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thebarneschronicles · 1 day ago

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Nine Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)

Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x

-- Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.

And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.

You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.

Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.

And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.

You gritted your teeth.

“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”

Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.

Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”

Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.

Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”

Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”

You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“What?” you repeated, voice rising. “You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”

“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”

Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”

Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”

Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”

And that? That was the last straw.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”

“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”

And there it was. That goddamn nickname.

You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”

“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”

“Enhancing.”

“You mean ignoring it?”

He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.

God, this man was going to be the death of you.

You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”

He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”

Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”

Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”

Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”

You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—

No. Focus.

You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”

His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”

Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”

Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.

Oh. Oh, that son of a—

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.

“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—

Nope. Not going there.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”

Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”

Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”

—

You didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.

Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.

He knew before you did.

And that was the worst part.

You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.

It had terrified you.

So you fought.

You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things—his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.

And it infuriated you.

How dare he?

How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?

How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?

How. Dare. He.

The memory took over before you could stop it…

It had been a disaster from the start.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.

But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.

You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.

“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”

You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”

Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit.

Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”

“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.

Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”

“Still ruined.”

“You’re ruining it more.”

“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”

“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.

Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”

Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.

Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”

Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”

“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”

“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.

“No, I was waiting for backup.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”

You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.

But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”

“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”

“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.

You weren’t just mad.

You were terrified.

Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.

“Doll—”

“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”

Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”

Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.

But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.

“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.

You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.

You felt him watching you.

For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.

The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”

You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”

The smirk disappeared.

A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.

For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.

But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.

He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.

Because the truth was—

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—

Or the fact that, one day, he might not.

–

You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

No. Not thinking about that.

You couldn’t.

Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—

If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.

Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.

He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”

You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”

His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”

You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.

When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.

“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.

Your breath hitched.

He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.

“That it’s a good plan.”

Your pulse stuttered.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.

But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”

The question hit like a sucker punch.

It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I—” The words caught in your throat.

He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”

His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Completely, utterly furious at him.

And even more furious at yourself.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.

Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.

You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.

Why do you never take my side?

You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”

Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.

You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.

“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”

Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”

“I know you are,” you shot back.

He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”

The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“Forget it.”

—

Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.

And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.

In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.

You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.

Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.

There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.

And you hated it.

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.

Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.

Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.

And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.

But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.

No smirk. No I told you so.

Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.

By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.

The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.

But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.

It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.

Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.

“So are you.”

You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”

For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.

He noticed.

Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.

His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”

His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”

You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”

His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”

“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”

You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.

His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.

You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.

Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.

“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”

You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.

“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.

“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”

Bucky was still. Unreadable.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

—

The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.

You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.

But you couldn’t.

Because Bucky was still watching you.

He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.

It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.

Something softer. Something heavier.

Something you weren’t ready for.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”

You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.

You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.

And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.

“You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.

His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”

“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.

And God, you wanted to.

But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.

Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.

You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

You were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.

This was Bucky.

And you couldn’t lose him.

So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.

You just—needed to touch him.

Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.

Bucky stilled.

For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.

Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.

Your throat went tight.

Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.

Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.

Your eyes flickered around the cabin.

Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.

Something inside you snapped.

One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.

Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.

His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.

You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”

There was no bite to it. No real threat.

Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.

Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t shove you off like he should have.

Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.

Like he wanted to.

His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.

His touch burned.

His warmth was everywhere.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.

For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.

Bucky swallowed.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

It was enough.

Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—

You kissed him.

It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

Bucky froze.

Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.

Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.

Didn’t kiss you back.

The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.

He wasn’t—

Oh, God.

The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.

You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice broke.

Bucky was still silent.

And that was somehow worse.

It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.

You had kissed him.

You had kissed him and he hadn’t—

Your stomach plummeted.

“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—

But then—

God.

Then his hands tightened on your hips.

Hard.

Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.

Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

His expression had changed.

The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.

In its place was something darker.

Something heated and unrelenting.

Something like want.

Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.

Then—

Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”

“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”

Oh.

Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.

Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.

Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.

And kissed you.

You had been right.

Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.

He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.

You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.

You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.

Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.

Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.

“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

The problem was—there wasn’t enough.

Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.

You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.

“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”

Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.

You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”

That did it.

Something snapped in him.

The hesitation vanished.

And then, suddenly, you were weightless.

Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.

Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.

You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”

You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.

There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.

The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.

You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.

“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.

His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.

“We have to be quick.”

You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.

“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.

Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”

Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”

A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”

His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.

“Bucky—”

“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.

“I do. I—”

The words faltered on your tongue.

Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.

This was everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”

His words were iron, unbreakable, true.

Something cracked inside you.

And then—there was no more hesitation.

His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.

“Jesus, doll—”

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.

You felt full. Too full.

Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.

Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.

“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”

He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.

The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.

“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”

Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.

Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.

The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.

His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.

You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—

“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”

“No.”

It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.

His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.

“Baby.”

Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.

You froze.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.

But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?

Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.

And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.

You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.

“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”

His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—

“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.

Bucky froze.

The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.

His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.

“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.

“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.

“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”

“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.

“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”

His jaw clenched.

“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.

Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.

“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”

You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.

“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”

Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.

“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”

And that—

That was what finally broke him.

Bucky snapped.

A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.

And you took it.

You craved it.

Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.

Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.

“Bucky—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”

You did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.

And that was it. That was everything.

Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.

His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.

For a moment, there was silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.

Bucky’s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.

You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.

You should let go.

You should move.

You should say something.

But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—

The words died on your lips.

Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.

Like you had just made him yours.

And you had.

Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.

His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.

It felt too big.

Too much.

But you couldn’t stop touching him.

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.

A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.

“You meant it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.

“Bucky—”

His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.

“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.

You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.

“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.

His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.

And maybe you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Because what came next?

What happened after this?

There was you before Bucky Barnes.

There was you after Bucky Barnes.

And they weren’t the same.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader smut #bucky fanfic #sebastian stan

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solxamber · 3 days ago

Note

For the event, could I request Leona, romantic, with "Waiting on the Sun" by Citizen Soldier? First time listening to this after discovering Twisted had me wailing in the car haha

i was crying at the club when i heard it... it suits leona so well oh my god

Waiting on the Sun || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Waiting on the Sun by Citizen Soldier

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1010

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Realization of feelings

Leona has never been one for dreams.

Dreams are a fool’s game, a glimmer of hope strung out in front of desperate people, forcing them to chase something they’ll never catch. He learned early on that hope was nothing but a pretty lie wrapped in a silver ribbon, and in the end, the ribbon always frayed.

The world never made space for second sons, and the sun never rose for men like him.

He should have stopped waiting for it years ago.

But somehow, you're still here—sitting beside him in the shade of a tree, legs stretched out, your presence quiet yet steady. You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t need you to. That’s what he likes about you. You don’t fill the silence with empty words or meaningless comfort. You don’t try to fix him, like so many others before you.

You just exist beside him and that’s enough.

Leona doesn’t remember when you became his safe place.

At some point, your presence became a constant, as natural as the way he stretches out on the grass for an afternoon nap or the way the sun burns through the endless sky. You were just there—like an inevitable force of nature.

And damn if he doesn’t resent how much he needs it.

Because he does need it. He needs you in ways he’ll never admit aloud, in ways that make his stomach twist and his throat tighten. You make it so easy to believe, even when he’s spent a lifetime telling himself not to.

Somewhere along the way, you learned him too well. You can tell when his bitterness sharpens, when his patience wears thin, when he’s barely holding onto the threads of his temper. You don’t try to drag him into the light, but you don’t let him drown in the dark, either.

Instead, you just sit with him.

Like now.

Leona exhales, tipping his head back against the rough bark of the tree. The weight of the past few days lingers in his bones, making him feel heavier than usual. The exhaustion never fully leaves—it clings to him like a second skin.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Your voice is soft, cutting through the stillness.

Leona cracks an eye open. “Doubt it.”

You huff, barely phased by his dry remark. “You think nothing’s ever going to change. That you’re stuck in a cycle you can’t break. That waiting for things to get better is pointless.”

He stiffens, the words settling deep in his chest like stones. “You got all that just from lookin’ at me?”

“I got all that from knowing you.”

That shouldn’t make his heart stutter the way it does.

He doesn’t say anything, just turns his gaze back to the horizon. It stretches on endlessly, a vast expanse of golden plains and open sky. The view should be freeing. Instead, it feels like a cage with invisible walls.

A future that will never belong to him.

A throne that will never be his.

A world that will never see him as anything more than the spare.

The sun has never risen for men like him.

“I know what you’re going to say next,” he mutters. “That I should ‘keep trying.’ That things’ll ‘work out’ eventually. That if I just—”

“I’m not going to say that.”

He stops.

You tilt your head, a gentle smile pulling at your lips. “I’m not here to tell you to change. I’m not here to tell you things will magically get better. I just…” Your fingers brush over the back of his hand, tentative and warm. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to shoulder it alone.”

His breath catches.

No one has ever said that to him before.

No one has ever meant it before.

Leona has spent his whole life carrying the weight of his own bitterness, his own resentment, his own failures. No one ever told him he could set it down. No one ever offered to help him hold it.

No one but you.

His fingers twitch under yours.

Leona has never been one for dreams.

But when he looks at you, he wonders if maybe, he’s been waiting on the wrong thing all this time.

He doesn’t realize he’s in love with you until much later.

Maybe it’s the way you laugh, soft and easy, like the world has never once hurt you. Maybe it’s the way you look at him—like he’s not a disappointment, not a failure, not a second son who never mattered. Maybe it’s the way you never push him to be anything other than who he is.

Maybe it’s everything.

But when he finally does realize, it hits him like a landslide.

And suddenly, he’s terrified.

Because what if he loses this?

What if he loses you?

Leona doesn’t pray, but he does now.

He prays that you never leave. That you never wake up one day and decide that he’s too much trouble, that he’s too broken, that he’ll never be what you deserve.

He prays that this feeling—the quiet warmth that seeps into his bones whenever you’re around—never fades.

And yet, he still can’t bring himself to say it.

Not yet.

The words finally escape him on a night like this—under a sky filled with stars, your hand resting lightly in his, your head against his shoulder.

“Stay.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

You shift slightly, peering up at him with wide eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales sharply, his grip tightening around yours. “No, I mean—” His throat works, the words catching like sandpaper. “Stay with me.”

Understanding dawns in your eyes, and for a moment, he thinks you might say no. That you might turn away.

But then you smile—soft, warm, home.

“Okay.”

Leona doesn’t believe in miracles.

But when you press your lips to his, slow and tender and real, he thinks that maybe the sun has been shining on him all along.

He just hadn’t noticed.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

#ˋ°•*⁀➷ valentine's event #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #twst leona #leona kingscholar #leona

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cinnawonbabe · 1 day ago

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ATTENTION, PLEASE!

pairings: professor!heeseung x student fem!reader

warnings: teacher x student relationship, forbidden affairs, smut, oral, both receiving, anal play, praise and spankings, legal age gap

overview: y/n was just like any other college girl, crushing on the young and attractive literature professor at the university she attended. one day she’s asked to come back after class and things get a little steamy. who knew being a teacher’s pet was fun?

taglist 🏷️: @nayeoniiz @mheretoreadff @deobitifull @riribelle @jakeswifez @yohanabanana @fkarchve @1013club @rizz00 @kpopjackie @isagistar @wheretheheckis-ssaki @freaky-enhamadswriter @manuosorioh

SORRY IF YOU ASKED FOR A TAG AND DIDN’T GET IT. I COULDN’T TAG MOST BECAUSE YOUR ACCOUNT WAS NOT POPPING UP FOR ME. PLEASE ENJOY! IF THIS DOES WELL AND GET 400 NOTES, I’LL POST A PART TWO!!

it was the first day back from spring break and to say y/n was excited was an understatement. she was overjoyed to see her friends again. while she was getting ready for her first class of the day, literature, and finishing the last touches to her makeup, her friend winter called. y/n answered, putting the phone on speaker so she could multitask talking and finishing getting herself ready.

"girl where are you? class is about to start," winter whisper-yelled through the phone. y/n checked the time, seeing that she was in fact behind schedule.

"fuck, i'm gonna be late," she said, rushing to put her shoes on. after making sure her uniform was neat, she grabbed her bag and phone before running out the door.

"and who are you trying to look cute for?" winter joked with a laugh upon y/n switching the call over to a facetime.

"no one. i just felt the need to dress up today. is the professor there?" she answered while speed walking over to the building her class was held in.

"no. they haven't arrived yet, so you're lucky for once," winter said with a laugh. "hurry though, i saved you a spot," she added and y/n hummed in response as she approached the building.

she made her way inside, picking up her pace so she wouldn't be that late, but ultimately made it to class.

"fucking finally. you're here," winter laughed, taking her bag off the seat next to her for y/n to sit in. "still no professor?" y/n asked and winter shrugged not knowing herself.

you know, after 15 minutes, if a teacher hasn't arrived to class after the set time has passed, class is canceled?" one male student in the back stated.

y/n turned back to see it was one of the football players. most students got to talking with excitement as it was getting close to that 15 minute mark while others were upset that they didn't get to see the professor today, y/n was one of the students who was pretty bummed out.

just when some students were packing up their supplies, the classroom door opened up.

professor lee heeseung rushed in class. "sorry for the wait guys. i was in an important staff meeting about the fair we're having for the homecoming events next week and we kind of got carried away." he said in between breaths.

he took off his blazer and set it down on the podium that was situated in the front of the room. he rolled up his sleeves. "anyone else feeling a bit hot or is that just me?" he asked, chuckling to himself.

all the girls, including y/n, couldn't help but stare at him. watching him intently.

he has to know what he's doing. he just knows how attractive he is. y/n thought to herself.

"no it's hot in here sir. me and my friends think the air conditioning unit has stopped working." one female student stated.

heeseung nodded his head in acknowledgement, "oh i see. i'll have to make a complaint about that later. let me write that down so i don't forget." he said walking over to his desk situated in the corner of the room.

he pulled out a sticky notepad from one of his drawers and grabbed a pen from the cuphold on the desk and scribbled a mental note to himself there.

"okay, considering i was way behind my schedule. i'm going to give you all a break and just let you either stay here to make up work or you can just leave. it's completely up to you all." heeseung said, looking around the classroom after he placed the notepad back on his desk.

most students didn't hesitate to collect their things and bid heeseung goodbye or thank him for his kindness.

of course he smiled and bid those goodbye before turning his attention back to the few students that did decide to stay. which consisted of a two male students, one being a literature major and the other that just so happened to be asleep and the rest we girls that just wanted an excuse to stare at the professor.

"assuming that you all are here for help and to catch up on work so feel free to ask me any questions, okay?" he said once more before heading back to his desk.

y/n watched his backside as he headed to his desk and wondered what his back muscles looked like under his dress shirt. once he sat down he looked back towards the class, catching y/n stare. she imma looked down in embarrassment and busied herself with her studies, not catching the little smirk that made his way on his face.

y/n felt movement beside her and looked over to see her seatmate fixing herself up before calling out to the professor. "professor lee? i need help on one of the older assignments you gave. can you give me a but of assistance with it?" y/n heard her ask.

he nodded and signaled for her to come to his desk and so she did. getting up from her seat, swaying her hips purposely in the process.

she bent over his desk, showing her cleavage to him as she placed her paper down for 'help'.

that's usually how things goes. most girls go out there way to get his attention but from all the things y/n has seen, it doesn't seem to work. he wasn't phased by it and just gave her the help she needed before he sent her back to her seat.

another girl failed. y/n of course hasn't. in fact, she never tried to because she was too scared and too shy to even hold a conversation or even ask him for help but that never stopped him from trying to talk to her.

he had taken an interest in calling on her sometimes for questions she never volunteers herself from.

usually that would end up with her stuttering to answer it or having her frozen from being put on the spot.

after a while of sitting in a somewhat silent classroom, heeseung cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention. "attention everyone class is just about over and my next class will be here soon." he stated, looking at his wristwatch.

everyone packed up their things and headed out of the class. y/n was just about to leave before she was stopped by heeseung's voice suddenly calling out to her.

y/n stopped where she was near the classroom door, turning to him as he sat at his desk. "yes, professor lee?" she asked. he motioned for her to come to him, waving his hand in a signaling gesture. she was hesitant at first, she wasn't sure if she should or not. she swallowed her own pride and made her way over to him.

