#no amount of preparation will prepare me for this request

[randomfandomworks]

Saja Boys (Separately) x Famous!Reader

Synopsis: Headcanons involving the Saja Boys falling for you and what kind of fame you possess

A/N: Shoutout to @byfyg for requesting this on my Huntrix x Famous!Reader post. I also enjoyed writing this, it got me out of a weird writers block I was in. I also feel like my bias is pretty obvious in this since he has more than everyone else but whatever I just got carried away.

Jinu with an Interviewer

★ It had started off simple, the Saja Boys were the new and quickly rising K-Pop Idols

★ You ran a popular talk show which showcased several celebrities, asking questions they were rarely asked whilst mixing in different challenges

★ They needed more coverage and you needed a new star for your show, so a deal was made

★ When Jinu appeared as a guest your numbers skyrocketed

★ Not only that but the conversation came easily

★ You were used to banter, laughs, sarcasm, but Jinu was different

★ He didn’t simply match your energy, he amplified it

★ He was a smooth talker, with the right amount of humor, and answers that made him and his group seem perfect

★ And honestly it bothered you, nobody was perfect, not even a boy band that had appeared out of the blue

★ Which is why he was the first guest to reappear on your show

★ The fans didn’t just love seeing him, they loved you both together

★ The back and forth, the rivalry during challenges, quick banter, and snide comments

★ The energy was different with you both

★ An energy that made the show run smoother, you had extra questions prepared this time and yet he had a perfect counter for each

★ At one point during the interview he’d said something, some charming line that usually made his fans swoon and you just gave a simple laugh

★ Your laugh, that was all it took for him to get hooked on you

★ The second time around you stayed more connected after the episodes aired via Jinu’s request

★ You messaged one another to laugh at fan reactions and discuss different things that came out online, and it felt easy? Nice?

★ Something about talking to him like this, casually, without thousands of eyes watching, made it feel different, made you feel differently towards him

★ The third time he comes on something has changed between you

★ Conversations are followed by soft smiles or hidden glances, banter is more playful, comments are more personal

★ There’s a new tension between you two, something you don’t need the fans to point out for you to notice

★ You catch him backstage, just as he’s about to go, and let it all fall apart

★ He doesn’t come on much after that

★ But the way you smile when he’s mentioned, or how he shrugs out a “Maybe.” Whenever he’s asked if he’s dating anyone

★ It says enough

Abby with a Designer

★ Abby has had disagreements with designers before, several times he’s been designed pieces for an occasion that simply don’t fit his character

★ He’s the visual, he’s supposed to be able to show off his figure

★ Most of them would give up, agree to the alterations, or pass him onto someone else

★ But this was different

★ You were some big name designer who had agreed to style some models, the Saja Boys, for a certain photo shoot

★ And you weren’t backing down

★ You’d heard stories about Abby, how he was difficult to work with, which is why you had prepared a look that perfectly suited his unusual needs

★ So when he argued you fought right back

★ You had bite, he liked that

★ He ended up wearing the costume as it was, a feat that impressed your colleagues

★ When talk started to spread it got back to Jinu, who upon hearing the gossip decided to ask you to design their next round of outfits

★ After all if you could tame Abby’s usual complaints you were more than perfect for the position

★ You saw him more often after that

★ He would regularly invite himself into your studio under the guise of needing new measurements

★ Saying his new workout routine has his muscles growing faster than usual, and he would smile as you huff grabbing your measuring tape, whispering something about his muscles taking away from his brain power

★ It was annoying really, how he’d weaseled his way into your life, his stupid remarks he made just to rile you up, and how he had a kind of charming that made its way under your skin

★ Your feelings for him snuck up on you between unscheduled studio visits

★ Getting to know him through off handed comments, him stopping by just to drop off lunch for you, his remarks becoming more endearing than upsetting

★ When the end of your contract rolled around you accepted that you’d have to give it up, the problem was Abby had not

★ And what started from an argument sprouted into something else

★ Something that made you give him an extra key to your studio in case you were busy, something that had you start going out with him for lunch, something that had you completely entrapped by him before you had even realized it

★ Not that you were complaining, not anymore

Romance with an Author

★ Romance didn’t meet you face to face, not at first

★ He was at a fan meet when he first learned about you, one of his fans had gifted him a novel of yours saying that he reminded them of one of the main characters

★ It was off handed, it shouldn’t have stuck with him, yet it did

★ After the event his mind kept wandering back to the book and absentmindedly he began to read it

★ The story is good, incredibly so, with a subplot of romantic tension Romance had become so well accustomed to

★ Eventually he comes to the last page, a brief autobiography of yourself with a headshot posted in the corner

★ You’re pretty, he notes, pretty like the story you’d created, pretty in a way that can’t help but get stuck in his head

★ He does some digging, finds you’ll be doing a signing soon at some local bookstore and decides it’s his best opportunity to see you

★ It isn’t long after he shows up that he’s spotted causing a wave of fans to surround him

★ Consequently your security has to escort him to the back of the store

★ When you finally meet him, finally come face to face, you aren’t sure what to expect

★ But it isn’t this

★ When Romance starts to talk with you it’s as though is Idol personality falls, he isn’t some big name, no, with you he almost feels like just another fan

★ It intrigues you, pulls you in enough to stupidly write your number beside the signature you’ve placed in his copy of your book

★ It snowballs from there

★ You start meeting in secret, finding a lesser known cafe to tuck yourselves in the corner of

★ You talk, and it feels like a breath of fresh air, and when you start to fall for him it feels like slow motion

★ Loving Romance is careful, freeing

★ It’s living scenes straight out of your books

★ He holds your hand subconsciously, pulls you closer to him just to feel your warmth

★ He says things, in person or through text, that leave you smiling harder than you have in a long while

★ It’s him memorizing your coffee order and proofreading your new chapters

★ And when parts of your stories start to remind people more and more of the famous pop star

★ You begin to realize that you’ve fallen in too deep

★ And yet, you think, you don’t mind one bit

Mystery with a Producer

★ You’d been working backstage on a popular awards show when the Saja Boys first approached you

★ They’d been looking into a producer for a new music video they had in mind

★ You were organized and supportive of everyone you were with, and watching you work they’d decided you were a perfect fit

★ You agreed mostly out of interest, after all it had been a while since you’d worked on something like a music video

★ Working with the boys was fun though most times it was more chaotic than anything

★ In the midst of it all you were left with a lot of work to be done after the hours you spent filming

★ You could be caught in your on set office long after everyone else had gone, several times crew members waited with you to get certain forms filled out

★ Though the actors, the Saja Boys, had never lingered, not until now

★ You sat once again in your office, night slowly creeping up outside as you read a contract for the next filming location

★ You’d hardly gotten any work done today

★ Between Romance flirting with the makeup artists and Abby ripping all his shirts nobody could keep focus

★ You sighed dropping your head into your hands, you weren’t paid enough for this

★ You hadn’t expected the knock on your door, it was featherlight, barely audible

★ You sat up straight, quickly throwing the things on your desk into a partial organization before calling out a welcome

★ When Mystery walked in you felt yourself relax into confusion, you greeted him, watched his head turn to your paper sprawled desk and then allowed him to pull up a chair next to you

★ Mystery had slowly become your favorite of the group, he was quiet, prepared, and never made you question why you took this job

★ “Still working?” He murmured beside you

★ You nodded, silently signing off on a request from the sound crew

★ He didn’t speak up again but you could feel his stare on you, concerned as you leaned back skimming over another report

★ The silence didn’t break as you nodded off, head dropping onto his shoulder, instead he picked you up moving you over to a nearby couch so you could sleep peacefully

★ Then he sat at your desk grabbing a file of work that you needed one of the Saja Boys to sign off on, he read each paper fully, signing each before placing them somewhere to be sent off

★ He turned back, watching your breathing steady as you fell into a deeper sleep and allowed the small grin that found its way to his face

★ After that day things changed between you

★ Suddenly the boys stayed on track, your work load lightened, and you found yourself spending more time with Mystery

★ When production for the music video inevitably came to an end whatever had formed between you and Mystery didn’t

★ You found yourself attending his shows, coming over for no reason besides seeing him

★ He found himself reviewing clips of your next productions, organizing your signed papers, and preparing a space in his room for you

★ At the end of a long day behind cameras and working with everyone on set Mystery is the quiet you need

★ He doesn’t rush, doesn’t question, he just exudes a certain calm that you cling to like a lifeline

★ And honestly? That’s more than fine by him

Baby with a Chef

★ You’d meet Baby through a game show you hosted to promote your restaurant

★ It consisted of you and a guest going head to head trying different dishes you’d made, usually focusing around a certain flavor

★ This time around the dishes were varied levels of spice, and since the fans voted on who you’d bring on as a challenger they immediately picked out Baby Saja, the Idol well known for his spice tolerance

★ He’d agreed to come on, attempting to gain fans for his group, while being warned to be charming by Jinu, no one would keep watching if he was his usual quiet and guarded self

★ You’d laid out the rules, if he won he was granted a free meal at your restaurant, simple enough

★ “What if you win?” He’d asked, his deeper voice pulling you in

★ No one had asked that before, you supposed simply nothing would happen, several times you’d won, and each time nothing had changed

★ You explained that circumstance and he hummed nodding as the first dish you’d created was served to you both

★ The show went well, views hit a new high as you spoke to one another, interviewing the other about random topics

★ It ended in a tie, a first for your program, neither of you tapped out and eventually you simply ran out of food

★ For the sake of honoring his somewhat win you invited Baby for a free meal anyway, and he agreed with a slight smirk painting his face

★ In the next few weeks the interaction was pushed to the back of your mind, you’d become overrun at the restaurant and still needed to plan a new episode

★ One day a waitress pulled you aside in the kitchen, a table had requested to speak to you personally

★ You sighed at first, assuming it was either fans or a complaint, but from the look on your employees face it was something else entirely

★ Sat in a private room was Baby Saja, leaned out across his chair, his lips quirking into a small smile as he saw you

★ The tension in your shoulders relaxed as you met his gaze, he was here to cash in your promise

★ You made his dish personally, a remake of something from the challenge, and expected that to be that

★ You hadn’t expected him to be waiting for you when you clocked out

★ You jumped when you saw him waiting patiently, silently, for you

★ “What are you doing?” You asked, a hand on your chest in a weak attempt to slow your racing heart

★ “We tied.” He shrugged, “I got my reward, now it’s my turn to treat you.”

