#caffeine doesn’t even work on me well

[angelbvn]

the amount of energy drinks i’ve drank to stay awake + in front is kinda scary-

[icelogged]

hello one more bitch for the road 😔✌🏾terf is not a synonym for transphobe. terf is an acronym. tme trans people can be terfs. next scheduled bitchfest is between me our heavenly father amen or to annoy you specifically ❤️

[ipushhimback]

we were drunk, it happens - pt. 2

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

pairing: lando norris x verstappen!reader warnings: smut (marked with 3 red stars), oral (f receiving), p in v, no protection word count: 3k summary: Y/N attends a GP, saying if Lando wins he will be rewarded

Only a couple days later, Y/N got a message from Max.

The Monaco GP is next week. I know you are not really into F1, but I’d love for you to come, and I am sure Kelly and P would also be happy to have someone to spend their time with. What do you think? – Max

Y/N really hated Formula 1, but not because of the sport itself. She loved the fast cars, the races, how everyone wants to be the best. But her dad had ruined it all for her when they were kids.

She had always loved karting. Sometimes she was even allowed to drive Max’ kart, but when she told her dad that she also wanted to kart competitively, just like her brother, he had said she couldn’t. How could she even think of that as a girl. She would never have a chance in the sport.

Sometimes she thinks that her dad was right. She probably wouldn’t have come far as a woman, but she still would have loved to race.

Maybe it was for the better. Jos wasn’t known for being the best dad to Max. He had always pressured him. Punished him when he wasn’t good enough. And Y/N knew how it affected Max now. She didn’t know if she could have handled that as a kid.

So, from there on she had avoided Formula 1 as much as possible as it simply reminded her too much of her father.

But how could she say no to her brother. Moreover, it could be a great opportunity to spend some time with Lando. Even though they had agreed to no feelings. But honestly, Y/N didn’t know how long that would work. Or if it even could work. She had doubts.

I’m not sure. Is dad going to be there? - Y/N

No, I don’t think so. At least he didn’t say anything to me. But that doesn’t mean anything. - Max

Ok, then I guess I will come. Would you or Kelly pick me up? I don’t want to have to search for a parking lot. - Y/N

Of course. See you then. – Max

Somehow, Y/N was even looking forward to attending the Grand Prix. She didn’t know when the last time was that had happened. But now she just had to hope and pray that her dad wasn’t going to be there as well. Then she would for sure go home. She would just take a walk as it was only half an hour from her home.

She picked up her phone again and opened her chat with Lando. They exchanged their numbers before he left, so they could chat about when they could meet up again – but no feelings involved, of course.

Gonna be at the GP next week. You better win, Norris. - Y/N

She waited a bit, but Lando didn’t go online. He probably was at training, Y/N thought. But just as she wanted to out her phone on the coffee table in front of her, her phoned signaled an incoming message.

Really? How come I have never seen you at one before? But if I win, I wanna be rewarded… - Lando

Long story. But ofc you will. Why else would I tell you to win? – Y/N

K. Have to get back to training, bye. – Lando

Yeah, bye. - Y/N

Y/N couldn’t help but grin. Lando had interrupted her training. For her. To answer an unimportant message. She leaned back on the couch pillows, sighed and smiled to herself.

She sat back up. No feelings. He is probably an arrogant, rich person. She would just end up hurt if she fell for him.

She took a deep breath and got up from where she was sitting. The world champion’s sister made her way to the kitchen where she took a cup from the cupboard and made a huge coffee. The pill she took earlier did little for her headache, so she hoped that the caffeine was going to help.

Then she took her laptop and decided to watch some silly show to take her mind off Lando.

***

A week later, Y/N was ready to go to the GP. She was wearing a bright blue summer dress, her favorite. It had a lot of little white flowers printed on the fabric and it had a quite low neckline, which she hoped Lando would notice.

She actually thought about wearing something orange, in fact it had been one of her favorite colors to wear for quite a long time, but she couldn’t wear papaya-similar colors when she was there to support her brother – or when she was at least pretending to support her brother. Because even though she did not have feelings for Lando – no, really, none – she had been so horny the last couple of day, she just needed Lando to win this Grand Prix.

So now, Y/N sat in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water while scrolling through instagram and waiting for her brother and Kelly.

She watched her Labradoodle puppy trying to catch his own tail which made her laugh, so she got up to pet him.

Eventually she heard the doorbell ring. She quickly went to open the door, but instead of her brother or Kelly, it was P standing on the doorstep.

“P! Hey! What are you doing here? Are you going to drive me to the Grand Prix?”, Y/N was joking which made the five-year-old giggle.

“No, silly. I can’t drive. But Maxie said I could ring, and I have to tell you to hurry because we are late.”

“Ok, I just need to get my jacket from upstairs”, Y/N said.

“No!”, Penelope exclaimed. “You can’t. Maxie said we are late. Now come on.” P grabbed Y/N’s hand and pulled her outside and towards the Audi that was parked in front of her house.

The young woman new better than to argue with the little girl so she decided to just follow her. Who needed a jacket anyway. In the worst case she would just ask Max or Kelly for something warmer to wear.

An hour later Y/N was hanging around with Kelly and P around Max’ garage and she regretted that she didn’t come later. They have been standing around for what felt like hours and the race wasn’t even close to get started. The only thing that prevented her from going home again to sleep and coming back later, was P who was full of energy and Kelly who just couldn’t keep up with it anymore, being 9 months pregnant.

“Y/N, can we go to Lando? I wanna see him and tell him good luck. Can we go? Now?” P looked at Y/N with that cute little pout. “Please?”, she added after seeing the critical look on Y/N’s face.

“P… Lando is probably really busy, just like Max. Does it really have to be now?” If the Dutch woman was being honest with herself, she just really didn’t want to see Lando right now.

No. That was not correct. She wanted to see him. And that was the problem. She shouldn’t do that. No feelings. Just fun. That can’t be that hard, right?

Wrong. It can be hard. Not falling for a handsome guy with the curliest curls in the world, the cutest, widest smile existing on planed earth, the prettiest blue eyes that seemed to be green in different lightning and – stop.

“It really has to be now! If I don’t wish him luck, he won’t be good and he has to win!” P looked at her with these pleading look Y/N just can’t resist so there she was, walking with P to the McLaren garage.

“You know that Max would kill us if he saw us here?”, Y/N said jokingly. “By the way, don’t you want Max to win? Why Lando?”

“Maxie won too often. Now it is Lando’s turn. It is boring with Maxie. I like drama. And we don’t get drama when Maxie always wins. And Lando is great! He always plays with me and lets me do his hair. He has nice hair. It is curly.” P grinned happily while she explained to Y/N why Lando was so great.

A bit later they were standing in front of Lando’s garage and Y/N went to the first mechanic she spotted.

“Sorry, where is Lando? P wants to tell him good luck for the race. Is that possible?” Y/N just hoped that the mechanic would recognize P or her so she could go to Lando.

“I know her. Who are you? I am sure you understand that I can’t just let anyone to him.”

Y/N nodded. “I am Y/N Verstappen. You know, Max’ sister? Kelly didn’t come with us because, well she is pregnant and probably sleeping somewhere.”

The mechanic looked satisfied with the answer. “Ok. You just have to go straight there and then the third door on the left side. There should be his name on the door. Just knock. He will open if he isn’t preparing for the race at the moment.”

“Ok thank you. Have a nice day, bye!” Y/N looked at the five-year-old next to her who had a content look on her face.

Just a minute later they were standing in front of a wooden door, they could hear loud music from inside, so Y/N knocked again, even louder this time.

“God, how isn’t he deaf already”, she murmured more to herself than anyone else, but P commented it anyway.”

“Because he is Lando. He is not becoming deaf ever. He is great.” The older woman could barely hold the laugh that was threatening to spill over.

“Yes, he really is”, Y/N said with a laugh, shaking her head at P’s enthusiasm.

Finally, the door was opening, and Y/N was standing in front of this handsome guy Lando.

“P!”, he explained.

“Hi Lando! I want to wish you good luck. Y/N said you were busy, but I had to because you have to win, ok?”, the girl asked in just one breath while falling forward and demanding a hug from the driver.

Y/N could only laugh. Too adorable was the childhood crush Penelope obviously had on the older guy.

“That’s great! Thank you, P! So, you are going to cheer for me? Isn’t Max going to be sad?”, Lando asked.

“No, he will understand. You will win. I know because I wished you good luck.”

Lando just laughed, and Y/N couldn’t help but admire how cute he was with Penelope. And that laugh… she could listen to it for hours and- stop.

***

Lando did in fact win. And Y/N couldn’t be happier about it. During the Podium celebration – Lando came in first place, Max in second and Oscar in third – she just stood in front of it, being impatient.

But then finally, Lando came to her, already changed into a hoodie and simple jeans, his hair damp from the shower he probably had.

“So… what about my reward? Should we drive to your place again or mine?”, Lando asked with that damn smirk on his face.

“Mine. I need to feed my dog.” Lando shot you a surprised look.

“You have a dog? Why didn’t I see him already?” Y/N noticed how disappointed Lando looked.

“I just got him like a week ago. He is super cute, but right now he is at my neighbor’s, and I don’t want her to spend even more of her time taking care of my dog.”

Lando just hummed and led the younger woman to his car. She let out a whistle when she saw how nice it was.

“I assume you won’t let me drive that beauty?”, she asked the brunette.

“You want to?” Y/N nodded enthusiastically.

“Go for it”, Lando eventually said, throwing his key in her direction and she caught it easily.

She let out a high-pitched squeal when she sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine. Carefully, she pressed the accelerator, and the car shot forward.

“This is so crazy, oh my god… I will steal that beauty from you.”

It only was a short drive to Y/N’s home, so she had actually thought about driving differently so she could enjoy the feeling of the car even longer but honestly, she didn’t want to. She knew exactly what would happen when they arrived, and she didn’t want to wait any longer for it.

But it turned out she did not know what happened next. Lando kneeled down and cuddled with her dog who seemingly enjoyed that as he fell asleep right in Lando’s arms.

“Can you leave Milo alone? He’s not the reward I meant…”, Y/N said a bit disappointed because she knew her puppy was cute, but she didn’t imagine Lando just playing with her dog for the next hour.

***

Eventually Lando set down the sleepy puppy who immediately curled up on the couch and they went upstairs, not wanting Milo to watch them do whatever they were planning to do.

“So… now I will finally get my reward?”, Lando asked, this stupid smirk back on his face.

“Oh, shut up! You were the one who needed to cuddle with Milo”, Y/N said before stepping forward and pulling Lando to her by grabbing the strings of his hoodie.

She tilted her head up and just a moment later, Lando’s lips were on her’s. Y/N hummed and opened her lips slightly.

Lando moved towards her bed, not breaking the kiss, until Y/N flopped on the mattress. He pulled back just enough to have access to her dress so he could pull it over her head, leaving her in just her underwear. Y/N then tugged at Lando’s hoodie, and he ended up helping her by slipping it off, as well as his pants. Y/N stared at his chest.

She knew she had seen it all before, when they hooked up after the dinner, but the memory of the night wasn’t too present anymore, and honestly, Y/N didn’t know how she could ever look at Lando and not think how hot this guy looks.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Lando kisser her again, rougher this time. More demanding than anything else did he press his lips on her’s. Her back arched off the bed which Lando saw as his chance to get his hands behind her back to open her bra.

“So gorgeous”, he whispered on her lips and pulled back just for Y/N to feel his mouth closing around her nipples, making her gasp.

His lips trailed lower until he stopped above the waistband of her panties. His index fingers hooked into it, and he pulled them down until he could throw them to where he thought the rest of the clothes already is.

His went even lower until his lips hovered just above her. Y/N’s breath hitched as she looked down at Lando who was spreading her legs. He looked up at her, his eyes dark and his pupils dilated.

The first touch of his tongue felt… electric and it made her back arch. He teased her with fast licks and gentle pressure which made Y/N move into his direction.

“Patience. Trust me”, Lando said, and Y/N would throw a pillow at him if it hadn’t felt this good.

But it wasn’t long until Lando grew more and more impatient, and he didn’t want to continue teasing Y/N.

His tongue worked not only faster but also firmer and soon she was teetering right on the edge. Her hands came down to grab his hair, pushing him closer to her and she couldn’t stop the loud moan from slipping through her lips.

Lando hummed against her and the vibrations just pushed her even closer to the edge. His fingers joined his tongue as he curled them in her, pressing into that sweet spot.

When Lando realized that Y/N was about to come he worked even more precise, rougher. And just like that she tripped over the edge, and she felt the release wash over her. Lando didn’t stop thrusting his fingers in and out of her until she rode out her orgasm.

Y/N felt her legs tremble and she slowly opened her eyes again just to see Lando over her. His lips were glistening from her juices as he moved to press a kiss on her lips. She tasted herself on his lips, the taste blending with the champagne he drank earlier on the podium and just the taste of him.

She pulled back just enough to mumble, “Need you, Lando. Please.”

Lando didn’t say anything just moved to get rid of the boxers he still wore. Y/N couldn’t help but stare at him, her lips parting slightly.

“Like what you see?”, he teased her though it was apparent that he wanted it just as much as she did. His cock was hard and leaking and huge. Y/N really didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of that.

“How did that fit the last time?”, she blurted out and wanted to take it back immediately when Lando chuckled.

“Wanna find out?”, he said and even though he was just teasing, Y/N knew that if she just said no, Lando would stop immediately, no questions asked.

But she nodded, wanting to finally feel him in her. Lando positioned himself between her thighs, teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock.

Y/N breath hitched as he pushed into her with one hard thrust. Her hands flew to his shoulder, and she was sure that her nails would leave marks on his skin, as she adjusted to the stretch. Lando stilled just for a moment before pulling out nearly fully before slamming back into her.

Y/N moaned his name which just seemed to fuel the Brit, and he started thrusting into her even harder.

“God, you feel so god”, he moaned, his hands gripping her hips and Y/N was sure she would have bruises by tomorrow.

Only after a few thrusts Y/N was already close again, still sensitive from her previous orgasm.

“Lando, I-“, her voice broke but Lando hummed, knowing exactly what she wanted to say.

“I know. Come for me.”

Her orgasm hit her even harder this time, her body still high from before and Lando came just a moment later, with himself buried deep inside her.

For a moment, neither of them moved but then, Lando slowly pulled away, collapsing onto the bed just next to Y/N.

She stared at the ceiling, her chest still heaving as she was catching her breath.

“Happy with your reward?”, she asked Lando.

“Very. This was amazing.”

Y/N rolled to the side to face Lando, a grin tugging at her lips.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Norris,” she said with a sly grin.

A/N: Should I write a pt. 3? I kinda want to but idk if anyone wants to read it

[mister0ctopus]

Server Room (4)

(mini series) - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary:  Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Office au, Mini Series

Word Count: 4.4K

a/n: sorry for the delay, ive been feeling meh these past few weeks. i couldnt do anything, but i got out of the house yesterday and it was great 😌

🐙 Masterlist / AskMe?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“We haven’t seen you in a while!"

Taehyung announces, his full voice cutting through your frantic typing. “This project is keeping you from us,”

You swivel in your chair, blinking as you return to the real world, and you see Taehyung pouting and Jimin, holding out a cup of coffee like an angel of mercy.

"Your boss is always giving you hard projects with tight deadlines!" Jimin states, as he hands you the coffee his irritation seeping through the smile.

“Thanks,” you mouthed. One sip of the caffeine reminded you  that you’d been glued to this chair since morning with no breaks. Your legs probably forgot how to walk.

"Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying! She’s either obsessed with you or trying to kill you," Taehyung chimes in, crossing his arms. “Or both. She doesn’t do this to anyone else on your team. Tell me this is your villain arc.”

You sigh as you stretch your back. "I’m the only senior left in the team, okay? After Mr. Tan resigned, all his VIP clients became mine. I don’t really have a choice."

"You need a break," Taehyung declared. "Let’s try that new place across the street for lunch. Jungkook says they serve the best Mexican food."

Ah, Jungkook.

The name pulls at something in your chest. You cleared your throat.

"Since when are you into Mexican food? You don't like spicy.”

He grins, unbothered. "I can skip the hot sauce. But Jungkook says it’s legit, and he doesn’t lie about food."

"Seems like you’re becoming besties with him," you say, keeping your voice casual.

"Oh, he’s great! Always chill, fun to be around. Knows all the best spots for food!” He turns to Jimin for validation, and they high-five.

"I think I’ll pass," you said, taking a sip of the coffee. "I really need to finish this today. You guys go and let me know if it’s worth the hype."

Jimin frowns, his eye smile turning into a pout. "You sure? You’ve been working non-stop. It’s not healthy, YN. Take a break!"

You glance at the screen, the cursor blinking like it’s mocking you.

"I promise,” you replied, your voice softer. “I will," knowing full well that you wouldn’t.

You decided to take your lunch later than everyone else, choosing the quiet solitude of the office cafeteria at off-peak hours. Ordering something light, you sat in a corner, hoping to catch a moment of peace.

But peace? Lol.

Staring blankly at your mug, you tried to turn your brain off, but the week’s events replayed on a loop—meetings, deadlines, late nights. And, of course, the project. Your golden ticket to the promotion you’d been breaking your back for.

You were halfway through your sandwich when muffled giggles from the table next to you pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. Curiosity got the better of you, and you glanced over, only to see a group of girls from HR, eyes sparkling with admiration. Following their line of sight, you landed on him.

Jungkook.

Effortlessly charming as usual, chatting with a girl from Marketing. His raven hair styled to show his forehead. His smile was so easy and disarming it could probably convince a cat to take a bath.

Fuck. Why was he getting hotter?

You hadn’t seen him since the night he dropped you off a few days ago, your entire interaction limited to his car radio and your yawns. You’d been so exhausted you didn’t even have time to process his stupidly perfect profile in the dim glow of his dashboard, and his glances here and there.

The girl laughed, leaning in closer, completely captivated.

Yeah, girl. I get it.

You got it. Of course, Jungkook wasn’t just attractive, he had that rare ability to make everyone around him feel seen, like they mattered.

He had helped you many times, and you couldn’t deny that he made you feel important.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a scoff. "Lunch with my friends, now wooing the entire company.”

Of course, because the universe has a sense of humor, his gaze flicked in your direction.

Caught!

You panicked and snapped your attention back to your table, hyper-focusing on the crumbs scattered across your plate.

Back to work, you reminded yourself. Stop dilly-dallying. Deadlines don’t meet themselves.

Without sparing another glance, you stood, your chair scraping lightly against the tile floor. With purposeful steps, you left the cafeteria, your focus already shifting back to the mountain of tasks waiting at your desk.

Hours later, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of the depths of your typing. The buzzing continued, and when it started to feel too annoying, you finally checked to see what all the fuss was about.

You had been added to a group chat: CABIN IN THE LAKE.

Oh, right! The annual cabin trip. That chaotic tradition where you and the group rent the same cozy Airbnb cabin, always timed perfectly for a three-day weekend, thanks to the holiday on Monday.

