,” you say, “you are evil.”

Bucky just leans back on his hands, completely at ease. “I had nothing to do with this.”

Twenty minutes later, the board is still on the floor.

The shot glass is still doing absolutely nothing.

You and Bucky are back to arguing over whether or not ghosts have good taste in movies when your phone explodes with a call.

You barely have time to read the caller ID before--

“You released a fucking internet poll?!” Maya’s voice bursts through the speaker, loud and borderline hysterical– but not in a bad way.

Bucky immediately presses his lips together, suppressing a smirk.

You, however, grin like a criminal.

“Define released,” you say, like this is the most casual thing in the world.

“Oh, you know exactly what you did.”

“I do,” you agree easily. “But I like hearing you say it.”

Maya groans. “You put your entire name change up for a public vote.”

Bucky coughs into his hand.

You tilt your head. “And?”

“And?!” Maya lets out a breath, “They're all chaotic fucking names and the poll already has two hundred thousand votes.”

Bucky immediately stares at you.

You blink, turning to look at him dramatically.

“Two hundred thousand?” you repeat, voice too calm.

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

You grin.

“Oh, I’m so famous.”

Bucky groans, while Maya is losing her mind on the other end.

“Oh my God,” she mutters. “Why are you like this.”

You shrug, flipping onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “I would say I was born this way but I was created. In a test tube and everything.”

Maya scoffs.

And Bucky, for some reason, has a look on this face, like he’s enjoying this more than he should.

Then, after a second, he mouths, “Have an actual conversation.”

You roll your eyes but tilt your head back toward the phone.

“Alright, fine,” you sigh. “Lemme step out. Yell at me in private.”

Maya exhales. “It’s not yelling.”

“It’s a little yelling.”

You roll onto your feet, shuffling toward the door

“Back in a sec,” you tell him.

Bucky just nods, watching as you disappear into the hallway.

And just like that he’s alone. Sitting on the floor. Next to a completely useless Ouija board.

And he doesn’t know why, but his fingers twitch.

Not because he believes in it. Not because he thinks it’ll work.

But… just because.

Instead, he just shakes his head, rolling his shoulders back.

“You’re losing it, Barnes,” he mutters under his breath.

But then, without warning-

The shot glass moves.

Bucky immediately stiffens, staring at the door but you’re still having an animated conversation with Maya, fingers pressed into your forehead.

Bucky’s gaze drags back to the board.

He doesn’t move an inch. Doesn’t even breathe.

Just watches as the glass drags itself across the board, slow and deliberate.

One letter.

Then another.

Bucky’s jaw tightens.

His stomach twists.

Then–

And the shot glass tips over.

His heart stops.

And suddenly, he’s not in your room anymore.

He’s eight years old, sitting on the floor of a Brooklyn apartment, scribbling nonsense into a notebook while Rebecca Barnes, all of six years old, with messy braids and jelly-covered fingers, sticks a homemade label on his lunchbox.

“Becca.”

“What?”

“That’s not how you spell James.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

Bucky presses a hand against his face. “Mom—”

He blinks.

The board is in front of him again.

The shot glass is still. He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at it.

His head feels weirdly light. His chest feels too tight.

The door clicks shut behind you, and Bucky keeps still, in a way that says nothing happened.

Because if he doesn’t deal with it now, then it isn’t real. And if it isn’t real, then he doesn’t have to think about it.

You flop onto the bed, letting out a long, theatrical sigh.

“Well,” you exhale, dragging the word out. “That was a wild experience.”

Bucky registers the words, but not the meaning.

It’s like he hears you, but the sound is coming through the wrong frequency.

“Yeah?” he mutters, barely processing it.

The sound of your voice fills the space, but it doesn’t quite pull him in.

“Oh, yeah.” You roll onto your stomach, kicking your feet behind you. “First, she yelled at me. Then she was impressed, which honestly I think pissed her off more.”

Bucky nods. Because that’s what he’s supposed to do.

You’re still talking. That should ground him.

And yet his mind is somewhere else entirely.

The air feels off. Like the word JAM is still written in front of him.

“--already drafting apology emails before I even hung up.”

Bucky blinks once, twice.

He knows he should be engaged, responding, moving.

But instead, he just mutters, “Yeah.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

Bucky blinks. Finally, he fully snaps back.

His eyes flick toward you, registering you properly for the first time.

The way you’re watching him now, eyebrows raised, like you’ve been waiting for him to catch up.

He searches for the last thing you said.

Finds nothing.

Shit.

You press a hand to your chest, looking deeply entertained. “Are you ignoring me?”

Bucky scoffs. “Not right now specifically.”

“What was the last thing I said?”

Bucky opens his mouth. Then closes it.

“Wow. Incredible.” You clap your hands together once. “I’m heartbroken. Betrayed. Ignored.”

Bucky shakes his head, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah this must be what he felt like."

"Wow."

"No, no, it’s fine.” You wave a hand, mock casual. “I’ll just go die then.”

Bucky groans. “I’m back.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because if you need to space out again, just know that I have an open window–”

Bucky balls-up the ouija board and tosses it at your head.

You shriek.

He’ll think about it later.

Whenever later is.

The laptop screen flickers in the dim room, casting weird shadows against the wall.

You and Bucky are back on the floor, legs stretched out, backs leaning against the bed, watching one of the most ridiculous conspiracy theory videos you’ve ever seen.

The narrator speaks with the conviction of a man who has nothing to lose.

“--and that’s why I’m telling you, there’s no way the Pentagon incident was just a gas leak. Witnesses reported a mysterious figure in black who allegedly disappeared into the shadows–”

“That was Nat.”

You pause the video. “What.”

Bucky doesn’t even look away from the screen.

He gestures lazily toward the blurry figure circled in red.

“That’s her. Right before she cut the power and knocked out two guards. The whole thing took, like, a minute.”

You stare at him.

Then at the screen.

Then at him again.

“I fucking knew it.” You gesture vaguely at the screen. “I called this years ago. Everyone told me I was an idiot. ‘Oh, the footage is too blurry, you can’t even tell if it’s a person.’ Amateurs.”

“Feel validated?”

“Oh, hugely.”

He shakes his head, amused.

You squint at the screen. “What else? What’s real, what’s bullshit?”

Bucky thinks for a second.

He points to another clip.

“Alright, see this?”

A new segment starts playing, showing grainy footage of someone scaling the side of a high-security building.

The narrator’s voice kicks in again. “--but the real question is, who was this shadowy figure? And how did they evade detection when–”

“That’s me.”

You blink.

Bucky nods. “Stockholm. 2012. Whole mission went sideways, had to improvise.”

You exhale, pressing a hand over your face.

“Oh, my God.”

Bucky smirks. “Something wrong?”

“You’re telling me that a significant percentage of government cover-ups are just you and Nat running errands?”

Bucky shrugs. “I wouldn’t call them errands.”

“What would you call them, then?”

He thinks about it for a second.

“Side quests.”

You nod slowly.

“Right,” you say. “Of course. Are the lizard people real?”

Bucky huffs a short laugh. “I’m not answering that.”

“Wow. Interesting.” You stroke your chin. “You didn’t say no.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. You grin.

The videos keep playing, but neither of you are really watching anymore.