★ You let out a confused sigh as he watched you expectantly

★ “Let me take you to dinner.” He continued, “It’s only fair.”

★ He was being charming, he thought, exactly like Jinu said, though part of him knew it wasn’t about appearances anymore

★ You gave him a soft laugh, looking away for a moment only to turn back to his stare

★ Eventually you gave in giving him a date and a time to pick you up

★ This time around your time together didn’t feel like marketing

★ He took you somewhere on the outskirts of town, somewhere you wouldn’t be overwhelmed by fans

★ You ate at what he claimed was one of his favorite spots, talking about anything that came to mind

★ At some point you even managed a laugh out of him

★ By the end of the night you couldn’t help the smile on your face

★ He walked you home, the chill of night pressing through your clothes and rising goosebumps on your skin, you bumped into one another occasionally, your voices were soft, flowing with the breeze that passed by you as conversations became more personal

★ It never felt performative, never forced, it was easy

★ Hushed conversations, quick smiles, and something clicking into place between you two

★ Something neither of you could quite name

★ He was seen frequenting your restaurants after that, smiling, real and genuine, whenever you came to serve him

★ A quick photo was caught of you in his sweater after hours as you stood waiting for him to pick you up

★ Neither of you said anything, but it was known, and maybe that’s how it was always supposed to be

[sweetheartsocks]

QUESTIONS IN A WORLD OF BLUE.

Aaron Hotchner x law student!reader

genre : case fic, borderline embarrassing amount of pinning, unfunny jokes, set in season 3

summary : If you want fun, then listen to this. Georgetown's hottest story is "Law and Flounder". You're back with an all-new hot case that finally answers the question : "What happens when your thesis turns into a murder investigation… and maybe something more?" This story has everything : 1970s crime files, creepy copycats, legal jargon used incorrectly, and a very sexy and stern FBI agent who might actually smile more than frown. And just when you think the fun is over. Knock, knock, what's there ? It's cannoli time. What's cannoli time you ask ? It's that thing of when you're trying to help solve a case and you keep fantasizing about Hotch's indecently thick fingers. 

notes : i included a couple of appendices (with like reports and stuff), you don’t have to read them, the story still makes sense without, i just thought it’d be fun. also, this is literally my first time ever posting my writing on the internet so i’m really nervous lol, please be nice to me…!!

word count : 13.0k

'The Profiler's Dilemma : The role and reliability of early behavioral profiling in shaping investigative and legal outcomes' 

A thesis presented in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of

JURIS DOCTOR

(draft 3)

The emergence of behavioral profiling in the 1970s opened a new avenue to criminal investigations. Pioneered by the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit (BSU), now Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU), this approach relies on behavioral and psychological science, to identify offender traits and markers from crime scene evidence. Thus, this technique has been widely viewed as a pivotal tool in order to narrow suspect pools, particularly in complex and violent cases. However, points of contention remain in regards to the reliability, investigative value and legal admissibility of behavioral profiles. One early example of such case, is a 1978 unsolved homicide in Lexington, Virginia. BSU profilers provided a psychological profile of the perpetrator, but no arrests were made, and the case remains unsolved to this day. Consequently, this outcome raises critical questions regarding the justification of such interventions. 

This thesis aims to examine the legal implications and evidentiary challenges posed by the integration of behavioral profiling in criminal investigations, particularly during its formative years. 

The words on your screen are starting to not make sense anymore. At this point, you've seen the word 'behavioral' so many times that it's starting to look wrong. Maybe it's 'behavioural' ? Who even cares about any of this? You do, obviously, and way too much at that. You're just having a bad day because : 1. your thesis advisor has been MIA for the past 5 weeks 2. they were out of strawberry shortcake at the bakery 3. the Freedom of Information Act request you made to the FBI came back with so many 'REDACTED' parts that you're thinking that maybe that's the only word they're allowed to print. 

But hey, on the bright side, you managed to get an interview with Agent REDACTED to talk about the profile he made for the case. They take the time to redact his name to protect his privacy, just for him to go and publish several books detailing his entire profiling career. Thanks Agent Rossi! 

The trip from Georgetown to Quantico takes about 1 hour and 30 minutes. When embarking on this treacherous and arduous journey through DC public transportation, one must a) come prepared (cash, water bottle, sunscreen, little snack, blue ink pen and paper to take notes, headphones, pepper spray, and any other provisions), b) relinquish any and all hope of comfortable and decent travel conditions and c) adhere scrupulously to the following instructions to avoid any unnecessary detours (totally not speaking from experience.) 

Step 1 : get on the DC Circulator from Georgetown (at M street or Wisconsin Avenue) towards Union Station, 20-25 minutes, $1.00 for the fare

Step 2 : from Union Station, transfer to the Virginia Railway Express Fredericksburg Line towards Quantico Station Zone 6, 50-60 minutes, $12.00

Step 3 : board the shuttle from Quantico Station to the FBI Academy, 15-20 minutes, free

During this voyage, do not make eye contact with suspicious looking men in uniform and do not think too hard about how you're going to the literal FBI headquarters. 

The Quantico FBI building looks… like a badly-engineered game of Tetris. You're sure architecture aficionados would find something to say about brutalism, and how raw concrete is meant to show power and be imposing. To be honest, it looks plain ugly. But you're so nervous that you might not even be seeing it correctly. Perhaps it looks warped because you're shaking so much that your eyeballs themselves have become unsteady. 

You've been waiting for the past 24 minutes for the lady at the desk to give you back your ID and let you in to meet Agent Rossi. You couldn't possibly be on any lists… right ? How do people even get on a list ? It's not like you're googling anything too nefarious, and no, looking for 'hot older man hugs you and tells you you're pretty' videos isn't illegal. 

"Alright, everything seems to be in order. Here's your ID and visitor's badge. Please make sure to clip it to your clothing in a visible spot and do not remove it during your visit. The BAU is on the 6th floor, someone will accompany you," desk-lady finally says, like you weren't about to ask for a lawyer (wait, aren't you supposed to be a lawyer ?)

The visitor's badge looks cool. You're an 'AUTHORIZED VISITOR', at least until 5:00 PM today. Weirdly strict that they specify the hour. What if you're still here at 5:01 ? Do they neutralize you on sight ? 

You'd ask your chaperone, (Mr. Tojamura, or is it Agent Tojamura ?) who's accompanying you for this highly sensitive elevator ride from the reception desk to the 6th floor, but he doesn't particularly look the chatty type. 

Agent Rossi's office looks as boring as the rest of the building. You'd think someone so flamboyant would have an equally flashy office, but no. There's a few framed pictures here and there, one from where he was in the Marines (so that's how he got to 3 ex-wives…) Hidden in one of the drawers, you spot a very expensive bottle of scotch. Agent Rossi definitely knows how to drink, though it does make you wonder if this is how he's using tax payer money… There's a bunch of shiny awards, military medals you know nothing about, and plaques, several plaques : 'FBI Medal of Meritorious Achievement’, 'Director's Award for Excellence', 'FBI Shield of Bravery', damn. The awards do make up for the lack of bling-bling.  

"I suppose you're my 3:30 appointment ?"

"I'm, uh, yes. Hello. Agent Rossi. It's a pleasure to meet you." 

"Most people start with the desk, I see you've went straight to the ego wall," he points out immediately. You're not sure if he's threatening you or joking. 

"They're very shiny, so it's hard not to notice them—" No, that sounds rude, hold on, you think, cutting yourself off. "And they're obviously very impressive," you add quickly. 

"That's the idea," he says, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I get them polished regularly.”

He takes a seat, leans back into his chair. "Alright, enough ego-stroking for today. Let's get to why you're really here. The ‘78 case, is that right ?" he continues. 

Time to get to business. 

"Yes that's the one. I was wondering if you could walk me through your thought process while coming up with the profile ?" you ask directly. 

He tilts his head slightly. "You know I can't give you specifics, case is still open after all. What I can do —" He gestures vaguely with his hand. "— is talk you through the general method. General behavioral patterns, how crime scene elements correlate to specific types of unsubs… that sort of thing." 

Thing is, you're not exactly here to get a private profiling 101 lesson with Agent Rossi. You need to get him to talk as much as possible. 