It started as Jimin and Taehyung’s tradition. Best friends since college, they used to rally their old friend group for Tae’s birthday back when no one was married, living abroad, or caught up in other life changes. But life stole their original squad, leaving just the two of them clinging to their precious tradition.

Enter: the work friends.

First, there was Yoongi. No one knew how Jimin and Taehyung managed to convince him to join. He initially declined, calling it a hassle, but then showed up ridiculously early on the day they were set to leave. Next came Allie, the organizational queen who meticulously planned everything down to the last detail on Excel sheets. And finally, there was you—the corporate masochist roped in because, apparently, you 'needed a break.' They weren’t wrong, of course.

Now, three years later, it had become your thing.

Allie: 📢 Attention: Our annual cabin escape kicks off this weekend. Prepare yourselves, pack early, and leave the burdens of work behind. NO work allowed at the cabin. @ YN, I’m talking to you. 👀 Jimin: If I see a laptop in there, I will literally throw it outside. Tae: no work on my birthday event please thank you! @ YN I’m talking to you 👀 Allie: @ YN, don’t ignore us! You: Calm down, lol. I’m literally finishing everything this week so I can relax with you all Jimin: finally, work-life balance 😀 You: 🙄 im trying my best to work-life-balance the shit out of this Tae: we invited Jungkook during lunch fyi Jungkook: yeaaahhhh👍 Allie: lets talk tomorrow what food to prepare when youre back from your vacation @ Yoongi Yoongi: 👍 Tae: I wish I had so many paid leaves that I could go on a trip after a fishing trip like Yoongi. Jimin: then stop using your PTOs for stupid shit! Yoongi: seen

The phone buzzed relentlessly with notifications. Jimin rambling about work-life balance, Tae hyping Jungkook up for the trip, and Allie sending yet another reminder about what to pack. You muted the chat and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Cabin. Lake. Jungkook.

Before you could overthink spending a weekend with him outside of work, you put your attention back to your computer screen, pouring all your tension into the project.

The next day, as expected, you nailed the presentation. Of course, you did. Your boss was full of praise, and the VIP clients were very impressed with the discussion. Sometimes you wondered why you stressed so much, but deep down, you knew the answer. Being good wasn’t enough, you had to be great.

Your sense of self-worth was deeply tied to your accomplishments at work. Sad, but whatever.

You walked into the pantry after the presentation, on your way to another client meeting, when you see your friends, all huddled around.

Yoongi’s fresh off vacation, laughing with Tae, Jimin, and Jungkook. The energy in the room was light, the kind that made you want to linger, but…work. Ugh.

“Didn’t catch a thing!” Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head.

“So why do you always go fishing with him?” Jimin asked, barely holding back a laugh.

“Eh, I didn’t want him to be alone,” Yoongi shrugged, crossing his arms. “Also, someone had to be there for his dad jokes.”

Jungkook groaned. “Man, I miss Jin’s dad jokes. They’re so awful, but it grew on me.”

“You say that now,” Yoongi said dryly, “but after two straight hours of ‘What do you call a fish with no eyes? Fsh,’ I was ready to jump in the lake myself.”

The group burst into laughter, and you found yourself laughing too. They spotted you lingering in the doorway.

“YN! Join us!” Yoongi called, waving you over.

You shook your head, holding up a hand. “I’m literally just passing by. I have a client meeting in like… right now.”

Jimin and Tae both dramatically groaned.

But before you left, you walked over to Yoongi and gave him a quick hug. “Missed you, though. Tell me more about your fishing trip later.”

“You know where to find me,” Yoongi replied with a smirk. “But it was mostly Jin and I sitting on a boat.”

“Sounds riveting,” you teased, waving everyone goodbye as the laughter resumed behind you.

You caught Jungkook’s gaze lingering on you, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

The week went by fast, and everyone seemed excited, looking forward to the weekend trip.

After a three-hour drive in the early Saturday morning, you finally arrived at the cabin. The scent of firewood and cedar greeted you like a familiar friend.

The cabin itself was a perfect blend of modern rustic charm—a two-story retreat with three cozy bedrooms, a spacious kitchen, and an inviting living room. Large windows framed breathtaking views of the lake, letting in an abundance of natural light that made the space feel even more open and serene. The crisp air nipped at your cheeks, but the way the sun glinted off the lake beyond the porch made the chill comfortable.

Slowly, you could feel the tension from work beginning to melt away. This was exactly what you needed.

Everyone naturally fell into their roles without a single word exchanged. Allie and Yoongi immediately took over the kitchen, playing MasterChef, while Jimin and Taehyung turned the living room into an entertainment hub. As for you? Well, you were graciously tasked with giving Jungkook the grand tour—not that you minded… at all.

He trailed behind you, nodding intently as you showed him around. You almost sneered at his attentiveness, the way his eyes widened as if you were explaining something groundbreaking.

So, this is Yoongi’s room,” you said, stopping at the first door by the stairs. “You’ll be sharing with him.” You pushed the door open, staying just outside the hallway, revealing two double-sized beds and a massive window with a stunning view of the lake. Jungkook stepped inside, dropping both his and Yoongi’s bags with a quiet thud.

He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on the view before shifting to the door across the hallway. Before he could ask, you preemptively pointed. “That’s Jimin’s and Tae’s room, and here,” you gestured to the door beside his, “that’s mine and Allie’s. Yoongi insisted on not being next to Jimin and Tae. Gods know what they’re up to at night, they make weird noises.”

Jungkook grunted in acknowledgment, his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

“Oh, by the way, each room has its own bathroom. That’s honestly why we keep coming back here. Aside from the lake and other stuff, of course.” You laughed, your voice echoing slightly in the quiet hallway. Just as you were about to show him the balcony at the end of the hall, someone downstairs shouted your name. Probably Jimin or Tae yelling about the cottage.

“Ah, the cottage by the lake!” you exclaimed, snapping your fingers. “It’s a great spot to chill. Or stargaze. We usually take dinners there or nap. It’s kind of our favorite spot,” you added with a grin, gesturing downstairs.

Jungkook mirrored your excitement with his signature scrunched-nose smile. Before you knew it, Tae and Jimin had joined in, whisking Jungkook away to show him around the cottage and the lake. The three of them looked like overgrown kids finally let loose on a playground.

Back in the kitchen, you joined Yoongi and Allie to finish cooking—though, most of it was already done. You ended up as a taste-tester. By the time everything was ready, the three boys had returned, eager to help set the table.

Lunch was a mix of chaos and calm, the former courtesy of Jimin, Tae, and Allie, while Yoongi’s steady presence, and your quiet nature balanced it all out. Jungkook, as the newest addition to your group, fit in seamlessly. Though he was closest to Yoongi, his easygoing nature made him click with Jimin and Tae almost instantly, their shared humor evident in their playful banter.

By the afternoon, everyone was sprawled in the cottage by the lake. The cottage itself was a cozy wooden structure with a charmingly weathered exterior, surrounded by large windows that were often kept open to let in the fresh breeze and the sound of gentle waves lapping at the lake shore. Inside, it was warm and inviting, with rustic wooden beams, soft lighting, and a wraparound porch showing panoramic views of the lake.

You and Allie lay on a mat, scrolling through your phones and occasionally showing each other funny memes or cute animal videos. Yoongi was settled in a chair with a glass of whiskey, reading something through his phone with the occasional hum of approval.

The three boys decided to swim in the lake, and you immediately began muttering prayers under your breath, for what, you weren’t entirely sure.

Maybe for divine intervention to stop Jungkook from being so infuriatingly distracting, or perhaps for the strength to keep your jaw from hitting the floor every time he emerged from the water.

He was wearing a black compression shirt that clung to him perfectly, revealing his colorful inked arm here, the outline of a toned torso there, and let’s not even get started on those thighs, perfectly framed by his black basketball shorts. Every time he strolled over to grab a snack from the picnic basket near you, you pretended to be deeply invested in your phone, eyebrows furrowed like you were decoding quantum physics. Anything to mask the heat creeping up your neck and the very inappropriate thoughts threatening to invade your peace and relaxation.

By evening, you all decided to eat dinner in the cottage, the vibe now tinged with the warmth of alcohol and laughter. The moonlight perfectly cascaded over the lake, its silver glow reflecting off the water and illuminating the cottage like a serene painting. The soft glow of lamps inside added to the ambiance, making everything about the place perfect.

Everyone seemed louder now, the alcohol buzz turning the cozy cottage into a chaotic, laughter-filled arena. Tae and Jimin were wrestling on the floor, mimicking exaggerated WWE moves that made Allie’s contagious laugh echo throughout the space. Yoongi, now a little chatty and loud, had taken on the role of their coach, shouting absurd instructions.

“Chokehold, Tae! No, no, Jimin, counter with the sleeper hold!” Yoongi barked, his face uncharacteristically animated as if he was controlling two game characters.

You watched Jungkook laugh at their antics, his bunny teeth flashing as he swatted away Jimin and Tae’s attempts to drag him into their chaos. But when the two of them finally lunged at him, intent on overpowering him, Jungkook barely even flinched. With a fluid, almost effortless motion, he sent both of them sprawling back onto the couch like they weighed nothing more than throw pillows.

Jungkook is strong.

You don’t know what to do with this information.

It wasn’t the strength itself that caught you off guard, you knew Jungkook worked out, but watching him do it with such ease felt almost... dangerous. You wonder how those strong hands gripping your thighs, pinning you against the wall, as he pounds—nope. Nope.

Stop right there you horny bitch.

You gulped down the flavored beer in your hand, the cool liquid doing little to douse the heat crawling up your neck.

“Thirsty much?” Allie teased, nudging you with a smirk as she caught your flustered state.

“I—yeah,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible over the chaos.

Jungkook’s laugh broke through your spiraling thoughts again, and you stole a quick glance at him. Thankfully, he seemed blissfully unaware of the effect he had on you, just being his playful self, swatting Jimin away like an annoying fly.

You feel the heat building in your core becoming more and more unbearable. You press your legs to try to soothe the feeling but it’s clear that you need more. You need a cold splash of water on your face, or better yet, a shower.

Standing abruptly, you excuse yourself for a 'bathroom break.' Your friends barely glance up, offering quick nods before returning to the chaos around them.

Chaos.

This chaos is the perfect cover for Jungkook.

Ever since he met you, there hasn’t been a single day he hasn’t felt like he’s stuck in his own personal hell.

He’s been avoiding looking at you for far too long, for obvious reasons.

The last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable. Now that he’s close to you and your friends, he’s doing everything to keep it together, to not let anyone, especially Yoongi, catch on. Yoongi’s too observant, and Jungkook’s painfully aware of that. He’s not ready to talk about whatever is going on with him. Or whatever it is he's feeling towards you.

But that moment in the Server Room? He feels a gnawing guilt in his gut, the worry that he made you uncomfortable. He hasn’t heard a word from you about it, though. Didn’t give any hint that something was off. You would’ve said something if you were uncomfortable, right?

You, with your cold, uptight air, focused only on deadlines. You wouldn’t let him get close if you weren’t okay with him. You’d cut him right away if he crossed a line, right?

Was he imagining you there? Maybe you didn’t actually see him. Maybe you weren't actually in the Server Room. He was probably hallucinating in desire. He’s not sure anymore.

But damn, you don’t make it easy.

Earlier, when you were lying on the mat with Ally, your shorts slipping up just enough to flash him a taste of your soft skin, he nearly choked on his drink.  And now, sitting across the cottage from you, your short dress riding up as you adjust your position, the soft glow of your skin under the dim light…

Fuck.

He wonders how your skin would feel beneath his hands… how it would feel if he buried himself in you.

Focusing on Jimin and Taehyung provides some distraction, though the temptation to steal another glance at you lingers like a ghost. Thankfully, no one seems sober enough to notice his wandering eyes, or the way his shorts have grown uncomfortably tight.

You, oblivious to the war raging in his head, excuse yourself with a quick smile at Allie before heading to the cabin.

Thank God.

Finally, Jungkook lets out a deep breath and forces himself to join the conversation.

But just as he thinks he’s getting a break, Yoongi’s voice cuts through. “Jungkook, can you grab the portable speaker I told you to bring?”

“Yeah, I’ll get it.” Jungkook stands up without a second thought, almost like it’s automatic when someone older asks, barely processing Yoongi’s other questions as he heads to the cabin.

You step into the bathroom, stripping your clothes as you go. Your damp panties are a clear evidence of your need, and you groan in frustration. With a shaky breath, you turn on the shower, hoping the cold water will wash away the tension building inside you. But as the droplets hit your skin, they do little to distinguish the fire within.

It hasn’t even been a day in this cabin, and Jungkook is already a problem.

Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve been with anyone, or perhaps the close proximity is making you hyper aware of him. Maybe it’s the memory of him, lost in his own pleasure in the Server Room, fingers working his body while thoughts of you flickered through his mind. The image awakens something in you. Was it just one-time thing? What did he picture you to be while he touched himself?

You pull yourself out of your thoughts, allowing the shower to wash away your lingering filthy desires.

After the quick shower, you step out, wrapping yourself in a towel. But you’re still burning up.

Sighing in frustration, you sit on the bed and brush through your damp hair, but it's still too wet, so you pat it dry. As you glance into the mirror, your reflection catches your eye. The soft lamplight casts a warm glow on your skin, drawing your attention, and for a moment, you’re entranced by the subtle radiance.

You trail your fingers over your arms, your collarbone, down to your chest. Your nipples harden under your touch, and you groan softly. The cabin is alive with distant laughter from the cottage, your friends blissfully oblivious to your desperation.

The craving intensifies, and without thinking, your hands drift lower, over your stomach, to your thighs. Your legs part instinctively, your fingers finding the slick heat between your folds. You press against your clit, your breath hitching at the electric shock that runs through your body.

You imagine Jungkook’s hands there instead. The way he would touch you, soft and rough. The way he would devour you, make you beg for more.

You picture him. His body, his hands, his mouth—all of it.

As your fingers slide inside, you bite your lip, your body shuddering with need. You pump in and out, the friction building, but it’s not enough. You groan in frustration, you need more.

You need something bigger, harder. You need him.

Your eyes lock onto the round brush on the side, its dark wooden handle glistening in the dim light. Something primal snaps within you. Without a second thought, you grab it, your fingers curling around the bristles as you lift it to your lips. The thick, rounded handle presses against your mouth, and you drag your tongue over it, coating it with your spit.

Your heart races as you slide the handle down your body. Lifting yourself off the bed just enough, you position it at your entrance, the anticipation making your thighs tremble. Slowly, deliberately, you lower yourself onto it, gasping as it stretches you open. Your eyes stay locked on the mirror, watching every inch of the handle disappear inside you.

The sight alone makes your body shiver in need, and soon you can’t hold back. Your hips move instinctively, a slow grind that quickly builds into something desperate. You ride it hard, fast, the rhythm of your movements echoing through the creaks in the room. Each thrust draws a whimper from your lips as your imagine Jungkook beneath you, his strong hands gripping your hips, his dark eyes blazing as you grind against him. The way he’d look at you, the way he would sound as he moans your name, needy and breathy, like how he did in the Server Room.

The creak of the bed grows louder, and in your mind, it’s because of him—pounding into you relentlessly, the headboard slamming against the wall, his deep groans mixing with your cries. How he’d ruin you completely, leaving no part of you untouched.

Your hand remains between your legs, circling and flicking your clit in time with the thrusts. The tension builds and builds, each movement pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

And when you finally let go, when your orgasm crashes over you, it’s intense—like a pressure valve bursting open. You cry out his name, repeating it as your body trembles, your vision blurring as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

The moment Jungkook opens the door to his room, right next to yours, his gaze immediately lands on the portable speaker that Yoongi had asked him for, resting casually on the table alongside his other things. He walks toward it absentmindedly, his mind spinning in circles, thoughts tangled and restless.

How could he speak to you alone without feeling like his throat is closing in, without that damn knot of nerves tightening in his chest?

For fuck's sake, he’s not some shy guy. Maybe reserved at first, but shy? No. Not anymore. So why the hell does it feel like your gaze alone could drop him to his knees? He will do whatever you tell him—crawl, bark, beg. Whatever you wanted. No hesita—

"Fuck, Jungkook..." A moan. So soft, so faint, it feels like his mind is playing tricks on him.

And then another moan, but this time incoherent, then a soft creak, followed by the rhythmic sound of a bed moving.

His body goes rigid, every nerve on high alert. You’re in there. Alone. What the hell is going on?

He moves toward the wall separating you from him, pressing his ear against it, desperate to hear more of you.

Another moan, louder this time, long and dripping with need.

His breath stutters, pulse hammering in his ears. The muscles in his jaw tighten, his cock twitching involuntarily. The sound of you—fuck. That’s how you sound? Beautiful. Perfect. Needy. And shit… you’re thinking of him? Fucking yourself, imagining him? He’s losing his mind.

His shorts feel suddenly painfully tight. His hands tremble, fumbling at his waistband, pulling the thing that’s aching to be freed out of both pants and boxers in one desperate motion.

The moans and soft whimpers continue and it’s too much. He grips his cock, the hard length throbbing in his hand as he starts to pump. His strokes grow frantic, desperate, matching the steady pulse of the bed as it rocks with your need.  His mind floods with images of you—your fucked out face, wet lips parted in pleasure, the way your body arches, shivering beneath him, trembling with each of his movements. He imagines your nails dragging down his back, marking him, claiming him as his own. The sound of his name on your lips again and again, each breath getting closer to his ear, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, tighter.

When you cry out his name again, he can’t take it anymore, he bursts. His release hits him hard, his body shuddering as he spills his hot white cum into his hand, and some of it staining the walls.

He stood frozen—breathless, trembling, overwhelmed by the weight of a realization.

You, an actress.

Behind the mask of ambition, beneath the cold exterior of reservation and control, lies a desperate, hidden need.

You had begged for it in silence.

He would make sure you screamed for it out loud.

taglist: @taekritimin123, @vantelover1306, @random-musingsss @likewtaf @jeonmaleficent @almatiarau, @kxthx-b, @lively-potter, @jk-190811, @ilovejungkook9999, @goldietigers294, @dreamyluna18, @va1-erie, @snow-strawberry, @lovieku, @daskewl @jksusawife @daskewl @pp0810 @cherryreadsfics @boyfriendtaekook @michuga @kchukes @ahgasegotarmy116 @michellekosmos @pitchblack0309

[wonderjanga]

Part-time Jobs

Billy needs money, or at least more than what he currently has. So, he gets a job. Scratch that. Marvel gets a job. Marvel is now a part timer named Mark who works at a Target, a Baskin Robins, a Bojangles (I worked at one, so now he has to), and a couple other places. The stamina of Atlas is really carrying him.

Marvel and Coworker 1: *taking a lunch break together*

Coworker 1: “Wait, so is this your only job?”

Marvel: “Hm? No. Why?”

Coworker 1: “Well, it’s just that I briefly remember you saying one time about how this isn’t your only job.”