The narrator is still droning on, something about classified operations and shadow governments, but the energy has shifted.

Your eyes feel a little heavier now.

Bucky can tell.

You’ve stopped fidgeting, stopped making comments, stopped cracking jokes at his expense.

You’re just there, leaning into his side, slowly sinking deeper into the moment.

He exhales, tilting his head back against the bed, letting himself relax, too.

The silence between you is comfortable. Easy.

And before he fully registers it, your head is in his lap.

Bucky freezes.

It happens so smoothly that for a second, he wonders if you even realize what you did.

You don’t say anything.

Just curl up slightly, tucking your arms under your head, pressing your cheek against his thigh like it’s nothing.

Like this is normal.

Bucky forces himself to breathe.

To not react too much.

To not make it something. Because it’s not.

Right.

The glow from the laptop screen flickers, illuminating the soft edges of your face.

Something in Bucky’s chest tugs.

You sigh, voice quiet, almost lazy.

“Thanks for hanging out with me,” you murmur. “I needed that.”

Bucky swallows.

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbles.

And then before he can think too hard about it, his fingers brush lightly over your scalp.

A small, absentminded gesture.

Barely there.

But you don’t move.

Just breathe slower. Sink deeper.

Bucky knows he’s going to regret this later. His back is already complaining, his brain is already filing this away for future analysis.

But you look too at ease to move.

So he stays right there.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to those who comment and tell me what u think-- i love u. ur the sole reason i haven't abandoned this lil fic. thank u for everything mwah <333333

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pupyuj · 2 days ago

Note

Omg the recent liz fic one was so good but what about Rei keeps trying (unsuccessfully) to breed reader . They get so fed up that they pin reader down and fuck their brains out, successfully impregnating them.

YET ANOTHER AWESOME REI ASK you guys are on a roll omg?? 😭 i think i had too much fun with the non-smut part so this is going to be a bit longer than my usual drabbles :] (the next one is too!)

[cw: g!p rei, breeding.]

aww precious wifey reibear who wants you to have her kids so, so badly :(( you’ve been trying for a while but nothing seems to be working… even going as far as to visit a doctor to see if there was some kind of complication on either your or rei’s end but hell, even the doctor made a (strange) comment about how you and rei should be “at the prime state to have a platoon of babies” but it always seemed like no matter how much you tried, having a kid didn’t seem all too likely 💔 you’ve never let it get you down ofc but rei was… a different story!

it made her really sad! ☹️ it was so disheartening to see her suddenly just become to quiet and… private 😞 ever since that doctor’s visit, she has been discouraged from even having sex with you bcs in her mind, she thinks that every time she failed to give you a baby, you feel disappointed at her but that couldn’t be more far from the truth—you loved rei so much, with or without a kid.

now 😭 what kinda sets her off is something as innocent as getting a baby shower invitation from one of your guys’ friends 💀 you’d watch her walk back in forth in a frustrated manner right in front of you as you sat on the bed, “i mean, is that not a little insensitive considering we talked about how our situation is going over dinner with them a few weeks ago?! that’s like, me coming up to you when you’ve just lost a family member and celebrating that my dad has woken up from his ten-year long comatose or something!” and you would laugh at the comparison… if you didn’t think your wife was sounding a bit absurd 😭😭

“honey, i think they’re just… trying to help get some things off our minds.”

“yeah because waving the fact that they can have babies totally helps,” she’d snap at you but she’ll immediately feel bad about it :(( “…i’m sorry. i’m yelling.”

“it’s okay, just come sit with me,” you pat the empty space beside you and rei was more than willing to be close to your warmth, letting you brush her hair away from her face and everything 🥺 “i’m sure our friends didn’t mean to offend us—they wouldn’t. they probably didn’t think it would be a big deal since they’re just so excited for us to be there.”

“i just wish… we’d have this too. baby showers, parties, posting an off-putting but ultimately adorable ultrasound video of our kid in our instagram stories and… so much more.” poor reibear just wants to have a family :(( with you! the most amazing woman she has ever met and it kills her so much that she can’t just . fucking give you one!

“i know, hon… and i understand,” you wanted nothing more than a family with her too, but it really hurts to see the love of your life so dismayed about your persistent inability to have a kid :(( but you can’t let her believe that she can’t at all! “but just because it’s not happening now doesn’t mean it never will, okay? it’s going to happen, we’ll be ready, and everything will be perfect. just like you.” giving her a little boop on the nose just to see her beautiful smile and just like that, your lovely wife was back to being her cheerful, energetic self 🥺🫠

rei feeling the need to just touch you after all of that :(( hands all over you while you kiss her, and she's so hasty that she doesn't even bother to undress you or herself all the way before she lays you down on your shared bed 🥺 the moment she hears you moan feeling her throbbing cock rubbing against your soaked panties is the moment rei loses all self-control and her greed just takes over 😵‍💫 ofc she's careful not to rough you up too much, even tho there's something in the back of her head that's telling her that you like it when she does that... but today she's making love! 🫣🥰

she's taking care of you so well :(( face buried in your neck, moaning so sweetly in your ear at every thrust of her hips, her hands holding your waist so tightly... reibear is not much of a chatterbox when she's quite literally fucking into you (whiner rei agenda RISE!) but she lovesss to tell you how much she loves you 🥰 and she thinks it's not enough to express just how much and that's why she says it a lot :(( she's just . a true lovergirl 😍😍

obsessed with how you hold onto her shirt so tightly, and she can never get enough of the way you leave kisses on her neck... all of this just makes her want to fuck you harder 🫢 fully holding onto your thighs and slightly lifting you up bcs she's so close and it all feels too good to stop now 😵‍💫

you'd cum long before rei does so for the remainder of the time, you'd just lay there—praising her, flirting, making all of the sounds she needs to hear to get to that edge that she longs for 😵‍💫😵‍💫

“cum, rei-yah... inside me. now.” and there it was! rei does exactly that 🫣 ugh, she'd pull out after she finishes but seeing her seed seep out of you just makes her dick hard all over again... and reibear doesn't like a mess, and it looks like she's on clean-up duty! 🤭 she'll definitely fuck her cum back inside you, and thankfully you were all in for it too! 😋 neither of you have felt so fucking good... and it shows when weeks later, you pee on a stick not once, not twice, but three times and the stupid thing(s) finally showed that you are now indeed carrying naoi rei's baby 🎉

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enhaven · 2 days ago

Text

as sweet as you are

synopsis...who would've that thought the boys you absentmindedly gifted something on Valentine's day for funsies would reciprocate the gesture exactly a month later?

pairing.. enhypen 02z!line x f!reader

genre.. white day!au, college!au, drama, smut, angst, fluff? 👀

warnings...mature themes and content, complicated relationship dynamics, possible betrayals, more will be specified in each chapter.

...CHOOSE YOUR RETURN GIFT(S)!...

gift ➳❥ ❝ white chocolate ❞

gift ➳❥ ❝ white gold necklace ❞

gift ➳❥ ❝ white rose bouquet ❞

PROLOGUE : VALENTINE'S DAY

Heart's Day or Valentine's Day, whatever you decide to call it.

Either you participate in it or don't, it's everywhere. Whether you celebrate with a significant other or with friends or not even at all, it'll always be there. You'd have to lock yourself inside for weeks to escape it.