"Of course, I understand. In general, when you're developing a profile, what behavioral indicators are you typically looking for ? And are there any elements of a profile you always try to include, even with limited data ?" you try. 

He pauses, brings his hand back up to his face. Seems to be considering how much or how little, he can get away with saying. The ring on his pinky scratches against his beard. 

"We look at what the unsub leaves us at the crime scene, whether they meant to or not. Level of organization, the type of victim they chose, a signature… Every element about the scene is a reflection of the unsub's mind." He pauses again, taps his finger against his chair absentmindedly. Tap, tap, tap. 

"And for your other question ?" he asks. "What's something I try to include in the profile no matter what ?"

You glance up from your notes, your pen is starting to stain your finger with ink. 

"Yes. I mean, if you don't have substantial information to base your conclusions on. What parts of the profile would you still try to figure out?"

"No matter how thin the file, I always look for signs of a potential escalation. Demographic profile, comfort zone, that's the stuff anyone can give, it's statistics. But escalation ? Emotional leakage ? That's what you have to look for, and you have to know where to look."

You finish writing down what he says and look back up at him. 

"In the 1978 profile, you mention that the offender might potentially revisit the crime scene. Generally speaking, what would lead you to that conclusion ?" you venture. 

He chuckles. In a sort of patronizing way. Like you're a little kid who just made a cheeky joke. Amused but condescending at the same time. 

"Revisiting the scene, it's a form of reliving the crime, of quenching some sort of thirst or guilt. Think of it like an addict coming back for another hit. In the crime scene—" He stops and waits for you to finish writing. "— you see that the unsub spent time with the body, moved it, disturbed it in some way. Almost like they can't get themselves to let go. Of course, if the crime itself gave the unsub a specific and intense emotional release, they'd tend to come back to it."

Intense emotional release, to relive the crime. This checks out with the profile you have. 

"How would you determine that a crime was sexually motivated if there's no sign of sexual assault?" you risk. 

He knows what you're getting at. The profile you got doesn't include the fact that substantial damage was done to the victim's private parts, but that was easy enough to find out. 

He narrows his eyes slightly, and straightens his back. 

You put down your pen. Maybe you took it too far ? 

"You've been doing some digging."

You're not sure if you're supposed to answer. You can't back down now, this is important. But at the same time, you hate that it feels like he's about to scold you. 

He drags out the silence for a little longer. Like he's trying to see if you'll crack. 

"Sexual motive isn't necessarily about the act itself. It can be about power, control, dominance, humiliation." 

You pick your pen again. 

"When there's no clear evidence of assault, we look at the body itself. Was it posed ? Was there overkill ? Did the unsub take anything ?"

You can feel him watching you, dissecting every part of you. Not unkind, but sharp.

"Looking back…" You clear your throat. " Is there anything in your original profile that you would maybe change, with the knowledge and experience you have now ?" Somehow, your voice is steady, even if you're shaking in your socks.

 "Would I write the same profile today ?" He leans back in his chair. He looks at you, more kindly than before, and then to the side of his desk. Like he's trying to look back in time. 

"Probably not. Not because the original profile is wrong… but because I'm— time changes the way you see things."

He hums, and tears his gaze away from his desk. You try to glance at what he was staring at but the picture frame looks backlit from where you're sitting. 

"Let me ask you a question. I'm not used to being the only one interrogated." He smirks. "Why focus on profiling ? You're a law student, aren't you ?"

"I, uh—" You're not sure what to say. He does have a point. Because profiles are a walking contradiction, trusted by police but doubted by courts. That's the answer you should give. Sounds smart enough, and doesn't question the value of profiling as a whole. You're spinning your pen in your hand. 

"Because they're—"

A quick knock. The door opens before you can finish what you were saying (thank god). 

A man steps in, "Dave, can you— I'm sorry I didn't realize you were in a meeting."

A man doesn't even begin to describe whoever it is that just came in. You almost drop your pen (and your [REDACTED]. no? let's try a different word. your [REDACTED]. still not… you almost drop one of your personal clothing items. that works.)

He's beautiful. In an overworked, and underfucked way. His hair is short, maybe a tad too much, some of it is sticking up despite the gel coating the strands. Your hands are itching to brush them back down. He's wearing a suit, gray, with a red tie. Is there such a thing as a 'suit fetish', because you definitely have that. His tie looks almost too tight, like everything about him has to be tightly tied down.  Almost reflexively, your eyes look for his hands. No ring. Thick fingers, hairy hands, fancy watch. No ring. You're probably staring at him with your mouth open, like this is the very first time you're seeing a man. And it might as well be. He's beautiful. And he smells nice. You get a very light whiff of his perfume… vanilla ? 

Agent Rossi looks mildly amused, like he's stumbled upon something interesting. "Law student," he says with a small nod your way. "Working on one of my old profiles. About how profiling holds up in court." He glances at you then back at the (beautiful, beautiful) man. 

"Since you were playing for the other team, maybe you could give them some pointers." 

"Aaron Hotchner. Unit Chief," he says and holds out his hand for you to shake. It’s rough, and incredibly warm. The ink on your finger leaves a little blue smudge on his palm. Like every part of you is trying to latch on to him.

You give him your name. You're looking at his eyes. They're brown, and gentle, and beautiful.

"You're studying how behavioral analysis is used in court?" he asks with quiet interest. 

"Yes sir." Oh don't think about what other context you could say this in. 

"I find it interesting how profiling is interpreted and weighed in court. Not just in terms of legal technicalities but also by the jury. It can influence how suspects are apprehended and how evidence is interpreted, which directly impacts the trial." You take a small breath. "I'm not arguing against profiling per se, I'm just trying to understand how it fits with legal, uh— standards."

This sounds a lot better than the previous bullshit answer you were going to give Agent Rossi. 

"That's an interesting angle to take." He starts rubbing the top of his index finger with his thumb. You're basically entranced, like he's a snake charmer and you’re about to start wiggling in your chair. 

"Profiling can shape the way a case progresses. Most times it helps point to the right suspect. Sometimes, it can make the wrong one look more guilty," he adds, voice low and steady. 

"The law is about concrete, undeniable facts. Profiling is more about patterns and possible ways to interpret them. The two don't always fit neatly together." He pauses, and you swear you can see the hint of a smile on his lips. " You've got your work cut out for you, but it's a great topic." 

Meeting Aaron Hotchner must be some sort of reparation for all the pain men have caused you. You're glad you decided to study law, you're glad you picked a thesis subject on profiling, and you're glad you spent 1 hour 42 minutes and $13.00 to get here. 

"Thank you sir. That… really helps." You don't think you can manage to say more than that without making a fool out of yourself. 

Surprisingly, he gives you a small smile. You're sure that this one is real. Maybe the previous one could have been up to interpretation but this one is definitely real. He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, and takes out a small card. 

"Here. If you ever have any questions. I'll try to answer them as best as I can," he says as he hands it to you. 

The tips of your fingers brush ever so slightly against his when you take it. There's a vein that's popping out on his hand. You can almost imagine the rhythm of his pulse. Dum, dum, dum. Slow, steady, regular.

When you look back up from his hand to his face, you notice a small scar on the lower part of his chin. 

"I— Thank you again sir. That's really kind of you." 

He gives you a nod, and looks back at Agent Rossi, who you somehow forgot not only was in the room, but even existed. 

Agent Rossi, on cue, clears his throat, "Well, I believe you've gotten even more than what you were gunning for." He looks unbelievably smug, like he can barely contain it. 

You blink. You're not sure if he means the toeing-with-the-limits questions, the advice, the business card, or… something else entirely. But for some reason, you're not the one he's looking at. 

"Good luck with your thesis. Don't slander profiling too much," he jokes. 

"Thank you, really. Both of you." 

You quickly slip the card between your notes. You still technically have 15 minutes as an authorized visitor. But you're not going to push your luck, you head towards the elevator. You’re definitely keeping the visitor’s badge.

Holy fuck.

To no one's surprise, most of the officers and detectives that worked the case in 1978 are either dead or retired. 

And obviously, the retired ones are just dying to narrate in outlandishly embellished and exaggerated detail their glory days on the force. The stories have ranged from a high tension stakeout of a local drug lord (an old lady who was unknowingly growing cannabis in her backyard. or was she ?) to somewhat useful anecdotes about the case. So bribes (no, let's say offerings rather) of donuts and coffee are starting to seriously make a dent in your wallet (can you even write that off as a business expense ?) 

At this point, you're on first name basis with the donut shop owner (Norma, 47, Taurus, 2 kids and a balding husband, likes long walks on the beach and George Michael). But this sort of works out in your favor because according to Virginia law, you're not allowed to even see the police files. (To be legally thorough : 

Code of Virginia § 2.2-3706.1(C) : "Criminal investigative files relating to an ongoing criminal investigation or proceeding are excluded from the mandatory disclosure provisions of this chapter, but may be disclosed by the custodian, in his discretion, except as provided in subsection E or where such disclosure is prohibited by law.") 

The custodian in this case, Mrs. Catherine Martell, Records Manager for the Lexington Police Department, isn't the biggest fan of donuts, or pie, or cake, or cookies, or you, for that matter.