"so i wanted to talk to you to see if you'd like to help me later with gathering things for the art and theatre club. they'll be doing most of the creative work and i promised the directors that i'll head to the storage area in the left wing and get the supplies they needed. i can't do it myself, so would you like to help a poor old man like me?" he asked with pleading eyes.

y/n was a bit speechless as to why he chose her out of all people. he wants me to help him? she thought to herself. there was no way out of all the girls in this class, he chose her. she stood there unresponsive for a bit, lost in her own thoughts. it began to worry him a little bit from her sudden quietness. "it's okay if you don't want to i can always just ask-" he couldn't finish his sentence as y/n interrupted him with a slightly raised voice. "no!"

she realized the tone and volume of her voice and felt hot from the embarrassment. she didn’t notice the change in his demeanor, a slight smirk appearing on his face knowing his plan was working.

"uhm i meant no it's okay professor lee, i can help you. i don't mind at all!" she stated a bit too eagerly.

she mentally cursed at herself because of it but nonetheless, heeseung didn't seem to mind. "great!! just meet me back here around 7pm, okay?" he smiled softly, causing y/n’s heart to flutter. he definitely knows the effect he has on her.

she nodded her head in agreement before flashing him a small smile in return. “yes sir,” she retorted before walking out the classroom door. she was lost in her thoughts once again, geeking over the fact that he wanted alone time with her. this was truly a dream come true.

her thoughts soon interrupted by her best friend winter spooking her, “hey!” winter yelled a little bit as she approached her. y/n grabbed her chest as she calmed herself down. “my bad, didn’t mean to scare you,” winter joked before bursting out into a fit of giggles, earning a slap on the arm from her friend. “that’s not funny win,” y/n stated, rolling her eyes playfully as she walked off with winter following close behind her. “so what was that all about?” she asked, jumping in her face as she interrogated her. y/n gently pushed her back, smiling wide as the scene replayed in her mind. even though it just happened moments prior to this conversation, she couldn’t help but reminisce about how he chose her. winter nudged her, bringing her back to reality. “soooo are you going to tell me why hot stuff over there held you back?” she questioned again but y/n only giggled in response, causing her bestie to groan at in annoyance. “its nothing really, he just wants me to help him with something for theatre class and i told him i would,” she replied honestly.

winter stared at her intensely, looking for any glimmer of doubt. she was trying to see if she was lying to her or not. y/n stared back at her clueless as to why her best friend was seemingly trying to intimidate her for some reason. is she jealous? she thought. ultimately, winter shrugged it off. i guess she was being truthful. “well good luck and make sure you use a condom, i’m not ready to be an auntie just yet,” she laughed, nudging her friend. y/n’s eyes widened upon hearing those words leave her mouth. before she could smack her friend, winter took off running, satisfied with the reaction she got from her bestie. y/n followed shortly behind, yelling out threats to her friend as she did so.

__________________________

time seemed to have moved on so fast. it was already 7pm and y/n was making her way back to professor heeseung’s classroom. i hope this doesn’t look suspicious. she was having second thoughts. maybe this was a bad idea. she didn’t want to get caught up in something that wasn’t true, even though she wished it was. she didn’t want people to think she was having a secret affair with her teacher, but then again she didn’t actually mind it at all. she longed for him to caress her ever so gently. she wanted to feel his lips against her own but who didn’t? every girl on campus wanted a piece of him but can you blame them? he’s in his late twenties teaching hormonal nineteen and twenty year olds. a lot of his students were fresh out of highschool so seeing a young professor was like winning the lottery.

eventually she made it towards his classroom door, peering inside. it was dark and the only form of light was coming from the hallway where she stood. she scanned the room as best as she could but there was no sign of him. maybe he had forgotten. as she was about to walk away she ran face first into something or someone. she looked up and was face to face with heeseung himself. oh god. she thought. a light blush painted her face as she realized how close they were so she took a few steps back. “sorry, i should’ve been paying more attention to where i was going,” she apologized, her eyes averting her vision everywhere but his.

the view was astonishing to him. their slight height difference boosted his ego. it empowered him. he knew exactly what he what he was doing. y/n was timid and kept to herself. she wasn’t like the other girls he taught.

everyday a female student would force themselves onto him any chance he got. he was used to all the attention he gotten. he may not have shown it but he did enjoy it. so it was weird that y/n never seemed to try. he knew she found him attractive but she never seem to give him the time of day. so he started making moves. calling on her during class even though she never raised her hand, taking initiative to talk to her after class whenever he could because he knew it made her heart race. the innocence she portrayed had drawn her in. it was something he had to obtain, more so, alter it. he wanted her to be his, to hold, to control. that’s exactly how they ended up here. he falsified the ‘i need help’ teacher act. he knew she would fall for it. she was oblivious to it all.

he stared at her for a moment before he spoke, “it’s okay, i was just heading in,” he stated before moving passed her and towards the door. he unlocked it and entered the room, holding the door open for her. “are you joining me still?” he asked tenderly, his voice soft and sweet. it made her heart skip a beat. he was pure gold to her. a soft hearted, well-mannered, absolutely beautiful, educated and elegant man was spending alone time with her. she was head over heels for him.

she hummed in response and followed in right behind him. upon entering he closed the door, discreetly locking it without her noticing and flicked on the lights. “i hope you don’t mind, i have to gather up a few paperwork before we head that way, is that fine?” he asked, making his way towards his desk. he sat down, picking up groups of scattered papers that sat disorganized on his desk. he neated placed them into piles before putting them in his briefcase that he brought with him. y/n walked closer, gazing over at him. she watched

him quietly, fiddling with her fingers as she did so. she couldn’t help but think about what winter said earlier. imagining her professor fucking her on this desk right now.

images of him pounding into her core flushed her mind, making her core leak from the slight horniness that had taken over her. she was so lost in thought she couldn’t hear heeseung calling out to her. he then cleared his throat, finally gaining her attention. she looked up at him, face flustered. she looked absolutely stunning to him; no, beautiful actually. he wanted to ruin her. “you’re one of my best students?” he asked, getting up from his seat and walked over to the front of his desk where he leaned up against it.

she was dumbfounded, “i am?” she asked innocently, her brows furrowed slightly in confusion. heeseung found it adorable, she really didn’t have a clue in the world. “precisely. you’ve never been the type to throw yourself at me. that’s what i like about you,” he continued, making her all flustered again. he truly was enjoying this moment right now. “i’m just not the kind of girl. you’re my teacher not a love interest,” she said truthfully, but he didn’t like that response. he knew better than that and so did she. they both wanted each other more than anything right now.

he began to loosen his tie, then slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt. “is that really how you feel?” he asked, finally pulling his shirt open, revealing his toned abdomen. she stared in awe as she watched him strip in front of her. his shirt sliding off his shoulder and falling to the ground. her eyes trailed down his figure. he was a sight to see that’s for sure. she noticed a tent forming in his pants and she audibly gasped unintentionally. a smirk appeared on his lips. gotcha. he thought.

she didn’t know how to react in this very moment. what was she supposed to do? her very attractive literature teacher was standing shirtless in front of her. that’s every girl on campus dream and yet here she was living it.

“i-i don’t know if this is appropriate professor,” she stuttered, averting her gaze towards the floor. she stared at her sneakers until another pair of shoes came into view. she froze. too scared to look up now knowing how close he was to her. he took his hand and gently tilted her head upward so they were facing each other. she gulped, now meeting eyes with a different side of her professor. and truth be told, she was enjoying every second of it. “i want you more than anything right now,” he said, disregarding her previous statement of whether this was appropriate between the two. he didn’t care. nine years wasn’t that big of an age gap for him. she was nineteen and he was twenty- eight years old. how bad could this be?

he looked her in her eyes, searching for any sign he needed to know what his next move was. there it was, like a flicker. he smiled mischievously, pondering his next move but was surprised by her crashing her lips onto his.

she kissed him hungrily. she couldn’t hold it any longer. she needed him right now.

heeseung snaked his arm around her, grabbing her thighs to signal her to jump. she did, jumping into his embrace and wrapping her legs around his waist as their lips danced in one another.

he carried her to his desking, next faltering this kiss. he sat her on the edge, slipping his tongue in her mouth and explore every crevice of it. she moaned into the kiss, sucking on his tongue as he fiddled with the hem of her shirt. he broke the kiss, pulling her shirt over her head, taking it off and tossing it on the floor.

y/n took that time to catch her breath before he smashed his lips back on to hers. she grabbed his belt loosening it up but before she could pull them down he stopped her, grabbing ahold of her hands, “not so fast baby, lets take it slow.”

she whined, disappointed and desperate. he laughed, placing a small and shirt kiss on her lips. he unclipped her bra, sliding it off her. her breasts we plumped and perky. just how he liked them. he attached his mouth to one breast, sucking and swirling his tongue around her nipple. she bit back a few moans that threatened to slip out. she felt elastic. she knew what they were doing was so wrong but it felt so right. the adrenaline rush she got from this turned her on more. at any given moment they could be caught by anyone, a dean, a security guard, or a fellow student passing by.

she didn’t care at all, it thrilled her actually. fueling her desires even more. she watched and he alternated between each of her breast, leaving love bites all over her chest before proceeding to kiss down to the hem of her skirt, he didn’t care to take those off, he wanted to fuck her in her cute little uniform skirt so he pushed them up to get a better view of her leaking core.

a small chuckle left his lips upon seeing how soaked her panties were just from them kissing. she felt a little embarrassed hearing him laugh and tried to shut her legs but he stopped her from doing so. “don’t hide baby, she’s beautiful. let’s she was she looks like without these in the way,” he reassured her, sliding her pantines to the side to get a better look and her dripping core.

her little cunt made him go crazy. he looked up at her as he licked between her flaps. the warmth of his tongue sent shivers down her spine. he placed small kisses on her clit, edging her on. he wanted to tease her and have her begging for more.

y/n was too impatient and grabbed a fistful of his hair, shoving his face into her leaky cunt, heeseung obliged, giving her what she wanted. he began to eat her out, sucking on her clit and flicking his tongue in a way that made her toes curl. soft moans escape her mouth but she didn’t care. everything felt so good right now. place her legs above his shoulders and started to slowly grind against his face. the pleasure building up as she felt ecstatic. she threw her head back, moaning loudly as she continued to hump his face. he watched her as she got closer to her climax, he took two of his digits and plunged them deep into her pretty little cunt.

a loud gasp was heard from her, feeling his fingers deep inside him. he thrusted them faster, curling them as he hit her sweet spot, earning beautiful moans from y/n. he absolutely loved it. he was marking what was rightfully his. he continued his pace as she grew closer to her climax. he sucked a little harder on her clit, humming, sending vibrations to her core. a familiar pit grew in her stomach.

she was close, so so close and couldn’t contain it any longer. she screamed, forgetting where she was for a moment. her back arching as she squirted into his mouth, causing him to choke a little bit as her juices hit the back of his throat. she rode out her orgasm and she grinded on his face more before falling back onto his desk breathless.

heeseung stood up, dropping his pants to the floor as he looked down at her tired little figure laying on his desk. “we’re not finished yet, angel,” he said, stroking his long and thick member in his hand. she looked up, her eyes widened. there was no way in hell that was going to fit in her. “can daddy have some head baby?” he asked softly and she nodded, getting off his desk and kneeling before him. he cooed, watching her doe eyes stare up at him. he was loving this view of her better. she parted her lips slightly as he began to slap his cock against her face.

“open your mouth wide baby,” he instructed and she obliged, parting her lips more as s

he slid his cock right in. his breath hitched in his throat. the warmth of her mouth engulfing his seven inches did something to him. he let her take control, watching her bob her head on his thickness, taking every inch and girth of his cock. “yes baby. just like that. you’re doing so good for me,” he praised, encouraging her more. she forced herself to deep throat him, gagging as she did. he grunted at the feeling of her throat hugging his member, her gagging made the feeling even better.

her eyes started to brim with tears as his cock hit the back of her throat, drool dripping down her chin.

she took her hand and stroked him while sucking him off. this pleasure alone could’ve made him cum but he was determined to last. he grabbed her by her hair, pulling her off him to keeping him for cumming then and there. she winced from the harsh grip but didn’t stop it. she liked how rough he was getting. it turned her on even more.

he bent down crashing his lips onto hers. he didn’t care that she just had his cock in his mouth, he was a real man like that. kissing her hard and tasting himself on her before he pulled back. “open your fucking mouth!” he exclaimed, and she did without hesitation. he spit in her mouth and she swallowed it so effortlessly. “you like that my nasty little slut?” he asked and she whined in response.

he slipped his cock back into her mouth, fucking her throat hard, she choked out a cry around his member. he didn’t care. he kept fucking her mouth hard and deep, moaning loudly. “fuck just like that baby,” he said once more. he felt his climax coming soon so he pulled right back out. “bend over my desk,” he ordered. she got up slowly, her legs wobbling a bit. he couldn’t help but laugh, “don’t laugh,” she pouted and he cooed at her, he helped her lay her stomach flat onto his desk, her bottom side completely exposed.

he bit his lip at the sight in front of him, rubbing his hands against her firmly plumped ass cheeks. he needed to mark them. he took his big hand and smack down on her ass hard, causing a scream of pain and pleasure from y/n. this was all so new to her. she never knew she’d like being treat like a fuck toy by her hot professor. he brought a side of her she didn’t know she possessed. he lashed at her ass a few times, the classroom echoing from skin slapping and cries coming from y/n. who knew being a teacher's pet could be so fun.

handprints now decorated her ass and he was more that pleased to know that it was because of him. only he could have her like this.

he positioned himself at the entrance of her core, “spread for me baby,” he told her softly. she reached back, grabbing her ass cheeks and spread them open; giving him more access to come right on in. he spat between her crack, using his dick to wipe it down towards her cunt before sliding the tip in. they both moaned out in pleasure upon contact.

she felt every bit of his cock slide into her tight little cunt before he bellowed out. his whole member filled her to the brim. he sat there for a moment, letting her adjust to his size before he began to move. slowly thrusting in and out of her, he pace precise and steady.

the desk began to squeak against the floor as he thrusted harder than before, yelps of pleasure falling from her lips. he was digging into her guts. it felt like his tip was touching the inside of her stomach. her moans encouraging him to go harder. he dugges his cock deeper into her, her ass clapping against his skin. the room filled with the sounds of them fucking. he hoped they wouldn’t get caught but parts of him did. he wanted people to see the whore he was making out of her. he wanted people to know who she belonged to. he felt her wet cunt hug his girth, bringing both of them to their high, he fucked her harder, sliding his thumb in her ass. she screamed once more from the unexpected intrusion. fuck. he thought.

the pleasure was becoming too much for her, she couldn’t handle it any longer. both her holes were filled, a sensation she never knew she needed. “fuck baby i’m gonna cum,” he said and she could only moan out incoherent nonsense in response. that drove him nuts. he picked up his pace, fucking her to her climax. she cried out loud as the pleasure was unbearable and came hard once again.

this drove heeseung to his climax as well, cumming deep and hard into her. they hadn’t worn a condom. his cum filling her deep and oozing out with every little thrust he gave before him finally pulled out. he placed a kiss on her back before watching his thick load spill right out of her cunt. he didn’t care that they didn’t play it safe. to be honest, baby didn’t sound that bad to him. she was stuck with him regardless.

he reached over to the tissue box on his desk and began to clean her up and help her get dressed before dressing himself. she sat back up on his desk, her makeup ruined from all the sweat and tears she indured with getting her brains fuck out.