However, you would not allow some small wallowing to bar you from the deals that you can get during this month. Be it the discounted gifts and additional promos that run through the end of the month. Most particularly, the low-priced chocolates that were once very expensive when the day is over.

You're also going to celebrate heart's day differently this year. It's time to change your yearly routine because frankly, you're getting sick of it.

Why not give chocolates and Valentine cards to a couple of boys on your campus? Not just any boys but the known ones who are also very close friends with each other.

They belong to the same friend group. Jay, Jake and Sunghoon often hang out together since freshman year. Being born in the same year and having known each other since high school, the three have been inseparable even though they ended up in different departments once they entered college.

You've crossed them separately before because of mutual friends but that's about it. Sharing classes together and sometimes group projects didn't really make you stand out to them. They probably don't even know you at all.

Not when everyone vies for their attention.

There's not a single student in your university that doesn't know each of them. Guys and girls alike, they all want to be friends with those three because of the reputation they have. Their families are already well known but each of them also excel in their respective fields.

Jay's a part of your university's local band, a very skilled guitarist that has everyone swooning over him each time he performs. Jake's similar; being part of the orchestra, playing the violin and the bass sometimes while being a varsity soccer player. You have no idea how he even has the time when he's an engineering student as well. Sunghoon's another varsity player in the figure skating team, who's won several competitions representing your school apart from his personal career pursuits.

And their popularity of course, contributed to the amount of girls who pursue them no matter how short the experience is gonna be.

Because none of them have yet to date seriously.

You don't believe they even date at all which shouldn't be a surprise given the times you've seen each of them with different girls depending on the occasion. It even ramps up a lot during the Valentines season.

You've witnessed them either receiving gifts or making girls cry several times so you're aware that the typical way wouldn't work on them. You're literally just giving them gifts, just curated to their favourites; the info you gathered from girls who were with them before.

Maybe there will be a difference or not, who knows. Regardless, you'll still try to see if anything changes.

Unlike most girls, you've never really looked at their way before. You've heard of them yes but you're also busy in your studies and maintaining friendships so a surprised reaction is a possibility.

Or maybe their reactions might be the same. They for sure met several girls who are like you. Besides, there's no harm in giving them something on Valentine's day anyway, they won't put much thought into them since they get many from others too.

Jay collects them like how he does with his guitars and Sunghoon just keeps them for the sake of. Meanwhile, Jake's not fond of sweets so it'll probably be discarded along with other gifts.

Except that they weren't.

"why do you think she gave us something?"

Jake starts the conversation that they are all eager to discuss. You — and your gifts to them. Each of them are used to all the gift giving, although there are new ones every year, it's usually the same people that have given them other presents before.

So they find it a little strange when you join.

None of them planned to reveal it to each other until Sunghoon spilled the beans after Jake teased him endlessly on what's going on his mind. Sunghoon kept quiet as much as he could but Jake's just very good at reading him. He ended up confessing his similar experience so they both confronted Jay after his band practice if he did too.

The latter admitted but found it unusual that they all have to gather to talk about this. It really isn't the type of conversation that they do and they could've just discussed this in their group chat. However, Jay's still slightly intrigued. You're truly bold; not only that you gave him gifts but his best friends as well.

Jay just doesn't want to make it obvious since Jake catches on to anything quickly. He'll tease him non stop just like how he did Sunghoon that's why they're all here in the first place. The fact that he's even this bothered piques Jay's interest, especially that Sunghoon also expressed around the same magnitude, more than Jake.

"because other people did too? it's normal isn't it?"

Jay concludes, not really finding all this unusual. Plus, these types of questions are nothing new coming from Jake. He loves theorizing anything that catches his eye and usually, Sunghoon takes the initiative to stop him before they get out of hand but not this time.

And Jay has no idea why. For all they know, you've finally had the guts to show your appreciation or admiration to them like the others.

"yeah but did she give other boys gifts too?"

Sunghoon presses on and when Jake shakes his head no which surprised them. Only them three and it's obviously bothering him and his friends, frustrating him further that they're entertaining this.

"what if we give her something in return? white day's next month"

"you want us to start giving gifts?" Jay's perplexed at Jake's suggestion. "what? you know i do it all the time" he shrugs, dismissing Jay's complaint. "yeah, that's why everyone thinks they have a chance with you," Sunghoon adds.

"it's not my fault they always assume" Jake replied nonchalantly, observing the other two. "it's not but when you give something back, it means you reciprocate what they feel" Jay argues, trying to gauge if Jake truly understands what White Day is for. It's exactly a month after Valentine's Day where the guys give gifts to the women who gave them gifts a month prior.

"so are we doing it? we can find out why then" Sunghoon snickers with a smirk, strangely determined to get his questions answered.

"maybe she's testing out if we would respond. it wouldn't be the first time" Jake drawls, recalling similar instances with other girls before. He knows he's thinking too much into it but he can't ignore the look on your face when you gave him the gift.

"first time for her so we should, right?" Jay recalls his experience with you and wouldn't mind going along with what his best friends are planning.

"alright, how are we doing this?" Sunghoon starts, sounding a little too excited for this. "we'll have rules set, one from each of us" Jake adds which sounds fair so they all agreed.

"here's the general plan. we begin talking to her and if any of us score a date, no one intervenes. like ever. i'm serious"

Jay's suggestion sounds hard to Jake but Sunghoon nods in agreement so he did, albeit reluctantly. "so this is like some kind of bet in a way?" Sunghoon clarifies and Jake rebuts, "we're not gaining anything from this so i'd say it's not, just similar".

It may look like it since they're all competitive. You've bruised their ego a bit so there's no way they'd ignore your tremendous efforts.

e/n: happy white day y'all! i actually planned this last year (and the 02z actually did a white day special live 😩) but i didn't have enough time to write everything until both months are over cause i got busy as usual 😂

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adieutristana · 16 hours ago

Note

arcane women or just sevika and vi with a emotionally sensitive reader please

of course! thank you for the request <3 doing just sevika and vi for simplicity’s sake!

summary; headcanons of sevika and vi with an emotionally sensitive girlfriend.

characters included; vi, sevika

tags/warnings; fluff, mentions of smoking, mentions of drinking, hurt/comfort

vi;

✧.* to an extent, vi sees herself in you. she's always been a kindhearted person, described as having a good heart. she cares, she loves, and it hurts her to see others suffering. but the harsh environment of the lanes and stillwater caused her to repress that attitude.

✧.* so to see someone like you, who is so unabashedly herself, is incredible. vi has adjusted to the hardened streets of zaun, and learned that showing emotion- at least in front of others, is a weakness. but not anymore.

✧.* she’d probably be taken off guard by you at first. she’s not used to meeting people like you, who are open and honest and secure in their feelings. who are sensitive. it’s something she’d be afraid to be, but she thinks it’s a sign of bravery when she sees it in you.

✧.* she picks up on things. the last thing that vi wants to do is accidentally overstep or do something that’ll upset you- it doesn’t matter how big or small. if she finds you upset because she didn’t put a clean mug back in the cupboard, she’ll take a mental note. if the way she worded something cut a bit deep, she’ll do better next time.