As of now, your case notes consist of : 

a) mostly redacted FBI documents (see Appendix I)

b) a search warrant affidavit from 1979 for a Lecter Perpetrator (now that's an inconspicuous name…)

c) the interview notes for Agent Rossi

d) a bunch of old newspaper clippings 

e) notes from talking to the officers and other residents (part gossip, part conspiracy theories and part factual information) (see Appendix II)

To be fair, you can piece together most of the relevant case facts from all of this. 

The victim, Teresa Banks, worked at the ‘Double Y Diner’; found naked, with choking marks and stab wounds to the chest and privates, 2 miles from her house, body discovered early morning of July 9th 1978. Her coworker/friend Shelly Johnson, said that she dropped her off the night before near the town's church, as usual, and that Teresa always walked the rest of the way home (which would take her about 8 minutes). No one heard or saw anything, but one of the neighbors said that "it smelt like something was burning."

She was found the next morning by people coming to the church for Sunday service. Most of them agree that it was "gruesome and inhumane" and "why would someone do that to that poor girl?" One guy in particular, Kevin Baskin, was a bit more descriptive : "It was really early. We were going to early mass with my mother. I remember the sky was still deep blue. Everything was blue, it felt like. The marks on her neck, her lips, the tips of her fingers. Just blue, blue, blue. She had dirt on her face, it looked almost black against her skin. Like if death had kissed her cheek." Sounds a bit creepy, but according to your math, the guy was 16 when it happened so let's just say that's how he processed things. Plus, he's been really helpful, he's the one who gave you most of the newspaper articles you have and he's always down to talk about the case with you. 

Anyways, according to the profile, the dirt is actually soot and it likely got there from the killer slapping her after burning her clothes. There's not much you could find out about Lecter Perpetrator, the guy from the search warrant. Traveling salesman, never married, no kids, his sister said that "he had a mean streak and could get real violent." Died in 1984 in a car crash. Nothing of note was found at his house, except a few cans of lighter fluid. 

All of this to say that you're not getting anywhere with your thesis. Sure, you have most of the facts you need and the interview with Agent Rossi did give you a good look at how he came up with the profile (and an even better look at his unit chief). But somehow, you feel like something is missing. Or you're just stalling. Or, you need Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief, to give you some more legal advice. Obviously you're procrastinating but it still feels nice to imagine the super hot guy you talked to for a grand total of 10 minutes, 3 weeks ago, instead of doing your work. His business card is still tucked in with your notes. 24 point or 0.024 caliper, thick and sturdy card. Feels smooth under your finger, and the lettering on his name is slightly raised. You can trace each letter, A-a-r-o-n-, and it's almost like you're tracing the blue-ish veins that were on his hand when he handed it to you. You think about calling the number on the card. 

"This is Agent Hotchner speaking,"

"Agent Hotchner, I need your help with something… You see, I've been thinking about you and—"

"Have you now ? I'm glad you called me,"

"Oh yes, I keep thinking about your hands. How strong they look, how thick they are. I can't even focus on my work anymore,"

"We can't have that, can we ? Tell me what you need,"

"Well I—"

"Your free minute is almost up, to continue this call, a rate of $2.99 per minute will apply. Press 1 to accept charges."

Norma, (donut shop owner, 47, Taurus, 2 kids and a balding now ex-husband, still likes long walks on the beach and George Michael), managed to get you a contact with the old local paper editor. The donut investments are paying off, and she's also trying out a new donut recipe just for you (neat!)

You're now the lucky owner of archival and collector copies in mint condition of the Rockbridge County Paper, ranging from July 1978 to December 1983, and you have a donut named after you : the 'Law-berry and cream'.

The earlier papers don't provide you with anything new about the Teresa Banks case, but there's something interesting in the September 1982 one. Farmville, VA resident and local photographer Ronette Pulaski, 32, was found naked, with bruises on her neck and stab wounds, in High Bridge Trail. 

The Farmville custodian is thankfully partial to brownies, so you do get more leeway to see the police records this time (maybe Mrs. Catherine Martell, Records Manager, is more of a savory person ?) 

The coroner's report states :

"Multiple sharp force injuries consistent with stab wounds, on the anterior torso and bilateral inguinal regions.

Severe disruptive trauma to the external genitalia is noted, making assessment of sexual assault inconclusive. Evidence of manual strangulation observed, bilateral contusions on the neck, consistent with digital impressions. 

Cause of death determined as asphyxia due to manual strangulation." 

Also, the crime scene photos show a very faint stain on her cheek. Granted, it could be dirt, she was found on a hiking trail. But all of this is starting to sound eerily familiar to you. Farmville and Lexington belong to two different jurisdictions, so that's probably why they never connected the two. And the cases sound way too similar for it to just be a coincidence. 

What now? This isn't a Nancy Drew book, you're not going to be solving the case on your own. 

The truth will out, and it is your duty to help it, bla-bla-bla legal and ethical obligations. Basically, you have to inform the competent authorities through the proper channels. 

And in this case, that would most likely be the BAU since they consulted on the 1978 case. 

Great. 

As it turns out, a 'report of potentially critical intelligence relevant to an active investigation' takes a lot more time than you thought it would. And you're not even reporting anything that critical, the cases are like 30 years old. Could it be because you keep getting sidetracked by day dreaming about a certain agent getting your report on his desk ? (He'd sit down in an expensive, aerodynamic and ergonomic chair, optimal for lumbar support. Take a sip of coffee (black, no sugar, no fun), from his very plain mug that just says 'FBI', and lick his lips afterwards. Maybe spread his legs just the tiniest bit, to get more comfortable. Let out a deep sigh, one that echoes a bit too loud to just be from fatigue. He'd lightly run his fingers over the paper before — )

No, of course not. Not only is this serious business, but he wouldn't even read the report himself, he's a very busy man. Also, now you're somehow worried that the FBI would be able to tell that you were having inappropriate thoughts about one of their agents while writing the report. Well, it's not like you're putting 'I want to [REDACTED] Agent Hotchner's [REDACTED]' in the report, so it should be fine. 

Just make sure to proofread it before sending it. Just in case. 

You're never drinking again. Ever. First of all, alcohol is bad for you. Second of all, the pounding in your head is making you rethink every opinion you've ever had about terrorism. And your phone ringtone definitely isn't helping; you've suddenly developed a deep seated hatred for Outrageous by Britney Spears (this is just the alcohol talking, they could never make me hate you Britney <3). So, for the homeland's security and interests, you can never drink again. And out of respect for miss Britney Spears herself. 

Your phone screen displays 2 missed calls from Norma (donut shop owner, just turned 48, Taurus, 2 kids, ex-husband still balding, likes long walks on the beach and George Michael) and she left a message, 1 missed call from Log Lady/Witness, one message from Kevin Baskin and most unsettling of all 1 missed call from Mrs. Catherine Martell, Records Manager, herself. 

Mrs. Catherine Martell, Records Manager, as established previously for the court, is not your biggest fan. So she must be calling because the second coming of Christ happened in Lexington, Virginia, and she's trying to get you to the front lines for the Lord's Judgment. 

Your messages read : 

FROM : NORMA DONUTS

7:43 AM

Call me back. There's been another murder. Identical to old one … 

FROM : KEVIN BASKIN LEXGT

9:18 AM

Did you hear??

Oh. This is bad. B-H-A-D BAD. 

You call back Mrs. Martell first because she might be able to get you the most information. 

There's indeed a new body. Discovered this morning, May 16th at 5:38 AM by Kevin Baskin (poor guy, he's really having a rough year. first, his wife dumps him because she thinks he’s too boring and now this… but isn't it weird that the exact same thing happened to him twice?) Says he had to get up early to get his car to the repair shop before going to work. The body was dumped on Beatty Hollow, a couple of miles from the local car shop. The crime scene is way too similar to the 1978 one. The injuries are also exactly the same, strangulation marks and the stab wounds. To top it all off, Beatty Hollow and Turnpike Road, aka the road where the first victim was found, are one continuous road that branches off. 

So there's obviously some freak copying the old murder. Why can't people find regular hobbies ? Like reading, or painting or perhaps even crocheting ? This makes the situation a lot more urgent than it was a few weeks ago, when you sent the information report to the FBI. Which, unsurprisingly, you haven't heard back about. To be fair, at the time, the crimes were respectively 29 and 25 years old with no new developments whatsoever. Plus, it's not like you have some notable credibility with the FBI or anything of the sort. So, unsurprisingly again, that report might not have been at the top of their priority list.

Is this somehow your fault ? By some weird manifestation thing, you saying that the cases weren't that urgent led to this ? How come this sort of immediate karma only works against you, never when you need someone to get what's coming to them. 

The truth will out, and it is— we get it. Best next step is to actually talk to someone in charge. 

Someone in charge… some … one… in charge…

The Lord really does work in mysterious ways. 

The phone only rings three times.

"Hotchner."

This sounds a lot like last time… yes pressing 1, I accept the charges operator!

"Hello, uh, Agent Hotchner ? I'm — I talked to you last time about profil—" You stop yourself. That doesn't matter right now. "Basically I'm working on the murder case in Lexington. From 1978." You need to stop fumbling and get it together. 

" I think I found another case that's way too similar for it to be a coincidence. 1982, in Farmville. And I sent an information report but—"

"I'm sorry, what is this about?" he cuts in, not unkindly. 

"I— yes of course. There's been another murder in Lexington. I don't know if you're aware. And it's basically a copy of the first one. Same injuries, same everything," you explain. 