“you’re mine princess, got it?” he stated, pulling her close. she tiredly hummed in response, too warn out to say a word. a small smile formed on both of their faces before they snuck back out and went their separate ways.

the next day rolled around and y/n was heading to class where she met up with winter. “so how was it?” winter asked, and y/n furrowed her brows. “how was what?” she asked and winter laughed.

“how was it when you sucked his dick?” she joked, causing y/n to freeze. how did she know? did someone see us? she thought. winter nudged her friend. “i’m just joking god. i know nothing happened. you don’t have it in you to do something of that nature,” winter assured her, causing her to relax again. she didn’t know after all. y/n laughed, “i don’t think i could ever do anything like that,” she lied.

their conversation was cut short upon professor heeseung entering the class room. “good morning everyone!” he greeted, and most of them greeted back. him and y/n locked eyes momentarily, causing her to blush and look away before he began today’s lesson.

winter grew a little suspicious of that little encounter but said nothing.

if only she knew what was to come in the near future.

THE END!!

#enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #heeseung imagines #enhypen angst #enhypen x y/n #heeseung angst #enhypen imagines #heeseung enhypen #heeseung x reader #heeseung x you #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen smut #smut #professor x student

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lovelytsunoda · 2 days ago

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club tropicana | lando norris

summary: on an all inclusive holiday in ibiza, y/n finds herself falling head over feet for the charming british barman

pairing: bartender!lando norris x female! reader

warnings: reader has some crappy former friends, please do not get into a car with a barman at a shitty three star spanish resort (lowkey inspired by my 'benidorm' rewatch), cameos from carlos and fernando, im so sorry that this took me literally a month and a half to write.

club tropicana drinks are free / fun and sunshine, its enough for everyone all that's missing is the sea / but don't you worry, you can suntan

the sun beat down on the resort-goers, reflecting off the chlorinated water in the swimming pool. sunbeds were arranged around the large body of water. swimmers in the pool sat on mosaic stools underwater to order drinks at the swim up bar.

she was supposed to be on this trip with her friends. well, some friends they were. ending a friendship over text with about six weeks left in her second-to-last university semester before graduation.

and so she had gone alone, to the most affordable three-and-a-half star resort in ibiza. truth be told, she hadn't wanted to go to the party island in the first place. if she didn't leave the resort, it wouldn't even matter.

bookmarking her page, she sat her copy of dark sacred night down on the sunbed and strode towards the pool. the pool was crowded, but the swim-up seats at the bar were, unfortunately, the easiest way to get a drink at the resort.

she took a deep breath and ducked below the water, swimming over to where the bar was. she liked being underwater. all her senses were dulled, and the noise of the real world seemed to fade away.

"one vodka orange, please." her voice was quieter than intended when she sat down at the bar, and for a moment she worried that the barman couldn't hear her.

"coming right up, love." the barman was british, with a mop of curly hair and a pale yellow resort shirt that had the name 'lando' embroidered over the heart. he winked at her as he got the vodka down from a shelf behind the bar and began to mix her drink.

lando wasn't oblivious to the understated beauty of the girl in front of him, water running down her soft skin and dipping into the curve between her breasts. her wide, gentle eyes. the way the orange fabric of her swimsuit hugged her curves.

she was wearing a one-piece, a rarity in ibiza.

"so," he asks, setting the drink down in front of her. "what brings you to spain"?

he always asks, even if he doesn't care. but one thing he's noticed since he started working behind the bar is that everybody has something to say, and sometimes they just need a stranger to say it too.

kind of like the characters in that old billy joel song, the one about the piano and the man at the bar making love to his tonic and gin.

and she doesn't know what it is about lando that put her so at ease, but suddenly shes talking and talking and can't make it stop and now he knows all about the three years of friendships she forged at university and how all she had to show for it were two refunded ryanair flights and a text message saying that they 'needed space' and 'our friendship will not be continuing at this time' with no explanation of what she had done to push them away in the first place.

funny that.

"does that sound ridiculous?" she cringed. "it sounds really silly now that i've said it out loud."

"people come to ibiza for dumber reasons. i worked in benidorm for two years, and you should see the train wrecks that come through there." lando laughed, leaning against the tiled bar. "you're better off without them, if you ask me. they sound very catty."

"catty is saying it nicely." she laughed along, sipping her vodka orange.

talking with lando was easy. more so, it seemed like he genuinely cared, and that he wanted to listen. it had been a long time since she had felt like anyone wanted to listen to her. even still, the voices in her head were getting harsher and harsher.

"what are your plans for later?" lando asked, head cocked to the side. "i've got this friend, he owns a party boat company."

"lando, i'm not getting on a spanish party boat with a man i hardly know." she cringed, stomach flip-flopping. had she gotten the total wrong idea about him? he seemed like the kind of guy who would know just about everybody in ibiza, and probably half of benidorm as well. "does anything that i've just told you make you think that i would literally at all be interested?

lando raised his eyebrows. "you didn't let me finish, love. he also does nighttime stargazing tours. that far out on the water, there's nothing in the way of you, the sky and the stars. i thought that was much more up your alley. i could take you tonight if you wanted to."

she felt a pit in her stomach and cursed herself for jumping to conclusions. for a moment, the barman had looked genuinely hurt, right now, though, he looked at her with puppy-dog eyes, and expression that inevitably made her cave.

after all, she was on vacation.

and here she was, waiting in the lobby of the hotel in a low cut black halter dress. she'd done her makeup, which was a rarity. she was tempted to turn her location tracker on, but wondered who she would share it with. she could always tell the woman working reception to call her at a set time, and then the police if she didn't answer, she supposed.

lando pulled up outside in a little fiat 500, looking dapper in a collared shirt. his hair was visibly caked in gel, and he smelled like expensive cologne.

far more expensive than a barman should have been able to afford.

"are you ready for the night of your life, milady?"

she fought the blush, looking at his extended arm. no doubt he wanted her to link her arm through his. and they said that romance was dead.

"take it away, bartender."

the fiat should have felt cramped, but instead felt cozy. spanish synthpop music played on the radio, something uplifting and calming as lando drove through the cobbled ibiza streets. she looked out the window in wonder, eyes wide as the city nightlife passed them by.

all too soon, they had arrived at the dock, and lando was speaking rapid-fire spanish to another man who was leaning through the window. they laughed, and the spaniard clapped lando on the shoulder before taking a small handful of bills from him.

the barman stepped out of the fiat, crossing around the car to open her door and help her out of the little hatchback car.

"your carriage awaits." he grinned, cocking his head in the direction of the boat. "come on, i got us the best seats."

on the boat, an older dj was playing a wham! record, 'club tropicana' blaring out over the sound system.

"when does the bar open?" she asked quietly. "i'm craving something."

"in about twenty minutes, as soon as we leave port." lando replied, resting his hands on her waist. "in the meantime, can i tempt you to a dance?"

ah, why the hell not?

"hey, fernando," lando started before rattling off something in spanish. the dj nodded once before changing the record on his turntable.

spanish synthpop.

lando took her hands in his, pulling her closer for a spirited dance, his hips swinging back and forth with abandon. she fought the urge to burst out laughing as she let him pull her close. the sun was dipping low over the horizon, and down at the dock the deckhands were getting ready to leave port.

but with lando's hands burning into her skin as he lead her in something that might have vaguely resembled the tango, she had forgotten all about the fact that she was on a stargazing cruise, not a latin dance boat.

she only realized the song was over when the audience that had gathered around her and lando had started to clap. red faced and blushing, she dropped lando's hands and shyly pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"i think im ready for that drink now."

lando beamed, resting his hand in the small of her back. "of course, sweetheart. vodka orange?"

"you know me so well."

lando effortlessly slid behind the bar, hands flying as he grabbed glasses and bottles and shakers. she leaned against the bar, chin in her hand as she watched him work, muscles rippling in his forearms underneath the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt.

he winked at her as he passed her the glass. by now, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, and if one craned their neck up, they would be able to see a glimmering landscape of stars, uninterrupted by the muted lights on the boat.

lando came to stand behind her, his hands resting on her waist, protectively holding her body to his.

"so, be honest, this just made your trip a whole lot better, didn't it?"

despite herself, she laughed, relaxing into his touch. "yeah, it really did. thank you, lando."

"wait," he started, hand moving to her chin. "my job isn't quite done yet."

"what are you-"

she didn't get a chance to finish as the barman touched his lips to hers. they were soft. way softer than any barman's lips should be, well taken care of like the rest of the brit in front of her. she fell, no, tumbled into the kiss, feeling herself falling faster with every second that they spent lip-locked.

and she knew that there was no way that barman wasn't coming home with her. who needs return flights anyways? maybe she could just stay in ibiza and snog him for the rest of her her working life.

for now, though, she'd just settle with getting him into her hotel room.

#lando norris x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you

178 notes · View notes

sincerelybubbles · 1 day ago

Note

first time shy bay reader takes down a unsub like fighting wise and the team is all like that tiny soft thing just did that

soft hands, strong heart warnings: cannon-typical violence, child kidnapping, happy ending!!! paring: hotch x shy!reader wc: 6.9k

I really took this and RAN I hope u enjoy despite how long it took to finish <3

||||

It's been a long day. You woke up late after a night of restless sleep, already cranky, only to take the jet to help with a child kidnapping.

The jet hums low beneath your feet, a steady, thrumming vibration that does little to soothe the exhaustion creeping up your spine. Your fingers tighten around the file in your lap, eyes scanning over the unsub’s profile again and again, as if some new revelation might emerge if you look hard enough.

The case is grim. They always are, but something about children going missing twists a deeper, more painful knot in your stomach. A six-year-old girl, last seen playing in her own backyard before vanishing without a trace. The parents had been inside, only distracted for a few minutes. Just long enough.

Just long enough.

You shift in your seat, forcing yourself to unclench your jaw. Across from you, Spencer mumbles statistics about abduction timelines, but his voice fades into the background, white noise alongside the engine. Morgan and JJ are discussing the search grid, Emily nodding along, throwing in suggestions. Rossi and Hotch are quiet, deep in thought, but you can feel the weight of their presence.

You’re normally content to listen, to observe, but something sits uneasily in your chest. The tiredness, the frustration, the sheer helplessness that simmers every time a child is taken. You want to do something.

"Landing in twenty," the pilot calls back.

You swallow, fingers tightening around the case file one last time before closing it. Twenty minutes until you hit the ground running. Twenty minutes until you find the first real clue.

Twenty minutes until you bring her home.

As soon as the wheels touch down, the tension in your chest tightens like a coil, winding and waiting. You barely notice the shuffle of your teammates gathering their things, their quiet discussions about strategy and protocol. Your mind is elsewhere—on the little girl’s photo still burned into the back of your eyelids, on the parents who must be unraveling with fear, on the horrifying reality that she could already be lost.

You take a slow breath and try to shake the thought.

You’ve been doing this long enough to know that fear is useless if you let it swallow you whole. You need to focus. You need to trust the process.

The others move with ease, their routines carved into muscle memory. Morgan and Emily fall into step ahead, their hushed voices blending into the background noise. Reid flips through the file, lips moving soundlessly as he recites information under his breath. JJ is already on the phone, likely with the local PD, while Rossi speaks lowly with Hotch.

And then there’s you.

You feel the weight of your own presence—or lack thereof. You know you contribute, you know your skills are valuable, but you can’t shake the nagging feeling that you’re always just a few steps behind them. Not as seasoned as Rossi, not as commanding as Hotch, not as sharp as Spencer or as fearless as Morgan.

A breath. Then another.

You push forward, following them down the jet stairs into the thick summer heat. The moment the air hits you, heavy and humid, it cements something in your bones.

This isn’t about you.

It’s about the little girl who needs you to be better than your doubts.

You wipe your palms against your pants and fall in step beside Hotch, listening as he updates the team.

“The local PD has set up a command center near the family’s home,” he says, his voice steady, unshaken. “The father is cooperative. The mother is distraught, but JJ will work with her. We’ll split up—Reid, Morgan, and Emily will coordinate with local officers to rework the search grid. Rossi and I will speak to the parents.”

You wait, knowing your name is coming last.

Glancing down at you, Hotch says, “you’re with me.”

Something tightens in your chest. He doesn’t offer an explanation, but he doesn’t need to. You know he trusts you to handle difficult conversations, to read between the lines of grief and guilt.

You nod, and just like that, the team breaks apart, each of you moving toward the unknown.

You don’t know what’s waiting for you at that house.

But you know you’ll be ready.

||||

The car ride is quiet, the kind of silence that isn’t uncomfortable but sits thick between you and Hotch, filled with unspoken thoughts. The distant hum of the siren-free police escort ahead of you blends with the rhythmic tap of his fingers against the steering wheel—measured, thoughtful. You let the movement lull you for a moment, eyes blinking slowly as exhaustion presses against the backs of them.

He notices. Of course, he does.

“You didn’t sleep well last night,” he says, not a question, just a statement. His voice is softer than it was during the briefing, less BAU Unit Chief and more Aaron.

Your head tilts toward the window as if that will shield you from the knowing look you can feel on you. “I’m fine,” you say, though even to your own ears, it sounds weak.

Hotch doesn’t press immediately. He never does. Instead, he lets the silence stretch, lets the words settle between you before he tries again. “You’re running on empty.” His voice is even, but there’s a thread of concern woven through it.

You swallow, unsure of what to say. Because he’s right. You’re running on the fumes of caffeine and resolve, and you know better than anyone that’s not sustainable. But what else are you supposed to do? Sleep through the knowledge that a child is missing? That time is slipping through your fingers with every second you waste on rest?

“I can handle it,” you say, quieter this time, as if that will make it more true.

Hotch sighs, glancing at you briefly before returning his focus to the road. His jaw is set, but there’s no frustration in his expression—just understanding.

“I know you can,” he says, because he does. He’s seen you push through exhaustion before, seen you carry the weight of cases without breaking. But that doesn’t mean he likes watching you do it. “That doesn’t mean you should have to.”

His words settle somewhere deep, somewhere vulnerable you don’t often acknowledge. It’s been a long time since anyone has told you it’s okay to take a breath. That you don’t have to bear everything alone.

Hotch keeps his eyes on the road, but his voice drops just enough that it feels like a secret meant only for you. “You don’t have to be invincible.”