Marvel: “Ohhhhh… Well let’s see, I work here, Target, a Baskin Robins, and a Bojangles. I’ve been a bouncer at a club a couple times since a friend of mine at the Baskin Robins will let me fill in for him. And then there’s the Autozone, and the Taco Bell.”

Coworker 1: *starts growing more and more alarmed/horrified after the Baskin Robins mention* “Mark, buddy, that’s like… six— seven jobs! How do you have the time for that, one, and two you have like no one eyebags or visible exhaustion whatsoever.”

Marvel: “I clean up well…?”

Coworker 1: “That’s a bit of an understatement, pal. You look like you have a full nights rest, a good meal, and a good conscience. I’ve never once seen you drink a drop of caffeine to.”

Marvel: “Uh…”

Coworker 1: *stands on tippy toes to place a hand on Marvel’s shoulder* “Dude, are you alright?”

Marvel: *leans down so they don’t have to stand on their tippy toes* “Yes?”

Coworker 1: “You sure?”

Marvel: “Yes?? You’re making me second guess myself.”

Coworker 1: “Maybe you should, because working 7 jobs is actually insane, bud.”

This interaction honestly set Billy on edge afterwords. He didn’t really want Coworker 1 worrying over him. Especially when Billy was just trying to get that bag. Speaking of worrying there was another coworker who tended to worry about him a lot, Ms. Gertrude. She was the manager of the Target he worked at. Her worry was more that of a grandmother. She pinches his cheeks and gives him candy despite the fact that in his Marvel form, he not only looks like a grown man, she’s also half his size. He doesn’t particularly mind though.

Marvel: “Ms. Gertrude, why do you always pinch my cheeks and give me candy?

Ms. Gertrude: “You remind me of my husband.” *hands him some old lady candy*

Marvel: *extremely confused* “Huh?”

Ms. Gertrude: “Yes, Micheal, my husband. You remind me of him. So, I’ve decided you’re now my grandson.”

Marvel: “Oh uh… okay.” *doesn’t know whether to be happy or not*

Ms. Gertrude: “Yes, now go stock the toy aisle, dear.” *shooes him off*

Marvel: *scurries off to the toy aisie*

The time bubble worked in his favor, Billy supposed. Ms. Gertrude likes her 1950s to 60s not-really-grandson grandson.

Then there’s the time Flash was in town for whatever and went to the local Baskin Robins.

Flash: “I’ll take a double fudge sundae— Whaaaa…? Cap?”

Marvel: “It’s Mark.” *taps name tag*

Flash: “Your name is Mark?”

Marvel: “Well… no. But it’s my name for this job. A double fudge sundae, right?”

Flash: “Right.” *stares for a couple seconds* “Dude, why’re you here?”

Marvel: “It’s my city?”

Flash: “You know what I mean. Dude, why’re you working at a Baskin Robin’s?”

Marvel: “Money.”

Flash: “Money?”

Marvel: *nods head* “Money.”

Flash: “You know we get a salary right? Also why do you even need money in the first place? I didn’t even think you were a human.”

Marvel: *donates most of the money to homeless shelters, but doesn’t use any of it for himself cause he’s scared it’ll let them find out he’s a kid* “I did know that. I just like to eat. I work at like 5 different fast food places cause the food is delicious.” *walks to the ice cream to start making the sundae*

Flash: “How do you have the time for that?”

Marvel: *shrugs, finishing the sundae and handing it to Wally*

Flash: “I will be very much asking about this later, bud. You will be warned.”

[writtenbymoonflower]

hi!!! could i pls request some casual dominance polymarauders 🙈

Thanks for requesting, hope this is okay! gn!reader x poly!marauders, kinda modern!au

cw: kinda d/s dynamics, boys order reader around a bit. if it's not your cup of tea feel free to skip!

810 words

You were attacked with affection the minute you had stepped foot in the house, but you weren’t complaining. It was like James had appeared from thin air to help you shuck your coat off and hang it up for you. 

“Christ, babe. It didn’t know how freezing it was out there. You’ve got like, bits of ice on you.” He fussed, scrutinizing your shaking body and wind-pinched face. 

“It wasn’t that bad, the walk was pretty.” You thought that would be reassuring, but James just looked more aghast. 

“You walked the whole way here?”

“I mean, yeah. I didn’t have money for the bus.” You admitted shamefully. It seemed like Sirius had appeared in the room to give you a (loving) talking to as well. 

“Then in that case, you call one of us, yeah?” He grabbed your face gently, turning you away from James to look at him. He had his whole intimidation thing going on that made you want to melt into the floor. “You don’t get to put yourself in danger walking in this.” He gave your chin an affectionate squeeze before dropping his hand from your face, you let your gaze fall to the floor.

“I will,” You muttered, barely intelligible. This time it was James who tilted your face up. 

“Speak up baby, and look Pads in the eye when you talk to him.” He was gentle but still assertive. You quickly corrected. 

“I will call you next time.” Still mousy, but at a discernible volume, and now you could see when Sirius’ usual grin overtook his concerned features. He pulled you into him, giving you a tight squeeze. 

“You’re okay, babydoll. You’re not in trouble.” He kissed your neck, making it hard for you to breathe. 

“Who’s not in trouble?” You heard Remus’ even tone from the kitchen. You tugged the two men next to you over to where Remus was. He was sitting at the counter, doing some work on his laptop.

“Well it seems like Y/N was determined to give us the fright of our life this afternoon.” James joked (rather dramatically in your opinion), but it’s all good now. 

“They will be requiring some hot chocolate, though.” Sirius pinched at your nose, making an awful cooing sound. “Baby, your face is still all cold.” 

Remus stood up to rummage through the box of hot drink mixes. “Pads love, could you run upstairs and grab the sweater off the end of the bed?” his voice turned more serious as he looked at you. “It doesn’t surprise me that you’re still cold, that shirt likely isn’t doing much to keep you warm.” 

“Actually,” You spoke up, ignoring his comment. “Could I have some coffee instead?” James scoffed and Remus rolled his eyes. 

“It’s half past five, baby dove. You’ll be up all night if you have caffeine right now.” Remus clearly wasn’t in the mood to be argued with, but you pressed in.

“I’ll be fine! Besides, my head hurts and I need to get some work done.” 

“Yeah, well, get that idea out of your head.” James shook your shoulders affectionately. “You’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately, you need a rest.” 

“Who needs a rest?” Sirius trotted over to you, manhandling you to get Remus’ sweater over your head. 

“Y/N,” James tattled. “They think they’re getting coffee at this hour.” He laughed like you were being obviously ridiculous. “They also have a headache and didn’t tell us.” You must’ve looked absolutely appalled and quickly floundered to control the damages. 

“I didn’t think it was important! It’s not bad anyway.” 

“Well, let’s try to keep it from getting bad.” Remus handed you a steaming cup of hot cocoa, along with a packet of biscuits. “Here, eat these so you can take some pain pills.” He glanced over to James, making the bespectacled boy rummage through the medicine box while Sirius set on getting a glass of water for you. 

“I don’t need any medicine, it will go away on its own.” You pleaded, covering your mouth full of biscoff and feeling flustered from all the attention. Sirius clearly disagreed, because the comment earned you a hard pinch on your bum. 

“Do what Moons said” He punctuated the order with a kiss to your forehead, letting you know he wasn’t really upset with you. Sirius may play stern, but he was really just silly and enjoyed ordering you around a bit, knowing that it made you heated and blushy. 

You set down your hot drink and half-eaten snack to take the pills and water, swallowing your pills and finishing the whole glass before you handed it back. 

“There you go,” James cooed, pulling you into his side. “That’s a good girl” 

You groaned, earning a dark chuckle from Remus.

"Poor baby," He teased, clearly not feeling very sorry for you.

It was going to be a trying night.

[dendroseelie]

sweet distractions | alhaitham x reader

alhaitham doesn't appreciate being disturbed while he's trying to work and if you don't stop bugging him just because you're distracted, he'll simply have to take matters into his own hands and take his own sweet revenge.

word count - 2k+

pairing - alhaitham x reader; afab!reader

warnings - smut (mdni), oral sex (f!receiving), does this count as public sex lol? i think so

author's note: took longer than i wanted because i got super busy with irl stuff but here it is!! hehe :3 smexy time with alhaitham and as always, i would love it if you leave your thoughts :)

masterlist

request here | rules

When you agreed with Alhaitham to have a late-night study session in a secluded corner at the Akademiya’s grand library, you didn’t think you would be in this position. Three hours ago you both had your noses buried in the books and now, well - Alhaitham had his nose buried in you.

Assignment season was in full swing at the Akademiya. The dreaded middle-of-the-semester workload had students consuming way too much caffeine and staying up way too late. You were not immune to this. This week you had already turned in a total of ten assignments and you were working on your eleventh one which you had to turn in tomorrow. You had been putting this one off the longest as it was for the module you disliked the most. You couldn’t help but leave it for the last minute, something rather unlike you.

Alhaitham had kindly offered to keep you company - that is, study at the same table in the library - for the night as the two of you worked on your separate tasks. The first hour or two went by in relative silence before you started getting antsy. You hated this assignment, I mean who would in their right mind write five thousand words about “The Cultural and Socioeconomic Effect of Growing Radishes instead of Carrots”? You weren’t even sure it was relevant to what you were majoring in, let alone studying. It was frustrating, You generally weren’t the kind to slack off and not put in effort into the work you turned in. You were someone who cared about the quality of assignments you turned in and what you were learning. But this damned paper… What could you possibly write about radishes and carrots that could be invigorating to read? 

You sighed frustratedly, pushing away the books you had gathered earlier as if it would make your assignment magically disappear. Your mind felt completely numb after working on this for hours at a stretch - one could only read so much about root vegetables.

Alhaitham, on the other hand, was completely engrossed in whatever he was writing about. His unwavering attention to the task at hand made it seem like it was interesting…But, well, you were not finding your own task very appealing. At least, not as appealing as the sight in front of you. Alhaitham was clad in a cream-coloured shirt, his sweater thrown over the back of his chair. His brown pants complimented his long legs and his shoes were halfway kicked off. By some miracle, his headphones were off today. His thin-rimmed glasses were perched upon his sharp nose and you couldn’t help but admire how the few strands of his ashy hair fell over his forehead. You almost wanted to reach out and tuck them back in place.

“Quit staring you creep.”

You feel your face flush, gaze immediately flickering away. You clear your throat. “I wasn’t staring.”

Alhaitham’s lips curve into a barely-there smirk. He looked smug - somehow, that pissed you off and charmed you just the same. “Sure, darling. You absolutely were not staring holes into my skull just now.”

“I wasn’t!” You insist indignantly, eyebrows bunching up into an ingenuine frown.

He still doesn’t look up from his assignment as he continues working. “Whatever, Y/N. Get back to your work and let me be in peace too.”

You scowl at his steady focus. You were mind-bogglingly bored and here he was, writing away - his sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, hair falling over his eyes just… so perfectly.

You try and turn your attention back to your work, you really do. But it was all…Alhaitham’s fault - him and his insufferably, stupidly handsome face. You try to continue writing your assignment, highlighting how switching between carrots and radishes will essentially affect culinary practices and in turn, affect the culture in the long run. But. But Alhaitham’s lips pursed between his teeth, the pink tips of his pale fingers, the rings clad on the length of them, the slow blinks of his gorgeous green eyes…were so much more interesting. So much more inviting.

It truly was as if you were captivated; eyes following the smallest of his movements like a kitten learning to hunt. 

Alhaitham’s deep sigh and the clatter of his pen as he drops it pull you out of your trance. You return his sharp gaze with a blank gaze, blinking dopily. “Okay Y/N, what’s up with you? What’s got you so distracted tonight?”

“You,” you answer, only half-consciously.

He arches his brow, a thinly veiled simper stretched on his lips. “Me?” he enquires, voice dripping with a teasing lilt.

You flush at his words, internally cursing yourself for your loose lips - but also him, because that was also his fault! 

“What? Cat got your tongue, darling?”

You roll your eyes at him, huffing. “Don’t bug me!”

“Bug you? I’m not the one gawking at you instead of working.”

“I was not gawking!” You protest - uselessly at that because it only makes Alhaitham chuckle cockily.

For a few seconds, Alhaitham watches you carefully, eyes taking in your flushed cheeks and your short breaths, and your tongue peeking out to wet your parted lips. He slowly tilts his head to the side, eyes drinking in the sight in front of him like a predator studying its prey. Then he smiles wolfishly. Your heartbeat stutters.

Alhaitham stands up from his seat, stalking toward you. His arms cage you in as you lean back against the chair. “What is it, hmm?” He bends towards you, words spoken softly right into your ear. “Finding the sight a little too distracting, perhaps?”

“N-no.”

“Really?” He asks, his hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear, trailing down the side of your cheek. His thumb brushes over your lips. “I could help, you know? Ward off the distractions… You just have to admit it.”

“Th-there’s nothing to admit,” you fumble over your words, tongue staggering at the feeling of his lips trailing the path of his hand like a phantom of his touch.

You swear you can feel his tongue on your ear as his fingers find their way into your hair. “Sure about that, darling? I could simply satisfy you, have you twitching in a much more interesting way.”

A sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan escapes you as Alhaitham places a wet kiss to your jaw, teeth grazing the side of your neck. He has the audacity to laugh. “Hmm, maybe I should also get my revenge for how you keep distracting me…What do you say?”

At your soft words of consent and a nod, Alhaitham does not waste a moment before his lips press into yours. His lips are softer and more pillowy than you had imagined. And… well you had imagined it embarrassingly often. His mouth coaxes yours open and the kiss turns sloppier, messier in a way that has you whining into the heated press of flesh.

Alhaitham’s hands shift down from your neck to the dip of your waist, grip squeezing. He nips at your lips before breaking apart, a line of spit stretching from your mouth to his. Both your eyes seem to be glassed over, minds a little too cottony.

He presses another fleeting kiss to your lips before he mutters, almost as if in a stupor. “Taste so sweet…”

He shoves the books on the table to the side, before yanking off his glasses. His grip on you is strong and unforgiving as he pulls you up from the chair and perches you onto the table. He presses wet kisses down the expanse of your neck. “I need you to be quiet for me, darling. Can you do that?”

You nod. Words seem to have left you. Alhaitham’s hands skim down the fabric of your dress as he kisses you, ghostly touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. His hands massage the soft flesh of your thighs, the skirt of your dress riding up as he stands between your legs.

His kisses are feverish over your skin as he slowly sinks down to his knees in front of you, between your limbs. “Remember to be quiet, okay?" He instructs you, as he props your legs over his shoulder. We don’t want anyone coming down to this section.”

A breathy agreement later, Alhaitham is nibbling at your thighs as he nears where you need him most. He follows his bites with a lick of his tongue and simply this has you trembling in his hold. Before you know it, his fingers are hooking on the elastic of your underwear and tugging it down in one, swift motion. The cold air that hits your core barely has a moment to make you shiver before his lips are on you.

What a sight to see indeed. Hours ago the two of you were occupied with your books and assignments. Wouldn’t one agree this kind of preoccupation was much more welcome?

He had you seated on the edge of the library's opulent mahogany table while your skirt was bunched up around your hips and your legs were thrown over his shoulders as he diligently ate you out. His tongue was skilled in its movements, swirling over your sensitive nub in a way that had you twitching. His palms had your thighs in a vice grip, fingers flexing over it as you shook under him.

Your vision swims. It’s as if there are sparks under your eyelids, your own personal star shower that Alhaitham has brought right to you. At least, that’s what his mouth on you feels like; an experience ethereal and cosmic enough to have you whimpering his name like a prayer. Reverent echoes of ‘Alhaitham’ bounce off the bookshelves and back within the sanctity of the moment. Alhaitham hums, acknowledging your pleas, the sound sending shivers through you. If your whispers of his name were a prayer then what was he, if not a deity on his knees, consuming nectar so divine that it could rival the heaven’s ambrosia. 

“S-shit Alhaitham,” your voice comes out high pitched, sounding nearly unfamiliar to you.

Alhaitham nips you in response before he looks up from between your legs. His mouth is glistening — from spit and your arousal, and the mere sight of it has you clenching. “M’not done, sweetheart. Be good and let me finish, hmm?”

He dives back in before you can answer, his tongue prodding at your entrance in a manner that has you grabbing a fistful of his hair. Alhaitham’s hands tighten around the supple flesh of your legs, pulling them apart as you close your thighs around him. He groans, mouth still on you, and the vibrations of the sound hit you straight in the core. The feeling of your impending orgasm only grows as his finger joins his ministrations, the cold press of his rings urging you on. The knot in your stomach keeps tightening and tightening until a particular curl of his tongue and the bite that follows it sends you over the edge. You thrash in his hold as your orgasm washes over you, biting the back of your hand to curb the wanton moan that escapes you.

Alhaitham is still lapping at you, helping you ride out your high until you finally push his head away out of over-sensitivity. He presses scattered kisses to the inside of your thighs, before he looks up at you, a Cheshire grin resting upon his lips. “Doing okay?”

“Huh…? Shit.” Your words are thick with the lingering pleasure, your mind fuzzy and your eyes hooded as you raise yourself on your arms to take a peek at Alhaitham who is still on his knees. His fingers knead the flesh of your hips, the feeling of it grounding and comforting. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

“You sure?” He chides cheekily. “You still look plenty distracted to me, Y/N.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper, voice still breathless. Your cheeks are burning and your heart is still racing from the exquisite taste of pleasure that he brought to you. He had made a mess of you with just his tongue, and you couldn’t help the anticipation that shot through you at his suggestive insinuations. 

Alhaitham’s smirk deepens and he arches his brow. “Oh? I'll be so honoured Y/N, but are you sure you want our first time to be on the library table?”

author's note: phew okay guys this is actually the first time I've written smut like this so I'm a bit?? I'm not sure if it's up to standard but I tried TT would love and welcome any constructive feedback you may have :) most of all though, i hope you enjoyed!

[junislqve]

ᯓ seasons — ot7

syn i used to hate it, until i found out it was your favorite thing. (1504 words)

pairs ot7 + reader | cw petnames — mlist navi

note synopsis was actually more of a prompt but err i hope you guys enjoy anyway >< also im writing this half asleep so im sorry if there are any mistakes !! everybody thank peng cause without her this wouldn’t even be here rn

LEE HEESEUNG

“why don’t you warm me up?”

heeseung never liked winter. he hated the coldness and the gloom that came with it. ever since he was young, he’d stay cooped up in his room refusing to go out and play with the snow.

even as an adult, heeseung would be more silent during the season, chattering his teeth even though he wore about a dozen coats.

well that was until he knew you. you were the complete opposite. you loved the coldness and the festive feeling of winter. finding the beauty in the falling snowflakes.

ever since heeseung started dating you, your love for winter created a small fondness in him. he loves it when he gets to see your pretty smile and your nose red-tinted from the cold.

he loves it most when you both would take the train back after a day out and you would fall asleep on his shoulder, hands tucked on his to keep yourself warm.