"Yes, the BAU has been made aware of it." He still sounds calm, but maybe a bit sharper. You can hear the sound of a door closing. "Are you implying that there's another case related to this ?"

"Well… basically yes. I sent an information report about it but I'm not sure if they've gotten to it yet. And obviously, the situation is more urgent now. I'm sorry for just calling you like this, I just felt like it might be useful."

There's a brief silence on the line. Not long enough to make you think he hung up (he's not the type. at least you think so. he looks too proper to hang up on someone). But long enough to make you think that you might have overstepped. 

"I appreciate you calling," he says finally. He sounds more attentive, focused.

"If the details are as similar as you're saying, it might warrant a closer look."

You can faintly make out the sound of paper shuffling, a drawer opening and the click of a pen.

"I'd like you to come to Quantico," he continues. "We'll need to go over everything you found."

Your mouth goes a little dry. The skin around your nail starts to itch, almost begging you to pull it.

"Okay. Yeah, of course."

"Send me the reference number for the information report. I'll have someone pull it up," he requests.

There's another beat of silence. You can hear the sound of his pen gliding (not scratching or scribbling) on paper. "You did the right thing calling," he finally says, gentle, quiet but still firm. The line clicks. 

You lower the phone slowly, like it might shatter if you move it too fast. 

You're almost waiting for the operator to tell you that your total charges are $14.95, and for a sultry voice to pop back up and say "You did the right thing calling, honey. Call me again when you're ready for more…"

The trip from Georgetown to Quantico still takes approximately 1 hour and 30 minutes. 

You do manage to correctly follow the travel instructions this time, even while carrying a box full of notes and documents (not that you didn't last time, obviously…). In some way, the file box does make you feel more confident, like you're here on official business. Which you are technically, but now everyone else can see that. Get it while it's hot! DC fashionistas newest must have : super trendy file box, only $17 at Office Depot!

Even the desk-lady (different from last time though, so statistically not a valid comparison point) processes your ID and gives you your visitor's badge quicker, 10 minutes quicker to be exact. It's obviously thanks to the file box (or, it's because you're here on request of the BAU's unit chief, and not because you've been harassing an agent to give you an interview for like 4 weeks. crazy how networking works…)

You do still get your trusty chaperone, Mr./Agent (verdict's still not out on his proper title) Tojamura, to safely get you from the elevator to the 6th floor. 

Mr./Agent Tojamura drops you off at what looks to be a conference room, decidedly not Agent Hotchner's office…

The table's round, 6 chairs, black, not too fancy, not too shabby. Bunch of brown folders and papers strewn on it, and a notepad with yellow pages that looks like it's been forgotten. There's a little coffee area, with a fax machine. The pot looks cold. Just above it, a white board with something about a mandatory BAU seminar and how 'It's better to volunteer!!' written in dry-erase blue marker. There's another board on the other side of the room, bigger, but it's flipped around. 

You're not sure if or where you're supposed to sit. You pick one of the round table chairs that face the door and put your very chic file box on the table. 

You wait. 

10 minutes. No sign of Agent Hotchner, or anyone else for that matter. You can see people bustling around in the bullpen, making phone calls, reading through files, writing reports. You can also see some guy pretending to be doing work on his computer but he keeps going back and forth between an empty spreadsheet and what looks like a gossip forum. You can't make out exactly what the skinny is, but there's a very nice picture of Paris Hilton. That's hot.

You glance back up at the clock above the white board. It's been 11 minutes now. Do they have a quota of how long they're supposed to make you wait ? Like the time you thought you gained at the reception, you have to make up for here ?  

The door clicks open. 13 minutes. About the same total wait time as last time. Not enough data to make a statistical conclusion, but there's a hypothesis that's starting to brew. 

You turn your head as Agent Hotchner walks in. No gray suit this time unfortunately, just plain regular black. His shirt is a pale blue tone that looks nice against his skin. Tie still tightly knotted. You did some purely academic research since last time, and apparently 'suit fetish' is actually a thing. There's even blogs solely dedicated to posting curated pictures. Not that you've signed up for any of their emailing lists of course…

He's holding a manila folder in his hand. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed. There's a crease between them that's deeper than it should be, like his face is preemptively getting ready for when he fully furrows them. 

"Thank you for coming," he says. 

You're waiting for him to pick the seat across from you, all neat and formal and professional. It's also the closest one to the door. 

But he doesn't. He takes the one next to yours. 

You're not touching. But you could be. If you sway your chair just the tiniest bit, your knee would knock against his. He's sitting next to you like you're colleagues, or somewhat equals. Like he wants to actually listen to what you're going to say. 

He sets the folder on the table.

"You've brought everything ?" he asks while nodding towards you little bravado box. It's looking a little meek all of a sudden. 

You nod. "Everything I could find. Some of it isn't— it's kind of a mess. Sorry, I didn't have time to organize all of it. It's mostly just my notes, nothing formal."

"That's fine," he replies. He's already flipping through your folders. 

His index slowly drags against the paper. Most logically, because your handwriting is all jumbled and it's hard to follow the flow of what you've written down. But your mind easily makes the shortcut that he's caressing the words you wrote, and by extension, you (delusional). That this is his subtle way of starting an intellectual courtship (delusional). 

"Sorry about the chaos," you explain, just to get your mind off of whatever highly inappropriate scenario it was getting to. "I wasn't really planning on anyone having to decipher through them."

"They make sense. Your notes," he answers without looking up, gaze still fixated on your papers. 

He's doing that thing with his hand again. Rubbing his finger with his thumb. It's distracting. 

"You picked up on details a lot of people would have missed." 

There's no flattery in his voice. It's still that same low and measured tone. You don't even think he's capable of flattery. The tip of your ears feel a little warm.

"Thanks. I wasn't sure if I was seeing patterns that were actually there or if I was starting to make things up."

He looks up at you for a second. His gaze feels gentle but subtly inquisitive. As if he's quietly trying to figure you out without startling you. 

"Feeling uncertain isn't a weakness." He goes back to reading your notes. "It means you're paying attention.”

There's a pause. You're not sure what to say. You're looking at the white board from before. The second 'e' on 'volunteer' looks a little crooked. 

"Is there anything that made you connect the two victims besides how they were found? Both women never crossed paths," he inquires. He puts your notes down, and fully turns his body towards you. His suit jacket rustles a bit. 

Your hands sit in front of you. You're lightly scratching the space between your thumb and your index finger.

"In Agent Rossi's original profile. It said that—"  You pause and your start looking through the files you brought. You pull out your redacted copy of the profile. "The killer was doing it out of intense hate, that he's sadistic. And that he probably feels inadequate regarding love or sex." You quickly scan the page, looking for a specific phrase. "Also, this: 'Potential triggers include but are not limited to : rejection or humiliation in a romantic/sexual context.'" You take a moment. Tuck your hair back behind your ears. Gather your thoughts. 

"This is hearsay, I'm aware. Double hearsay technically. But when I talked to the former local newspaper editor, he said that he'd heard— well not heard exactly but he wouldn't tell me his source— that the other victim, Ronette, wasn't the most patient person with random men. That she was really focused on her work and didn't have time and didn't want to make time for dating.” You risk a look at him. He's softly resting his chin on his knuckles. You can't find the little scar from before on it. He gives you a gentle nod, as if to tell you to go on. 

"That's what's similar. To Teresa Banks. She was also described as someone who could be… brash, when needed. Her colleague, told me that Teresa would be the first one to put, uh, pushy, customers, back in their place," you continue.

"I think that's the link between them. That both of them wouldn't shy away from telling a guy to go f— to leave them alone. That's what sets the killer off," you finish. For some reason, you feel calmer than at the beginning. You've spent so much time and put so much of yourself in this case, both cases.   

He puts his hand back down. The light catches the little scar on his chin, it's still there. It's a lot fainter now. 

"I know this is mostly conjecture. But it still feels like something."

He doesn't say anything at first. He writes something in the margin of the folder he brought in with him. Quickly, efficiently, neatly. His pen looks expensive. Black, sleek with navy accents. Kind of like his suit. Does he match them on purpose? 

"It is conjecture," he finally says. "But it's informed conjecture. And that's where we start from."

There's the ghost of a smile on his lips. It's that am I hallucinating/ it's up to interpretation / it could be just his lips twitching, smile again. 

"You've put real time into this. It's good work." He closes the folder. His fingers drum on the cover.

His eyebrows furrow. To their full range this time. 

He looks conflicted. Like he's weighing down his options. He glances at something outside the conference room, an office. His frown somehow deepens, like it’s testing the aerodynamic limits of his face. You're not sure who the owner of said office is, but it looks fancy. And you know it's not Agent Rossi's. He looks back at your files, and then finally at you. 

Another moment of silence. His eyebrows twitch, like they're fighting back against his frowning. After that they relax, just a bit. 

"I'd like for you to keep working on this. With us."

Your brain scrambles to catch up. You blink. Once. Twice. A third time. This is what happens when you abuse alcohol. You've clearly fried off the last of your brain cells with cherry brandy of all things. 

"With… you?" you ask. You probably sound as confused as you feel.

"With the BAU, yes," he clarifies. "As a consultant. Informally."

You're just about to ask if he's gone senile when he continues.