Something in your chest pulls tight at that. You open your mouth to respond, to deflect, but nothing comes out. Because what are you supposed to say? That you don’t know how to let your guard down? That you’re afraid if you stop moving, even for a second, the weight of everything will catch up to you?

You don’t have to say anything.

Hotch already knows.

Without a word, his hand drifts from the gear shift to rest gently on your knee—brief, grounding, a quiet reassurance before he returns it to the wheel. It’s nothing, and it’s everything.

You don’t thank him, but he doesn’t need you to.

You just sit in the quiet, and for the first time all day, you let yourself breathe.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy. You let yourself sink into it, into the warmth of the car, into the soft hum of the tires against pavement. But reality is cruel, unwilling to let you drift too far, and Hotch is still the one beside you—ever watchful, ever focused. He lets you rest, but only for so long.

“We’re working against the clock.” His voice slices through the quiet, steady but firm. “Every hour that passes, the chances of recovery drop. The parents received the ransom demand at six this morning, which means the kidnapper has been in control for over twelve hours now.”

You blink against the haze clinging to your mind, forcing yourself to straighten. The exhaustion dulls, edged out by the weight of the case settling back onto your shoulders. You know all of this. The case was laid out in agonizing detail back at Quantico, in the rushed debrief on the jet, but hearing it again—like this, in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, with Hotch’s voice carving it into your mind—it makes the pressure feel suffocating.

“The demand was for two hundred thousand,” you murmur, rubbing at your temple. “It’s not about the money.”

“No,” Hotch agrees. “If it were, the amount would be higher. The parents could afford more, and the unsub knows that.”

The word tastes bitter on your tongue before you even say it. “Control.”

Hotch nods, gaze fixed on the road ahead. “They’re enjoying this. They want to watch the parents suffer, to dangle the possibility of return in front of them just to pull it away.” His fingers flex against the wheel, and something flickers across his face—anger, maybe, or something darker. “They won’t give her back. Even if they get the money.”

You don’t respond immediately. You don’t have to. He’s right, and you both know it.

Your stomach twists.

A missing girl. Eight years old. Her favorite color is purple. She was last seen wearing her school uniform, a plaid skirt and white blouse, her hair tied into two braids with lavender ribbons. The ribbons feel like a knife in your ribs, something small and innocent and so utterly helpless.

You could still be too late.

The thought makes your pulse spike, your fingers curling against your thigh. Your mind is still slow from exhaustion, sluggish with the weight of too little sleep, but the dread cuts through it like a blade.

Hotch notices. Of course, he does.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “We still have time.”

You nod, but it feels hollow.

Time. Such a fickle, cruel thing. Time only matters if you can use it right.

Hotch exhales sharply through his nose, reading your silence for exactly what it is. He slows the car just slightly as the road curves, voice lowering even further. “We’re going to find her.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, just for a second. The words are meant to reassure, and maybe they do. Maybe they don’t. But he says them with certainty, and right now, that’s enough to cling to.

The tension is suffocating, coiling tight in the space between you. The lull in the conversation feels fragile, like it could shatter at any moment. You shift in your seat, trying to shake the haze from your mind, trying to prepare yourself for whatever comes next.

The case isn’t going to get easier.

And neither of you have the luxury of slowing down.

||||

Another hour passes. Time ticks, a constant reminder, and the team gathers together near the parents after yours and Hotch's initial interview.

The house feels hollow.

It’s not empty—far from it. The parents sit on the couch, pressed together like they’re trying to hold each other up, faces drawn and pale. Rossi and Prentiss hover near the windows, speaking in hushed tones as they wait for Garcia to dig up more on the family’s history. Reid sifts through financial records at the dining table, eyes flicking between printed bank statements and his own notes.

And then there’s Hotch.

He stands near the fireplace, arms crossed, brow furrowed in that way that means he’s thinking—assessing, planning, pulling every thread of the case into something solid. You’re beside him, posture tense, exhaustion settled deep into your bones. The interview had been long, draining. Watching the parents crumble under the weight of their own grief, their own fear, had been like standing in the center of an emotional storm with nowhere to go.

You haven’t spoken in a while. Not since you wrapped up the last of your questions and let the silence stretch, heavy with unsaid things.

The mother sniffles, curling further into herself. Her hands tremble where they clutch a framed photo of her daughter, fingers ghosting over the glass. “She—she’s afraid of the dark,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “She can’t sleep without her nightlight.”

You swallow past the lump forming in your throat.

The father rubs a hand over his face, drawing in a shuddering breath. “You’ll find her,” he says, more to himself than to any of you. “You have to.”

Before anyone can respond, the phone rings.

The room freezes.

For half a second, no one moves. The shrill sound cuts through the air, deafening, slicing through the fragile quiet with cruel precision. The mother gasps, clutching the picture frame tighter, and the father lurches forward like he might reach for the phone himself.

Hotch reacts first.

He turns to you, gaze sharp, controlled. “Answer it.”

Your heart lurches.

There’s no time to hesitate. You push forward, crossing the room in three quick strides, and lift the receiver before the call can go to voicemail.

“Hello?”

A low chuckle hums through the line. Slow. Calculated. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“You picked up,” the voice drawls, smooth as glass. “I was hoping you would.”

The breath you take is slow, measured. You adjust your grip on the receiver, grounding yourself in the weight of it.

“You were hoping I would,” you repeat, voice steady, even. There’s a slight edge to it now, a sharpness lurking beneath the surface. “That’s an interesting way to phrase it.”

Another chuckle, this one richer, like he’s savoring something. “You don’t sound like her mother.”

Your eyes flick toward the woman on the couch, shoulders shaking, husband gripping her hand in a white-knuckled hold.

“I’m not.”

“Hm. And here I was expecting tears. Begging.” A pause, deliberate. “Disappointment doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

You don’t react. You won’t give him that satisfaction.

Instead, you tilt your head slightly, mind working, peeling apart every word he says. He wanted the mother to answer. He wanted the display of fear, the helplessness. This is about control, about knowing he has the upper hand—not just over the little girl he stole, but over her parents, too.

But he didn’t get what he wanted. And that alone is a crack you can widen.

You exhale, slow, and when you speak, you lace your tone with something just shy of boredom. “Did you take her for attention?”

Silence. Then, “Excuse me?”

You lean against the desk, crossing one arm over your stomach, settling deeper into your stance. Your exhaustion fades, burned away by adrenaline, by the sharpness of your mind locking into place.

“I mean, the whole charade. Calling the parents, expecting tears—seems like you’re looking for something. Maybe validation? You want to feel powerful?” You hum, tapping your fingers against your arm. “Let me guess—you don’t get that very often.”

His breath sharpens.

You hit a nerve.

Good.

“I wouldn’t be so arrogant if I were you.” His voice darkens, but there’s something underneath it. Something unsettled. “You don’t know who you’re talking to.”

You let a beat of silence pass before responding, voice smooth. “You’re right. But I will.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. You imagine him, wherever he is, gripping the phone tighter, jaw clenching.

“You’re not as quiet as you think,” you continue, calm, firm. “Not as untouchable. You think you’re in control, but I promise you, this won’t end the way you expect it to.”

His breath catches, just barely.

He wasn’t expecting this.

You glance up. Hotch is watching you, unreadable, but there’s something behind his gaze—something steady, unwavering. Approval, maybe. A flicker of admiration.

The unsub exhales, long and slow, like he’s resetting himself. “I have to say,” he murmurs, voice smoother now, masking whatever crack you created. “You’re much more interesting than the mother. I might just keep you around.”

Your grip tightens slightly, but you don’t flinch.

Instead, you smile.

“Good,” you say, letting just a hint of a challenge seep in. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Silence stretches across the line, taut and expectant.

The unsub is recalibrating. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head, the way his initial fantasy—the one where he controlled every step of this conversation—has been thrown off course. He thought he’d be speaking to a broken woman, pleading and desperate. Instead, he’s getting you.

And you aren’t playing his game.

You hold steady, spine straight, fingers firm around the receiver. The air in the room feels thick, but your mind is sharp. Clear.

He exhales through his nose, an amused scoff. “You sound so sure of yourself.”

“I am.” The words slip out smoothly, unshaken.

A beat of silence. Then—

“That little girl is very polite,” he muses, shifting tactics. “Very quiet. She doesn’t cry as much as I expected.”

A test. A provocation.

Your stomach twists, but you don’t let it show.

Instead, you adjust your grip, tilting your head as if in casual conversation. “She’s smart, isn’t she?”

The unsub doesn’t answer right away.

“You wouldn’t know, would you?” you press, keeping your tone even, thoughtful. “Because you don’t really see her. She’s just an idea to you—a piece in your game. But she’s real. And she’s waiting for us to find her.”

His breath hitches—just for a fraction of a second, but you catch it.

He wasn’t expecting that.

“You like control,” you continue, relentless now, peeling back his layers with careful precision. “That’s why you called. You wanted to hear her mother break. But instead, you’re stuck with me. And the longer you stay on the phone, the more you’re giving me. I wonder if you’ve even noticed.”

A sharp inhale. You struck something deep this time.

“You think you’re clever,” he sneers, but there’s a shift in his voice—tension creeping in, subtle but unmistakable.

“I think you’re predictable.”

Silence.

It stretches so long, you think for a moment he might hang up.

Then, quietly, “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

You press forward, voice steady, unwavering. “I know exactly what you’re capable of. And I also know this: you wouldn’t be calling if you didn’t want something.”

Another pause.

Then, softer, a low murmur, almost amused—almost admiring:

“I like you.”

Your pulse spikes, but you don’t let it show.

You force yourself to breathe slowly, evenly, like this is nothing more than an ordinary conversation. “Good,” you say simply. “Then maybe we can work something out.”

Another stretch of silence. Then:

“We’ll see.”

The line goes dead.

You lower the receiver slowly, pulse thrumming, the weight of what just happened settling over you like a heavy blanket.

“Garcia,” Hotch says immediately, voice cutting through the tense air as he brings his own phone to his ear.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m working on it!” Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker, high with urgency. “He’s using a burner—signal’s bouncing between towers. I’m trying to pin it down, but he’s slippery. Give me a sec.”

You exhale, pressing the phone to your sternum for a moment before setting it back on the receiver. The pressure of all the eyes in the room—Hotch’s, Morgan’s, Spencer’s—is suffocating. The energy, once hot and commanding while you had control of the conversation, shifts violently back to its usual state. Your shoulders curl inward before you even realize it, fingers fidgeting at the hem of your sleeve.

Morgan’s voice breaks through the thick tension first. “That was impressive, tiny.” His words are teasing, but his eyes are serious, scanning you in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

You duck your head slightly, heat creeping up your neck. “It—It’s just the work.”

“She did well,” Hotch interjects, voice firm but calm, cutting off any further attention on you. There’s something final in the way he says it, like it’s not up for discussion. It settles something in your chest, just a little.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope it’s enough to find this guy,” Morgan mutters, hands settling on his hips as he shifts his focus back to Garcia. “Talk to me, baby girl. Tell me you got something.”

Garcia hums in frustration. “I’m working on it. He’s bouncing his signal like a kid on a trampoline. But, but, but—” she draws out, voice lilting, “he stayed on the line longer than last time. Which means he’s getting comfortable, which means he’ll do it again. And when he does…”

“We’ll be ready,” Hotch finishes, nodding.

Spencer, who’s been pacing subtly behind you, suddenly speaks up. “Did you hear the background noise?” He’s staring into the distance, gears turning, hand twitching slightly as he sorts through information at breakneck speed.

Morgan frowns. “What background noise?”

“There was a faint echo—small, but noticeable. It suggests he’s in a space with a lot of reflective surfaces. Could be a warehouse, a basement, maybe an abandoned building.”

“That narrows it down to about a hundred places,” Morgan replies dryly, crossing his arms.

“It’s something,” Spencer counters. “And if Garcia can get a radius from the signal—”

“Which I’m trying to do, but some of us aren’t literal human computers, Doctor Genius,” Garcia cuts in, voice full of affection despite the bite.

“We need him to call again,” Hotch says, shifting his attention back to the phone, back to you. “And when he does, we keep him talking even longer.”

You nod instinctively, but the weight of what just happened presses down harder now that the adrenaline is ebbing. You shrink back slightly, fingers twisting together, stepping just an inch closer to Hotch as the room moves around you.

On the other side of the room, Emily sits with the parents, her voice a steady murmur as she soothes the mother, who is shaking, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“We’re going to find her,” Emily tells her, voice sure, unwavering. “I know this is unbearable. But your daughter is smart. And she’s strong. We will bring her home.”

The mother nods, but she’s glassy-eyed, staring past Emily as though seeing something far away. The father is stock still, hands fisted on his knees, jaw clenched so tight it looks painful.

The weight in the room is thick, suffocating.

Hotch glances at you, just briefly. His hand lifts for half a second—like he might touch your shoulder, reassure you—but he stops himself. Instead, he steps just the smallest bit closer. You feel the warmth of him beside you, steady, grounding.

The phone is going to ring again.

And when it does, you’ll be ready.

||||

The hours bleed together, each one a tightening noose around the room.

It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since the girl was taken.

The parents sit stiffly on the couch, eyes hollowed by exhaustion and fear. The mother hasn’t moved from her spot in hours, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she’s holding herself together by sheer will. The father stares at the wall, jaw clenched, the muscle twitching every so often.

The team is quiet. Not still, not stagnant—but quiet.

Morgan paces, jaw tight, his fingers twitching at his sides. Spencer has a legal pad in his lap, the pages covered in scribbled notes and probabilities, but his pen has stilled. Emily leans against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room, though there’s no real focus behind them. Garcia is still working, rapid keystrokes and occasional murmurs filtering through the speaker on the table, but even she sounds subdued.

And Hotch.

Hotch stands near the window, arms crossed, staring out at the darkened street. He’s gone still in a way that unsettles you—like a coiled wire, all wound tension and too-sharp focus.

You sit on the edge of the armchair, hands folded in your lap, fingers pressing tightly together. You feel small, not in the way you usually do—but in the way that makes your chest ache, in the way that reminds you how big the world is, how cruel.

Because the clock is running out.

You know the statistics.

If a child isn’t found within the first twenty-four hours, the likelihood of their survival plummets.

And you know everyone in this room knows it, too.

The air is thick with it, with the unspoken, with the weight of reality pressing in around you.

And then—

The phone rings.

The sound shatters the heavy silence, sharp and shrill. The mother gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. The father lurches forward as if he might grab it himself, but Hotch is already moving.

He snatches the receiver up, pressing it to his ear. “This is Agent Hotchner.”

A pause. His expression hardens.

He turns, holding the phone out to you.

Your stomach lurches, but you don’t hesitate. You push to your feet, moving on autopilot, reaching out and taking the phone, pressing it against your ear.

“Hello?” Your voice is steady. Quiet.

And on the other end of the line—

A slow, ragged breath.

Then—

Laughter. Low. Amused.

“You again.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Me again.”

You grip the phone a little tighter, forcing yourself to stay steady. Every second that ticks by is precious—Garcia needs time to trace the call, and you need to pull as much information from him as possible.

The unsub breathes out another quiet laugh, like this is some kind of game.

“You’ve got a nice voice,” he muses, casual, unaffected. “Soft. Sweet. Not like the others.”

A muscle in your jaw ticks. You don’t react—don’t let him hear the revulsion curling in your stomach. That’s what he wants. A reaction. Control.

Instead, you let out a small, careful breath. “And what about her?” you ask, voice even. “Is she sweet, too?”