PARK JONGSEONG

jay had never really been picky with anything. having being the cook back at home and even now cooking for you made him accustom to people’s likes.

one thing, however, that never had he enjoyed was caffeine. he hated the bitter aftertaste of it. the smell that always lingers.

but when you once bought him an americano back when you both were still friends, he downed the whole thing. making you laugh, he liked hearing your laugh, it was addicting. he saw how you were savoring the taste after every sip. thinking that if you liked it, it shouldn’t be that bad.

and now, every morning before you woke up, he’d add coffee-brewing to his routine. making both of you coffee before heading for work. but really, he just loved seeing you hum in delight after a sip, a small smile on your lips.

“you’re so good at this, babe” you say, complimenting his brewing skill.

“why don’t you give me a kiss for it then”

SIM JAEYUN

you loved musicals. from hamilton to phantom of the opera, you’ve always loved watching them if they played in theaters near you.

jake, however, would rather spend his time playing soccer or watching a movie at the comfort of his home. he didn’t find musicals interesting, refusing whenever his friends offered to go watch one together.

however, when you offered, he found himself sitting near front seats in a large theatre. completely invested in the story line. he took down internal notes in his head knowing you’d start talking about it the moment you both walked out the theatre, just so he could give his own perspective in case you asked.

he would listen to you talk all day if it meant having to watch musicals often. asking you to repeat things to see your smile grow. his eyes linger on you, observing the pretty smile you have and the excited glint in your eyes as you talked away.

“wait, can you explain again about what happened to her in the end?”

PARK SUNGHOON

possibly the biggest hater of mint chocolate chip ice cream, sunghoon would not get near it. if he had a choice, he’d rather choose something more simple like vanilla.

but all in all, sunghoon never really liked ice cream. he doesn’t understand the enjoyment people get whenever they’d crave it.

apparently all it took for him to finally try the flavor he most despised was for you to (barely) beg him to hang out with you. he was too flustered when you asked him what flavor he wanted and when you asked if he wanted the same order as you did, he just nodded. barely registering what you said.

he unfortunately did not realize this until he scooped up a spoonful of the ice cream and tasted the familiar, yet, unfavorable taste. however, after much thought and probably the sweet smile you were giving him, he concluded that it didn’t taste as bad as he thought it would.

after dating, sunghoon would often pick up ice cream for you two after a long week, eating it together while huddled up watching a movie in your living room.

the taste of it was always there, but he understood why you adored the flavor. it growing on him more than he’d expected, especially when you’re the one he’s eating it with.

KIM SUNOO

being alone creeps him out. he gets terrified if he was ever left home alone. that’s one of the reasons why he loved going out.

he finds it comforting being surrounded by people, chatting along with anyone and everyone, catching up with them.

before you were in his life, he felt like being alone further makes him feel unwanted. busying himself with anything if, in a case, he were to be left alone.

when you did come into his life, though, it was like you rearranged the meaning of being alone. you love the peace and quiet of being alone. the silence that seems to fill the room letting you breath for a moment.

technically, he still didn’t really like being alone. sometimes, he’d call you to his apartment to ‘be alone’ with you. none of you speaking any words to each other, just laying down and listening to each other’s breathing. so many words unsaid but the feelings able to be conveyed through gestures.

you’d taught him how to enjoy the quietness. he finds that when he’s alone he felt more calm and centered. still, as a person who loves talking, he would always prefer being with people.

but, you redefined the meaning of being alone and he loves you for it. he loves the way you look happy and at peace all the time, he loves it when you both be alone together.

YANG JUNGWON

“babe, can you get my socks pretty please?”

as a person who gets cold easily, you love bundling yourself up before sleeping. your necessities were your 2 blankets, a pillow for your side and socks.

jungwon always found it iffy to wear socks in bed. even if he were to buy new ones to wear only in his house, he still wouldn’t like the feeling of it.

that was until he was introduced to you by a mutual friend. when you two started talking, he found your many quirks adorable.

however, one that he only found out when you started dating, was that you loved wearing socks to sleep. his horror back then showed on his face when you asked him if he were okay.

overtime, you gradually convinced him. especially if it was winter and the coldness would go up by twice the usual weather. being used to your routine, he didn’t even realize he started wearing socks to bed until you pointed it out when he was sleeping over.

the realization he had was baffling, but as he accustomed to it he didn’t find it weird at all. he would start buying you both matching socks when he was out and was thinking of you.

NISHIMURA RIKI

“let’s get back to bed, love”

everyone knows riki is not a morning person. he hated waking up early more than anyone. it’s not weird to find him coming out of his room at 1 pm.

by 1pm, you’ve probably already went to a cafe, had breakfast, catches up with a friend, and had a 2-hour lecture.

when you got involved with riki, you tried your hardest to wake him up early. his friends had told you to give up many times saying they’ve tried over and over again.

but miraculously, on your 7th try, he woke up. although, grumbling, he started sitting up and asking what you were doing at his dorms.

the first time you tried you were just there to drop off some food to your big brother. but when you knocked and no one answered, you were about to leave. until one of his dorm mates opened the door to let you in.

they were all stood crowded in front of his room, shouting at him to wake up, but he never moved. still sound asleep after a whole debate session ensued in the dorms.

after your brother and his friends collectively decide to leave him alone instead of trying to wake him up, you put it upon yourself to try as well. little did you know, he’d heard all your wake up calls, just too afraid to face you, seeing his bedhead and all.

7th times the charm however, when he finally braved himself to wake up and reply to you, although his heart pounding abnormally when you smiled at him.

when you two started dating, he couldn’t not wake up before you. much more aware of his surroundings when he’s around you.

riki however is riki. if he were to wake up earlier, then you would also have to wake up later sometimes because of him. deciding to stay in for a bit longer when he asks to, surrounded by his warmth.

© junislqve 2024. liking, commenting, and rebloging are appreciated.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[4:47 am]

(cw: wife!reader)

CEO!Johnny had been mad since the second he heard about this early meeting. That was a week ago. Well, not mad, more like pouty. For a few months now he’d gotten used to going into the office a little later so that he could have his mornings with you. Nothing too crazy, just a half hour later, but after all the hard work he’d put in for the company, he felt he deserved the half hour with his wife. The mornings were blissful, waking up and cuddling with you. Following that up with coffee and breakfast together and bidding each other goodbye with a kiss before heading in your respective directions.

But today, today felt like hell. He was up before the sun was coming up, waking up while bakers were still baking for the morning rush, while children were still fast asleep and in dreamland before going to school. Getting ready before you were even thinking about waking up. Hell, you were deep in rem sleep right now.

A part of him wanted to be selfish and wake you up. At the very least, to have your company. He wouldn’t force you out of the warmth of your shared bed. He just missed you… and today would be a long day. Going in early to talk to overseas investors and spending the rest of the day finalizing reports for the end of the quarter. He was already tired of it all.

Johnny dragged his feet while he sipped his coffee and willed the caffeine to kick in. He was bone tired. He had even stolen some of your under eye patches to help with the puffiness under his eyes. He sighed tiredly, tying his tie and fixed his hair one last time.

He turned off the light in the bathroom and padded across the bedroom to your sleeping form. He pressed a kiss to your forehead whispering a quiet, “have a good day, baby.”

He wishes he could say he felt accomplished since he had been awake so early and working almost as long. He talked to the investors, he got a lot of paperwork done, and he drank a lot of coffee. And still he didn’t feel good knowing his soft mornings with his wife had been torn away.

So it came it as no surprise when your FaceTime call came in at your usual wake up and get ready hour. He smiled brightly as his thumb slid across the screen to answer your call. He was met with your pouty face surrounded with the white sheets of your shared bed, “you didn’t wake me up.”

Johnny laughs, “baby, it was like 5 in the morning! Good morning though, how are you?”

“I dunno,” you grumble, “my husband doesn’t love me so…”

Johnny chuckles softly, slumping back in his very expensive desk chair, “I do love you. I love you so much that I didn’t interrupt your sleep. I did consider it though.”

“If you really loved me you’d have woken me up,” you argue playfully.

“I think you’ll love me when you see what I left you in the kitchen,” Johnny tells you, lifting his brows with a smirk.

He watches you move through the halls, hair messy and free. He watches your eyes light up when you saw the surprise he’d left for you. “Breakfast and coffee. Wow, I guess you do love me,” you tease, “thank you though, baby. I appreciate it.”

“I think you’ll also be happy to know that I’ll be home early today. I haven’t told anyone yet, but I will be. I deserve it after waking up at 4 in the morning."

"I don't think your secretary would approve of that," you chide, arching your brow a him through the camera.

"Well, she wasn't here at 5 in the morning was she? Plus, she'll like it when she gets to go home early too," Johnny yawns, "I'll pick up dinner on the way home, baby. Have a good day. You off to work?"

You shake your head with a smile, "nope, took the day off. I'll see you later. I love you."

"I love you too," Johnny responds before hanging up. Damn, he should have taken the day off too, especially since his CFO was more than capable of doing this on their own. He drags a tired hand down his face, he was definitely going to put in for a long vacation and it you off to some resort where you both could spend the whole day in bed if you wanted to.

[sweeterthanficstion]

— twelve dates 'til christmas || l.s.k ⋆⁺₊❅.

christmas party / fake relationship / re2r leon! ❆ for @leonsecretsanta event! ❆ gift for @calbloodypigeon ! <3

tags: no outbreak au, rookie leon, journalist reader, gn reader but if i've accidentally missed something please let me know so i can fix it up! --- lots of stupid hallmark christmas cliches, heavily inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days.

summary: when the leads you're chasing for your feature article for the local paper have gone ice cold, and you've just about given up hope, the rpd's newest rookie shows up like a christmas miracle and proposes a deal that might just save you. or blow up in your face.

word count: 6.1k --- i know i went over the word count IM SO SORRY 😭

a/n: CAL! HI! i'm SO beyond sorry this is late, i fucked up the timings so bad and stupidly miscalculated how much time i had left to finalise this and then i got roped into my own christmas fiasco so i was RACING against the clock to try get this out asap. BUT i hope you like it regardless!! i saw re2r leon as your wild card and my eyes LIT UP!! this was such a pleasure to write, i absolutely love writing rookie leon! (also yes i know the twelve days of christmas technically come after christmas day but shhhh) anyway, hope you have a wonderful christmas!! lots of love, amber xx

masterlist⭑AO3

It starts with a faulty office printer and a burnt cup of coffee.

You stare pitifully at the cup of coffee in your hand—if you can even call it that anymore. Half empty and completely unsalvageable, the acrid smell lingers in the break room like some unwelcome ghost of Christmas caffeine. If only you hadn’t slept through your alarm this morning, you could’ve avoided the morning rush (since it seems that nobody in Raccoon City knows how to drive through snow), and made a good cup of coffee to accompany you for the day instead of having to fight the shitty office coffee machine instead.

With a half-hearted sigh you turn the mug over and dump its contents into the bin, watching forlornly as the liquid soaks through shredded paper and old protein bar wrappers instead.

“Bad morning?” One of your coworkers, Claire, quips from across the way. A perfectly fine cup of coffee sits on her desk in a mug that reads Journalists do It With Integrity! 

You shoot her a withering glare, but before you can deliver any sort of witty remark, the printer across the room coughs out a single sheet of crumpled paper, and promptly dies. 

“Bad week,” you mutter, running a hand down your face before stalking towards the offending machine. 

The office, already buzzing with the chaos of holiday deadlines, feels like it’s working entirely against you. The case you’ve been chasing—a string of thefts tied to the Raccoon City holiday markets—has gone ice cold. Your editor is breathing down your neck for a feature piece that you can’t write without new leads. You’ve got twelve days left, twelve days until your editor wants that final copy on her desk.

And now the printer has decided to stage a mutiny. Just your luck.

You try to print out the documents again, but when the printer does nothing but splutter, and kicking it doesn’t seem to work, you decide maybe it just needs new ink.

You’re about halfway through jamming your hand into its guts when a voice, sweet yet awkward, startles you. You hit your head on the way up, only to find yourself staring into a pair of warm blue eyes beneath a mop of golden hair. 

He’s wearing a leather jacket over a navy button-down, his badge clipped to his belt. He looks familiar, like someone you might’ve run into at the bullpen when you’re down at the RPD.

“Uh, need a hand?” he tilts his head, same awkward smile unfaltering.

“I’ve got it,” you say, though you clearly don’t. The printer lets out a final, pathetic whine before dying completely. Well, now you just look stupid.

He grins, the kind of lopsided, sheepish smile that makes him look younger than he probably is. “Guess that’s a no.”

You sigh, looking over your shoulder to catch Claire hiding a smile behind her mug. You fold your arms. “Sorry, can I help you?”

“Names Leon,” He introduces himself, and it all clicks into place for you. This is the RPD’s newest rookie. The guy Claire’s been yapping your ear off about Chris yapping her ear off about. “I’m just dropping off some paperwork. But, uh… I overheard you talking to your editor earlier. You’re working on the market thefts, right?”

Your eyes narrow. “And what’s it to you?”

Leon raises his hands in mock surrender at your scathing tone, the picture of good-natured defensiveness. “Nothing! Just thought you might want some… unofficial insight. Off the record, of course.”

Your skepticism doesn’t waver. “Why would a rookie like you have anything I can’t get from public records?”

Leon hesitates for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. “I’ve been helping out on the case. They’ve got me running reports, talking to market vendors, stuff like that. Not exactly glamorous work, but I’ve been hearing things that don’t make it into the official write-ups.”

Now you’re interested. RPD isn’t exactly known for transparency, you know that much. You also know better than most that a lot can slip through the cracks of “official” documentation.

“What’s the catch?” you ask, suspicious.

Leon shifts, “Well, uh… There’s this Christmas party at the precinct. And I might have mentioned to my coworkers that I was bringing a date.”

You blink. “You’re blackmailing me with case information to play your fake-datw at a cop Christmas party?”

“It’s not blackmail!” Leon protests, his ears turning red. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. You get your story, and I… avoid being the precinct punchline for another year.”

You’re still sceptical, but the desperation in his voice softens your resolve. Saying no to him right now would be like kicking a poor puppy.

You stare at him for a moment, weighing your options. It’s ridiculous, sure, but then again, so is everything else in your life right now.

“Fine,” you say finally, sticking out your hand. “Twelve days. You give me what I need, and I’ll be the best fake date you’ve ever had.”

Leon shakes your hand with a grin, relief written all over his face. “Deal.”

And just like that, the countdown begins.

On the second day of Christmas, Leon sends you flowers.

Big ones. Loud ones. The kind of bouquet you’d expect to see at a wedding reception or an apology press conference. They’re wrapped in glittering gold paper—Poinsettias, as Claire so graciously points out.

“Looks like someone’s got an admirer,” she singsongs, loud enough for half the floor to hear.

Your stomach drops. There, sitting right in the middle of your disaster zone of a desk, is the offending bouquet. It’s massive, covered in festive bells and ribbon, and the card sticking out of it reads:

“To my Christmas angel. – L.”

You mutter a silent prayer to whatever God might be listening, snatching the card up like it might explode before anyone else might see. Your coworkers are already murmuring around you, though, so that seems like a bit of a lost cause.

Claire leans back in her chair, still grinning. “So when were you gonna tell me you’re dating someone?”

“Firstly, that is none of your business,” you snap, grabbing the entire bouquet in a desperate attempt to get it out of sight. The glitter gets everywhere, including your coat, your desk, and, somehow, your coffee. “And secondly—” You start, but backtrack when you remember that the deal you struck with Leon may require some confidentiality. Damn you for not figuring out boundaries sooner. “—that is also none of your business.”

You turn on your heel and you don’t stop moving until you’re outside the building, your fingers already dialing a number you swore to yourself you wouldn’t use unless absolutely necessary.

Leon picks up on the third ring. “Hey! What’s up?”

“Don’t you ‘what’s up’ me,” you hiss, pacing in the cold December air. “What the hell were you thinking sending me flowers? To my office?”

Leon hesitates for a second, and you can almost hear him cringing through the phone. “Uh, I thought it’d make things more… believable?”

You stop in your tracks. “Believable?”

“Yeah! You know, if people saw that you’re, like, dating someone, it might help sell the whole… thing.” His voice trails off, and there’s a pause before he adds, quieter, “Was it too much?”

“Too much?” you echo, your own voice rising in disbelief. “It’s not even lunchtime and I’ve already been asked twice if I’m engaged. At least take me to dinner first!”

There’s a beat of silence on his end before he says, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

You stop in your tracks. “Do what?”

“Dinner,” Leon says, like it’s obvious. “Tomorrow. You said I should take you to dinner, so… I’ll take you to dinner.”

You blink, your annoyance faltering for a second, only to give way to mild confusion. “Are you asking me out, or are you making this part of the deal?”

“Can’t it be both?” 

You’re not sure if it’s the cold or the sheer absurdity of the situation that makes you smile, but you sigh and say, “Fine. Dinner. But you’re picking the place, and it better not be one of those sad 24-hour diners cops hang out in.”

Leon laughs, the sound warm enough to cut through the winter chill. “Deal.”

On the third day of Christmas, Leon takes you to dinner.

And yes, it is a sad diner.

It’s the kind of place that looks like it hasn’t updated its decor since the 70s, with faded garlands drooping from the light fixtures and a suspiciously sticky Rudolph figurine parked on the counter. Which is fine, in honesty. It’s perfect for this not-date, because that’s what this is. Not a date. Absolutely nothing about this screams romance.

Well, except maybe the crooked twig of mistletoe hanging over the entrance, but even that you’d pointedly avoided much to Leon’s amusement.

“So, remind me what I’m doing here,” you hum, pushing around your leftover pancakes on your plate. Leave it to Leon to convince you pancakes for dinner is an entirely acceptable meal choice.

“Well, we’re on a date,” Leon states matter-of-factly.

Across from you, he looks all too comfortable. You, on the other hand, feel like you’ve just agreed to help pull Santa’s sleigh blindfolded.

“Yeah, well, a date’s pushing it, rookie,” You all but scoff, setting your fork down before meeting his gaze properly. “Look, if we’re gonna do this, we probably need to set some ground rules.”

Leon raises a brow, lips curving into a half-smile, “You’re serious? This isn’t Fight Club.”

“Can’t believe you just broke the first rule of Fight Club,” you shoot back, matching his half-smile with your own self-satisfied one. “Okay, first off, who gets to know?”

“That this is fake? No one,” Leon says all too firmly, “I don’t need this blowing up in my face.”

“Likewise,” you hum. “Okay, next, how often are we gonna see each other outside of office hours? Are we really trying to sell this?”

“Well a coffee or two wouldn’t hurt,” Leon suggest. “And, uh… Physical stuff?” He asks, a generous blush dusting his cheeks.

You can’t hide your smile. “Afraid to hold my hand or something?”

“No! No— just… Don’t want to make this any more awkward than it has to be.”

“Alright, so no kissing unless absolutely necessary. And I’m talking someone-shoves-us-under-mistletoe-and-starts-chanting levels of necessary.”