✧.* as well as that, she values the communication! she recognizes after a while of knowing you how emotional you can get, so she wants to hear directly from you what gets you in that state, so she can do everything in her power to avoid it.

✧.* but there's times where she can't avoid it, and you're crying over something as simple as a spilled cup of coffee- you've already got a lot going on, and this is just too much.

✧.* "hey, hey- it's just coffee," she'd murmur, her voice soft and reassuring. vi would rub soothing circles into your lower back. while she's internally panicked, she won't let you see that. "we'll get it cleaned up, and then i'll make you another cup. it's alright, babe, i promise."

✧.* i think through helping you through things, she'd also learn to cope better with her own sensitivities- taking her own advice, in a way. vi's grown used to drowning her emotions in a bottle of whiskey, but she's able to see how much talking you through things has helped. holding you when something hits a little too close to home. distracting you when you're upset with something she just knows will make you laugh.

✧.* i think she would use humor to distract you, a lot. vi's jokes are usually pretty corny and, well, not the most funny- but that's just part of her charm, isn't it? you can't help but laugh anyways.

✧.* "hey- that wasn't that bad! and besides, it made you laugh, so it worked!" she'd protest, an expression of mock-offense on her face. "please, that was horrible. but i do feel a little better, so..."

✧.* if anyone dares call you sensitive as an insult, vi's on their case and telling them off- you know she would. other zaunites may look down on it, sure, but she sees it as a strength. something that makes you brave, even.

sevika;

✧.* i think at first, sevika would definitely be taken aback, and she wouldn't know entirely what to make of you. she's the definition of a hardened woman, brash and unassuming. to anyone who doesn't know better, unfeeling.

✧.* but it isn't a bad thing, it's just that sevika isn't used to seeing someone sensitive and open about it. in the lanes of zaun, especially the line of work she's in, showing any kind of emotion is a weakness. she shut that part of herself off a long time ago in an effort to survive.

✧.* and after a while, sevika’s found that she thinks you’re one of the strongest people she’s ever met. zaun is a city where any emotion or sensitivity is weakness, but you’ve never let that get to you. you’re not afraid to be sensitive, and that takes a hell of a lot more courage than most of what people in zaun do.

✧.* she’ll do absolutely everything in her power to keep you happy though, of course she will. sensitivities can’t be exactly pinned down, you just are emotionally sensitive- that’s all there is to it. but sevika is observant if nothing else, and she’s able to pick up on things that upset you more often than not.

✧.* and though she stays stoic through it, seeing you upset truly breaks her heart. she wishes she could shield you from anything that would ever pose a threat to you or your happiness.

✧.* “hey, dove- why are you crying? what happened? c’mon, talk to me.” she’d murmur, rubbing a soothing hand on your side. “it’s stupid, ‘vika, don’t worry about it-“ “no. it’s not stupid. clearly it was important enough to make you upset, so tell me.”

✧.* usually uses physical affection and distractions to comfort you. sevika’s never been the best with words, as much as she wishes she was in times like these. she’ll press light kisses to your temples and take your hands in hers. she’s not used to this kind of tenderness, but she’ll do it for you in a heartbeat.

✧.* there are times where it’s unavoidable. maybe you’d might get upset over her tone- she’d never be anything but kind to you, yet sometimes she doesn’t say the right words and her tone might come off as rude. and hearing that hurts you, although you don’t want to believe she’d purposely do that.

✧.* “babe, i’m sorry, you know i wouldn’t talk to you like that-” “then why did you?” you’d mutter, your voice soft and nearly breaking. it tears sevika apart. “i didn’t mean to. my tone, just… i have a hard time controlling it, but i’ll try. i love you, i do.” while taking you into her arms and into the crook of her neck.

✧.* trust me when i say that sevika would turn the planet on its axis if it meant she got to see you happy. and anyone who dares talk about your sensitivity like it’s a bad thing- they’re taken care of, to say the least.

#vi x reader #sevika x reader #arcane x reader #reader insert #arcane x you #sapphic #lesbian

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aquilaofarkham · 2 days ago

Note

Do you think Richter is going to kill Olrox? I almost don't want him to, but I think it would give Richter the closure he needs idk :/

oof so this has been sitting in my inbox for awhile just cause i've been figuring out a way to best formulate my thoughts on this topic but lemme try answering without sounding dismissive of other people's theories/interpretations (which i genuinely don't want to do)

short answer: no, he's not. at least that's not what i believe

long answer: so this isn't necessarily an issue specific to this fandom but rather fandoms on the whole, but castlevania fans tend to take certain moments and pieces of dialogue at their most literal meaning. which i mean i get it, i'm autistic so i often read into things very literally but guys pls sypha wasn't ACTUALLY calling alucard a real flesh and blood teenager (that's just one common example i can think of)

getting back to richter and olrox though, i think richter repeating word for word what was said to him after julia's death was an intentional decision on the writer's part. because even though olrox said he would kill richter "one day" once they finally reunite when richter's a young adult, olrox is never outwardly hostile or antagonistic towards him. during that scene in the church dungeons, he almost greets richter like an old friend who he hasn't seen in a long time and carefully reaches his hand out instead of attacking him (a moment which i STILL need an explanation for. it could be that olrox is at peace with the consequences of his actions but at the same time. writers i'm in your walls right now)

even after richter runs away, the two are still somewhat in the same vicinity as each other but again, olrox never makes the conscious decision to go after richter. mainly because he's obviously busy with other matters but when drolta asks him about richter, he just smiles and refers to him as "the son of an old foe". not his foe, just the son of one who he already bested

the only time i can remember when olrox actually snapped back at richter was when he wasn't listening and even then olrox doesn't want to kill him because (again) there are things more important currently happening than their rivalry

(just a side note but olrox also doesn't try to attack juste even when they're in the same area. probably because mizrak is there and would absolutely try to stop him but personally i think olrox is just done with belmonts now. like there's no point adding another hunter from the same family to his ledger now that the object of his *very justified* revenge is long gone)

i think some—obviously not all but SOME—fans tend to narrow their focus on richter saying "i will kill you olrox. one day" without taking into account the "but not today" addition. and i don't think richter would be smiling like this if he was really planning on killing olrox

to me this was richter's way of telling olrox "i never forgot what you did to me. but i recognize that you saved my life when you could have easily ended it. i don't forgive you and you probably don't forgive me either. that makes us even". or as @ifishouldvanish put it (i think it was them so correct me if i'm wrong!!) that scene was richter saying "nine years ago you made the decision to walk away and i've been afraid of you ever since. now i'm no longer afraid and i'm making the decision to walk away"

which honestly? i think thats infinitely more narratively fulfilling and a more interesting way of giving richter closure than having him repeat the cycle of revenge. because olrox is already repeating a different cycle of his own with mizrak

but anyway, nah i don't think richter is going to eventually kill olrox nor do i think he SHOULD. but my word isn't gospel and this is probably just a case of this evergreen post:

#ask aquila #castlevania #castlevania nocturne #god i'm risking everything by tagging this but thanks for the ask dear anon ;0;#hopefully i explained myself and i don't sound like i'm halfway up my own ass ;;

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honeypiehotchner · 2 days ago

Text

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part fourteen

Now, listen. Is it really a honeypiehotchner fic if something wildly dramatic doesn't happen around this time in the story? Buckle up!