From behind the phone, Hotch shifts. You don’t look at him, but you can feel the weight of his gaze, hear the near-silent hum of approval at your angle. Keep him talking. Make it about the victim.

The unsub inhales sharply through his nose.

“She cries too much,” he mutters, tone shifting. “Won’t stop. Won’t listen.”

Your fingers press tighter around the receiver. You push past the disgust, past the flare of anger clawing at your ribs. You don’t have the luxury of emotion right now.

“You don’t like that,” you say carefully. “You just want her to listen.”

Hotch nods once, subtle. Encouraging.

The unsub exhales, slow, considering. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Exactly.”

You risk a glance at Hotch. He holds your gaze, then mouths, Location. Push him on location.

You take a breath, then lean forward slightly, as if it will somehow ground you. “She can’t listen if she’s scared,” you say, keeping your tone gentle. “She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know what you want from her.”

Silence.

Your pulse hammers in your ears.

“You don’t want to hurt her,” you press, voice just a little softer now. “If you did, you would’ve done it already.”

Hotch’s gaze sharpens.

The unsub hums. “Maybe I just like having someone who listens.”

Your stomach turns.

Morgan paces a few feet away, tense and impatient, but Spencer is watching you closely now, eyes narrowed in thought.

Behind you, Garcia’s voice comes through the speaker, urgent but quiet. “Almost there,” she murmurs.

You grip the phone a little tighter.

“You don’t have to be alone,” you say, and you mean it in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. “But you know this isn’t the way to fix that.”

Another long beat of silence.

Then—

“She’s quiet now,” he says, almost proud. “She finally stopped crying.”

Something in your chest goes cold.

Hotch steps forward, just a fraction, voice low as he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, “Ask him why.”

Your fingers twitch. You swallow once, pushing past the ice curling around your lungs.

“What changed?” you ask, keeping your voice even. “Why is she quiet now?”

The unsub sighs, almost dreamily.

“I helped her,” he murmurs. “I made it better.”

A sharp knock of dread slams into your ribs.

And then—Garcia’s voice, suddenly louder, urgent—

“I’ve got him.”

Chaos erupts around you the moment Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker. The team is in motion—Morgan’s already halfway to the door, Spencer on his heels. Emily gives the parents one last firm reassurance before following.

Hotch doesn’t move. He stays close, his presence steady as a hand at the small of your back, silent but solid.

But you barely register any of it.

Your fingers tighten around the phone, knuckles aching.

“What do you mean, you helped her?” Your voice wavers, but you push forward, desperate. “Is she hurt?”

The unsub sighs again, like this is some slow, indulgent conversation instead of a nightmare. “You don’t listen very well,” he says, almost amused. “She was crying. I helped her stop.”

A cold dread drips down your spine, settling like lead in your stomach. Your breath hitches, throat tightening around panic.

Hotch takes a step closer, so near now that you can feel the quiet warmth of him, grounding. “Keep him talking,” he says, low and measured, though there’s an edge beneath it. “We’re almost there.”

Your pulse thrums loud in your ears, but you swallow, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Tell me how,” you say.

The unsub exhales, as if indulging you.

“I held her,” he murmurs. “Just for a little while. Let her cry it out. You’d be surprised how quickly they go quiet when they feel safe.”

Something about the way he says it—the ease, the fondness—makes your stomach churn.

“She’s safe, then?” you push, voice thin. “She’s still with you?”

A pause.

Then, the unsub chuckles. “Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

Your fingers tighten so hard against the receiver that they hurt.

Hotch is still watching you, reading every minute shift in your expression, every small tremor in your voice. His gaze sharpens, but he nods. Keep going.

“I just need to know,” you whisper. “If she’s okay.”

The unsub hums, something almost pleased threading through the sound. “I think you care too much.”

Maybe you do. Maybe you always have.

But you don’t say that.

Instead, you inhale, slow and shaky, and push out, “I just want to make sure she’s not alone.”

Another pause.

And then—soft, quiet—

“She’s sleeping now.”

The exhale you let out is almost staggering.

Your eyes squeeze shut for half a second, shoulders sagging just slightly.

Hotch watches the tension shift in you, something unreadable flickering through his expression before his voice cuts through the receiver, low and firm. “We’re on our way.”

And for the first time, the unsub hesitates.

You hear it in the way his breath catches, in the faintest rustle of movement.

Hotch tilts his head, eyes locked onto yours as he mouths, Now.

You straighten.

“You don’t want this to end badly,” you say, and this time, there’s no fear in your voice, no desperation—just quiet, steady certainty.

“You want her safe,” you continue. “You want to be heard. And I hear you. But if you don’t let us help, if you don’t let her go—” Your voice lowers, soft but firm. “This won’t end the way you want it to.”

The unsub doesn’t respond right away.

For the first time, you think he might actually be listening.

The unsub doesn’t say another word.

The silence stretches too long, each second stretching, coiling like a wire pulled too tight.

Then—click.

The line goes dead.

You barely register the sharp breath you pull in.

Hotch doesn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.”

You don’t even realize you’re shaking until the phone slips from your hand, caught swiftly by Hotch before it can hit the ground. He presses it into your palm, fingers briefly covering yours, grounding you.

The moment breaks as he turns, striding toward the door. You force yourself to follow, feet moving before your brain fully catches up.

The house blurs past you in streaks of warm light and worried whispers—Emily’s voice soft as she steadies the mother, Spencer murmuring something to Garcia through his headset. Morgan is already outside, loading his gun.

You climb into the passenger seat of Hotch’s SUV, heart pounding too fast, too hard. The door slams shut, and then—motion.

The car surges forward.

The headlights cut through the darkness, the road a rushing streak of black and gold. Streetlights blur past. You grip the edge of your seat to stop your hands from trembling.

Hotch doesn’t speak right away, but you feel his eyes flicker toward you between glances at the road.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You swallow hard, nodding. “Yeah.” It’s not a lie. Not really.

Because you don’t have time to think about how your hands won’t stop shaking, how the adrenaline crashes over you in dizzying waves, because none of it matters—not when a little girl is out there, waiting.

Not when you’re this close.

Hotch presses down on the gas, jaw set, gaze fixed ahead.

Neither of you say another word.

Not when you’re this close.

The SUV screeches to a halt behind the others, tires kicking up dust from the abandoned lot. Before Hotch even shifts into park, you’re unbuckling, reaching for your gun, muscles tensed and ready. The second your feet hit the ground, the cold night air burns in your lungs, but you don’t stop moving.

The unsub’s hideout looms ahead—an old auto body shop, rusted-out cars littering the perimeter like grave markers.

Morgan and JJ are already at the front, weapons drawn, pressing against the wall beside the garage door. Spencer lingers near the back with Garcia still in his ear, voice clipped and urgent. Emily signals you and Hotch over with a sharp tilt of her head.

“He’s inside,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper. “Garcia got a hit on the utility bill—only one active line. Place is condemned, but someone’s been paying to keep the power running.”

Hotch nods, eyes scanning the structure, piecing together the fastest way in, the safest route to the girl. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he speaks.

“Morgan, take the east side with Prentiss. JJ, cover the back with Reid.” His gaze cuts to you, unreadable in the dim light. “We take the front.”

Your fingers tighten around your gun. He doesn’t ask if you’re ready. He just knows.

You nod.

Morgan counts down on his fingers—three, two, one—

JJ and Reid disappear around the back. Morgan and Emily dart right.

Then—Hotch moves.

And you follow.

The door groans as he forces it open, but you barely register the sound before you’re inside. The air is thick with oil and rust, the scent clinging to the back of your throat. Somewhere deeper in the shop, a light swings, casting sharp shadows over the scattered tools and overturned furniture.

Then—movement.

A door slams. Footsteps, hurried.

Hotch is already moving toward the sound, gun raised. You cover his six, every nerve in your body firing at once. The walls are too close, the ceiling too low.

Then—a scream.

High. Frantic. Small.

You don’t think.

You move.

Hotch shouts your name, but you’re already sprinting, rounding the corner just as a metal door swings open. A blur of movement—a man, dragging the little girl with him, his grip bruising around her arm. She’s sobbing, twisting, trying to fight him off.

Rage lights through you like a match dropped in gasoline.

You raise your gun. “FBI! Let her go!”

The unsub whirls, yanking the girl in front of him like a human shield. “Stay back!” he barks, voice wild, desperate. His other hand dives for his belt—

A knife.

Your heartbeat slams against your ribs.

You don’t give yourself time to think.

You move.

Your gun lowers.

Your feet propel you forward.

The unsub barely has time to register the shift before you’re on him.

You grab his wrist, twisting hard—he yells, grip loosening just enough for the girl to stumble free. Hotch is there in an instant, scooping her up, shielding her behind him.

The unsub snarls, wrenching his arm free, his other hand swinging with the blade—

You duck.

Pivot.

Your elbow slams into his ribs. He grunts, staggering, but he’s fast. He twists, knife flashing—

A sharp sting.

Pain lances across your shoulder.

You hiss, but don’t falter.

Instead, you use it.

You let him think he has the upper hand. Let him shift his weight just enough—

Then—

You strike.

Your knee slams into his stomach. He doubles over—another sharp twist, and his arm is wrenched behind his back. The knife clatters to the floor.

A second later, his body follows.

You plant a knee between his shoulder blades, chest heaving, wrist cuffs already in your hands.

He thrashes beneath you, but it’s useless. He’s done.

The adrenaline fades in sharp, ringing waves.

Then—Hotch’s voice, steady, sure.

“You okay?”

You finally look up.

The girl is clinging to him, small fingers curled tight into his shirt. Her eyes, red-rimmed and wide, lock onto yours.

You manage a nod. “Yeah.”

And for the first time in hours—maybe in days—

You believe it.

The ringing in your ears fades, replaced by the sharp sound of the unsub’s heavy breathing beneath you. His fight is gone, limbs slack against the cold concrete. You barely feel the sting in your shoulder now, too focused on the small, trembling girl clinging to Hotch’s side.

Her sobs have quieted, but her little body is still wracked with tiny, shuddering breaths. Her fingers stay twisted in the fabric of Hotch’s suit, white-knuckled, like if she lets go, she might disappear all over again.

You move before you can think, hands still shaking as you lift yourself off the unsub.

“Hey, sweetheart,” your voice is softer than you expect, almost drowned out by the distant sound of sirens. “You’re safe now.”

She blinks up at you, eyes glossy, bottom lip wobbling. The fear is still there, lingering, stitched into every muscle of her small frame. She doesn’t let go of Hotch, but she looks at you, really looks at you, as if trying to figure out whether she can believe you.

Hotch murmurs something low and reassuring, and after a few more rapid breaths, she hesitates—then releases his jacket, reaching for you instead.

The shift is instant. Your arms wrap around her tiny frame, her warmth pressing into you, her face burying into your shoulder. She still smells like the remnants of whatever cheap detergent clings to her pajamas, mixed with the salty traces of tears.

“You did so good,” you whisper, rubbing slow, gentle circles along her back. “You were so brave.”

Her small hands fist into the fabric of your shirt. You feel her exhale, a long, shaky breath against your collarbone. She’s exhausted, clinging to the safety of your arms like a lifeline.

Hotch’s presence lingers beside you, solid and steady. His hand brushes light against your back, grounding, a quiet reassurance that you did well, that she’s okay.

That you’re okay.

The sirens grow louder. But for now, you just hold her, murmuring soft reassurances into her hair, letting her feel safe, letting her know she’s not alone.

And as she finally relaxes, small body growing heavier with exhaustion, you know—

She believes you.

||||

The jet hums softly beneath you, a low, steady vibration that should lull you into sleep, but adrenaline still lingers in your veins. The weight of exhaustion is creeping in, though, settling in your limbs, making your muscles ache in a way that’s oddly satisfying.

Across from you, Morgan is still shaking his head, his arms crossed over his chest. “Nah, nah, nah. There’s no way. You’re messing with me.”

Emily grins, elbowing him in the ribs. “Oh, it happened. I was there. It was beautiful.”

Morgan points at you, eyes squinting in suspicion. “I need a play-by-play. Right now.”

You shift uncomfortably, glancing at the others for help, but Spencer—Spencer of all people—looks offended.

“You took him down physically?” His brows are furrowed, arms crossed, and it’s the closest you’ve ever seen him to pouting. "I thought you me and Garcia were together as physical-dodgers."

“I—” You open your mouth to remind him of the plenty of times he's gotten into fights with unsubs, but Emily cuts you off.

“She did it so smoothly,” she says, eyes practically sparkling with pride. “Just wham, and he was down.” She claps her hands together for emphasis, making Morgan flinch.

Rossi chuckles, sipping from his ever-present glass of scotch. “Kid, I gotta say, I didn’t think you had it in you.” His tone is warm, amused—proud. “That was some impressive work.”

Morgan groans dramatically, shaking his head again. “Man, I thought you didn’t even work out.”

You blink at him. “I—I do.”

He throws his hands up. “Since when?”

“I don’t know?” You shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “Always?”

Hotch hasn’t said much, but you can feel his gaze, steady and unreadable, watching the conversation unfold. When you risk a glance at him, his expression softens just enough for you to catch it—the quiet admiration, the almost-smile playing at the corner of his lips.

He’s proud.

That thought alone sends warmth creeping up your neck.

Morgan groans again, dragging a hand down his face. “This is ridiculous. I need to reevaluate everything I know about you.”

Emily leans back, smug. “Should we start placing bets on who she’s gonna take down next?”

Spencer mutters something about unfair advantages, and Rossi laughs into his drink. The conversation shifts, the teasing continues, and even as your body finally starts to relax, letting the exhaustion settle in, you can’t help but steal another glance at Hotch.

His eyes meet yours, and for just a second, there’s something unspoken between you. Something warm, something steady. Something good.

You look away before you can dwell on it, but the feeling lingers, settling somewhere deep in your chest.

Home.