He lets out a laugh, soft and boyish, and you can’t help but feel the corners of your mouth tug upwards.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas Leon takes you ice-skating. Well… Sort of.

You’d come to pick up some paperwork about the Christmas Market case Leon had promised you—an errand you figured would be quick and painless. No mingling, no unnecessary chit-chat, and absolutely no run-ins with anyone who might make this fake-dating charade any harder than it has to be.

The first hiccup comes the second you step into the precinct. You immediately spot him, leaning against the reception desk with an easy grin, chatting with some colleagues. You only recognise one of them, from the photo sitting on Claire’s desk no-less. Chris Redfield. The woman beside him, who’s donning a festive antler headband, looks oddly familiar as well, though you can’t quite place it.

Fantastic. Just what you needed.

“Leon!” you call, keeping your tone as casual as possible. You walk briskly, plastering on a tight-lipped smile, trying your best not to look like a deer caught in the headlights and to very pointedly avoid any eye-contact with Chris.

Leon turns at the sound of your voice, his expression brightening instantly. “Oh, hey! What’re you doing here?”

“Paperwork,” you reply, holding up the empty manila folder in your hand like it’s your golden ticket out of this situation. “You said you’d have it ready for me?”

Before Leon can answer, the woman next to Chris perks up—it’s then you recognise her as none other than Jill Valentine. You chalk it up to the antlers making it hard to recognise her.

“Paperwork? Wait, is this who you were talking about?” She elbows Leon in the ribs, earning a flustered yelp from him.

“What?” you echo, narrowing your eyes. Great, so he's already started mentioning you to colleagues.

Chris leans forward, “Wait, you’re Leon’s partner?”

You feel your stomach drop, the word partner ricocheting around your brain like a pinball. 

Leon is already mid-spiral, his cheeks flushed red as he stammers out a reply. “Well, I didn’t say that— I mean, I said some of that, but not like that!”

Jill crosses her arms, smirking. “Well, now we have to meet you! What are you two doing tonight?”

“Nothing!” you and Leon blurt at the same time, a little too loudly.

Chris raises an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Jill before grinning even wider. “Perfect. You guys should come ice skating with us tonight, most of the Precinct will be there.”

Your mouth opens, ready to reject the idea outright, but Leon beats you to it.

“That sounds great!” he says, his voice breaking slightly on the last word. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If you could hit him over the head with this manilla folder right now, you would.

“Great,” Jill says, clapping her hands together. “Meet us at the rink at around seven tonight.”

“What the hell was that?” you hiss once both Chris and Jill have had enough teasing and they’re out of earshot.

“I panicked!” Leon whispers back, looking genuinely apologetic.

“You just signed us up for the least romantic fake date activity imaginable.” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You owe me so much for this, rookie.”

“I’ll buy you hot chocolate?” Leon tries, sweet boyish smile and all. You hate how you feel your resolve begin to soften already.

 “You better make it with extra marshmallows.”

He nods, his expression softening as his smile melts into something tentative yet determined. “Deal.”

You’ve decided you don’t like ice skating. Chalk that up to the fact you haven’t been to the rink since you were eight and using a push-along penguin to keep you upright.

“This is fine,” you mutter under your breath, wobbling precariously as you step onto the ice. “Totally fine. Nothing humiliating about face-planting on ice.”

“You’ve got this!” Leon cheers from a few feet away, his enthusiasm wildly misplaced considering he’s not doing much better. He looks like a newborn deer, legs flailing every time he tries to take a step.

“Don’t patronize me,” you hiss back, gripping the railing like your life depends on it.

Behind you, Jill glides past with all the effortless grace of an Olympic figure skater, followed closely by Chris—who despite a few wobbles—isn’t much worse. They’re laughing at something—probably you and Leon—but you’re too busy trying to avoid an embarrassing collision with the ice to care.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Leon says, inching toward you with the kind of determination usually reserved for hostage negotiations. “You let go of the rail, and I’ll catch you if you fall.”

He looks just about as stupid as he sounds, you decide. “That’s assuming you don’t fall first.”

He grins, cheeks ruddy from the cold. “Have a little faith, would you?”

Against your better judgment, you release your grip on the rail, immediately flailing as your skates slide out from under you.

Leon lunges to catch you—a valiant effort, truly—which would be heroic if it didn’t result in both of you landing in a tangled heap on the ice.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.” Leon groans, pushing himself to his knees and wincing.

“You think?” you say, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh as you roll onto your side. Your knees are sore, your pride is bruised, but when you look over at Leon—cheeks flushed, smile sheepish— it all feels a little less mortifying.

“Here,” he says, extending a hand to help you up, and there’s something strangely endearing about the gesture. You hesitate for a moment before taking it, letting him pull you to your feet. He doesn’t let go right away, steadying you as you find your balance.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now.

“Yeah,” you reply, surprised to find that you actually mean it.

And somewhere between all of this chaos a group of kids barrels past, laughing as they race each other in a blur of neon jackets and mis-matched scarves. You and Leon instinctively jump out of their way, your skates sliding in all the wrong directions. You nearly crash into him again, grabbing his arm for balance as he steadies both of you.

And suddenly, you’re close. Closer than you’ve been all night.

His face is just inches from yours, his breath visible in soft clouds in the frigid air. His cheeks are bitten by the cold, his boyish grin tugging at his lips, and his eyes—God, his eyes—are the kind of blue that could rival a frosted winter’s lake.

You swallow hard, heart giving a little flutter you’d rather not think about. Brushing it off with a laugh, you take a step back, releasing his arm. “Okay, new rule: avoid the speed demons at all costs.”

“Agreed,” Leon says, but his voice a little softer now, his gaze a little firmer.

The rest of the night is chaos, as expected, and by the time you stumble off the ice, breathless and pink-cheeked, you’re smiling so wide and genuine that your cheeks hurt from it all.

On the sixth day of Christmas, Leon comes over for a very professional movie night. 

The plan was simple enough: a low-key night to sort through leads and discuss the finer details of the article. Nothing more than that. Just two friends (are you even really friends?) mocking bad Hallmark movie tropes and terrible one-liners. But—as fate would have it—somewhere between the half-hearted scribbles in your notebook and the opening credits of the first movie, the evening takes a sharp left turn.

Popcorn crumbs litter the coffee table, and the air hums with laughter as you and Leon pick apart every ridiculous trope on the screen.

“New rule,” you declare, pointing at the screen with a handful of popcorn. “No more movies where the leads magically fall in love because of forced proximity. It's lazy writing.”

Leon raises a brow, smiling at you over his mug of cocoa. “Do you just... make up rules for everything?”

You shoot him a look, though your lips twitch in betrayal. “Rules are important. They keep things from going off the rails.”

“Sure they do,” he says, grinning. “But I think you might have a thing for them. Maybe it’s your love language”

You toss a kernel of popcorn at him, which he catches with an annoyingly quick reflex. The movie continues, but your attention drifts, his sweet smile lingering in your thoughts longer than you’d care to admit, and all at once you want to suffocate yourself with a pillow.

By the time the credits have rolled, the conversation has veered wildly away from work and movies. You find yourself talking about everything and nothing between here and there, the space separating you both narrowing in a way that feels very not-professional. Your leg brushes against his and his hand brushes against yours.

You didn’t make a new rule about that. Maybe you should have.

On the eighth day of Christmas, you finally chase down some of those leads for your article. 

Or at least, you try to.

The holiday market is bustling with lights, laughter, and the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts. It’s picturesque enough to be a postcard: striped tents draped in garlands, vendors bundled in scarves, and the faint hum of Christmas carols floating through the crisp evening air.

You’re here for work. This is professional business. Totally, totally.

“Professional” is exactly why you’re letting Leon lead you to a vendor handing out roasted chestnuts in steaming paper cones.

You raise a brow at him. “Seriously?”

“You’ve gotta try them. It’s tradition.” He says as if it’d be crazy to deny him.

And before you can even think about protesting, he’s already handing you a cone, the warmth seeping through your gloves as you eye the chestnuts—then him—warily. You pop a few in your mouth, only to find yourself pleasantly surprised.

“Good, right?” he asks, smug as anything. You scrunch your nose in response.

Next is funnel cake. Leon orders one to share, dusting himself in powdered sugar as he pulls off a piece and offers it to you.

“I could’ve got my own,” you reason, but take what he offers you anyway.

“Well that wouldn’t make me a very good date.”

“Fake-date,” you correct.

“Uhuh,” Leon hums, but he’s not even looking at you when you glance back up at him, already dragging you towards the next stall, and the next. 

“I’m serious!” You call after him, trying to keep up as he weaves through the crowd like he’s trained to do this. Well, he probably is.

You don’t even realise how long it’s been until you're walking past empty market stalls, every other vendor packing up for the night. Leon leads you out into the street, strings of warm white lights swaying gently in the winter breeze.

Leon’s hands are stuffed into his coat pockets as the two of you walk side by side, your boots crunching softly against the thin dusting of snow on the pavement.

The streets are mostly empty now, save for a few stragglers heading home, but Leon leads you straight into the middle of the road without a second thought. You hesitate for half a second, glancing both ways like a habit.

“There’s no one out here,” he says over his shoulder, that lazy grin curling at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not scared of breaking the rules, are you?”

“Isn’t it your job to enforce rules?” You argue, but follow after him anyway.

When you tilt your head up, you feel the breath escape your lungs all at once. “You can actually see the stars tonight,” you murmur softly in awe, your breath clouding in the cold.

Leon doesn’t say anything right away, but when you glance over, you catch him watching you instead of the sky, his gaze softer than you’re used to. He quickly looks up, clearing his throat as if he hadn’t just been caught.

You don’t know what’s worse: the way his cheeks flush from something other than the cold or the fact that your stomach flutters in response.

And you don’t know what to do with the quiet that stretches between you, either, the sound of your steps filling it up like placeholders. You hadn’t meant for the day to linger this long—hadn’t meant to still be here, walking home with him.

Leon breaks the silence first. “You know, I thought you’d be sick of me by now.”

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I am.”

He laughs then, genuine and bright. “Oh thank God, I’d hate for this to actually be enjoyable for either of us.” Sarcasm laces his words in a way that makes you laugh in kind.

He’s grinning like he’s got all the time in the world as he turns to walk backward in front of you, and suddenly all at once this feels like something out of one of those Hallmark Christmas movies you swore to yourself you’d never recreate. 

“You still haven’t thanked me for helping you today.” He says.

“Helping me?” you snort. “All you did was get funnel cake powder on my coat and in my cocoa.”

“Hey,  I got you a quote from the candy vendor, didn’t I?” he defends, arms spreading wide.

“You mean the guy who told us about his grandma’s cookie recipe?”

“Hard-hitting stuff,” he shrugs.

You shake your head, but you’re smiling, and you hate that he notices. He spins back around to face the road ahead, walking a little slower now, like he’s dragging his feet.

“So,” you say after a moment, picking up your pace to fall back into step with him. “Why do you care so much about this Christmas party, anyway?”

Leon doesn’t answer right away. You glance over, and the grin that’s usually on his face has faded into something smaller, quieter.

“Guess I just… don’t want to look like a total loser,” he says eventually, his voice low but even. “It’s been a long first year. People talk.”

You frown at that. “They don’t have anything better to do at the RPD?”

“Apparently not.” He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him, but you can tell it does, at least a little.

The two of you walk in silence for another block, and when you speak again, your tone is softer. “You know, you could’ve asked someone who actually likes you to be your date.”

Leon glances over, and for some reason, his answer catches you off guard. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “but then it wouldn’t have been you.”

You look away too quickly, your chest tightening in a way you can’t explain. He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t push him for more.

Instead, you both keep walking, the street stretching out ahead of you, the night colder and clearer than it’s been in weeks. The faint glow of your building comes into view up ahead, and for a moment, you wish it was just a little farther away.

On the tenth day of Christmas, Leon does something so absurd you briefly consider chucking him—and his ridiculous ideas—into a snowbank.

Leon shows up at your door, determined and annoyingly cheerful, with a Christmas tree strapped to the roof of his car and a twinkle in his eye that should’ve been your first warning. You don’t have the heart to turn him away or give him a lecture about how this is breaking at least three of your fake-dating rules.

Dragging the tree up the stairs is a disaster, his optimism only barely keeping the whole endeavor from collapsing. Decorating it? Worse. Leon’s enthusiasm for tinsel is unmatched, his ornament selection downright offensive. A plastic Rudolph here, a lopsided snowman there—it’s a full-scale disaster in red, green, and glitter.

By the end of the night, the tree looks more like a festive crime scene, fairy lights as police-tape and all, but you can’t bring yourself to care. The two of you collapse as you both watch the twinkling lights. A ribbon is tangled in your hair; Leon has tinsel stuck to his sleeve. The quiet settles in like freshly fallen snow, and for a moment, you forget this isn’t supposed to feel real.

You spent the eleventh night at Leon’s place. It was his idea to go over the finalities of this agreement, set your story straight in case anybody at the party asks too many questions. Make sure you're both on the same page.

But when you rocked up at his little studio apartment, it felt like he’d compensated for much more than a quick flashcard night.

Cinnamon scented candles burned and flicker, accompanied by a plate of cookies on the counter. Your half-crumpled notes quickly joined, as well as two cups of cocoa that have long-since gone cold.

“Alright, one more time, how’d we meet?”

Leon props his head up on his palm, looking like he’s had more than enough of your pointless flashcard game. “Coffee shop. You spilled hot chocolate on me, laughed, then walked away.”

“I offered to buy you a replacement!” You shoot back, hitting him atop the head with your stack of cards.

He winces dramatically, swatting our hand away. “Well I think it’s more believable if I pretend you didn’t and you bicker back. Y’know, like an old married couple or something.”

You reach for your cold cocoa to hide the way you splutter. “Woah, rookie, I only signed up for a fake-date, not a fake-wedding too.”

Leon grins, but something about him still looks oddly distant.

He kicks his feet off the barstool, takes your cup of cocoa and his to clean them away. “Have you finished your article at least?”

“Nearly,” You hum, but you’re more lying through your teeth. You’ve barely worked on it despite all the extra input Leon’s given you. Something, something, a very distracting Christmas fiasco got in your way. “I should be done by the end of the week.”

“And what happens once it’s done?” He asks, and you know in your right mind he means what happens to you. Promotion? New story? Next assignment? But instead your mind stupidly jumps to the idea that he’s asking about the both of you. What happens to us? written between the lines in invisible ink.

“Well, I suppose I find a new story to chase.” You clear your throat, “and you?”

“Go back to handing out speeding tickets,” Leon smiles through a sigh, “and I guess we drop this whole fake-dating thing, huh?” He asks, and you refuse to let yourself believe there’s any hope in his voice.

“Don’t see a reason to keep it going,” you shrug, to which Leon simply nods.

“Anyway, don’t try changing the subject on me,” you clear your throat, shuffling back through your pile of cards. “Next question: what’s my favourite holiday tradition?”

Leon shelves the now clean and dried mugs, “stealing Christmas cookies when no one’s looking.” He hums smugly over his shoulder.

You blink, “I never told you that.”

“Don’t need to, I pay attention.” He grins, pointedly flicking his gaze to the now empty plate of cookies. But you’re still hung on his words, the casual admission throws you entirely off kilter, and it seems by the twelfth day he still has you feeling that way.

You feel entirely out of place standing in the RPD. The precinct is sparkling with every Hallmark Christmas cliche imaginable—oversized tinsel, plastic mistletoe (that you’re still doing your best to avoid), and a garishly large tree that stands off to the side, completed by a shining white angel on top. 

Leon, of course, has dressed the part. And damn him for looking so good in a navy suit and deep red tie to match your own attire. His presence is steady when you feel out of depth—it’s funny how he does that, despite usually being the one who requires an anchor.

“Are you alright?” He asks, leaning closer to be heard over the obnoxiously loud Christmas music. His voice is low, warm, entirely too distracting. 

“Fine,” you lie with a sickly sweet smile, downing the last of your punch, “totally fine.”

Leon doesn’t buy it, and you’re starting to think he’s getting too good at reading you (which is your job, not his), but before he can press any further, your worst nightmare seems to come to fruition.

You're pulled then pushed, and before you can register what’s even happened you're colliding with Leon’s chest.

“Mistletoe,” he mutters, and when you finally lift your gaze you catch the offending sprig. Jesus Christ.

Honestly, this is your fault. You should’ve accounted for something like this. Nothing like a good bit of rookie hazing at a work party, right? Dammit. The rest of the precinct seems to cheer and chant, and you’d foolishly thought you’d left this behaviour behind in high school. 

God, you wish the ground would part beneath your feet and swallow you whole right now—

“Well, this doesn’t break any of your rules, does it?” Leon asks then, and you can hear the smile in his voice, something about the way he says it makes it sound like he knows the answer.

And he does. Because if Leon’s good at one thing it’s remembering the finer details. No kissing unless absolutely necessary, you’d said. Like someone-shoves-us-under-mistletoe-and-starts-chanting levels of necessary, you’d said.

Okay, now you really want the ground to swallow you up.

Leon seems to pick up on your unease, and ever the gentleman drowns out the obnoxious chanting of his colleagues to focus on you.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he offers.

You shake your head. “It’s part of the deal.” You say firmly. You’re not going to back down now, you’re a stickler for rules, deals, and contracts. Totally not because you’ve been wondering what Leon’s lips might taste like for the past five minutes. Totally.

He counts you down, which feels stupid, but does actually help quell your nerves. What doesn’t help, though, is the way his hand slides to your jaw and his lips slot against yours so effortlessly. You forget the world exists, heart beating out of your chest before you let yourself melt into it, your own arms looping around his neck just before he pulls away.

He’s got blush on his cheeks, his eyes bright, smiling widely like he’s just one the powerball. And suddenly, all at once, your brain catches up to your heart and you realise how none of this seems to feel fake anymore.

Three days later, and your article had gone live that morning. Your editor had been quick to praise it, Claire more than proud when she’d shown up with a mini Christmas gift basket for you. But still, as the day wore on, the victory felt hollow. The article might have just been your best work, but now that the dust—or snow, rather—has settled, all you can think about is Leon and the strange ache left in his absence.

You glance out the window of your tiny office, the skyline glittering with holiday lights. It’s quiet, save for the distant hum of the city and the rhythmic tapping of your pen against your desk.

“You know, I expected a little more Christmas cheer from the person who just saved Christmas,” a familiar voice says.

You jump, spinning around in your squeaky office chair to find Leon leaning casually in your doorway. He’s dressed down from the last time you saw him after the party, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder, but the sight of him is enough to send your heart racing.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice caught somewhere between surprise and something softer.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he shrugs, pushing himself off the cubicle wall and stepping inside.

You raise a brow. “The precinct is five blocks away.”

“Exactly,” he says with a grin. “Neighborhood.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. He steps closer still, and you feel the air shift.

“Look,” he starrs, running a hand through his hair like he’s still trying to work up the courage. “The other night, you said that after this was over, we wouldn’t have to see each other again.”