"You've already put in the work. You know the case, you have rapport with the people. You're not trained the way we are but you see patterns. We could use that," he goes on, gently. Like he's somewhere between pleading and offering rather than demanding. 

You want to. Of course you do. You'd say yes to anything he could possibly ask of you. 

But your mind is screaming about all the legal implications. Appearance of impropriety, unauthorized practice of law, confidentiality breaches… You'd be crossing professional boundaries you haven't even had the chance to submit to yet. 

The chair is sticking to your skin. You're back to picking at the space between your thumb and your index. Unknowingly, your eyebrows furrow. Not unlike how his do.

"You know I'm not exactly the best fit… legally speaking.”  He knows what you're hinting at. And you know that he knows. And he knows that you know that he knows. 

Even then, his expression doesn't falter. 

"I'm aware," he answers. "I've made my assessment and I stand by it."

There's a pause. He's giving you room.

"You've already proven you're capable of threading the line. Carefully," he prompts you. 

Your eyes settle on your notes, the mess of words, the coffee stains, the pages where the ink is all over the place because your printer almost blew up, the Office Depot sticker on the side of your file box.  

"I'd need to check with my academic advisor." You're saying this more to yourself than to him. 

"Of course," he replies. 

A beat.

"But I'd like you to accept."

Turns out, the best way to get your academic advisor to respond in a timely manner is to put 'URGENT FBI CONSULT REQUEST PROCEDURE INQUIRY' in the mail subject line.

If only you'd had known about this trick before, you could have saved so much time. Because neither 'Advising appointment request, VERY important' nor 'Please respond I'm this close to naming you in my suicide letter' seemed to catch his attention. 

Dr. Albert Rosenfield Ph.D., academic advisor though certainly undeserving of the title, tells you that consulting for the FBI would make a remarkable addition to your résumé and that you're legally savvy enough to know how to navigate the legal landmines that you're bound to encounter. 

He's right. This would look banging on your résumé :

Juris Doctor,

Extensive knowledge of FBI investigative procedures through consultant work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit,

Proficient in Microsoft Excel (arguably the most notable achievement out of all of these).

Still, no matter how good this sounds on paper, it doesn't prepare you (in any way whatsoever) for sitting across the table in the Lexington PD improvised conference room, with 3 federal agents flipping through your notes like they're looking for a reason to kick you out. 

Agent 1 : Dr Spencer Reid. Arguably the least intimidating of the three. Doesn't shake hands, talks really fast, and drinks so much coffee that he's making you consider quitting caffeine all together. He's also going through your notes so fast that you're wondering if he's part cyborg.

Agent 2 : Jennifer Jareau. JJ. Looks kind. She's the media liaison, so she's more used to talking to the non-initiated. She softly touched your back when you looked very obviously nervous after Agent Morgan told you that he "has no problem with you being here" but that you shouldn't "slow them down." 

Agent 3 : Emily Prentiss. Most likely to kick your ass if needed. Sharp, slick, intimidating. She did compliment the Siouxsie and the Banshees pin on your bag though. 

You're also going through files. Carefully vetted and redacted ones. About the copycat. To see if you can catch something different. 

You haven't talked to Agent Hotchner —Hotch— since this morning, when he introduced you to his team, gave you a disappointingly professional pat on the shoulder (no lingering, no morse code message tapped with his fingers that reads "I kept thinking about you.") and told you to get to work.

Nothing really jumps out at you. There's subtle differences with the original murder. The victim, Sylvia Horne, 33, secretary, was last seen at the Bang Bang Bar. She was trying to put herself out there, be more spontaneous. Which would make her potentially more open to talking to strangers. Difference one. 

Difference two. The ME report, although heavily redacted, (you tried to sneak a peek at the full copy while Dr Reid was distracted but Hotch immediately caught you, cleared his throat, and gave you a very pointed look.), says that the stabbing was less frenzied, less violent. Consequently, there was less damage to the groin. Which made it possible to determine, with certainty this time, that were wasn’t sexual assault. 

Difference three. There's a mark on her cheek, not unlike the original case. But it's dirt, not soot. And it was smeared on her face, not slapped on. 

You keep spinning your pen. Try to think. There's a growing ink dot on the side of your hand. You're not sure what to do with any of this. 

You push the file away from you. "Bathroom," you mumble to no one in particular. Agent Jareau, "my friends call me JJ" but you're not sure if you can call her JJ just yet, gives you a small nod. 

You step out onto the hallway. You're familiar with the layout of the Lexington police department, you've been here too many times to count. Mrs. Catherine Martell, Records Manager, is at her desk, typing what looks to be a very fiery complaint about the ever declining quality of the customer service at some restaurant downtown. Now that you're here on request of the FBI, she's toned down the nasty comments and pivoted to nasty looks. 

You're headed towards the back door, on the left side of the building. There's a little staircase there, that's hidden from the rest of the department, where you can sit down and let your face rest from all the sharp glances it's been subjected to the entire day. 

You spot Hotch on your way there. He's talking on the phone. His brows are back to their impressively furrowed state. This frown looks to be from annoyance though. Different from the ones you've seen from him before. The phone looks ridiculously small in his hand. You overhear him say a very clipped "Yes, I'm aware ma'am." before you open the back door. 

You sit on the second step. Your phone buzzes. It's another message from Kevin Baskin (remember him?). He's been asking you more and more inquisitive questions about the copycat case the moment you got to Lexington. You're not sure what to message back. 

You take a deep breath. 

The door opens again, slowly. 

Hotch steps out. He's holding a small paper coffee cup in his hand. It has a tiny blue sticker that says ‘LPD’. 

He hands it to you before sitting down on, on the third step. The cup is warm. From the coffee. From where his hand held it. 

You take a sip. Plain black coffee. It tastes absolutely disgusting. You try to contain the grimace that's making its way on to your face. 

He lets out a little chuckle. It's so subtle that you thought you were hearing things, but when you look at him, there's a small smile on his lips. He takes out a sugar packet from his pocket and hands it to you. 

"Are you alright?" he asks you softly. 

From where you're sitting, you're slightly looking down at him. His eyes look really pretty from this angle. From any angle to be fair. But you can see more clearly that the center is brown and the borders have more green. That there's a few faint lines on the corners of them. That there's a single white eyelash nestled in the upper line of his left eye. 

You swirl around the sugar into the coffee. It's still bitter, but better than before. You're staring into the cup. As if you're trying to spot any lone grains of sugar that haven't dissolved and are hiding out at the bottom. You're avoiding his gaze. You know that if you meet his eye, you'll just end up admitting something you're not ready to. Or perhaps he already knows, with his profiling superpowers, that you're wondering if there's any point in you being here, if you're actually helping or just getting in the way. 

"Yeah. It's just… a lot", you answer so quietly you're not sure he even hears you. 

He doesn't respond right away. 

"I know," he says. He tilts his head. Like he's trying to catch your gaze through the coffee cup. "You're doing a good job."

You nod, slowly. You don't look at him, you're still swirling the coffee around in your cup. The sugar's almost completely dissolved. There's a few stubborn grains, stuck to the side of the cup. 

You lift your eyes to meet his, for a second, before returning to the cup. You shift your knee to the side, barely. Just enough to fleetingly brush against his. 

The sugar's all dissolved. 

Day 4 of being sequestered in the Lexington PD makeshift conference room. Can anyone hear this ? Hello ? Is this thing on ?

You're now intimately familiar with every nook and cranny of this god forsaken room. You can't tag along to go interview people, because you're not law enforcement. You can't go to the crime scene, because you're not law enforcement. You can't visit the medical examiner, because — say it with me folks — "you're not law enforcement !"

JJ, lets you out of your enclosure for your one hour of fresh air a day around 12:30 (she insists you come have lunch with her and the rest of the team if they're not somewhere else.) 

You like eating with them. It's fun listening to Dr Reid ramble about the agricultural technicalities of growing tomatoes in Virginia. Or pretending you don't see Agent Prent—Emily, steal fries off of his plate and having to stifle your laughter when he wonders out loud why he has less food all of a sudden while Agent Morgan tells him that it's because they're doing crop rotation on his plate. Or having Hotch open your water bottle for you because the cap was screwed on too tight, and inconspicuously (at least as inconspicuously as you can manage) staring at how his fingers flex and twist against the plastic. 

Funnily enough, the work of an FBI profiler isn't as glamorous as one would think. It's half arguing back and forth with the local officers. Half staring at a white board and pages and pages of reports. And half (why are there three halves?) discussing whether the "unsub" chews with the left side of his mouth or the right one. 

Somewhere in between light hearted jokes, at the beginning at Dr Reid's but now at your expense, and debates on the behavioral implications of chewing with the right side of your face, a more concrete profile is starting to emerge. 

It starts with a scribble on Agent Rossi's notepad "less rage?" Which turns into a question from Emily : "What if the emotion of the crime itself isn't what he's after?”

Dr Reid frowns, or more like scrunches his nose. "He's mimicking the structure but not the intent. Most copycats exhibit a need for recognition or notoriety. They can also feel admiration for the original killer, perhaps a twisted sense of kinship. There's no evidence of that here. It reads as if he's recreating the crime with no emotional or ideological resonance," he rattles off. 

It makes sense. You pick up the first pen you spot on the table and start spinning it in your hand. It feels heavy.

The only people who are even affected by this crime are the Lexington residents. It's the only thing people are talking about. Everyone you talk to has a theory, an opinion or a groundless accusation against someone. 