#bubbs.writes #x reader #fluff #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #hotchner x reader #hotchner x you #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch #hotchner #hotchner x shy!reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #ssa aaron hotchner #Aaron hotchner x shy!reader

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ladsheadcanoncorner · 2 days ago

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asking you to be their valentine ♡ lads headcanons

prompt: how the boys will ask you to be their valentine rating: sfw (tooth rotting fluff tbh) cw: eating + mentions of food ✉︎♡: ask box open, tumblr users + anons

Xavier: -In the days leading up to Valentine’s, you haven’t heard from Xavier as much as you normally do -This is because he’s busy grinding at the arcade for the huge plushie you had your eye on last time you went together -He’s good at games and has quick reflexes, but it is like the arcade made this one impossible to win -After many grueling attempts, he finally wins and gets to take it home, just in time to ask you to be his Valentine -He knocks on your door randomly one night, and when you look through the peephole, all you see is a massive bunny plush waving at you -I’m talking as big as you massive -You open the door and Xavier pops out from behind the plushie -Xavier: “I worked really hard for this one, but it was worth it because it’s just as cute as my Valentine.” Me: “Your Valentine, huh?” -The tips of Xavier’s ears pink and he says, “I mean, I was hoping you would be.” -You pull him and the plush bunny into your arms, kissing both on the cheek -The two of you spend the evening finding the perfect place for the plushie and giving it the perfect name

Zayne: -Zayne claims his sweet tooth has been acting up again while the two of you are casually strolling through town -You want to joke with him about the dangers of sugar, but his eyes light up when he sees a chocolate shop at the end of the street -He’s trying not to seem too eager, but he is practically pulling you inside the store -The shopkeep tells you that they are giving out samples for couples, and Zayne lets you go first to pick your favorite one -After you try a few flavors, Zayne says, “Well, is there one you liked best?” -Before you can answer, the shopkeep emerges from the back with a special chocolate in the shape of a heart -The shopkeep hands it to Zayne, and Zayne holds it up for you -You realize that there are words engraved on the chocolate heart that say, “My Valentine has my heart.” -Zayne: “Since you already have my heart, I guess that makes you my Valentine, too?” -Of course you say yes, clutching the chocolate to your chest and standing on your tiptoes to give Zayne a kiss -On the walk home, you decide to freeze it so that you can enjoy a piece of it on every Valentine’s Day to come

Rafayel: -Rafayel has been working on a custom art project for a “rare and special” customer -If you try to ask him about it, he’ll immediately get defensive and makes some variation of “an artist sometimes needs to work in peace” excuse every time -Eventually, you just let him do his thing and forget about it The day before Valentine’s Day, you’re walking along the shores of Whitesand Bay with Raf -At the end of the shoreline, there is a blanket, pillows, strawberries, and champagne set up on the sand -He leads you to the setup and then hands you a flip book -Going through it, each drawing details moments in your relationship, with cute chibi versions of the two of you acting out the scenes -At the end, chibi Rafayel is holding a sign that says, “Will you be my Valentine?” -Before you have the chance to say yes, you look back up at Raf and he is holding the same sign -Rafayel: “Well, what do you say, cutie?” -After you say yes, the two of you watch the sunset and share the strawberries and champagne

Sylus: -Will buy out an entire flower shop just to ask you to be his Valentine He picks you up for dinner, adamant that you can’t go to his place until after the meal is finished -When you arrive at the restaurant, the waiter delivers a bouquet to your table -You: “What exactly are you planning?” Sylus: “Trying to spoil the surprise, sweetie?” -Sylus doesn’t eat as much as he usually does during the dinner, and even though he won’t admit it, you can tell that he is nervous -When you get back to his place, there is a trail of flower petals leading down the long hallway of his estate -You follow them into his bedroom, where the entire room is filled with bouquets of all kinds. Roses, sunflowers, tulips, daisies…wall to wall covered in flowers -And at the middle of it all, Sylus hands you a single red rose and says, “Will you give me the honor of being your Valentine?” -He hoped you would be surprised, but he isn’t expecting you to take the rose out of his hand and jump into his arms -The rest of the night is spent enjoying the elaborate display he put together (and if you’re really lucky, he’ll even wear the flower crown you make him out of one of the bouquets)

Caleb: -You and Caleb are having your weekly dinner night, but he is acting suspicious this time -He won’t let you help in the kitchen, and he even makes you sit on his couch so that you don’t try and take any sneak peeks -You try to guess what the food could possibly be based on the smell alone, and it isn’t until the timer on the oven dings that the room is filled with the delicious cheesy smell of pizza -Caleb, donning two oven mitts and a “kiss the colonel” apron, places the pizza in the center of the table -He calls you into the room, and when you enter, you realize he has transformed the whole kitchen. The table is illuminated by the dim flickering of pink and red candles. There are heart shaped plates on the table, and heart shaped balloons on the ceiling -When you sit down to eat, you realize the pizza has a message for you spelled out in the pepperoni pieces: “VALENTINE?” -Caleb: “What, too cheesy?” -You can’t help but laugh at his dumb joke before agreeing to be his Valentine -The two of you spend the rest of the night eating the pizza together and planning what you’ll do on Valentine’s Day

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bybobbysbeard · 2 days ago

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Sharp Edges

Day 7 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: love notes/letters. read on ao3 read other days here

Tommy’s phone buzzes repeatedly. He’s been sitting in his truck for the last 32 minutes. He knows it's been that long, because he checked the time when he parked in the driveway. He should go inside. His neighbors are going to worry.

EB: Lucy texted EB: I won’t ask if ur ok. R u home?

If he doesn’t answer, Evan will probably call. That’s the last thing he wants. Tommy might be an absolute wasteland of a human being, but he’s physically incapable of ignoring a call from Evan.

TK: I’m home. EB: K EB: Bobby took us offline for 1 hr. Call if u want

God, he can’t even think about seeing Evan right now. Evan is good and kind, and would talk him through the guilt he’s feeling. Evan would understand, because he does the job too. It wouldn’t be like before, with an ex that didn’t get it, or friends that couldn't relate. Rationally, he knows that, but he still can’t make himself pick up the phone.

Tommy is a champion at licking his wounds in private, and today was a hell of a wound. Some dumbass weekend warrior, completely unprepared for Mt. Baldy. Ignorant or arrogant, he dragged his two kids down with him. The youngest was technically still alive when they finally found them, but only by the definition of the word. Melton did what he could in the back of the chopper, but Tommy would bet the little girl won’t make it through the night. The four hours they spent on the search could have made all the difference.

If only he had looked a little closer. They were in the first fucking quadrant.

It wasn’t until they were running on empty and crossing back over the start of their search grid, that Tommy spotted the bright blue windbreaker, down at the bottom of a ravine. Again, rationally, he knows the crevice was nearly invisible coming from the other direction, and Melton was the one with the binoculars. But Tommy was in charge, Tommy was flying, and Tommy was the one that finally spotted them. He can’t help but feel responsible.

He can’t help but feel like he failed.

He forces himself to unbuckle his seatbelt and head inside. On autopilot, he drops his duffle in the foyer, kicks off his boots, and heads for the master bedroom. He’ll have a shower, do some laundry, and complete his meal prep for next week. He’ll ignore the voices in his head that sound like his father, like his COs, like Gerrard. When he doesn’t feel like all his sharp edges are one crack away from shattering, he’ll message Evan again. Share a little more. They’re trying to be honest with each other, but Evan’s at work. He doesn’t need Tommy’s self-pity to distract him from a potential emergency.

The ensuite is dim, lit only by a small skylight. He leaves the overhead lights off. Tommy knows what he’ll see when he looks in the mirror.

He cranks the shower as hot as it’ll go, and peels off the rest of his clothes while it warms up. They get thrown towards the hamper in the bedroom and his phone and wallet land on the foot of the bed. Steam is billowing out of the shower stall when he gets back into the bathroom and shuts the door. Stepping under the spray makes him gasp, inhaling heavy, humid air. The water is scalding, and he can feel blood rushing to the surface of his skin. Calloused fingers scratch through his curls and catch on a few tangles. He showered perfunctorily at Harbor, but he still feels grit under his nails. He ran out of his usual soap this morning, so Evan’s fancy oatmeal-coconut bodywash will have to do. He scrubs and scrubs, until he’ll flushed all over, futilely trying to wash the day away.

When he steps out of the shower, the bathroom is filled with steam. Something by the sink snags his attention when he goes to grab a towel. His reflection in the mirror is distorted, blurred by the foggy glass, and murky in the dim lighting, but there's something there, some pattern on the surface that catches his eye. He hits the light switch.

There are words. Written on the mirror. Sections that stayed clear through the steam from his shower.

You’re everything to me.

And below that:

I love you.

He stands there for a minute, trying to comprehend what he’s looking at. Evan stayed at his house the night before last, and he locked up after Tommy had to leave for work yesterday morning. He must have showered before his shift, and while the bathroom was still warm, wrote a love note on the glass.

Tommy looks at the letters, written with a blunt fingertip, proof of Evan’s feelings for him. An ephemeral, temporary proof, but proof nonetheless. He stares, knowing his own reflection is there too, but it's buried behind Evan’s writing. After today, he expected to look in the mirror and see a failure. Instead, all he sees is love.

Heat builds behind his eyes, and he feels that telltale itch in his throat. He inhales, trying to hold onto control. The bathroom smells like coconut, like Evan.

All of a sudden, being alone in the house is nearly intolerable. He wants Evan. The sound of his voice, the feel of his hands on Tommy’s body. Today sucked. And he feels like shit. And it wasn’t completely his fault, but that doesn’t stop him from drowning in guilt. For the first time since he was a child, he wants someone to comfort him.

Dropping the towel on the floor, he strides out to the bedroom. He pulls on the first pair of sweatpants he sees, and grabs his phone. Tommy sits on the floor by the foot of the bed and pulls up his boyfriend’s contact. The bed frame digs into his spine. He hits the dial icon before he can talk himself out of it. Rapidly cooling water drips down his neck from his wet hair. It rings three times before it connects.

“Tommy! Are you- how are you feeling?” Evan’s voice is a balm. There’s some background noise, Eddie and Howie talking over each other.

“I… can you talk? Are you guys still offline?”

“Yeah, we’re still good for like 20 minutes. I can talk. Hold on, lemme go up to the roof.” There's a few huffed breaths and the sounds of a heavy door banging open. “Can I see you?”

“...Okay.” He turns the camera on and his boyfriend’s face fills the screen. Evan smiles at him. There’s no pity in his gaze, no blame, only love. Tommy knew he would understand, but it's still a relief. “I got your note. In the mirror. I love you too.”

“I’m glad it worked, I didn’t exactly test it.” He laughs softly. “I-I’m really happy you called. What do you want to talk about?”

“Tell me about your shift?”

Evan launches into an explanation about a call involving a missing hamster and the brilliant plan to let a neighbor’s cat into the house to catch it, but of course someone thought the cat might eat the hamster, so a different neighbor’s dog was found to chase the cat out, and on and on the story goes. It sounds like a nursery rhyme, but Tommy knows it's an average Thursday for the 118. He leans back, resting the hand holding the phone on a bent knee, and presses his shoulders into the edge of the mattress.

Evan’s voice washes over Tommy, soothing and smoothing his sharp edges down into blunt borders, fitting the pieces of him back together.

#bucktommyfluffebruary #bucktommy #tevan #my fic #911 abc #this was supposed to be short and sweet and then it ended up being the second longest and angsty #WHOOPS #still ✨two days behind✨

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racoon3lizabeth · 3 days ago

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Art critics at work: part two

part 1 | part 2

summary: remus dislikes a lot of things. not just the teachers lounge but the cafeteria as well. But what he didn’t know is that someone else is using his secret place to eat.

notes: this was sort of rushed and not as well written as the first part. I’ve been having a lot of writers block so that’s why. but next part will be longer and much more well written! buuuuuut I hope you like it either way!!

remus lupin x fem!reader

Eating lunch at school should be illegal if you ask Remus. At least as a teacher. Not only does he sneak into the art classroom to print papers, which he had completely forgotten to do when he stumbled upon the new teacher, he also tries to sneak away during lunch to eat in peace. Hence as to why he always brings his own lunch.

Sirius and him usually eat together. Sometimes outside on the benches or in Remus' classroom. But that’s why Wednesdays are the worst. Their lunch breaks are normally at the same time but unfortunately not in the middle of the week. So he’ll have to eat alone because there’s no chance he’s eating in the cafeteria.

With his salad in hand he walked out the front door, turning right to continue down the path which leads down to three couples of tables. The wooden tables are all rectangular with two bench seats. Lightened up by the yellow spring sun.

It’s still in that early phase of spring where the sun shines the brightest but offers the least of warmth. Not even his dark brown leather jacket and red scarf could save him from the chill air.

Remus is once again too caught up with his own thoughts. If he hadn’t been repeating the lessons he’ll be holding later today in his head he would’ve been able to stop before you saw him.

“Remus?”

The professor looks up from the ground at the sound of your voice, only a few metres from the benches, stopping in his pace when he sees you. “Hi,” his lips curled into a quizzical smile. “What are you doing here?” He questions. Even though it’s obvious due to the sandwich in your right hand.

You regard him with a nervous twinkle in your eye. You’ve only talked once, about a week ago and you’ve only seen him in the hallways since then and once during a meeting. Always sending each other subtle glances as you walk past each other.

But you haven’t truly spoken and the mere thought of sparking another conversation sends a chill down your spine.

“Eating lunch,” you explain, raising your shoulders in a half shrug. “I’m too nervous to talk to the other teachers.” You add, letting out an anxious chuckle. Taking a bite out of your sandwich.

Remus takes your words as an invitation to sit down with you, which it also was. It’s not like he’s any more confident than you, he’s just as nervous at the thought of having a conversation. But he hasn’t got anywhere else to sit. There’s two other tables but he obviously can’t just ignore you and choose to sit at another table.

That’s like experiencing the teenage drama that’s happening around them everyday.

He could also go back to his classroom and eat his lunch in peace. But he needs some fresh air. The stuffy air in his classroom can get a bit too much sometimes, even if he tries opening a window. There’s always someone who complains about the cold or noises from outside since a few of his students always stayed behind.

He settles down in front of you, placing his salad on top of the table. “Most of them are alright,” the cold wind blowing through his curls. “Sirius is nice.” he remarked. Observing her with a gentle gaze as he opens the plastic lid to his food.

Your eyes flick back and forth over his face, studying him as you raise one of your eyebrows. “Who’s Sirius?” You inquire, voice not over a whisper, embarrassed by the fact that you don’t know who he is.

Remus pauses in mid action, fork just above his lips. “Mr Black?” Tilting his head to the side. “Music teacher?” He questions, lowering his hand to rest on the table.

Your mouth forms a small O shape as the realisation dawns upon you. You had actually seen Sirius talk with Remus multiple times. Perhaps you had just been too busy peering at the handsome history teacher to notice Mr Black. “Right,” you snicker. “Yeah I know who that is.”

The history teacher starts to eat as you talk. Having a hard time concentrating when you’re just sitting there in front of him looking effortlessly radiant. “He’s one of my best friends,” he elaborates when he finishes chewing. “I’ve known him and two other blokes since we were eleven.”

“Really?” You raise a curious eyebrow. “How come?”

“We went to school together.” He explains simply. It actually wasn’t more complicated than that at all. They all met when they were eleven and very mischievous. Though he doesn’t have to tell you about the number of pranks he pulled through his youth. Maybe he’ll tell you one day, on the first date. Or maybe that’s more of a third date thing?

His heart rate goes from normal to abnormally fast at the thought. Immediately regretting his stupid daydreaming. He barely even knows you.

“That’s nice,” you responded, your beautiful voice causing him to snap back to reality. “Weird coincidence that your friend Sirius also works here.” You comment, lips twitching into a small smile. Taking another bite of your sandwich, the cold breeze makes its way into your thin jacket, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Remus quickly finished his salad, placing his cutlery inside of the box before he closed the lid on top. Chewing on his lower lip as a grin spreads on his face. “Not really,” your eyes meeting for a few seconds before Remus peers down at the table. Crossing one leg over the other. “I worked here first and then my mate Sirius needed a job.” Remus recalled.

You manage to nod slowly as you observe him. His chocolate coloured eyes turn more hazel as the sun shines down on them. A small, almost unnoticeable scar stretching from his right eyebrow down the slope of his nose. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, not that you’re complaining, but you can see his pretty face much clearer.

“Are you going to that teacher parent meeting tomorrow night?” You questioned, changing the subject since the small dusting of freckles on his nose had made you completely forget what you talked about in the first place.

Remus drums his fingers against the edge of the table, your piercing although kind gaze making him restless. “Yeah,” he confirms. Running a hand through his hair. “Are you?” Not knowing if you’re aware that those meetings are pretty much mandatory since you just started working at the school.