You swallow hard, your heart already knowing where this is going but your mind refusing to believe it. You remember how casually you’d thrown that out there, as if the thought hadn’t stung more than you cared to admit. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Well, I don’t want that,” he says simply.

Your breath hitches, but he keeps on going.

“I don’t want to go back to pretending this was all fake,” he continues, his voice steady but his eyes searching yours. “Because it might’ve started that way, but it didn’t end that way—not for me.”

The words hang in the air like softly drifting snowflakes, fragile and perfect, waiting for you to catch them.

“Leon…” you try, but your voice falters.

“I know,” he cuts in quickly. “I know this wasn’t the plan. But plans change, right? Rules get broken—and I know you hate that but hear me out—if there’s one thing I’ve learned these past twelve days, it’s that maybe breaking a rule or two isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

You laugh softly then despite yourself, a mix of nerves and something lighter. “You do realize you’re ruining my perfectly crafted narrative, right? Fake dating, falling in love…” you click your tongue, “this is all so cliché.”

He grins, stepping closer until there is almost no space left between you. “Then let’s give it a good ending.”

Before you can even give what he’s said a minute of thought, his hand is on your jaw again, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s unhurried and undeniably real.

When he finally pulls back, he stays close, his forehead resting against yours. “So,” he hums, his voice soft and teasing, “how’s that for a rewrite?”

You can’t help but laugh, your chest light for the first time in days. “It’s a start.”

The city sparkles outside as you stand there, snowflakes fall, the faint hum of Christmas carols from the office speakers bleed with the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Whatever comes next, you know one thing is for sure: this story isn’t over yet.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[theemporium]

sugar daddy charles concerned af when he doesn’t hear from his girl but she keeps pulling all nighters for uni and she is crashing and burning so he jets over to sort her life out

listen this just happened and i don't even know what to say for myself but anyways🤠

.

“Charles—”

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay. That’s it, mon amour, just like that,” he cooed softly as he ran his fingers gliding up and down your thighs. “Just let go f’me.” 

“I-I can’t,” you whined, shaking your head as the tears began to well up in your eyes. It was too much. Far too much, and still a part of you craved more. “I need to—”

“You need to listen to me, amour,” he murmured against your skin, pressing light and soft kisses along the inside of your thighs. “And I’m telling you to relax.”

It wasn’t unusual for you to not answer your messages straight away. After all, Charles himself got caught up in meetings and duties, and it sometimes meant that he wouldn’t be able to reply for a few hours. He knew you were in a similar position with lectures and classes and meetings with your professors.

But it was different. 

Usually it was just a bad day here or there, but this time it had been a few days in a row and his concern was growing. You barely replied to him, and even when you did, your replies were sporadic at best. When he looked at the shared location you both had, his worry grew tenfold when he realised you hadn’t left your flat in days. But his breaking point was when he sent someone to deliver food at your door, and despite the insistent knocking, it went unanswered. 

You weren’t taking care of yourself, and he didn’t like it at all.

Charles pushed all his meetings and duties back a week. They still had a fortnight until the next race weekend and they could cope in Maranello alone without him for a while. They would have to. He called the company to have the jet waiting for him at the airport as he drove over, and he hopped on a plane straight to you. 

And when he arrived, Charles realised he was right.

You were overworking yourself. You were barely eating or sleeping or drinking enough water. You probably had more caffeine in your body than a human ever should have. You looked exhausted and he could see the toll it was starting to take on you, and yet you still insisted that you needed to study for your exams that you had in almost a month’s time. 

You weren’t taking care of yourself in the slightest, and his heart broke. You were his: his love, his equal, his partner, his to take care off. He wanted nothing more than for you to be happy and spoiled like you deserved to be, and instead you were working yourself to the bone and he didn’t think you even realised just how far you were pushing yourself.

So, Charles got you to relax in the only way he knew how.

Maybe it was a little manipulative to say he just wanted to hold you, that he wanted to be selfish and enjoy just laying down with you before you started studying again. But you were too tense and too tired and too overworked, and it was Charles’ job to take care of you so that’s what he did.

“Hmm, my girl wants to come again?” He questioned, his hands pawing and squeezing the fat of your thighs as he pulled your legs over his shoulders. He had you sprawled on the bed for the last forty minutes, made you come at least twice on his tongue, and he had no interest in stopping. “Say it, amour. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you gasped out as your fingers fisted the sheets, a choked out moan leaving your lips as he licked a thick strip up your soaking cunt. “Charles, I need you. Please.”

“That’s it, amour,” he groaned happily as he nuzzled his face further against you, kissing and licking and sucking until his hands were pinning you down to the mattress. “You need me, and I’m gonna take care of you like I always do, yes?”

“Yes!” You whined, your back arching off the bed as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked hard.

“Good girl,” he groaned as he lifted his head, his lips and chin glistening with your release. “Gonna make you come one more time and then you’re gonna dress up all pretty so I can take you out for dinner. Do you understand?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, a little high-pitched and a little too dazed to say words right now.

But Charles grinned in response anyways. “My perfect girl.”

.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 15

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You find the kitchen. There’s a woman there. She looks just as surprised as you. 

You scuff to a stop across from her and give a toothy smile, “hi.” 

She hesitates, “good morning...” Her confusion nestles in her forehead. “Friend of Thor’s?” 

You think about it, “I know him. Sorta.” 

She pokes her tongue between her lips thoughtfully, “I’m not his wife. Yet. If you and him are... you know...” 

“Huh? Oh, no. No.” You show your palms. “That’s definitely not it. A friend of a friend, really.” 

“Ah,” she looks almost disappointed that you’re not sleeping with her ‘not husband yet’. “Oh, you must be one of the guests.” 

“I guess I would,” you nod. “I’m not tryna impose but do you have somewhere I can hide.” 

“Hide?” She echoes. 

“Um, I just need space. To think. You gotta know how it is. Right? Girl power?” You cringe. 

She snorts, “alright, I can find you somewhere, but you know, they don’t give up.” 

“They?” 

“The men. These type of men,” her tone turns dire. “You want some coffee? I just made a pot. Be nice to have. Alone.” She turns to open a cupboard, “At least, I imagine so.” 

“Sure, uh,” you sway and look over your shoulder. “My caffeine addiction is a bit of a bitch. Pardon my language.” 

She pours into a clear double-walled mug and nears. She wears a robe that’s too big for her. It must be Thor’s. Oh, you shouldn’t think too hard about that. 

“So, you’re with Rogers, was it? How long have you been together?” She hands over the mug and beckons you to another doorway. 

“Together? No, I work for him. I’m an accountant.” 

“Uh huh, he just brings his accountant everywhere?” 

“Well, he’s doing business with Thor, right? So I’m here to do numbers.” 

“Loki can do those and he doesn’t really seem like the type for teamwork,” she says. 

“Sure, uh, but... I don’t know.” 

“You like flowers? I think your best bet is the gazebo but I can always find some dark corner inside,” she says. 

“Oh, outside would be nice. Maybe the fresh air will help with the fainting.” 

“Fainting?” She wonders. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“If you say so,” she shrugs. 

“Oh, by the way, I’m Queenie. Obviously I’m... with Thor.” 

“Uh, yes, hi,” you introduce yourself in turn. 

“Out here,” she guides you through a back door and down a winding path. You marvel at the scenery. 

“Wow, this place is so amazing. You really live here?” 

“Sure do. At least I can appreciate the flowers,” she agrees. 

She doesn’t sound especially elated with her circumstance. You can relate to that. You come up next to her and balance your mug. 

“You know, he totally ruined my job.” 

“Hm?” She hums. 

“Steve. I was supposed to start a new one and he made me come here instead.” 

She takes you around to a gazebo and stops at the lower step, “these kinda men also don’t hear no, do they?” 

“Yeah, super annoying. Erm, thanks for the coffee. Sorry if I got in your way.” 

“Not at all. I’d love to stay and hide with you but... better if I don’t,” she glances toward the house. “If I see him, I never saw you.” 

“Thanks,” you blow out in relief. “I owe you.” 

“Nah,” she waves you off. “Girl power, right?” 

“Yessssss,” you grin. 

She turns and traipses away, in no hurry to get back to the house. You climb the steps, careful not to spill, and sit on the bench against the wall. The smell of pollen and leaves tickle your nose. It’s as calm as you’ve been in days. Weeks, even. 

As you ruminate with your coffee, you think about Queenie and what she said. How could she think you and Steve are together? From what you gather, he just broke up with someone. Peggy? You can’t keep track. 

You empty the mug and leave it on the bench. You watch the birds from between the vine canopy around the gazebo. The day shifts and your stomach stirs. You are hungry. 

You sit and take out your phone. Your battery is low. You should save it.  

You’re just so frustrated with everything. Not just Steve but yourself. What’s going on with you that you can’t stop passing out like some damsel in distress? I mean, he is scary but he hasn’t hurt you. Yet. 

Oh stop that! You’re just here to count. That’s your job. It’s the one thing you know how to do. 

You pace around restlessly. You can’t stay here forever. You know that the longer you do, the worse it will be. You’ll be awkward at best and he’ll be angry at most. But he deserves it! How can he just ruin your whole life because he wants to make some shady deal with a criminal like him? 

“So, you going to sleep out here or what?” Steve’s timbre makes you trip and you turn to face him. 

He stands at the bottom of the stares, arms crossed, jaw set. You can’t see all of him but he still looks massive. And dangerous. 

You glower and shake your head. You’re not ready. Yet, what choice do you have? You’re starting to understand those things Queenie said; or rather, didn’t say. 

“You’re just gonna give me the silent treatment, huh?” He climbs the stairs heavily so you flinch with each step. “I don’t get it. Got you nice clothes, took you on a nice trip...” You shake your head and angle so your shoulder is to him. “I been nice to you, sweetheart. It’s why I don’t get this fainting business. I haven’t been violent to anyone who didn’t deserve it.” 

You lower your chin and stare at your lap. The things you want to say might just earn his violence. So you’re better off to stay quiet. 

“We have an agreement. You gotta do the numbers,” he nears, a shadow mirroring your own. “So...” 

“I had an agreement with someone else!” You stand and stomp your foot. “I had a job, an apartment, I had--” You blink and gulp, filling your cheeks with air as you catch your exasperation. You back up and shake your head. “Sorry... no, I’m not sorry. But I am...” you gesture helplessly. “Why me? Why do I have to come here? I didn’t want to!” 

You dare to look at him. You can’t read his face. His eyes flick up and down. He pushes his jacket back and slides his hands in his pockets. 

“Cause I wanted you to.” 

“Because-- because—that's it? Because you felt like it?” 

His cheek dimples and he clicks your tongue, “are we being honest, right now? Is that what this is because you’re toeing a lot of lines, sweetheart.” 

Your lips thin and you hug yourself. “I guess.” 

“Alright, let’s be honest,” he steps closer and the back of your legs touch the bench behind you. “I think you’re cute. I like the way you get all wobbly-headed and I like catching you when you lose it. It’s fun.” 

“Fun?” You scoff. “It’s not--” you blink and shake off the ripple in your vision, “no...” 

“It’s gonna happen now, isn’t it?” His mouth slants. 

“No,” you argue and raise your hand, extending your arm to keep your balance. You reach behind you and slowly sit. “I’m not going to pass out.” 

“Oh, you’re not? Not knowing that I like to toy with you,” he gets even closer, bending to look you in the face. “That I’m not even close to done with you?” You inhale deeply as that woozy glaze fogs your head. His eyes are so blue, so bold. He grabs your chin. “That I’m gonna play with you until you’re broken and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me.” 

You gurgle and latch onto his wrist. He chuckles as you try to pull him off of you, instead leaning into him as your brain speckles hotly. Oh no. Your lashes flutter and stick as he eases you forward. Your body slackens and you’re hurled into the blackness once more. 

[eunandonly]

breaking news : love in the headlines !

୨୧ ; kim sunoo dating a med student? no way, he doesn’t mix well with you guys! does he even know your name?

pairing! journalismmajor!sunoo x medstudent!reader | wc. 0.9k | warnings: maior fluff, attempted humour, lacking uni knowledge EN-

🖇️ : sunoo version!! he’s such a cutie patootie of course he’s a journalism major ~

i can just imagine sunoo majoring in journalism

like i can picture him interviewing people for the latest newspaper for his university

he's so popular btw

EVERYONE and i mean EVERYONE knows him

he's just so nice to everyone and present in the social dynamics of things you know? - more under cut!!

you could never tbh you can't even answer people's texts

med school is not for the weak

people know sunoo's approaching just from the sound of his ten million keychains on his backpack.

that's how familiar people are with him.

one day you were his new target for his new interview after you won a really impressive award

he was just going through his usual schedule of listening to people's new stories and gossip when someone brought you up

like "oh yeah, that girl named y/n or something won this really cool award for stem, you should definitely interview her!"

let me be honest with you

sunoo had to ask "who's y/n?"

and that's coming from the most popular guy with a social circle larger than the circumference of jupiter

well you’re WAY out of the social orbit with all that work

he did some personal digging and research in hopes to make a little portfolio about you before the interview which proved to be quite difficult

sunoo wants to know why you don't have instagram and why you're not active on snapchat, twitter AND tiktok

in your defence, med school is beating you to pulp

you have the average sleep time of three hours and that’s if the workload is small

you’re basically running on caffeine and that pack of toblerone that doesn’t seem to finish no matter how many bites you have

like it’s not funny anymore

you agree to his request to interview you though even with your busy schedule

free chance to perhaps actually socialise, you can't pass it up yk

sunoo’s actually kind of reluctant about interviewing you

he does NOT mix well with med school kids they’re too serious and studious why did you write studying as your hobby and skill for the stem comp registration

ANYWAYS, this sunoo guy is kinda cute.

you two make plans to meet at the library nearest to campus because you just don't have the energy to go anywhere further after the all nighter you pulled to study

sunoo brings his little microphone and camera and stuff to record the interview

he also brings a really cute digicam decorated with stickers bc sunoo just knows what's up

and of course yall need to take some cute selfies together with the camera even though you two have never talk before bc yolo!

sunoo thinks maybe you’re not so bad afterall

sure you’re burnt out and looking very tired but you’re js fun to talk to

so he asks you some questions regarding the prize you won at some prestigious competition but there’s A LOT of yapping going on.

like A LOT.

it's your first time talking so much with someone you've never talked to before so comfortably

he’s filling you in with some new tea about some of the students in journalism and he just makes it so interesting

it’s almost as if he knows EVERYONE.

well except you. which is a bit sad bc you’ve known about him since the first day

you thought that he was the cutest person ever

tbh you were fawning over him in the hallways and whenever he came into the library whilst you were studying medicine bc he's a cutie patootie

but anyways you tell him about the shit that does down in the science department

he’s hanging onto every word you say and making plans of doing a little article on med bc shit is interestingggg

like wdym the girl's best friend got with her ex boyfriend three days after they broke up UMMM

ok sunoo thought you guys are some different type of species that don’t have time for messy scandals like that

i mean it’s clear YOU don’t have time for messy scandals like that

your attempt at covering up your dark circles failed terrifically and there’s notes written in permanent marker on your arm

bitch why do you have biology diagrams on your skin

sunoo asks if yall can meet again soon and ofc you say yes despite being close to death from school

bc wdym sunoo js asked you to meet up again

THE kim sunoo. wanting to see you again.

little do you know, sunoo also thinks you’re cute ^^ (but he doesn’t appreciate the way you keep using fancy science words)

and you guys meet at a cute cafe near campus to work on assignments together

and sunoo is so helpful

he’s helping you with your essay and you finished it so fast now you have more time to study genetics and do calculus

and you two get cute little pastries and drinks to eat and take a million of pictures

sunoo’s photography skills are no joke btw he knows exactly what angle looks good

ofc he snaps away some pictures and videos of you on his digicam bc you just look so cute in your little dress

oh and you guys just had to take some pics with your sonny angels and smiskis as well which turned out so cute

and you guys walk back to campus after

and sunoo holds your hand (*faints*)

ofc you’re so flustered, and sunoo laughs at your flushed face

“you’re cute when you’re flustered” JDJDKODKSKA

you two are the cutest couple in campus. period.

lots of trips to photo booths, shopping sprees and cute cafe dates THIS IS TOO CUTE I CAN'T

oh yeah, and sunoo has officially appointed himself to keep your fourth cup of coffee away from you to prevent possible mishaps

✉️ : @icyy-hoon

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I’ve read a variation of soft and rough König and I’ve enjoyed both but I’d love to see your take on his character.

I can’t deny I have a preference for soft König. I think his size is a major concern, especially if his partner is on the smaller side, which leads me to believe he’d prolong the inevitable and the pining and anticipation would be off the charts on his end. But maybe his SO thinks he’s not as interested as she initially thought.

Add in the fact that he’s gone for long periods of time in which there is little or no communication and perhaps she considers moving on. The ol’ miscommunication trope if you will, with a happy ending. Thanks!

Overflow the Stars

Pairing: König x F!Reader

Synopsis: One more abandoned date night later, you're left wondering if the man you're infatuated with is really interested in you at all.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Angst, feelings of insecurity, body issues, allusions to König's past w. bullying & his anxiety, size difference, fluff, soft!König, happy ending

A/N: This is my apology to the German-speaking people out there - I think I butchered your language (feel free to correct me). I'm so sorry lmfao. But, Anon, this request was adorable to write, hope you enjoy it!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wanted to say you were surprised when he didn't show up – really, you did – but in the back of your mind, you already knew he wouldn’t. It was hard not to feel disappointed when you swirled your tiny cup of Franziskaner tensely, watching the whipped cream sink away into the concoction of dark espresso and milk; calling attention to the same feeling in your chest.

König had a strange habit as of late, and with a delicate furrow in your brow and perhaps even a smidge of sadness in your eyes, you wondered what you had done wrong. Why had he been avoiding you so…violently? While you wouldn’t have called yourself perfect by any means, nothing you had done over the course of your meetings was strange or downright embarrassing. 

You admitted that the man had never been the type to run away from something, and sighed as you brought the cup to your lips and sipped. Caffeine sits on your tongue along with a bitter revelation as the rain begins to pick up in velocity outside. The small and quiet café where you’re spending your afternoon is warm and unburdened by the weather. 

Do you think…he’s even interested in me anymore? The sharp thought brings a pang to your chest, fingers over the warm cup flinching back as if struck with lightning. O-or he doesn’t like being around me?

Your relationship was still new, very new, and if you were asked you would say it wasn’t even dating yet. König hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend. 

But it had still been going well.

“Or so I thought,” you take a breath, watching the fog on the window as the streets of Vienna are rapidly being emptied of tourists and locals alike. Your shoulders are painfully tight.

Aggressive rainfall like this into the cold seasons was unusual, but it wasn’t like mother nature cared about the whims of anyone but herself. It’ll freeze overnight, leaving a bitter chill that puffs from breaths and a shaky few steps out the door across hardened ice. You’d probably go out – alone – for a walk in the morning to clear your head, or try, at any rate.