Warnings: angst, I don't want to spoil but for the sake of triggers there is a car wreck in this one (everyone is fine!!!), and a slightly sensual moment (you'll see hehe), also probably some incorrect info about cars...just go with it

It’s not until Hotch exits off the interstate onto the small four-lane highway to avoid traffic that you speak again. It’s been over an hour.

“Did Rossi tell you?”

It’s not the question Hotch expects, but he jumps to his friend’s defense all the same. “No, no he didn’t.”

You don’t say anything.

When you do, it’s what he expects. That same white hot anger you’ve always had around him.

“I don’t even know if I want to know how you found out,” you begin, voice so calm that if it weren’t for how well he knows you, he wouldn’t necessarily think you’re so beyond pissed off with him. “I’m assuming it’s just going to piss me the fuck off.”

Probably, he thinks. Out loud, he says, “I read your file.”

“You read everyone’s file. I got that part. What I’m still trying to wrap my head around is the fact that I had most of it sealed — for good fucking reason, and with the permission of the goddamn Section Chief — and yet you went behind my back, behind Strauss’s back, and dug your nose around where it doesn’t fucking belong.”

“I’m—”

“If you say you’re sorry, Aaron, I’m actually going to punch you in the face.”

He stays quiet. He deserved that one.

He always thought that you’d never call him by his first name, probably out of spite because he uses yours perhaps too often. He never imagined it would be in this way, said with such distaste each time that it makes him feel cold inside.

You finally move, then, your hand reaching up to rub your forehead. “I just don’t understand.”

And Hotch, helpless and desperate, lets his emotions get the better of him again. “What was I supposed to do? You wouldn’t tell me the truth.”

“Because you hadn’t fucking earned it!” you shout. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t trust you with that kind of information about me — and it seems like I was fucking right to not tell you. Because you just—” You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” he argues. Around and around the cycle goes. The arguing will never stop between the two of you, will it? “Because this is serious.”

“You think I don’t know that?” you almost laugh. “My whole life it’s been this serious so don’t act like I don’t know what I’m doing. I can handle myself and I can handle this— whatever this is.”

“It won’t kill you to let someone help—”

“Maybe not someone who has actually earned my trust.”

That stings, though he has no right to be hurt by it. He nods once and keeps his mouth shut.

Until he can’t. “I know you’re upset with me and you have every right to be,” he pauses to hold up his hand, stopping you when you open your mouth to say something else. “But I didn’t know what else to do. It was clear after Richard first recognized you that it caused something to resurface— you couldn’t breathe. I knew then that your safety and well-being was at risk and yes, I will admit, I made a mistake going behind your back to read what you had sealed, but—”

“Hotch, stop,” you interrupt.

He sighs. He’ll never be able to get this all off of his chest if you two can’t stop interrupting one another. “Can I please just finish what I was—”

“No, seriously,” you say, voice deadly serious. “How long has that car been behind us?”

Hotch doesn’t move his head a single inch as he glances up in the rearview mirror. It’s the same car that was there when he exited the interstate. “A few miles. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you chew on your bottom lip, keeping yourself facing forward. “Just a gut feeling.”

You almost think he’s going to have some snide remark about your gut feeling again, but he doesn’t.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“Take a right— Don’t use your blinker,” you keep your voice low, as if the person in the car behind you can hear.

Hotch does as you ask, taking a sharp right onto a two-lane highway. The car behind you jerks as the driver takes the same turn at the last second, nearly putting the back tires in the ditch. You watch with narrowed eyes as they speed up, getting so close to your back bumper that Hotch can barely see them in the rearview.

“This thing has lights and sirens, right?” you ask, just curious and thinking ahead.

Hotch nods. “I can see him.”

“It’s a man?”

“I think,” Hotch says, glancing in the rearview again. “White male, maybe mid-40s. Hard to tell. He’s wearing sunglasses and a hat.”

“Do we need to call someone?”

“No,” he says. “Not yet.”

You both sit in silence as you analyze the car. It’s beat to hell, an older model of something you can’t place. But it was once blue, that you can kind of tell in between all of the rust and peeling. It has to be something from the early 90s.

Hotch drives exactly the speed limit, testing how the driver reacts. Up ahead, the solid yellow lines turn dotted. Hotch slows, hoping it’ll persuade the driver into passing, and you two can move on with your earlier conversation.

But it does the opposite.

Instead, the car stays what has to be mere centimeters away from the back bumper. No one else is on the road, so the man’s window to pass is wide open, yet he doesn’t take it.

“We can’t pull him over for tailgating,” you say.

“No, but if he hits us, we can,” Hotch replies, irritation starting to settle into his jaw.

“Don’t cause a wreck on purpose.”

“I’m not trying to do it on purpose.”

You both huff and glare into your respective side mirrors.

The car speeds up.

“What the fuck,” you hiss.

Hotch speeds up because he’s forced to, because believe it or not he doesn’t want to get in a wreck today, but the car stays right on your ass.

“What the hell is his problem?” you curse under your breath.

“I don’t know,” Hotch answers absentmindedly, now fully glaring at the guy in the rearview. “But I’ve had enough.”

Hotch reaches up and flicks the lights and sirens on. You both expect the guy to immediately slam on his brakes and swerve to speed around you, panicking at the realization that he’s tailgating a government vehicle, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he slows down with you, and pulls into the oncoming lane, just to ride right next to you.

You can make out his face through the tinted windows, despite his sunglasses. You don’t recognize him, though, and neither does Hotch.

His familiarity quickly doesn’t matter at all when he rolls his window down and points a pistol in your direction.

“Hotch!” you shout, ducking down on instinct. You know the BAU vehicles have bulletproof glass, but you don’t exactly want to test the theory.

Hotch slams on the brakes, letting the other car fly ahead of you just as two shots ring out, missing you thanks to Hotch’s quick thinking.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” you ask, not at all expecting an answer as you unclip your holster just in case you need to get your gun out quickly.

Hotch stays silent amidst your panicked statements. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out where to go from here. He’s calm under pressure just like he always is.

You notice the predicament at the same time he does. There’s nothing but thick woods on either side of this road. You’re not exactly close to any sort of civilization for anyone to hear these shots and think something is wrong.

You keep your eyes glued to the car up ahead, watching in horror as it slows to a stop, and then the fucking back up lights switch on.

“Hotch,” you warn.

“Yeah, I see him,” Hotch mutters, turning the sirens off. You hadn’t even realized they were still wailing. He leaves the lights on. “Are you buckled?”

“What?”

Hotch glances over to check and says, “Good.”

“Hotch, what the fuck are you—”

He revs the engine and flies forward, your seat belt locking and pinning you in place, rapidly approaching the car as it reverses toward you. You brace yourself for the impact, mentally cursing Hotch for how stupid this is, but the car in front swerves at the last second.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” you shout as you whiz past the car.

Hotch glances in the mirrors, waiting for the man’s next move. To no one’s surprise, he puts the car in drive and races after you.

“Do you have a better idea?” Hotch snaps, going well over the speed limit now, but the car behind you is rapidly gaining speed.

“Yes, I do,” you deadpan. “Fucking— Put it in cruise control and move your seat back as far as it’ll go.”