“Yeah,” you echo, finally finished with your lunch. “So I’ll see you there?” You ask, eyes lightening up just by the thought of it.

Remus clears his throat, folding his hands in his lap. “Yes.” He replies, tugging at his scarf that suddenly felt extremely tight. The cold wind didn’t feel so cold anymore. His hands had even started to grow clammy due to how fast his heart thumped inside of his chest. “I’ll save you a seat.” He adds, chuckling nervously as he realises what he just uttered. Why on earth does he always tend to make a fool out of himself?

Your entire face reddens, turning crimson as a flush creeps up your neck. “Great.” You only mutter, not really trusting your voice at the moment.

“Great.” He repeats, voice cracking slightly.

Based on your reaction it wasn’t that out of place for him to say. Maybe just a little.

—————————————————————————————————

tags: @amatoanima @po3tbbygirl @lettertovera @allformoony @ladyaida

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starringmycoffee · 2 days ago

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Different Ways Fusions Can Result

(This post is specifically about fusion in CDD systems. I am open to questions, but I am not open to people shaming others' chosen recovery paths. Keep that off this post, please!)

Integration is the process of breaking down dissociative barriers between alters. The alters fuse when they accept and integrate with each other to such a degree that they function as one. This can end up several different ways! I'd love to show you some, using my own system/alters to explain & conceptualize.

#1: The "New Guy" (with traits from both)

Jayden, a 17 year old verbal protector, and Glyph, an ageless dragon soother/protector, fused to make Marcus, who became our system's primary caretaker. The alters both balanced each other out, with Jayden's "chill unless pissed" mixing neatly with Glyph's strong need to keep things in order/safe to make one responsible, organized, and laid-back alter.

#2: The "Old Guy With An Update"

Gemini, our co-host, fused with a bunch of memory-holding fragments. Nothing fundamental about Gemini changed, but he did have access to more memories and some skills.

#3: The "New Guy" (that mostly seems like an old guy)

Echo, our nonhuman shadow being of a gatekeeper, fused with Zeke, an avenger and anger holder who was also the host of his subsystem. Echo kept the name Echo and mostly seems the same at first glance, but sometimes Zeke's bluntness and habitual swearing come through. Zeke has found a lot of peace and healing by fusing with Echo, and Echo gained the perspective of "hot" emotions.

#4: The "Lava Lamp"

Finn, a happiness/energy holder, and Jukebox, a trauma holder, fused to who became Jukebox 2.0. Sometimes, this new alter is a lot more like Finn or a lot more like Jukebox or a perfect mix of the two. The ratio varies and he is ever-shifting. Consistently, he loves dinosaurs, orange juice, and gummy bears.

Overall, fusion can look different for everybody, and it can even look different in the same system! Fusion is a very diverse experience.

While fusion is a good thing, sometimes people do need to grieve it, just like any other large change. That's okay and it doesn't make you a bad person, nor does it make you "anti-recovery". Big changes can be very hard.

In my opinion, the most important thing to keep in mind about fusion, for those who seek it, is being kind to yourself throughout the whole process.

Sometimes, fusions don't work out too well. Sometimes, two alters aren't a good match yet. Sometimes, it takes a few tries. Ultimately, it's up to you and your system how or if you go about it - there's no "wrong way". Just don't rush things, trust yourself, and take it easy. It'll all settle in the end, I promise!

#sysblr #system #recovery stuff #did system #did recovery #actually did #sysconversation #fusion #final fusion #recovery #actually osddid #syscourse #integration #did

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foreignjaykay · 3 days ago

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company (a jungkook fic)

part one - "you wish i'd miss you,"

company - a jungkook fic

can we keep each other company?

their workplace was chaos, but jungkook made it fun. their camaraderie was effortless—until he decided to leave. no big deal. people quit all the time. so why does it feel like everything is about to change?

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: r18+ (angst, fluff) minors do not interact!

chapter warnings/misc: workplace!au, coworkers!au, event planner!jk, event planner!oc, jk is not famous, angst, fluff, sad, crack, event planner!mingyu, bts in event planning company, unserious friend group, they are so silly and unserious, mean boss - yeah no she sucks, flirty!jk, dense af!jk, shy!oc, ANGST, IDIOTS both of them, yeah i guess thats it...for now hehe

notes: hello everyone!!! hehe its my first fic on tumblr and my first ever jk fic so i really hope you guys like it. im writing after so mant years so please ignore some mistakes. its kinda based on my experiences so yeah. its intentional whatever you are reading hauahahah, things will only get interesting as well progress.. lots of characters will come in the next chapter, this is just the base. It picks up from the second chapter!! anywho lets get into it!! <3

moodboard • playlist • series masterlist

The first thing you saw when you unlocked your phone this morning was a text from Jungkook. That in itself was weird—he wasn’t the type to be up this early, let alone texting people.

jaykay (work) [8:50am]: hi :)

you [8:50am]: oh my god. what did you forget?

jaykay (work) [8:51am]: have some faith in me. i was texting for something entirely different. 😒

you[8:51am]: are you sick? held hostage? blink twice if you need help.

jaykay (work) [8:52am]: how da hell are u so dramatic in the morning

you [8:52am]: come to the point jungkook

jaykay [8:52am]: fine. 🙄 don’t bring lunch today

you [8:53am]: why?

jaykay (work) [8:53am]: lunch is on me. taking you, shane and mingyu out for ramen

you [8:53am]: 🤨🤨🤨

jaykay (work) [8:54am]: see you in office🥰

You squinted at the screen, trying to process the words through your morning haze. This man barely made it to work before noon on most days, always breezing in with an iced americano and a sheepish grin. And yet here he was, awake and making lunch plans at 9 AM? Suspicious. Very suspicious.

It’s fixed, you know? Him being late to work, getting sarcastic remarks from the bosses - Natasha, the reporting manager (god did she love micromanaging the team) and Kim Song, the director of your company.

But whatever, free ramen was free ramen and, on that note, you finally woke up and went to get ready for the weird day that was ahead of you.

By the time you got to the office, the usual chaos had already begun. Natasha, wasn’t physically present today, thank the lord for that, you thought, but her presence loomed over Zoom calls like a dark cloud. You had barely set down her bag before her laptop screen lit up with an incoming call. Does this woman ever chill?

“Good morning, team,” Natasha’s clipped voice rang out as the screen loaded. “Let’s go over the deliverables for today.” Her screen was hidden and she was on a holiday like she had very explicitly mentioned the week before she left.

You suppressed a groan as you saw Jungkook and Mingyu joining the call too. Shane, their CS intern, looked half-asleep. Jungkook, though, was oddly quiet, his usual playful banter nowhere to be seen. His leg bounced under the desk, fingers drumming against the tabletop.

You shot him a look, but he didn’t meet your eyes.

Okay that was weird, wasn’t it?

You looked towards Mingyu and Shane to see if they noticed Jungkook being a little off today but to your surprise they were engrossed on what Natasha was instructing on the upcoming event which was the luxurious Cartier dinner.

Classic Natasha, putting her work on us while she sips on pina coladas on the beach after this 10-minute meeting. You wanted to be as carefree as her sometimes, how easily she just threw her tasks on others.

Throughout the meeting, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Jungkook which thankfully he didn’t notice.

Or at least that’s what you thought.

Jungkook knew you. He knew how curious you got sometimes and he also knew currently the wheels were turning in your head wondering why he was being so awkward. He smiled internally, thinking how much you knew him and how much he was going to miss you.

If you kept looking at him like that, he was going to crack. He just hoped you wouldn’t figure it out before he told you himself.

Once the meeting was over, you quickly went towards the design studio in the office, greeting Yuna and So-hee who seemed like had just come to office with the way they were switching on their systems for the day.

“I really need the final design renders for the stage setup and the seating plan for Cartier, Yuna,” You said worried knowing that if you don’t get these renders in next half an hour then the costing would delay and then Natasha…yeah no.

Its as if Jungkook got a sign, he entered the design studio greeting Yuna, So-hee, and Dae and standing next to you as if to ease the tension you had going on.

“Babe, give me 10 minutes, the renders are ready. I’ll email it to you, Natasha and Namjoon,” Yuna said as she started working on her system. You nodded your head and gave her a worried smile.

“Mark me in the email too,” Jungkook said instantly and you gave him a pointed look. Yuna seemed to mirror your thoughts and raised her eyebrows towards him.

Seeing that you both were confused, Jungkook chuckles and says, “__, you should be happy that I am willingly asking to be marked on emails,” which makes you roll your eyes playfully and smirk.

“Also, I don’t have nothing big going on currently, project wise, so I’ll follow up for the costings and Natasha will stay away from my ass,” Jungkook continues and laughs with Yuna, So-hee and Dae.

You looked at him as he was sort of back in his carefree self but something still felt off. You just couldn’t put your finger on what this feeling was.

Lunch couldn’t come fast enough. The second Natasha’s second call for the day wrapped up the call, you shut your laptop and turned towards Jungkook who along with Mingyu and Shane was joking and was waiting for you to get done.

“Okay, spill. What’s with the mystery since today morning?” You immediately asked him and he couldn’t help but chuckle nervously.

Mingyu slung an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, grinning. “Yeah, dude. You’re making me nervous.”

Shane, ever the observer, just raised a brow. “Is this about work? God I can’t wait to dig into some good ramen after hearing Natasha ramble since past 15 mins. 15 mins with her feel like 2 hours,” Shane continued rambling earning laughs from the three of you.

Jungkook let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just get to lunch first.”

That didn’t help your growing suspicion, but you let it slide—at least until the 4 of you reached the ramen place.

The aroma of rich broth and sizzling garlic filled the tiny ramen shop. Shane and Mingyu were already practically vibrating with hunger, menus discarded, ready to order. You, however, were still scanning the options, your stomach rumbling in anticipation. Just as you were about to decide, you and Jungkook spoke in unison: “Japchae.”

A surprised laugh bubbled up. “You wanna have japchae too?” you asked, a little thrill of connection sparking despite the weirdness of the morning. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, and ordered for both of you.

Minutes later, steaming bowls of ramen and the shared plate of japchae arrived. The savory scent made your mouth water. You took a tentative bite of the japchae, the noodles perfectly chewy, the vegetables crisp and flavorful. It was delicious. But Jungkook just sat there, chopsticks hovering over his bowl. He had a strange expression—not quite annoyed, but… something. You knew that look. It was his tell when food was exceptionally good. That’s just his weird trait.

You took the second bite yourself to see if it was and it was really good.

“I got another job.”

Silence.

Your stomach dropped.

Then, Mingyu blinked. “Wait, what?”

Jungkook shifted in his seat, avoiding their gazes. “I got an offer from an event company. They handle production for A-list musicians—concerts, world tours, all of it.” But you could see how proud he was. This was his dream.

“Oh, shit, that’s huge,” Shane said, eyes wide and dramatically keeping his chopsticks on the side.

Jungkook looked at you trying to gauge for your reaction.

You swallowed, gripping your chopsticks a little tighter. “Wow. That’s… incredible, Jungkook.” You said genuinely but why did it feel so off? Why did it feel like you were losing everything? People leave jobs all the time and this is no different, so why was it feeling all to different suddenly?

When you congratulated him, you meant it. You really did. He deserved this. But there was a weird, hollow feeling in your chest. Something tight that you couldn’t quite name.

Jungkook was watching you and asked, “You okay?”

You forced a smile but to everyone it looked genuine. “Of course. This is a big deal. I am so happy for you, Jungkook!” Mingyu and Shane mirrored your smile and congratulated him to which Jungkook threw an honest smile.

His eyes still lingered for a second longer before he nodded, turning his attention back to his food. But you could tell he didn’t fully believe you.

Mingyu and Shane immediately started asking him the questions about his new company and the new job and Jungkook excitedly answered them all and you were interested too to know all the details.

Once the 4 of you were done with the lunch, you asked him, “So when are you telling Natasha?”

“Next week, and then 2 weeks’ notice,” He said looking at you as if he was trying to find an emotion out of you.

“Damn bro, you are leaving us so soon.” Shane said and you looked at Jungkook.

“Now at least I will have some proper desk space at the office,” You tried to joke which earned you a playful eye roll from Jungkook.

“Oh my god, I have to plan a farewell party for you now,” Mingyu joked and you laughed. For the whole lunch, this is the first time Jungkook noticed you genuinely smiling and it was all thanks to Mingyu’s dramatic nature.

The rest of the workday felt strangely off-balance. Even though nothing had technically changed yet, you felt the weight of the upcoming shift pressing down on you. The knowledge that soon, Jungkook wouldn’t be here anymore—wouldn’t be there to roll his eyes at Natasha’s ridiculous demands, wouldn’t be crashing at her desk with an iced coffee and a new piece of gossip, wouldn’t be around to share those unspoken glances when things got too absurd.

You had started hating how much that realization unsettled you.

It was Jungkook who got you out of your dazed thoughts when he said, “___, I have asked Namjoon hyung for the Cartier costing and he is working on it,”

You threw a sincere smile towards him and nodded while he went back on his desk and worked on some small projects he had going on.

gyu (work) [3pm]: are you okay?

Once you read the text, you immediately looked at him but he acted to be so engrossed in his work and you couldn’t help but look back into your phone and text back

you [3:01pm]: yeah, why?

gyu (work) [3:01pm]: you sure about that? ever since jk dropped that bomb, you have been quiet and so has he.

That got your attention. Were you that obvious?

you [3:02pm]: no nothing like that. im happy that he got this. he deserves it!! also when is the blue label bottle engraving costing going to the client? natasha has been on my ass about it since morning. send it asap please <33

gyu [3:03pm]: girl i gotta give it to you, nice attempt to change the convo but we aren’t done yet. ugh why are you my senior? im sending it in 5

By the time the day ended and finally the costings for Cartier had gone out (thanks to Jungkook and Joon), you had convinced yourself you were just being dramatic. People left jobs all the time. This wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

Mingyu and Shane had already left for the day and the design studio was also empty leaving only you and Jungkook in the client servicing department. For a Monday, people had left earlier than usual, you thought to yourself.

You looked at the clock and saw it was 7pm already.

While you packed your bags, like routine, Jungkook waited for you. He dropped you home everyday given that you both lived nearby and your apartment came on the way to his.

However, the silence between the two of you felt heavier than usual.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said as the two of you entered the elevator.

You forced a laugh and adjusted your purse, trying to look anywhere but at him. “So are you.”

The two of you exited the elevator and sat in his car, he started the engine. For the first time ever, the silence between the two of you was uncomfortable.

Jungkook sighed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he took the familiar route and said, “Are you really happy for me?”

You immediately turned to look at him, meeting his gaze in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Yes, I am. Why would you think I am not?”

His smile was small, a little sad. “Alright. You and I haven’t spoken much since lunch,”

You didn’t know why, but something in your chest ached at that. But you ignored it, and looking towards and giving him a smile and said, “Jungkook, I am so happy for you. I am. I know you wanted this and now you have it,”

For the first time in the whole day, he smiled genuinely at you.

“Will you miss me?,” He asked as he stopped the car right out of your apartment and looked at you with his doe eyes that carry the sta-

Wait what?!

You ignored whatever that thought was and quickly composed yourself and laughed at him. “You wish I would miss you,” You joked playfully and he rolled his eyes.

“On a serious note, yes I will. Who will I tolerate Natasha with?” You continued and he let out a small chuckle.