This killer isn't doing it to get emotional release. The stab wounds aren't that violent, there's no sexual assault. On paper, it looks as much like the original crime as possible. But the details are all wrong. 

The pen is one of those fancy ones you twist to use. Twist on, twist off, twist on. 

The only thing this murder created is gossip. Wait. What if that's the point ? 

"What if the point isn't the murder itself but the aftermath ?" you propose. 

You can feel everyone's gaze shifting to your face. Although they don't seem as scary as before, it still makes your skin prickle. You tap the pen against your palm.

"I mean, this new murder is the only thing anyone can talk about. Everyone's focused on it. Like in 1978."

You glance at Hotch without meaning to. He's watching you. Carefully. Encouraging in his own quiet way. 

You continue before you lose your nerve. "Norma, she owns the donut shop down the street, told me that back then, it was the most exciting thing that ever happened here. A lot of people were trying to solve the case on their own. Like a huge game of Clue."

Dr Reid nods, his left hand is held up, his index pointing to the ceiling. "The copycat isn't just mimicking the murder, he's recreating the conversation about it. That makes sense actually," he resumes. 

Agent Morgan leans back in his chair, he's looking at the original crime scene pictures. "So he's attention seeking, but not in the classic way," he adds pensively. 

Hotch hasn't said anything yet. You risk a glance at him again. His eyes are still on you. You look back down at your hands. The pen you picked up is black and navy. You twist it off one last time. 

Emily lightly taps her finger against the table. "Then we've been looking at this from the wrong angle. This unsub is looking for reactions, some sort of excitement around what he's done. This is theatre to him," she concludes. 

"It makes sense," Hotch finally says. "If he was too young in 1978 to fully grasp the impact of the murder but old enough to remember how it felt, this could be about reliving that moment."

Agent Rossi scratches his beard. "Or," he counters, "he's not only trying to recreate the feeling, he's trying to improve it. Make it last longer."

JJ tilts her head. "Draw it out you mean?"

"Exactly," Agent Rossi replies. "Think about it. The '78 case, one murder and it's got the whole town talking, dissecting the facts, playing Sherlock Holmes. Maybe this guy thinks that if he paces himself, strikes more than once, he can stretch the high for longer." 

That seems to make things fall into place. 

You can feel Hotch shift next to you. He grabs the nearest yellow pad, and holds out his palm towards you, a silent request. You almost put your hand in his before he whispers : "My pen."

Oh. 

He writes down something quickly. You try to steal a look at it but he angles it slightly away.

 "What is it ?" Emily asks, noticing the movement. 

He looks up. "If this guy is staging a play, then we might be able to predict his next act."

He puts the pen down, closer to you than to him.

Agent Morgan's talking on the phone with their tech analyst. Talking might not be the most appropriate word to describe their exchange. You'd say that they're more so sexually harassing each other, but hey, you're not HR. 

Penelope — as she cheerfully corrected you when you called her Agent Garcia (apparently, technically speaking, technical analysts and special agents are on different pay grades. which she laments because the 25% availability pay that's added to a special agent's check could be a game changer for her shopping addiction.)

She's currently trying to come up with a suspect list with Derek (known aliases : chocolate thunder, hot stuff, baby boy). 

The working profile for this week’s latest flavor of creep is :

White male in his 40s, 

Underlying insecurity and low self-esteem, 

Obsessive personality, way too invested in the original crime as well as this one, 

Has some sort of perverse nostalgia for the ambiance surrounding the 1978 crime, 

Acting out of a psychological need for escapism rather than violent compulsion, 

Someone unremarkable, doesn't stand out, plain boring job and plain boring life. 

You're going through your case notes to see if you might have talked to someone who fits this profile. Except, there's pages upon pages of interview notes, you've practically talked to every single resident in Lexington that's capable of forming a semi coherent thought. 

The clock ticks 10:30 PM. Agent Morgan headed out about 20 minutes ago, with a pointed : "Don't stay here too late kid."

The words are starting to blur into one big blue blob. The ceiling fan makes an increasingly worrying creaking sound every 5 minutes, like it's protesting against having to work past business hours. 

Your stomach growls. Loudly. It probably echoes throughout the entire station. You ignore it. Sort of.

You flip to another page. You underline a sentence. You've kept Hotch's fancy navy twisty pen. Stare at the page. Forget why you underlined anything in the first place.

The door creaks open. You halfway expect it to be the security guard coming in to turn off the light. But it's Hotch. Still in a dress shirt, no suit jacket, tie just the tiniest bit looser. 

"Still at it?" he quietly asks. 

You nod. 

"Have you eaten ?" he follows up.

The acoustics of the station are better than you thought they were if he could hear your stomach growling from outside the pseudo conference room. Then again, every sound seems to magically amplify at night. 

You glance at the clock again, 10:43 PM. 

"Not really." You shake your head. 

He nods once. Not surprised. 

He doesn't say anything, just holds out the door open, waiting for you to follow him out. 

The only place that's still open this late is the Double Y Diner. It's one of those classic all American diners. You don't recognize the waitress working tonight. She's wearing a pale blue uniform with white accents. Her name tag says 'Annie'. She tells you that there's not that many pastries left. You get a lemon bar, Hotch an apple fritter (can he be any more predictable ?) and a cup of black coffee. When she brings them to you, they're on a singular indigo plate. They're lightly touching. The yellow zest from the lemon bar's icing blends with green-apple fritter's glaze. 

You sit across from each other. His knees sometimes brush against yours. The town outside is quiet, muted. Like it's trying not to listen in. 

You don't talk about the case. Instead, you talk about other things. Law school, books you've both half-finished and pretended to like, the difference between being good at your job and actually enjoying it. 

You like talking to him. You like that he lets out a few quiet laughs at your jokes. You like the dimples on his cheeks. 

At some point, your eyes drift to the old jukebox at the corner of the diner. In all the times you've been here, you've never tried playing it. Jukeboxes tend to be finicky.

He follows your gaze. You can see him let out a little smile. 

He fishes out a dime from his wallet and slides it in front of you. The plate between you is full of crumbs. He let you try a little piece of his fritter. 

You push the coin into the slot. You press K-10. There's a little proud smile on your face when you make your way back to the booth.

Hotch looks surprised by your pick. 

"The Beatles?" he asks. 

"What?" You don't fight the full smile that takes over your face. 

You feel daring. Maybe it's the fatigue, the fact that it's almost midnight, or maybe it's the soft grin on his face that he seems to not even be aware of. 

"This just in. Local FBI man baffled that someone under the age of 60 has heard of the Beatles. The rest of this story will surprise you. More at 6," you joke, putting on your best newscaster voice. 

He lets out an amused sigh. You slide back into the booth. 

The sun is up, the sky is blue

It's beautiful and so are you

He finishes the last sip of his coffee. You read the time on his watch, 12:03 AM.

Dear Prudence, won't you come out to play ?

It's day 6 on the job. 

The typical work day at the Borden Health Center, 170 Kendal Drive (one of the offshoot roads of Enfield Road), Lexington Virginia, typically starts at 6:30AM. 

Maddy Ferguson, motivated and dynamic newly-hired nurse, pulls up into the Kendal Drive-Enfield Road intersection at 6:02AM. After parking her car in a way that can only be generously described as wonky, she gathers her things and heads out to work. She's very glad she didn't have time to eat breakfast this morning. The sight that greets her straight out of her car is nauseating to say the least. 

The body of 31 year old physical therapist Nadine Hurley is discovered at 6:07 AM May 28th 2007. The crime scene is identical to the previous one. Almost. No dirt on the face this time. ME report still pending. 

You're stuck at the police station. Mrs. Catherine Martell, Records Manager, hands you a cup of coffee. You pretend to take a sip of it and thank her politely. She probably means well for once, but there's a non-zero chance that she put something in it. 

One by one, the team trickles back into the station. 

JJ comes back last. She's holding a file in her hand. The front part of her hair looks messier than usual, like she kept running her hand through it. 

"ME report's in. It's still preliminary but take a look."

She sets it down on the table, between you and Dr Reid. 

He starts flipping through it immediately. 

"Manual strangulation. Stab wounds to the torso and genital parts. No sexual assault."

His index finger is going down the pages quickly. It stops. 

"Wait. There's trace amount of saliva on her right cheek. Small deposit. They're extracting DNA from it to try and get a profile," he reads. 

Emily leans back in her chair. "That doesn't fit with the profile. This unsub isn't getting gratification from the kill. Why spit on her ?" she mutters. 

Small amount of saliva. On her cheek. Not from spitting on her. 

"It almost sounds like a kiss," Hotch ponders out loud. 

There's a pause. Or at least there's a pause for you. Has your daydreaming gone so far that you're starting to hear things ?

He's saying it in the most gruesome context imaginable, but still, just hearing him utter the word 'kiss' is enough to bring heat to your ears. 

K — the back of his tongue presses against the roof of his mouth, lips relaxed and slightly stretched, I —his tongue is high and forward, not touching his teeth just yet, lips unrounded, SS — the tip of his tongue almost touches the ridges behind his teeth, lips slightly parted to let air trough. KISS.

Agent Morgan is the one who cuts through your spiraling. "So first murder, he smears dirt on the cheek. Second one, he kisses the cheek. Sounds like he's trying to recreate the soot mark from the original case. But that mark got there from a slap. That's humiliation, it's symbolic. This ? Almost seems like it's just for show," he concludes. 