“What?”

“Just do it,” you unbuckle, taking your gun out of its holster and sticking it barrel down into the cup holder. That’ll have to do, it’ll just get in the way on your hip.

Hotch does as you ask, setting the cruise control and pushing his seat all the way back.

Without giving either of you time to say a damn word about it, you crawl over the console and clamber into Hotch’s lap, moving the steering wheel up as you go to make more room.

Hotch tenses behind you, but says nothing, only widening his legs underneath you to offer as much space as possible. You get your feet on the pedals as best you can and flick the cruise control off, speeding up to what has to be an impossible speed for this car to do. You’re nearing 90 miles an hour, but it seems to do fine.

Your breath hitches when you feel Hotch’s arms slide around your waist.

He must’ve heard it because, quietly, he says, “You’re not wearing a seatbelt.”

You roll your eyes. That’s the least of your worries right now, and frankly, a lousy excuse.

“Can you see his tag?” you ask, watching the car inch closer and closer. “Should we call Garcia? Someone?”

“There’s no service,” Hotch replies.

“Fucking great,” you mutter, shifting in his lap, and—

For fuck’s sake. There’s no way.

You keep your realization to yourself, figuring Hotch is probably well aware of just how hard he is underneath you. He’s only human, you suppose, and you are pressed tightly against him, shifting in his lap as you keep an eye on the car behind you.

It’s a little bit of an ego kick, you’ll admit. You’ll use this as ammo later — if the two of you make it out of this.

The car speeds around you, coming to ride side-by-side again. Except this time before he can raise his gun, you swerve, grazing his car, attempting to push him off the road.

“Where the hell did you learn how to do that?” Hotch asks, almost involuntarily.

“Shut up,” you say through a smirk. “Not important.”

The man has the same idea, pushing back against you, but your SUV is bigger than his, so it doesn’t take much to cut him off, forcing him to stop.

The second you have him pinned in the ditch, though, he reverses and swerves around you, trying to get away.

“Absolutely the fuck not.” You flick the sirens back on, fully prepared to pull this guy over or at the very least alert other law enforcement the second you get into the next town.

Hotch’s arms tighten around your waist slightly, his erection still prominent underneath you. You’ll unpack later why the thrill of this has you unconsciously wanting to rock your hips against him.

For the record, you don’t give in to the urges. You have some self restraint.

The man is clearly trying to get away from you now, though, speeding like crazy without even thinking about slowing down. But you’re not letting him get away that easily, not after he pulled a gun on you.

Hotch digs his phone out, keeping one arm secure around your waist while his free hand dials Garcia.

“Your oracle of all things know—”

“Not now Garcia,” you say. “Can’t explain right now— I need you to run a tag for me.”

“Shoot.”

Hotch reads off the tag as you get close enough to the car, both of you waiting in silence — aside from the wailing sirens — as Garcia runs the tag.

“It was reported stolen three weeks ago, it’s— Wait, that’s— That doesn’t make any sense—” Garcia cuts herself off, then gasps. “It’s Carly Henderson’s car.”

“That’s—” You know the name. Why?

“She was murdered by the last unsub,” Hotch answers.

“Right she was,” Garcia replies sadly. “I’ve triangulated your location and I’m notifying the closest police department.”

“Thanks Garcia,” Hotch says.

“Guys,” she hesitates. “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know,” you answer. “But it’s—” The line beeps as the call drops.

“Lost service,” Hotch explains with a curse. “What’s your plan?”

“Tailgate this guy until I can send him into a ditch for good,” you reply simply. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” You press harder on the gas.

Hotch wraps his other arm back around your waist, keeping you secure against him. You let yourself lean back, relaxing as best you can in this kind of situation.

All you can do right now is follow this guy until he—

“Shit!” You notice his brake lights too late, though with how fast you’re going, there isn’t much room for this kind of error.

A head-on collision is the worst case scenario at the speed you’re going and where you’re sitting in Aaron’s lap, and your instincts know that, so you swerve as soon as you can, but you don’t slam on the brakes. You clip the edge of his car, but it’s enough. It’s enough to send your vehicle rolling into the woods.

All you can register are the wailing of the sirens, the tightness of Aaron’s grip around your waist, pulling you back toward him and away from the airbags as they release, the force of them stinging your skin but keeping you from busting your head open on the wheel or the windshield. You don’t know how many times the car rolls, just that it feels like you’re falling and falling and falling until you’re not.

By some miracle, it lands upright, so it’s easy for Aaron to unlock and kick open the door. You’re frozen against him, leaving him no choice but to exit the car with you in his arms.

The second your feet hit the grass, though, you run. You can’t explain why. You aren’t even trying to, but you do, sprinting toward the road, looking for the other car, but it’s long gone, barely a speck on the horizon.

Sirens scream in the distance — or are those still coming from your SUV? You can’t tell. Maybe it’s the ringing in your ears.

Hotch comes up the grassy incline, his phone pressed to his ear as he speaks to…to whoever he’s calling. Garcia, maybe?

“Yes, we need an ambulance,” Hotch says, his eyes scanning your face, concern coming in waves. “I think I’m alright, it’s my partner—”

Your knees buckle on their own, but Hotch is there, his arm reaching out to steady you.

In the haze of it all, you remember you’re mad at him. You’re supposed to be pissed at him. And you are. But you can’t stand up. Why can’t you stand up?

You shove his chest, but it’s the weakest attempt ever to get him away, and he doesn’t budge, ever a steel wall of muscle.

“Alright, thank you,” Hotch says into the phone. “I think I can hear them now.”

Hear what?

Your eyes blink slowly, pain starting to settle in random places. Your arms, your head, your feet. You look down at your arms and find them streaked with red. You don’t remember any windows breaking, but you hardly remember the car rolling as far as it did.

“You’re okay,” Hotch says, voice soft against the ringing in your ears. He holds your arms gently, not caring about your blood staining his fingers. “You’re in shock.”

You shake your head, finally letting yourself look at the car. It’s totaled, absolutely, the windshield shattered and other windows cracked. The driver’s side door is bent, but not much. The passenger side is crushed to hell where the car hit the tree. If you had been in the passenger seat still, you’d be—

The ambulance sirens grow louder as they come closer, skidding to a stop near you. The paramedics jump out and you faintly hear Hotch shouting out to them, explaining something, something about she’s in shock and she might be concussed.

“Ma’am,” the medic tries to get your attention. “Ma’am, can you hear me?”

“Kinda…?” you blink slowly, wondering why it’s suddenly getting so dark outside, until you realize it has nothing to do with the weather. Your hand grips Hotch’s forearm tightly. “Hotch, I— I can’t see.”

“Okay, you’re okay,” Hotch shushes you, gathering you back into his arms and carrying you across the grass. “Stay awake, keep squeezing my arm.”

You do, because you can’t stop, the anxiety keeps you from letting go. You don’t know what’s worse, blacking out completely or only halfway like this. You’re awake and fully aware as you’re laid down onto the gurney in the back of the ambulance. You’re aware of the oxygen mask coming to rest over your nose, realizing only after the medic tells you to try to breathe normally that you hadn’t been breathing at all.

“She has panic attacks,” you hear Hotch say, and then he squeezes your hand once. “Are you still awake?”