“Anyway I have to go. See you tomorrow boss,” you finally said, and then you were gone, disappearing into the building.

Jungkook sat there for a moment, staring after you.

He knew you better than you thought. He knew when you were genuinely happy, when you were just pretending, when you were holding back something you didn’t want to say. And tonight, you were definitely holding back.

Jungkook sighed, leaning his head back against the car seat. Leaving this job was supposed to be exciting, a step up, an opportunity of a lifetime. And it was.

But why did it feel like he was losing something, too?

#jungkook fic #jungkook x oc #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts hobi #jin bts #mingyu #bts namjoon #bts jimin #bts taehyung #fic: company #workplace au #office au

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goshikkuseo · 3 days ago

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Harley Sawyer x Female Reader [Not Safe For Work]

Hear me out on Harley Sawyer.

His voice is so hot. I'm also going to be quoting few of his voicelines from the game because he's making my mind foggy. I don't know much about the lore and just watched gameplays, just following my heart <3

This is also my first post, so sorry for any mistakes.

Imagine before the whole disaster, when he was still human, you were in a secret relationship with him. He kept this relationship a secret because while he loved and obsessed over you, he had work to do. Despite this, he was still able to sate your “needs.”

Starting off with some details… Harley's dick is big. Long, thick, and veiny. Even when soft. His “soft length” is no less than 8 inches. His “hard length” on the other hand, is a solid 10 inches. He's cut and tip color is around #e89797. Width is 2 inches. You would definitely need some time to adjust.

Borderline hyperspermia. One load of his is almost enough to fill a bucket, meaning an average condom won't help. Semen consistency is thick and creamy.

Harley is vanilla at first. He's very good at it and still had you mindless for a while. But as your relationship with him develops, so does his way of satisfying you.

His libido isn't very high. 4/10 at least and 6/10 at most. Sex is amazing, though.

Harley's favourite position is missionary or you riding him while he fucks you so he could see your breasts bounce. He can also do you from behind if it's a quickie.

He has a thing for pulling your hair, forcing you to look at him, then kissing you. He doesn't mean to hurt you, he just gets carried away. This also happens when he grips your arms, hips, waist, and wrists.

He also has a thing for your hands. He loves to hold them, kiss them, and even sucks your fingers. He likes to massage your hands for you whenever you're exhausted from working.

Harley likes to give, but isn't against you giving him a blowjob. All you need to do is to moan and arch your back for him. He's not only good at fucking, he's also good at licking. This is really important because he needs to prepare that cunt for his big dick.

“Please, do keep making this enjoyable for me.” He'd say that as he tries not to fuck your face during a blowjob. Still, you'd see him holding onto whatever else he could reach.

Harley tries to hold back his moans. He thinks they make him sound submissive. Instead, you'll hear gasps and groans from him. As well as cutoff moans…

He can last up to four rounds. The both of you also agreed about protection. He's always the one to bring condoms and will even buy your birth control for you.

Harley would call you names like “darling,” “doll,” and “love.” He always tells you how much he loves you, but doesn't praise you. He shows it through “action.”

Very good aftercare. He would check the spots where he held you, looking for any bruises, scratches, and even wounds. Since you would likely pass out, he would clean and change your clothes before him. If you somehow didn't, he wouldn't be less caring. He kisses and cuddles you.

He would act like nothing happened when he gets back to work, but you'd see him with a slight tent in his pants whenever you look at him in the eye.

Now, imagine this. Imagine when you start sensing something isn't quite right with the company. You also noticed how defensive Harley becomes when you ask him about certain things. So, with careful consideration, you decided to tell him about your decision of leaving the company and ending your relationship. He remains calm, but doesn't take this very well.

Harley knows this wasn't an easy decision for you. He knows you still love him. So, he waits for you to be at your lowest before he strikes. He finds a way to make you his - and that is to leave a piece of him in you. In that womb.

“Let's test the response to said fear when pushed into action.” He says as he forces you down, ready to fuck you without protection. No condom, no birth control.

Harley fucks you without mercy. His dick's outline would be visible from underneath your stomach's skin because of how big it is. He hits that sweet, sweet spot that makes your eyes roll back and your back arch. It doesn't take long before he's practically trying to penetrate your cervix as he bruises it with his tip.

You cry, kick, scratch, scream, try to talk him out of it - everything. Nothing works. That's when you start to regret your decision. You now have to face the consequences.

“You realize the futility of this, don't you?”

He makes you cum multiple times until you're on the verge of passing out. He then leans down, whispering how he'd impregnate you.

Before you could even say anything, Harley lets out a guttural groan and you feel his hot seed being spilled directly into your fertile little womb. You try to wriggle away, but it was too late.

“Don't fight. Fighting only makes it work quicker.”

Right before you pass out, you heard Harley whisper, “I have seen enough. Thank you. You may proceed.”

He still cleans you up, though. He may have given you some space, but he still loves and stalks you~

There's no way you're not pregnant after that.

#tw.dark content #tw.noncon #mdni #headcannons #male character #female reader #f0rced breeding #breeding k1nk #poppy playtime x reader #harley sawyer

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belle--ofthebrawl · 2 days ago

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Something for your heart-shaped locket

Part whatever of whatever for Femslash February!

Pairing: Cirrus/Trans!Sunny

Tags: Phone sex, Banter, light dom/sub dynamic that they slip in and out of, nothing serious all fun.

Word count: 2k

Summary:

(Cirrus sent a photo)

Cirrus: Wish you were here...

Cirrus: miss my girl

Sunshine: miss my girls too! 💋

Cirrus sent a photo.

Cirrus: wish you were here

“Oh you little-” Sunny couldn't even be bothered to finish her insult, too entranced by the sight of Cirrus’ hand disappearing under the waistband of her shorts. Hotel night by the look of the blandly decorated background. Sunny wonders if Cirrus is alone or if someone is watching her do this with instructions to keep their hands to themselves.

That was the thing with Cirrus. She was the biggest tease in the band and no one ever fucking suspected it. Like she didn't arch her back for the audience in her solo, showing off her ass in those tight pants. Sticking out her damn tongue like that, and blowing kisses to the ladies in the audience. She was as bad as Swiss, honestly. She just wasn't as prominent or free onstage as he was.

Sunshine: pls show me

Sunshine: miss you so much

It doesn't take long for Cirrus to deliver. Never does. And this picture, like the dozens of others sent to Sunny at extremely inappropriate times, is nothing short of a masterpiece. She must have set her phone down on the bed to get this angle; straddling like she's about to ride, with her hands perfectly framing her bush to make a little heart with the curve of her thumbs.

Sunshine: kiss you there as soon as you get back

Cirrus: only if you beg first

Sunshine: anything and everything I'll do it

Cirrus: dangerous words

Sunshine: I mean it

Cirrus: show me what I do to you

Sunny groans a strong of vile words, letting her phone fall on her desk, sketchbook instantly forgotten as she rolls her chair away from her desk to shove the waistband of her baggy shorts down. Her dick is already semi-chubbed up with interest and she needs to work fast before it goes soft again. She doesn't want to disappoint Cirrus with a photo of a half-hearted floppy. But if she takes too long, Cirrus will get bored and ignore Sunny for the rest of the night. It's happened before. She doesn't want it to happen again.

She stares at the pictures, damn near forcing herself to harder through sheer willpower. The dryness hurts but if she focuses, she can pretend Cirrus is watching her and that brings a head of pre to the tip, dick growing firmer and she thinks about Cirrus' narrow eyes and Cirrus' perky tits and Cirrus' hands and mouth and-

She grabs her phone and tries to get a good angle. She doesn't want to waste time fussing over small details, but she thinks it's a pretty decent shot. She's got a pretty cock and she knows it; a good balance of length and thickness, a head that turns a lovely shade of red compared to the velvety pale skin of her shaft. Her desk light is a soft yellow, casting a warm glow on her thighs and cock in the image. The top is very clearly wet and she captured it just as the vein was pulsing, making it stand out. She’d jerk off to it if someone else wasn't waiting to see too.

She fires it off and waits.

And waits.

The seconds turn to minutes. Cirrus hasn't opened it yet. Was Sunny too late? She'd get up and pace but the ridiculous way her cock would bob in the air-

Cirrus: my beautiful Sunshine

Sunshine: Rising just for you!

The pun is dreadful and she can hear Cirrus' exasperated sigh from a continent away. She couldn't have stopped herself for all the weed and hot chips in the world.

Sunshine: love uuuuuuuuuu 😘

Cirrus: I don't even know why I'm surprised at this point.

It's Cirrus' turn to send a picture. Now she's on her tummy, propped up on an elbow. Her camera is angled so Sunny can see the smile on her face and the way her tits smush against the bed to make some grade-a cleavage.

Cirrus: miss you

Sunshine: miss you too gorgeous

Sunshine: can I see your pussy again

She knows she's pushing it. But Cirrus seems to be in a good mood tonight and Sunny is feeling audacious. The worst Cirrus could do is deny her and they both know Sunny would still manage to get off anyway.

Cirrus: entitled much?

Sunshine: I still know my place

Cirrus: hard to believe with an attitude like that

But she gets what she wants anyway because Cirrus is hardly going to deny a chance to show off. And does she ever. Using her tail to hold the camera, she's still on her tummy, with her hands spreading her cheeks apart to give Sunny a good look at everything she has to offer; her white hair perfectly framing the dark mauve of her inner labia, the skin there shiny and slick and looking plump with arousal. The bump of her clit looking desperate for a good rubbing while Sunny tongues her rim, makes Cirrus squirm and sweat.

All fantasy, because she's never allowed to touch Cirrus. No one is. Cirrus has everyone on a tight leash and they all fucking thank her for it like Sunny does now.

Sunshine: so hot

Sunshine: pkease lemme touch myself please

Cirrus: does it hurt?

Sunshine: real bad

Cirrus: good

Sunny flops on her bed, cock in a tight fist, milking out more and more pre with each stroke. This is the picture Cirrus gets; Sunny, hard and desperate and wanting. Just the way she likes to see.

Sunshine: please

Cirrus: cute

Cirrus: You know, I'm not even doing anything. I'm just laying here, thinking about breakfast while you're on the other side of the world five seconds away from rubbing that thing all over your pillow.

“Hey.” Sunny says, cushion in hand and ready to shove over her dick. “Bitch.”

Sunny: C’mon, I'm dying here!!!

And then, miracle of miracles.

Her phone rings and Cirrus' wicked little smirk is taking up the screen.

“Hi Bunny.” She says, giving her a little wave. “You want me to talk you through it?”

“You know I do!” She whines, pouting at the screen. Cirrus tosses her head back with an adorable, evil laugh that makes Sunny's heart skip a beat. That laugh always precedes an orgasm that will leave her blissed out on the verge of being unconscious.

“Show me how my Bunny moves.” Cirrus demands. “Show me how you’d fuck me if I let you.”

Sunny flies up into a sitting position, looking around for a place to set her phone so she can focus and Cirrus can see. It takes forever, the awkward pause only a few moments in reality, but to Sunny it's an eternity.

“Is this alright?” She asks, perching Cirrus on her night stand. She adjusts her lamp so the shadows aren't hiding the good parts and squints at herself in the little square on the call.

“You're perfect, love.” Cirrus says gently. “Now show off for me.”

Sunny gives the camera a grin and a thumbs up, giggling a bit in uncertainty as she stuffs the pillow between her thighs. She plays with her cock, letting it fall on the surface as she rubs her balls against the softness of the stuffing.

“I'm waiting.” Cirrus cooes and Sunny shivers.

She tries her best. Tries to focus on her own pleasure, for Cirrus' pleasure, without getting too self-conscious about it. She knows she looks good like this, with the way her ass bounces as she fucks, the way her abs clench with each roll of her hips. The sensitive skin of her cock gliding over the soft pillowcase, her foreskin moving over the head in a mesmerizing pattern. She closes her eyes and imagines Cirrus. Spread out on the bed in front of her, softer and warmer than some dumb, unfeeling pillow. How wet she would be when Sunny guided the tip to meet her clit and make them kiss there. How hungry her tight little hole would be for Sunny’s cock, how her fingernails would dig in as Sunny spread her open, made her take it to the hilt.

“So pretty…” Cirrus hums and Sunny breaks out in a fine sweat, growing warm with the praise. How angry Cirrus would be if she knew Sunny was fantasizing about breaking the rules? As if on cue, “Should I ask what you're thinking about?” comes through next. She probably already knows.

“No, ma’am.” Sunny grits out. “But you can take it out on me when you get back.”

“Dangerous words.”

“I mean them.”

When she peeks at the screen, Cirrus looks just as flushed as Sunny feels. Though she can't see her arms, the other ghoulette’s shoulder is going back and forth in a telltale motion. Sunny wishes she could hear the sounds.

“Keep fucking that pillow.” Cirrus demands breathlessly. “Good girl, that's my bunny. Keep thinking those nasty thoughts and know that's as close as you'll ever get to the real thing.”

“Can I cum?” Sunny mewls, sweet now, for Cirrus. Cirrus knows everything that goes on in her nasty little brain and she still lets Sunny be graced by her presence. Knowing if she just had the chance, Sunny would do all sorts of things to her but it all hinges on just one, single, tiny-

“Yes.” Cirrus breathes. “Yes, cum for me.”

She humps the pillow with frantic, shaky jerks of her hips until her balls draw up tight and she's shooting far beyond it, a messy load all over her sheets until she's got nothing to give but the few final drops oozing thick out of her cock. Cirrus is moaning too, face scrunched up in pleasure as she makes herself cum seconds later. Beautiful.

“I need to change my sheets.” Sunny whines pathetically as she pants, surveying her mess. “Cir, it got everywhere.”

“Hardly my fault.” Cirrus scoffs, like she didn't start the whole thing to begin with. “I gotta wash my hands. Meet you when we're done.”

It's a silent, mutual agreement to stay on the call. Sunny strips her bed and tosses the dirty sheets in her hamper, spreading new ones on and falling in a heap trying to tuck the corners of the fitted mattress in. She's glad Cirrus doesn't see that, busy as she is wiping herself clean. If Sunny were there, she’d do it for her. She tugs her clothes back on and kicks her feet while she waits for Cirrus to come back so they can talk. The sex is always amazing, but this is the part Sunny thinks she needs more than anything else in the world.

“So.” Cirrus says as she sits down on the hotel bed again. She's wearing a nightgown and holding a styrofoam cup of tea. “What's the latest gossip on your end?”

“Okay.” Sunny tells her, wigging with excitement. “So you know that cloister on the other end of town with sisters Dew likes the scare when he spots them on a smokes run? I guess their bishop or whatever visited last week and caught not one, not two but three different couples in flagrante so he cut everything off in disgust and they were going to shut the place down and send them to conversion camps in America but, get this, but the Mother Superior is an old flame of Imperator’s from back in the day. Fuckin plot twist am I right? So they spent all night in a meeting and now we have a bunch of ex-nuns running around absolutely terrified, they're all going through the deconstruction class course to come to terms with everything. And then fucking Mist, know how she is, fucking Mist got her hands on one of the nuns and did her thing so they're practically lined up outside her door at night even though they can't fuck Ghouls this early in the deconstruction process because hellooo, we are trying to help you but they're really sweet, just kind of stupid and horny-”

#cirrus x sunshine #cirrus ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #femslash February 2025

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