Lately, all you could think about was the bear of a man that was supposed to be sitting in the empty seat ahead of you. The cursed wooden chair burns your eyes; its dark wood and red cushion stab your vision over and over until you’re sure you’ll bleed tears instead of water. 

He was supposed to be here.

Taking another shaky sip of your drink, one that König had recommended to you himself a few dates ago, the brief moments of warmth it brings to your bones does little to satisfy you. You doubted anything short of a hulking figure trying to stick their knees under the small table could do just that.

The giant man you called your possible future boyfriend was avoiding you, and your subconscious was breaking itself to try and understand why. As if that gracious plea had been heard above the glossiness of your eyes and the gentle hum of the café workers who shuffle about, the phone in your pocket jumps. 

You don’t want to admit how fast your hand snapped to your thigh, sneaking under the layers to draw out black metal. A single link to König when he was overseas or out of sight that you were told was unwise to use. He was rarely able to answer you, but for what it was worth, he always tried to call back later. 

Even if recently, it had been a brief state of events. 

“I-I can’t talk right now–”

“Forgive me–”

Your lips thin.

Pulling the phone out, you immediately look at the contact, though you already know the message before you read it. The sunken whipped cream finally falls under deep chocolate-colored waves.

“Sorry, Bӓrchen, I’m stuck in the building for the day! I swear I’ll make it up to you for missing–” You don’t bother reading the rest, thumb already scrolling upward to see the numerous times other excuses have been made. 

His parents were needing some help moving furniture, he was drowning in post-operation reports, or simply just too tired. You weren't stupid. But every time you had stuffed down your pride and responded cheerfully, dressed to the nines and standing in your living room while your fingers shook over the keys.

Holding back tears. 

It would hurt less if he’d just tell you to your face what you were thinking. Maybe all of this was just… 

Your thoughts trail off. 

But that didn’t make sense – König was never malicious!

Placing down the phone, you leave him on read, feeling the pitying eyes of the baristas burning into your skin like a brand. They knew as well as you did that he wasn’t showing up.

When he calls sometime later, you shut the device off completely. Staring out the window at the dimming light, you lean your head into the glass and try not to cry as you watch couples rushing for cover from the rain; laughing and holding the other close. 

The empty chair stays motionless in the corner of your eye.

—

The first time you met König, you were left gaping at the sheer size of him. 

Towering over ninety percent of the other patrons in the art shop, he had looked down at the package of charcoal pencils in his large, scarred, hands. Turning them over to read the description on the back like an expert with delicate eyelashes that you’d kill for. 

You yourself had been cast in his shadow quite by accident, looking along expansive shelves for a sketchbook – your friend had gotten into a watercolor phase lately, and what better to give her than a birthday present she could actually use? The only problem was that you had no idea what was considered good quality or not, but had a strange suspicion the man beside you did. But what a happy accident it all turned out to be.

König had a black surgical mask on, but the milky-white scar that ran up his right eyebrow and disappeared into his auburn hairline was still starkly visible. Expressive dark eyes blink down at his object from a surprising height. Between picking up multiple books, running your fingers over the paper and whatnot, you can’t help but stare at the pure strength the man emanates. Compared to you, he was utterly gargantuan in both mass and height. A bear and a bee, you thought with a stifled giggle.

He blatantly appeared to know more about this stuff than you did as he placed the charcoal pack down and picked up another.  

“Erm,” you begin, and his head snaps down to yours immediately, head of hair falling into gentle curls near the ears. He had looked partially surprised to hear you speak to him, and his eyes had flickered around instinctually. But it was only the two of you in the aisle. “I’m sorry to bother you, Sir, but you seem to know a helluva lot more than me about art supplies.” Your voice was cautious, and you were afraid you’d seem rude for disturbing him, but all he did was stare and wait for you to finish speaking. Feet every so often shifting, or his hands twitching as if he never was able to stay still; he blinks a few times like a rabbit. “Any suggestions for watercolor?” A small laugh meets the air as you move your hand to show off the wall of possible options for paper. “I’m not much of an artist, but my friend’s birthday is coming up – thought I’d get her something she’d actually use this year. She wasn't too enthralled with the plant I got her for her twenty-third. Killed the thing in a week.” 

A nervous chuckle is softly met and your face heated as his own did. There’s a moment of a clearing throat before the man nods carefully, and the sparse freckles over his forehead shift. His biceps flex.

“O-of course, Ma’am,” his accent is quite strong, and you like the guttural raspiness of his tone. “I prefer Saunders Waterford, though I don’t manage to use it often. Better, eh, was ist das Wort?” He stumbles for a moment over the proper descriptor. “Beständig. Durable.”

A tilt of his head later, and you’re beaming, picking up the large pad with careful fingers, testing the weight in your palms as one would an apple. 

“Wonderful! It looks like I owe you one, eh?” Looking back up, you watch his eyes widen as you notice him blatantly staring. Face crinkling into a shy display of heat and curiosity, he slightly moves back, a large hand going to scratch at the base of his neck as his sweatshirt bunches. 

Chest tight, you stick out a hand and offer your name with a smile. It was only customary, but the action was pure instinct more than thought-out. All the while restraining a shiver, his limb encompasses yours so completely and radiates a large amount of heat.

“A pleasure,” your voice wavers, but it’s not so much nervousness as it is genuine intrigue. For a man so blessed with the tall gene, he really had a considerate hold – barely squeezing your skin in fear it would break. 

The action makes your chest squeeze.

“Ah, guten tag,” he utters, nodding with a firm shake, though his eyelashes caress his cheeks as his eyes rove away, “König.” 

A bit awkward, isn’t he? You have to ask yourself. Not that it was a bad thing – in fact, you found the nervous tensing of his thighs to be cute, along with that red tinge that was over his pale ears. So very opposite of how you expected him to act.

That was when you noticed the dog tags, as well, though you found no purpose to say anything. But everything about this man had caught your attention as a large billboard would, and the comparison has you practically bending in laughter. He probably could be a billboard with a build like that. No doubt he’d catch a lot of attention.

You tilt your head and release his hand, nodding to König’s charcoal pencils. 

“I bet you can make some killer drawings with those things, huh?” The beast twists them in his hand and turns down to stare at the supplies as if he’d forgotten they’d been there at all. “You draw often?”

“Ja,” his eyes brighten, and the crinkling of his eyes tells you that a small smile pulls at his lips. “Whenever I’m able. I,” König pauses before his shoulders move in a soft movement akin to a shrug. “I…find it calming.” 

Your ribs move in reaction to an interested sound. 

A bear that likes to draw.

“You’re better than me, I’d just get frustrated if something doesn’t look right.” A deep laugh echoes off the shelves before a lapsing silence settles like a bird’s wings. Overcome by a sudden urge to speak, yet having no other words to say, König’s voice meets your ears before you can find something to say.

It’s slow, the tone, bathed in hesitation and even a smidgen of armor; like the outcome of your response was already measured and taken as null compared to the giant’s own thoughts.

“I…don’t suppose I could show you some if you’d be interested.” At your widening lids, his twitching hands come up to his sides, eyes blinking rapidly as a vermilion hue blossoms like a flower over his visible skin. Dark eyes like broken obsidian pay more attention to your shoes than your face.

“N-not, eh, scheiße, I only meant I–” Watching him stutter was similar to what a high schooler would do when he was called out during an assembly. Though, your giggle makes him clear his throat and pause with a stiffening spreading to his legs. His body seems to deflate, taking your reverence for his soft inward nature as making fun or at worse, a blatant rejection. The delicate makeup of his psyche was on display, though you didn’t know. “I’m…I’m sorry, Ma’am–”

“I’d love to see your artwork, König,” you begin, pulling the watercolor pad closer to your body instinctually, cheeks hot. The man perks up, and you can see his heart hammering through his clothes when his eyes blaze with light. “How about I give you my number and I’ll text you a day I’m free and we can work something out? A local café or library sound good?”

“I…yes, that sounds wonderful.”

—

You throw your soaked coat on the hook as you shut the door, hating how the frigid rainwater had wetted your hair, though still holding it as a blessing. At least no one could see the tear tracks as you walked back to your apartment. 

Kicking off heavy boots and peeling the slick layers of fabric from your chest with a sloping sound, you flick on the lights with a shaking finger and a sniffle. Wet footprints are left over the rugs and hardwood as the phantom shuffles over them, beelining to the bathroom to strip. 

Your mind was preoccupied as you slipped out of heavy fabric, the pile already on the floor creating a large puddle that you threw a towel on and left as it was. 

“He…he’d tell me if he didn’t like me anymore, right?” Whispering, the broken words meet air as you toss on a large shirt – the hem meeting your knees as a pair of thick sweatpants follow. 

Quite the look for someone who was having an internal battle. Your friends would say you looked like you were minutes away from grabbing a tub of ice cream and sobbing over a rom-com. The quick-witted part of you confessed that the idea wasn’t even that bad if you threw in a glass of beer. Preferably the shitty kind so you could complain about it and distract yourself.

“Get it together…” You would not cry over a guy that hadn’t even asked you out officially, but with that familiar sting in the back of your eyes, you hissed that König wasn’t just any guy.

You’d really liked him, and for what it was worth, your heart would have exploded if he had asked you out. 

He was kind – respectful. Utterly adorable when he was speaking so passionately about his artwork and his parents who he held on a larger-than-life pedestal. König’s heart was just as big as his body, that gorgeous, bear-like body, and…oh, you’d wished he would like you just as much as you liked him. 

Before you could stop the wave of hopelessness, the tears were already dribbling down your face, and the dark apartment was echoing with the barely-there sobs that hit the walls.

—

When you hadn’t answered him in the next two hours and his calls were going to voicemail, König was hit with a train’s worth of worry. Feet tapping faster than unusual and eyes were finicky as they passed over documents.

Although his contract with KorTac wasn’t exactly like his own had been in the military, the hyper-vigilance was still ingrained bones-deep. The Austrian man held his personal relationships tightly – and if someone wasn’t answering him, the anxiety reserved for large, uncontrollable, crowds reared its ugly head. König wasn’t sure when it had happened, but you had entered that loyal group consisting of his parents and a few work friends in an incredibly small amount of time. 

He really should have bit the bullet and gone out with you today, the man acknowledged as he slipped out of his office and tried once more to get in contact with you. König watched the icon of your smiling face go straight to the familiar voice that in any other circumstance, he would have wanted to listen another moment too.

“...Thanks for calling! I’m not able to speak with you right now, but go ahead and leave a message–”

“Come on, Bӓrchen.” König lightly growls, hanging up and stuffing the infernal device into his cargo pant’s side pocket. 

His usually hidden face was twisted up with worry, so commonly lit with bloodlust on Ops now left in a state of unknown. It was stupid to think like this, but how could he not? In such a small amount of time, you’d made him fall for you like a bird does the sky; that thin line between falling and flying caught underwing. 

That was why he’d been making excuses, you see. 

You were so…good…that he’d been worried about the way he carried himself; second-guessed small actions like a hand on the small of your back in public, or a comment about how nice you looked. 

Did she take that the wrong way?

Why did I tell her that?

I hope she doesn’t think that I’m rude…

You were messing with his mind with every turn, but it wasn’t even all that, either. His size also played a part. Your form was so small as it trailed beside him on walks through the city – it fit in the clutch of his arm easily. 

König was just scared he might break you, he’s never had to be…gentle so often before. It was against everything he’d been taught in the last decade or so.

Pushing open the front door of the KorTac: Private Military Contractor building, the man pushes on with a frown over his scarred lips and a drawn-in expression. He hadn’t even noticed he’d forgotten his surgical mask in his office, along with a jacket, and braved the volatile winds and slapping rain in a slight jog, an athletic shirt tight across his chest. 

By the time he’d reached your apartment building, his hair was dark and stuck to his skin, slight puffs of breath escaping his lips and wracking shivers along his spine. König ascended the stairs in double steps, agile as his heart pounded. 

Being ex-military left him with an undeniable state of readiness.

With heavy knuckles and panting breath, his hand quickly rasps against the door, and after a second of no sound, he does it again. 

“Bӓrchen, it’s me. Are you there?” König’s shoulders are set, ready to batter the door down at the barest hint of something wrong. He calls your name but like a voice on the wind, there’s no answer. Not even a shadow under the barrier, a whiff of your shampoo.

Grunting, strained eyes going grim, the man’s hand encompasses the handle, arm and body going parallel to the wood. His hips tense, feet grinding over the floor as they set. But the nearly missed footsteps that his ears twitched at gives him pause. 

After a few moments of intense listening, his body stone-stiff and eyes spaced out, there’s a clicking of a lock. 

König moves back swiftly, hands going to rest at his sides, and when your face graces his vision, a large weight is lifted. Until he realizes that your eyes are red-rimmed. His lids go startlingly wide, fingers coming up to curl into themselves near his middle, but you speak before he does.

With a hatred for interrupting others, König keeps his lips sealed and watches with a concerned once-over and nervous lungs.

Your hand is clenched over the door frame, the muscle of your tongue licking at your lips as beads of water fall from your locks. 

“What are you doing here, König?” With a voice more hoarse and dry than a desert. The man itches at the side of his hawk nose, hesitant about what he sees. 

You’d never been like this before – always so happy. 

“I…” He trails off quietly, seeing your eyes unwilling to meet his own. “Are you…alright?” 

The Austrian’s fingers jerk when you laugh, and a surprised blink later he’s coming closer to check on you, hand almost outstretched before he sees the size difference and thinks better of it. He just taps on your cheek instead, delicately, like a hit from a flower. 

“Sweet one? Please tell me what is wrong. You weren’t answering your phone.” He wants to beg for you to look at him, plead. “It made me worry for you. Why did you not respond?” 

“So you want me to respond when you’re obviously bailing on me for what,” you pull back, disappearing partially behind the door. König watches with a still body as your arms go to wrap around your waist, dread creeping up his throat. “The third time? Fourth? I guess I’ve lost count.” 

The man’s lips go thin, eyes crinkling as an expression of pure self-hatred takes hold. He had stupidly hoped you wouldn’t notice that. When times got tough for him in the past – whether with the schoolyard bullies or an operation on wrong, avoidance was usually his best tactic; it was one he had fallen back into time and time again without fail. But he’d never told you that. 

And now he looked like a proper Arschloch. 

But you’re not done yet. When you leave the door open and disappear inside the dark apartment, König follows after like a lost puppy, water still dripping from his strong chin and stuck in his stubble. Cursing himself out in his head. 

“Ach, du Depp, jetzt hast du‘s getan. Die eine gute Sache ruiniert, die du hattest, oder...?" He mutters, slipping out of his boots and frantically looking after you as your form goes to the couch. König closes the front door and stays in the foyer, fingers twiddling and mouth opening and closing. 

You hadn’t even looked at him yet, and you’d barely seen him without a mask on. 

The Tv was on, playing some show that he’d never seen and he doubted you were watching. Your body plops to the couch with a shrieking of springs and bouncing of pillows. A small huff escapes your lips, though you speak no more. 

König clears his throat again, a nasty nervous habit along with the fidgeting, as he takes a few steps forward. The finger of his right hand goes to spread through his hair, pushing the strands back like a red wave and unintentionally slicking them to his skull. The clicking of his jaw reverberates in his ears as he resets it, picking at the palate scar under his left nostril. 

He opens his mouth to speak but closes it fitfully and already his face is reddening. König looks away from you for a moment, breathing before shuffling over like a guilty child would on drowned socks. He places one leg on the floor and kneels down in front of you so he can better look into your creased face. 

“Bӓrchen,” he liked calling you that – little bear – because the comparison was enough to make him smile every time it passed his lips. It was such an endearing term that it became difficult to look past the blatant harm he could inflict on you if he wasn’t careful. While his size made him perfect for the field, home life was, well, let's just say he could easily force his way through a crowd. Not that he would, of course. But at any rate, that was what you were to him – a little bear. “I…I have to confess to you that I have been avoiding you, yes? That much has been,” a stiff breath is taken in. “Obvious.” 

Your head turns to the side, knees brushing his own as you hold your hands in your lap. Behind König the show continues to play, spreading a silver light over the living room and the continuous droning of voices.  

Not knowing whether it would be frowned upon or not, and with a steadying breath for confidence, the man loops a cold finger under your chin; bringing you back to him and finally setting your glossy eyes ahead. 

He sees you blink in surprise when you find him maskless, and a faint smile flicks over his lips when your expression goes shy. Cautious like a bird.

“It was of no fault of your own, Sweetling, I ask that you believe me. I’ll try to explain the best I can, Ja? If you’ll let me, though, I know that I don’t deserve it.”

“If you don’t like me anymore, you can just say it…Stop dragging me on, please.” His heart stops, mouth still partially open before a sharp breath is sucked in. “I don’t know if I can take that anymore.” The pang in his chest hurts immensely, like taking an arrow and peeling back skin. You look at him so hopelessly, broken beyond belief as though a piece of you was being ripped out.

“W-why do you say that?” König tries to desperately stop the wetness of your tears from falling, shaking his head and cupping both of your cheeks, rubbing at the flesh in agony. “No, no, no, Dear One. That’s not what it is at all, I beg of you to listen.” In the fever, he switches between his native tongue and English, fingers shaking though not from the drenched clothes. “Meine Schöne, oh, meine Schöne. Bitte hör auf zu weinen.“

He takes quick breaths and finds in himself that he would do anything to stop you from crying – take a bullet, run a marathon, or learn to fly. Name it, any of it. Anything to wipe away the sadness that lives in your expression as if it even belonged there in the first place

“Do not cry over me, please, I-I,” König’s tongue trips over itself, but he persists, a similar burn in the back of his nose. “I…You scare me, Bӓrchen,” that gets your attention, creased eyes and a loose jaw going to give him full observation. 

What?! Your expression screams.

Face on fire, the Austrian continues with intense eyes, dark obsidian awash with pure light that reflects stars. Overflowing with anxious tears that he refuses to let fall. 

He can’t lose you. No, no, not you. You were the best thing to happen to him in a long time. Damn him – damn his own consciousness that’s more of a betrayer than Brutus. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go… 

“...What?” Your voice wavers, nose twitching so adorably that the man is momentarily stunned. 

“I am afraid of you, my Dear. Utterly and wholly.” König sucks down a breath, now the one unable to continue the stare-off. His foot shifts. “I am afraid of what you do to me. Your smile, Gott, your smile. A-and the way you speak, how you react so honestly to my paintings like you care with all of your heart.” He laughs wetly when you smile dimly, continuing as he caresses your skin. “Everything down to your very bones is like…like…” König’s words fumble, because comparing you to something earthly was impossible to him. 

“Ever since I met you in that art store, I cannot string together words with any semblance of meaning when I am around you. Bӓrchen, you have entrapped my mind, and I am afraid.”

He watches you breathe in slowly, tears no longer falling, though the evidence still haunts him. The man’s chest lets go of a tightly wound knot, the anvil on the other side just narrowly missing his heart as the sweat on his brow evaporates.