You nod, unaware of if your eyes are open or closed at this point because it’s all still so dark, but you squeeze Hotch’s hand for dear life all the same.

“Just keep breathing,” Hotch says.

You hear him rattle off your allergies and you distantly think he’s unbelievable for remembering and knowing them by heart.

“You’re okay,” he says again. “Just stay awake and keep breathing.”

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x fem!reader #The Gambit #angst angst angst #the drama #criminal minds fanfiction

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audzss · 1 day ago

Text

Tell me you love me (Only for tonight)

Synopsis: Schlatt's delusional, and she only wants the sex.

Warnings: Smut (that's literally the entire plot), Angst, sub!schlatt sort of?

Her hands are on his shoulders, pushing him gently back onto the couch. His hearts racing, his body so warm he felt like he was being lit on fire.

He'd dreamed about this, for months, for years. Ever since he had laid eyes on her in the college library he wanted her, every part of her. And now here she was, her hands running up his sides in their shared houses living room as her lips press against his sensitive neck.

He gasps as her hand trails down towards his waistline, his hips bucking up into her touch. She leaves his neck to kiss his lips roughly, teeth clashing and tongues sloppily intertwining as Schlatt moaned into the kiss. He couldn't figure out what to focus on, her rough kissing, or her hand that slowly worked on unbuttoning his jeans.

He chose the hand on his pants. She broke the kiss to look down, struggling to unbutton his pants and make out at the same time. Schlatt followed her eyes, watching her roughly yank his pants down as he lifts his hips to help them along.

She pauses suddenly, making him almost whine. "You want this?" She asks him, her hand hovering above where he wants her the most. He nods, biting his lip. "Fuck, yes, always ha-" He says breathlessly, before being cut off by a rough kiss and a hand pulling him out of his boxers.

"Just shut up." She breathes out against his lips, and he doesn't even think twice about it, just nodding and letting out a breathy moan as she finally starts to touch his cock.

She continues to bite at his neck, sucking harshly and leaving deep purple marks on his pale skin. Schlatt can feel her spit running down his neck and turning cold, but he can't find it in himself to be disgusted right now.

She pulls herself off of him, standing up in front of him and taking off her shirt in one motion. Schlatt can feel himself drooling, staring at her tits and imagining them bouncing above him. She just smiles, pulling down her shorts and underwear.

He doesn't even have time to admire her naked body before she's back on top of him, pressing her soaking wet cunt against his dick. "Fuck, you're so we-" She cuts him off again, this time with a hand over his mouth.

He doesn't have time to even complain about it when she lines herself up onto him, sitting down onto his cock. He moans breathily into her hand, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. His brain was depraved of thoughts, maybe it was from the tightness of her pussy squeezing and sucking him in, or maybe it was from the lack of oxygen from her hand covering his mouth.

Either way, it didn't matter to him, especially when she started moving, letting out the prettiest moans, staring down and watching him disappear into her. When her hand finally leaves his mouth, it finds his hair, holding tightly and holding his head back against the couch making him whimper loudly from the pain.

"Y'feel so good.." He whimpers breathily, his chest heaving and his hips bucking up into her. He can barely see her smile, before she moans again, leaning down to press her forehead against his shoulder, still holding his head back by his hair.

Schlatt frowns when he can't see her face anymore, he needs to see her, he has too. "Please.. l'me see y'r face.." He slurs out in between moans. She sits back up, letting go of his hair and opting to grab at his shoulders and chest instead, leaving deep red marks where she scratches him up.

He doesn't mind though, he can't focus on anything except for the feeling of her and the expression on her face, her beautiful face. He watches her mouth open as she gasps, before letting out a moan, and Schlatt feels proud of himself, proud that he can make her feel this good.

"I love you," He blurts out, quietly and breathily, but still loud enough for her to hear, loud enough to make her stop in her tracks and look at him in the eyes, her eyebrows raising and her mouth open in surprise.

"I.. Uh.." She hesitates, unable to think of what to say.

"Just.. Just tell me you love me, just for tonight.. please.." He begs, his hands coming up to hold her waist as he looks at her, his face soft and his eyes wet with happy tears or sad tears, not even he knows.

She starts to rise up on his cock again, and Schlatt thinks she might just up and leave, but she drops back down, looking at him with a soft smile.

"I love you too." She says, a hint of a laugh in her voice, but he doesn't notice. All he can hear is that she loves him too.

"Fuck.. thank you," He says, whimpering before cumming inside of her.

A/N: I have an actual full fic with chapters coming out soon so be excited, also sub!schlatt is on top and I will stand by that for the rest of my life! Also Title is from Wicked Games - The Weeknd.

#jschlatt #jschlatt smut #sub!jschlatt #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x reader smut #jschlatt fanfic #schlatt x reader smut #schlatt #schlatt smut

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unnounblr · 19 hours ago

Note

I'd make my own post, but I don't know how to put screencaps in posts. But, as a complete tangent from the original post, there's another name related thing which is that: Jaco actually explains something else about names in Dragon Ball.

In the Buu saga, (before it's the Buu saga) Videl realizes Son Gohan is the son of Son Goku because they have two names, and most people on Earth only have one. This is why the dub and Fandom are wrong. There is no such character as "Videl Satan" or "Bulma Briefs".

However, in the manga Jaco the Galactic Patrolman, some of the characters have two names. Tokunoshin Omori. Tamagoro Katayude. But, in the whole Manga, Tights only has one name, that's the other part of the "sounds like someone from West City" thing. Her dad is Dr. Brief, because he has one name, Brief, and he probably has a doctorate.

Jaco the Galactic Patrolman takes place primarily in East City, and an island off the coast of East City. East City is a location we only see once in Dragon Ball: When Nappa blows it the fuck up, using a technique OP likes.

There's also a neat detail where. When Krillin first gets introduced, he's from Orin Temple which is "east", and video games and maps say that Orin Temple is, like, next to or attached to or inside of East City. And, in Jaco, the government of East City has a squad of martial artist special forces cops that they use to try to force Omori off the island he's living on. So, like. That might even explain why Krillin becomes a cop, in Super? The temple he's from used to train martial artists to be cops.

Cops which, in a way, paralleled the Freeza Force and Planet Trade Organization. Sending martial artists to evict people from their homes so the government can use the land to build a resort for government employees. So, I don't think I necessarily like this as a part of Krillin, or at least, that he embraces it and becomes a cop in Super. Especially since he left the Orin temple because they bullied him and he hates them.

But that all gets to something else about Jaco, which is that it's the darkest story Toriyama ever wrote in Dragon Ball. Other people have talked about how Dragon Ball Minus is a joke, and I have as well, it's a thing people misunderstand about it, but it's also true of the rest of Jaco. And it's a very dark joke, because on a macro level, the big things Jaco does in the Manga with his name don't matter.

Jaco comes to Earth to kill Goku. He doesn't kill Goku. The rocket ship that gets launched for a pop idol is about to destroy East City. He stops it from destroying East City. But then, about 20 years later. East City gets destroyed anyway, when Vegeta and Nappa show up.