“A-and,” König sighs, shaking his head and moving his hands to tightly hold your own in your lap. How could he explain the last part of this dilemma? He bluntly states, “you’re small.”

A brief moment of silence bleeds like a wound, long and slow, until a tiny snort echoes. Full-blown laughter emanates not even a second later, and he watches your body heave forward and slot itself with your nose in his shoulder. König’s blush stains all the way down his neck, but minuscule giggles also fall from him in retaliation to yours. His great arms wrap themselves around your waist, dragging you slightly closer as he breathes deeply. 

Your scent pulls him under like a ship at the water, riding great waves with sea beasts under the waves guiding the vessel along its course. 

“Everyone’s small compared to you.” Your mumbling in his shoulder makes his grip tighten, side-eyeing your visage as his head tilts down. “Not my fault you got every gene that made you sprout like a damn tree.”

With your lips caressing his neck, he blinks softly down at you, amused, as his breath mingles with your hair. He lets you speak, getting it all off your chest and feeling stupid for how he had been avoiding this.

“You’re afraid because you’re so big, then? That you might hurt me?” 

“Ja.” Your hands circle around his shoulders, and with a sigh that leaves the man short of breath, you shimmy back and face him, fingers playing with the base of his neck; pulling at tiny hairs. 

“Don’t you think being worried about that means something? And, c’mon,” you smile lightly to him, and he watches closely, fingers moving along your spine. “With how conscious you are of your body, it’s hard to imagine anything ever happening.”

Hands grasp his neck, and with a bobbing Adam’s apple, König yields to your pull, angling his head to you as your back straightens. Watching with awe; your silhouette bathed in silver light and eyes fatigued, though never more beautiful. You’re beaming.

“I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you, okay? So stop worrying about it, you big dope – and stop ditching me!” The Austrian’s dark eyes are fastly moved from one spot on your face to another, cataloging every bump and pore to memory. 

He’d never been this close to you before, though he’d fantasized about it. And what you were telling him…it’s like his body deflates with relief, and a genuine, boyish, smile blossoms. 

“Safe? W-with me, Bӓrchen? Oh-oh, my…” A kiss suddenly hits his forehead, and if you continued doing things like this, he was sure he’d explode. His body was vibrating with pure bashfulness; it was so odd to be complimented and doted on by someone that wasn’t his close family. For someone to reassure him of his flawed concerns. 

She feels safe with me. 

How could he tell you how happy that made him to hear aloud?

“Hey,” hands cup his jaw, and his spaced-out eyes snap back to you instantly, blinking away the rose-colored fog. You shake his head back and forth until he’s chuckling, like a kid again, and his grip catches your wrists to make you stop. Your breath fans over his blazing cheeks like a wind sent from Zephyrus himself, and the sticking clothes to his body matter little. “No more leaving me hanging, okay? I miss you, König. I want to be around you.” 

The eyes that travel down his scarred and freckled face leave him slightly self-conscious, but as if sensing this, your lips curve. Before he could utter a grunt of surprise, your kiss had connected with the scar on his forehead, as well as the palate. Just brushing the top of his lips as his large nose poked your cheek. 

“Mein Gott.” König gasps, eyes fluttering shut when you pull back and a grin slashes your face. A whisper meets the room.

“Thank you for showing me your handsome face, mein Schöner, I’ve been wondering what you looked like.” Shyly scanning his features, the redhead lets your fingers trace his flesh, shivers left in their wake, and a soft sigh. 

If he opens his eyes, he’s afraid he’d start crying. So he lets you touch his scarlet flesh, nearly the same shade as his hair, though the auburn is more deep-set. Shivering every time you lay another press of your lips to a blemish; more addictive than drugs. 

“You’re going to kill me,” König pleads, “but if this is punishment for causing you pain, I will gladly bear it.”

“Sly.” You smirk, pressing one more peck to his nose, and pulling back. He grumbles in his throat before his eyes peel open slowly; pupils blown wide and mouth parted. “Are you alive down there?”

“Barely. Perhaps I’ll need another kiss to tell, yes?” 

“You’re horrible.” Looking at his clothes, your eyes suddenly go grim. Like you’d just noticed the state of him now that he was kneeling in front of you and struck by your beauty. “And shivering.” You huff. “Why didn’t you start by saying you were soaked to the bone, König?” 

He looks to the ground, and you try to shuffle past and grab him a towel, but his arms trap you. You find yourself in a chest faster than you can blink, hands splayed over a pec that jerks as you’re lifted up. 

König hears you squeak and laughs, throwing you up into a bridal-style hold easily. Laughing chest-deep, you curl under his chin and quickly comment, “what are you doing?!” 

“Hush, Bӓrchen,” the man squishes you closer, “I’ll find a towel, don’t strain yourself.” 

You direct him to the bathroom after he sets you on your bed, hearing the pounding of rain outside as he sneaks off. 

The room smells of your shampoo, and König takes a pastel towel from the wrack after half-closing the door, slapping it to his head and violently rubbing it back and forth. Lost in his elevated thoughts and happy demeanor, the knock on the wood is almost missed. He’s just about to take off his shirt and wring it out when he blinks at the sound. 

“König – I’ve got some spare clothes, but I doubt they’ll fit you well enough.” An amused twitch of his lips later, he’s opening the door to your soft face, staring down at it. Standing shyly, your eyes crease; head tilting. “Sleepover?”

The man looks at the pile of fabric and nods kindly, a lofty feeling in his bones.

“Yes, please. They’re perfect, vielen Dank.” It isn’t long before he’s coming back out, a shirt that barely fits over his wide chest and a pair of sweats clinging to his hips. But he didn’t mind. 

They smelled like you, and thus, he smelled like you. König quickly found out that drawing wasn’t the only thing that could calm him. 

An embarrassed smile and a sheen of giddiness never leave his face.

He slides into bed with you, and you quickly latch under his arm, limbs tangling with his own as his fingers twitch over the width of the base of your shoulder blades. An easy expulsion of air leaves him as your weight settles, back curving to the make of the mattress. 

The words leave him in the delicate silence; water hitting the window and during the exploration of souls. Cheeks hot and heart hammering. 

“Sei mein?” Be mine? 

He feels your grin, nose nuzzling his flesh like it was the perfect pillow, and his heart speeds like a shooting star.

“Mein Herz war immer deins. Ja.” My heart was always yours. Yes. 

He stays awake for a long while, listening to your breathing and staring at the ceiling, running knuckles over your spine and staying silent. 

Smiling.  

[mandarinmoons]

Could I please request for Spencer where reader is in the bau and her and Spencer aren’t exactly friends but they keep it professional but sassy and one night after a case he comforts her because he secretly likes her ? Tysm ❤️

There’s never a dull moment when working at the BAU, whether it be a psychopathic killer or an evening with the team where everyone could let loose with a glass of wine.

You liked to have your fun, but you were determined to keep things professional with everyone. However, one of your coworkers managed to get closer to you than the others and you had your, dare you say, “unprofessional” moments with him.

Both of your bodies allerted you around the same time when coffee was needed and that was when the majority of the quips between you two took place.

“Half a bottle of sugar again, Reid?”

You watched Spencer pour in the needed amount of sugar into his coffee and noticed a small grin form on his lips.

“I think you should know by now how I take it.”

“Yeah, all sugar and no caffeine at this point.”

The banter between you two kept on going as time went on and you felt your poker face disappear every time he walked into the room, the way you wanted to be perceived by your peers was not going to last, especially after one night.

The team left the office one by one as the workday ended. You were still sitting at your desk, staring down at the paperwork in front of you. The case that was just finished didn’t go as well as planned and it left everyone’s mood sour, especially yours. You were the one who tried to talk the unsub into letting the hostage go, you were so close and yet you failed. You were questioning your abilities and if you should even continue, the guilt was too much to bear.

As you leaned your head back and closed your eyes to rest you heard someone walk up behind you.

“Are you okay?”

You sat up and looked behind you, seeing Spencer look down on you with sad eyes.

“I um, yeah, I guess.”

“You guess? That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Spencer sat down on the chair next to you and eyed you up and down, your back slouched against the chair and your head hanging down, biting your lip and eyes still staring down at the papers in front of you.

“You did your best out there.”

You looked up at Spencer and saw his eyes staring back at you, the brown of his eyes having a comforting quality to them.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Spencer looked down at his hands and gulped before continuing, “I know how you feel. There have been times where I think I could’ve done better, acted better, because maybe then they’d still be alive.”

You nodded and looked down at the picked skin along your nails, a bad habit that came out during stressful times.

“But… you can’t let that stop you from doing what you do. Think of all the lives you’re going to save in the future, they need you, we need you.”

It was as if Spencer was reading your mind and knew all of the thoughts going on in your head. You knew that you couldn’t let yourself get too out of hand with your feelings because more people needed you, but you just couldn’t shake it. Hearing it coming from Spencer though felt reassuring, you had no idea how his words managed to be so comforting for you, but you were grateful.

“I need you guys too,” seeing a hint of a smile play on your lips made Spencer break out in a smile as well.

He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head, “Do you, uh, do you want me to help you finish your paperwork?”

“That would be nice of you,” you scooted to the side with your chair and passed a few papers over to Spencer and handed him a pen. Your fingers touched slightly as he took the pen from your grasp and from the corner of your eye you saw his cheeks form a reddish hue.

The rest of the hour was spent more on joking than actually working. Eventually the paperwork was finished and Spencer being the gentleman that he is, helped you into your coat and held the door for you when walking out of the bullpen.

When reaching the parking lot and walking towards your cars, you stopped and faced Spencer.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just… I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh, you’re welcome but it’s not needed.”

“Yes it is. I would’ve driven myself insane if you hadn’t stepped in and calmed me down.”

Spencer chuckled and looked down, your words were clearly getting to him and making him nervous.

A moment later you took a step closer and wrapped your arms around him in a hug. Spencer froze at first but pulled you in closer and rested his chin on your head, you couldn’t remember the last time a hug felt so comforting.

The two of you stayed in the position for a good minute until you pulled back and looked into Spencer’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know you aren’t the biggest fan of-”

“It’s okay, I liked it.”

You two were left staring at each other in the parking lot for what felt like an eternity until someone walked past the both of you and heard them unlocking their car.

“I should go now, thanks again Spence.”

Spencer nodded and walked over to his car, thinking of the nickname you had just called him, meanwhile you melted into the driver's seat of your car, taking in the moment you just had with your coworker. Was he just a coworker? No, he was your friend, and to Spencer you were something more than a friend.

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[ithebookhoarder]

If your still taking requests could u pls do “if you were taken by an unsub” criminal minds imagin? Or smth along those lines, if not that’s fine tho

~ ☘️

(BAU Headcanons) If you were taken by an Unsub

A/N: Um, of course you can?! Thanks for sending this one in angel 😇 I'm only sorry it's taken me this long to answer this. Hope you like it!

Warnings: Usual Criminal Minds references to criminals, murder, violence etc. Mentions of mental health. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

If you were taken? This man would not rest until you were back and safe with him - and not just because of what happened to Haley (though it doesn’t help). 

He would bark orders at everyone in a cold and blunt manner that tells them he is not in the mood to be messed with.

They will do as they are told and they will do it now. 

This poor man would be fighting not to let his fear show but he'd be seen clenching his fists over and over and taking long deep breaths in front of the mirror in the bathroom in an attempt to ground himself and get his head on straight. 

He's no good to you if he lets himself fall apart. His team - and more importantly, you - are counting on him.

You know he’s blaming himself and you’re both going to need therapy once this whole experience is over with. 

He would go into his hyper-rational mode, focusing on making plans and ignoring anything that isn’t getting you back safe and sound - which means no sleep. None. He’s running on fumes and caffeine - even after you’re found. 

It would take days for him to feel secure enough to close his eyes and be able to trust you’ll still be there when he opens them again. 

Also you best believe he is breaking out his old law text books and ensuring this UnSub goes down for a lonnnnnng time… if they even make it to trial that is. This man is a trained sniper and knows other trained snipers… just saying… 

David Rossi 

He may like to remind you all of his passionate Italian nature from time to time but it’s impossible to miss when he hears what’s happened to you. He’s an emotional mess, staggering between horror and rage to a frighteningly cold determination that is rare for the eldest team member.  

He’d try to act in control, pulling rank on everyone - including Hotch, which obviously doesn’t work. 

“No offence, Aaron, but I was chasing down Unsubs when you were still in diapers. I know what I’m doing.”

However, they know him well enough to see that despite having years of experience under his belt, Rossi is terrified of making some kind of mistake. 

Once they do find you, he’d be one of the first through the door, too concerned with checking you’re ok to worry about anything else. 

He’d also be sure to pay for the best medical care money could buy, if you needed it following the ordeal.

He also knows people and has no problem paying for you to see a counsellor of some sort if the situation required it. He just wants to take care of you now that you’re back in his arms again. 

Derek Morgan

This man is like a whole military unit in himself at the best of times, but he’s a whole other level of lethal when it comes to protecting the ones he loves. You do NOT want to be on the wrong side of Morgan, and that’s exactly where the Unsub who took you would sit. 

There isn’t a door he wouldn’t be willing to kick down to get you - and everybody knows better than to say a word about it. (Hotch is already mentally filling out all the paperwork he’s going to need once this rescue is done, but he doesn’t exactly mind, given the situation).

Also, Morgan may have trained you himself, drilling you in self-defence and marksmanship so you’d known how to protect yourself out there in the field, but none of that matters now. You may have the Unsub at your mercy already, or you may be at theirs, but he doesn’t know and that’s what’s killing him: the not knowing. 

It’s why Penelope is basically glued to his side the whole entire time, telling him everything she finds out the very second she finds it.  

“We’ll find them sugar, I promise. They’re just as tough and strong as you are, so don’t give up on them, ok?”

He’d be leading the pack once you are found though, tearing through anyone and anything that stood in his way. All he cares about is seeing you with his own eyes and getting you as far away from danger as possible. 

“I’m so sorry, baby. It’s my job to keep you safe and I failed you.”

He’d be beating himself up for weeks after and it would take an entire team intervention to get him to let you go back out into the field again without him being glued to your side. After all, he’s not making the same mistake twice. Any Unsub wants that wants to get close to you will have to get past him first. 

Emily Prentiss

This woman is a super spy and a lethal weapon on an average day but if you were taken? Then she would be the most dangerous woman in the entire United States. 

She knows people in every agency and on every continent so you best believe she will be calling in favours left, right and centre. (Even Rossi is terrified by how quickly she was able to get the Pentagon on the phone…)

She would also be action-focused, needing to do something rather than sitting around wasting time. Every minute spent talking was one more minute the Unsub had to hurt you - and that thought makes her feel physically sick. 

This would end up causing her to explode, taking it out on whichever unfortunate soul is closest. Like, you know she would definitely have to be reminded by Hotch that they actually need the local law enforcement to work with them, if they want to get you back alive, after she is seen screaming at an unfortunate officer for their ‘utter stupidity’. 

Thankfully, she gets to turn that rage on the Unsub after they find you. I mean, let’s be real. It would take Morgan physically holding her back to stop her from beating their face in. 

This frustration would ultimately then be transferred to you, once she knows you’re safe. 

You almost can quote her ‘You almost died’ speech by this point, but you know it makes you both feel better to hear it so you let her rant and rant until she’s calm enough to crawl into your arms and squeeze you close. 

“I love you so much. I can’t lose you.” 

You’re also pretty sure she now has people following you at all times, watching over you when she can’t, so that this never happens again. 

JJ

JJ is every bit as lethal as Emily is when those she loves are at risk. If anything, she’s more terrifying because she’ll hide that murderous rage behind a ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ smile before deciding to strike. 

However, it would take everything in her not to just charge in and go on the offensive. After all, she was willing to run into a bank full of armed robbers after Will. 

It would probably end up with the team having to physically holding her back to stop her - usually accompanied by a well meaning pep talk about how she needs to get her head on straight if she actually wants to help get you back. 

You know this woman would follow you everywhere afterwards, never letting you out of her sight. In fact, she hits ‘super Mom mode’ where she is constantly fussing over you and seems to have the world in her go-bag. 

You need tissues, pain-killers, chocolate: she got it.

“Hey, it’s ok. You know I’ve got your back, right? I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’re safe now.”

She would also call you out on all your BS, if you tried to downplay what happened to you or if you were still affected. 

One twitch of her eyebrow is all it takes for her to have you pinned to your chair and spilling your guts about your emotions. You know better than to make her ask twice. After all, she may be the first to downplay it when she’s hurting but when it comes to her team and her family, she’d do anything to take care of you. If that’s driving your ass to therapy or just holding you, she’ll do it without complaint.

Penelope Garcia 

Would immediately panic as soon as she hears what’s happened to you. Like, we’re talking SO much panic.

Poor girl is spiralling and needs the team to help ground her so she can get back to the lair and do her thing. It would probably be down to Morgan or like JJ to get her to actually remember to breathe and not make herself pass out. 

But once she’s up and running? Well, she’d be all over the Unsub like a bad rash. Every teeny tiny detail of their life is suddenly unearthed and splashed on the 

board for everyone to see. (No one dares ask how she found certain items, but knowing her history with the dark web it’s probably for the best). 

Also, she would be begging for constant updates once the team is out in the field.  Any other day, it would drive the team insane to have a constant running Penelope monologue in their ears, but they’re surprisingly tolerant in this case. 

“Guys, do you see them? Are they ok? What’s going on? I need to know people! I have no eyes here!” 

Would be all over you once you’re safe and insists on installing tracking software on everything. She wants a digital link to you, 24/7 so that this NEVER happens again. It’s simultaneously flattering and slightly terrifying how much power this angel has at the end of her glittery, manicured fingers. 

Dr Spencer Reid

Depending on which season-Reid you’re with when you’re taken, you would have a distraught super genius who makes it his life’s mission to get you back. Or, you’d have a prison-hardened super genius with a slightly grey-er view of the world on a mission to find you. 

Either way, there’s probably no one you’d want more to be in charge of locating and rescuing you. 

Like Hotch, I feel he would become obsessed with nothing other than finding you. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t sleep. Hell, no one on the team has even seen him leave the briefing room long enough to go pee, let alone take a break. This results in the team all taking it in turns to be parental figures and coax (and eventually threaten) him into pausing long enough to down a glass of water and eat some snack bar. 

Between Morgan’s physical threats, JJ’s guilt-trips, and Hotch threatening to bench him from this case, they’d eventually succeed. 

“You guys don’t get it. They need me. I have to figure this out - they’re counting on me. I can’t fail them. I won’t. So either help me or get out of here and let me think.”

We all know he would probably harass any medical professionals charged with caring for you, once you’re back. He doesn’t trust them - especially when it comes to your welfare. 

He’d also confine you to the couch and force you to rest, queueing up endless re-runs of Doctor Who and whatever shows you find most comforting to have playing in the background. It’s selfishly what he needs too, being able to sit and hold you long enough to quell any fears he may have about you and your wellbeing. You’re here and you’re real and you’re safe. 

Masterlist