It's possible and maybe implied that Jaco is the reason Tights, Omori and Katayude survive, and they probably even survive Nappa because they're living on an island far away. But, Jaco introduces world building details that East City has people with two names, and the currency is Yen instead of Zeni. And those are unique features of a single city, that we know from the Dragon Ball Manga gets destroyed. Implying that Nappa is the reason nobody has two names and Zeni is the only currency.

And I kinda love just how dark the joke is, in Jaco and Minus, that the universe is cold and uncaring, the government and private business, in space and on Earth, are heartless and cruel and will destroy your home and uproot your life to build a condo, and even if you save a city full of people, or send away your own child, the city will be destroyed, and your child will die (three times) anyway.

But even in that there's a kernel of. Jaco does save Tights, and Omori, and Katayude in a way. Omori is an old widower and Katayude is gay, so neither of them will pass on their family names, but. They live. Goku does survive, even if it's because of incompetence, and he does defeat Freeza and help people. So it's bleak, but good things still happen. You might not save the city, or the world, but you can save three people. Maybe not forever, because Buu will human extinction attack and blow up the planet, and Omori will probably die of old age anyway, before that, but. For a time. People will live. Even East City has a few decades before it gets Nappa'd.

So, everything is an uncaring meaningless cosmic joke, and nothing ever lasts. But you can still do what you can, in the meantime.

Could you tell us something underrated about Bulma? For being around since literally the very beginning, I find she’s not talked about as much.

Bulma is the scariest person in the Dragon Ball universe. The anime softens a lot of her edges. And, like, she's not a total monster; She cares about things like people not being killed by genocidal assholes too.

But she is such an asshole and I love it. Bulma is the character I relate to most in Dragon Ball.

(Also she has an unshakable faith in Goku and he'll always be the number one martial artist in her eyes, and any man that wants to be with her needs to respect that.)

For starters, it's worth noting that the naming convention of Bulma's family is called out as weird even in-universe. Nobody bats an eye at characters being named after fruit or vegetables or rice or the Dairy Special Forces but they draw the line at underwear.

That's weird, Bulma. Your name is weird. Your father Briefs is weird. Your sister Tights is weird. Your son Trunks is weird. Your daughter Bra is weird. Why is your family like this?

Nearly every single person in the cast is someone who Goku initially had to fight in some way or another. Bulma is no exception, though their battle took place as early as issue #1.

When shooting a 12-year-old in the face with a gun failed, Bulma resorted to manipulation and subterfuge, and thus the most important relationship in the entire Dragon Ball universe was born.

Though Goku would not be the only person whose arm Bulma twisted, as this initial journey also sees her enslave a sentient being to do her bidding.

Despite ironically filling the role of a Buddhist monk in the original Journey to the West, this opening arc lays a lot of groundwork for who Bulma is. She tricks Goku and enslaves Oolong to coerce assistance in her quest to conjure up a magically-generated boyfriend (or infinite strawberries).

...then again, Tang Sanzang imprisoned Sun Wukong in the original so maybe Bulma's a better adaptation than I gave her credit for.

Point is, Bulma's a fireball. Even Goku sees it.

In the first arc, we also see her get accustomed to calling on Goku like he's her Pokemon.

Bulma is not a martial artist. She knows next to nothing about the implicate complexities of the art. Though she does enjoy being on the outer fringe of it and watching from a distance.

Well. Not from that much distance, because she always has the best seats in the house. Courtesy of inappropriate violence with firearms.

Not only is Bulma complicit in this - they clearly discussed it in advance, based on Oolong's remark and Bulma's knowing smile - but in the 23rd she actively makes it happen.

Sitting in the nosebleeds is for peasants; Bulma is a princess.

I should probably note that after Lunch moves on and leaves the group, Bulma doesn't lose access to violent backup. She just trades Lunch out for Chi-Chi.

The Battle of the Soccer Moms is the best part of the 25th's Junior Division. There's only room for one Alpha Bitch in these audience stands.

Notably, it doesn't take long for her relationship with Goku to grow into a genuine friendship. Following this first arc, Bulma goes out of her way to hang out with Goku when she can and is always excited to see him.

Fun fact, despite the fact that Bulma's boyfriend Yamcha is actively living with them at the time, Bulma's dad ships her with Goku.

No love for Yamcha in this house. Notably, when they're six years older and it's not fucking weird, Bulma herself starts to agree.

But it's honestly best for everyone that this never became a romance. Bulma would have been even more miserable with Goku than she was with Yamcha, and having them hook up would deprive us of one of the greatest platonic male/female friendships in anime.

I'm not saying Vegeta is a replacement goldfish for Goku who got married and became unavailable this same day.

...but I'm not not saying that.

So far as martial arts go, her practical knowledge of the art is simple: Goku is a) invulnerable and b) infinity powerful, and that's all she needs to know. Nobody matches Goku. Ever.

You might think that this unyielding confidence in Goku as the Supreme Warrior would cause some conflicts for Bulma. Her boyfriend Yamcha is one of Goku's rivals, and has his eye on the Tenkaichi Budokai medal.

You'd be wrong. Bulma knows exactly who she's rooting for.

It's Goku. It's always been Goku. It's always going to be Goku. Bulma watches Yamcha and Krillin gush over how well they plan to do in the tournament and her takeaway is "LOL Goku's going to school both of you clowns."

This attitude makes it really funny to imagine what her relationship with Vegeta must be like, I gotta say. That Goku will always be #1 in Bulma's eyes can't be doing good things for Vegeta's insecurity.

But I digress.

Bulma is an exceptional scientist who comes from an exceptional scientific background. She's from one of if not the richest families in the world courtesy of her father inventing revolutionary shrinking technology that changed the entire nature of how products are transported.

You can put anything in a Capsule Corp. hoi-poi capsule. Throughout the series, we see not just vehicles stored in these capsules, but portable homes, weapons, and her father's pornography collection.

For her part, Bulma's a chip off the old block. I've spoken at length in the past about Bulma's invention of the Dragon Radar, trivializing what was meant to be a holy quest of virtue and turning the miracle dragon Shenron into her own personal plastic surgery vendor. She was 15 years old when she made that.

One year later, she extrapolated her father's shrinking technology into a portable device that safely applies its principles to people.

But both of those devices pale in comparison to the greatest invention of her life.

No, not the kid. Though he's cool too.

In a sense, despite being out-of-focus for most of it, the entire Cell Arc is Bulma's masterpiece. It's a proxy war between two mad scientists over the fate of the Earth. Seeking to kill Son Goku and avenge the Red Ribbon Army, Dr. Gero destroyed the world with his Androids.

Bulma took exception to that. And by "took exception", I mean she bent the time-space continuum over her knee and spanked it.

Trunks's journey through time is the culmination, both of Bulma's impossible super-genius and of her unyielding faith that Goku is the answer to any problem that needs to be solved with violence.

Dr. Gero's master stroke was to flood the world with murderous Androids. Bulma's response was to load a bullet named Goku into a gun named Trunks and fire it through time to put it between his eyes. Everything that transpired from there was the consequence of their two plans colliding.

The happier future we get to know in the Buu Saga is the world that Bulma made happen. Because the woman who would make a personal assistant out of our Great Green God's greatest miracle had the audacity and the irreverence to violate causality itself.

#dragon ball #dragon ball z #jaco the galactic patrolman

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