Dr Reid picks up from there, rummaging through the mess of papers and reports on the table to find the original case file. "The soot mark was an expression of power, the unsub was trying to degrade the victim as much as possible. The copycat doesn't understand that. He's not replicating the emotion behind the crime, he's replicating the image of it. As if he's forging a painting." 

Emily nods. "He's copying the scene. Not the crime itself. That tracks."

"But how would he know to copy the soot mark ? It wasn't mentioned anywhere in the newspaper," you point out.

JJ tilts her head, she looks pensive. "You're sure it wasn't mentioned in the papers ? Not even a slight allusion ?" she asks you. 

"I —yes. As sure as I can be. I got a bunch of article clippings about it from some guy and full issues from the previous editor. There's nothing. The only reason I even know about it is because I got Agent Rossi's original profile," you reply. 

"Couldn't someone have accessed the crime scene photos ?" Agent Morgan raises the question.

"No, I don't think so. The records manager here is basically part bulldog—" you cut yourself off immediately. Why would you say that ? You can hear Emily disguise her laugh as a cough, Agent Morgan isn't hiding it any better. Agent Rossi looks amused and even a bit… proud ? You catch Hotch trying to hide a little grin behind his hand. Dr Reid though, is expectantly looking at you to finish what you were saying. 

"I mean, no, uh — she's very, uh, attentive. That's what I'm trying to say. That she's attentive," you fumble. 

"Right," Emily continues, still half-smiling. "So if the photos were locked down and the press didn't cover the soot…"

"Then he had to have seen the body himself," Hotch finishes. 

You feel your mouth go dry. You get up to pour yourself some water. You pick up a paper cup, one with a blue 'LPD' sticker on the side. You fill it up halfway. Without thinking about why, you fill up another one. When you sit back down, you place the second cup in front of Hotch. 

You spot Agent Morgan and Emily sharing a look. 

Dr Reid continues : "That narrows it down to the people who saw the body before it was moved." 

"More like the people who saw the body and aren't dead yet," Agent Morgan corrects. 

You let out a small snort. 

One semi-professional phone call with Penelope later, and you end up with a list of people who saw the body, aren't dead yet, and aren't senile either. 11 names. 

Sounds like a lot but she was found by a group of people going to church… Amen? 

You start going through the list. 

"Alright, which one of these is the sick bastard that would pucker up and leave the 'kiss of death' ?" Agent Morgan ponders. 

You chuckle lightly. Agent Morgan perks up at the sound. 

"You know," he starts, “you laugh at my jokes now. I think it's time you stopped calling me 'Agent Morgan' don't you agree?" 

"I'm maintaining professional boundaries," you counter. 

He smiles, all knowing. He glances at Emily. She's also smiling like she knows something you don't. "Right. Just making sure you're applying that policy… consistently," he says. 

You blink. Just as you're about to ask him what he means, Hotch cuts in with a stern "Morgan," that shuts down any further back and forth. 

You go back to the list. 

Most of the names on it are people you've already talked to. You start from the top : Lucy Moran, Denise Bryson, Gordon Cole…

Hold on. Something Agent Morgan — maybe it is time you just call him Morgan ? Derek feels too weird. And you can't call him Chocolate Thunder, not even in your head— said sounded familiar. 

Sick bastard, pucker up, kiss of death. Kiss of death. 

You start looking for you interview notes on the table. Urgently. 

"Is everything alright?" Hotch asks, concerned by the sudden agitation in your movements. 

You don't even answer him. Your eyes are scanning the pages as quickly as they can. Nowhere near Dr Reid speed but fast enough. 

You find what you're searching for. Your finger lightly trembles before setting down on the quote etched in your messy handwriting.

" 'Like if death had kissed her cheek' ," you read. 

You look up. The room is silent. 

"Who said that?" Agent Rossi asks, his tone heavy. 

You say their name. 

And then everything starts to move. 

You're sitting in front of Norma (48, Taurus, 2 kids, new boyfriend has a full head of hair, likes long walks on the beach and George Michael) at the counter of her shop. 

The donut she put down in front of you, your special donut, remains untouched. 

You got too antsy to stay by yourself at the police station. Maybe you should make a fake FBI badge next time. Then, at least, instead of freaking out alone in the station you could freak out at the scene. (Just kidding. Don't do that obviously. Forging the badge by itself is a misdemeanor. But actually using it is a federal felony. Up to 3 years in prison and a maximum fine of $250,000.) 

You caught a glimpse of Hotch before he left. Wearing an FBI bulletproof vest. To be fair, all of the team was wearing one but you know… Anyways. The vest. Navy. He kept the tie underneath it. It was stretched taut against his chest. Hugging, (well technically protecting)  every single part of it. You wonder how it would feel like. To glue yourself so closely to him. 

Norma can tell that you're not really listening to her. You keep looking back every few minutes at the window. Still, she keeps talking. As if she's trying to take your mind off of whatever's bothering you. She's going on a date with the new boyfriend tomorrow night. She's debating putting on her tried-and-tested hot date outfit but the last time she wore it was for her first date with her almost completely bald ex-husband. 

You turn towards the window again. 

You can see flashes of blue.

Blue, red, blue. 

The police car comes to a stop. Morgan comes out first. He roughly escorts Kevin Baskin to the station. The handcuffs around his wrists reflect the siren lights. Red, blue, red. He looks… normal. Eerily normal. As normal as he did when you first interviewed him and he let out that he was feeling depressed because his wife left him but that he was glad he got to talk to you about the case. As normal as he did when he gave you the old newspaper clippings and told you that back in high school, him and his friends would play detectives and try to crack the case. As normal as anyone can look. 

You make your way outside the donut shop. 

Hotch is still outside. He took the vest off (bummer. or maybe not that much ? he's just in a dress shirt. his tie isn't crooked per se but it's not as rigidly proper as usual. this is the first time you see him with one layer instead of two.) You go up to him. 

You can spot a small wound on his temple. It doesn't seem to be bleeding. It looks purple in this light.  

He's looking at Morgan. 

The air feels heavy. You don't know how to feel, what to say. 

Could you have known ? Should you have seen something, anything ? Was his life so dreadfully uneventful that he needed to kill two people just to feel less… bored? 

You don't say any of those things. 

You point to your temple, "Are you okay?"

"It's nothing."

He looks tired, tense. The line between his brows is glaring at you. 

"So… do you think I could get a gun next time ? Or how about a badge ?" you joke. 

He lets out a quiet laugh. Like some of the tension left his body. Not all of it. But enough to let his face soften a bit. 

You feel unreasonably proud. 

His hand briefly settles on the crown of your head. Warm. Fingers gently brushing your hair. Incredibly warm. "No," he says. 

His hand drops back down. "You weren't at the station ?" he asks. 

You can feel your heart in your chest. Like it's trying to escape. Maybe what you actually need is a bulletproof vest to tightly hold it down in place. 

"I was with Norma. At her shop." When you turn to point towards it, you can very clearly see Norma standing at the window, snooping. There's no two ways about it. She doesn't even flinch, doesn't falter at getting caught. She just beams at you, gives two enthusiastic thumbs up, and an exaggerated nod. 

"That's Norma…". You avert your gaze in embarrassment. He looks down at you and smiles softly. You don't see it. 

"She seems nice." 

He turns to go back to the station. You follow him. Somehow, even with his ridiculously long legs, his pace matches yours.

You’re going from Georgetown to Quantico. One last time. Around 1 hour and 30 minutes. $13.00. 

You type out part of your thesis on the way there. 

V. Why the 1978 Case Remained Cold: A Legal-Forensic Analysis (draft 1)

A. Could Profiling Have Helped? 

In retrospect, the 1978 behavioral profile raises critical legal and forensic concerns. Particularly when assessed under modern evidentiary standards, which require expert testimony to be based on scientifically valid reasoning and methodology. While the inferred offender traits outlined by the profile may seem plausible in hindsight, their speculative nature raise serious admissibility issues. The validity of the process behind behavioral profiling has been met with increasing scrutiny and skepticism by courts.  For instance, United States v. Meeks (2003) …

You’re back at the BAU conference room. You’re here to give a formal report about your ‘consulting but not really but sort of but not really’ work for the case.

Hotch is the one taking it. Is this sort of paperwork even part of his duties ? 

He’s sitting next to you, not unlike the first time you ever were in this room. 

He asks you to describe exactly in what capacity you contributed to the investigation. He writes down what you’re saying with the navy twisty fancy pen. You feel a lot more at ease than the first time. The whiteboard still says ‘it’s better to volunteer!!’, with the crooked e. 

He finishes writing down the last of your words and then taps the pen lightly against the edge of the paper. 

“I’ve seen agents do less than this and get more credit,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of dry humor. 

 A smile tugs at your lips. “Is that part of the official statement, Hotch ?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Off the record.”

He turns the page towards you and hands you his pen for you to sign it. 

“Just Aaron will do,” he adds. 

Aaron. Aaron. Aaron.

You twist the pen, his pen, off one last time. You try thinking of a way to stall. To steal just another minute of his time. 

“Well. That’s all of it,” he concludes. 

A beat…  That’s it ? 

“Unless you want to debrief again. Over dinner ?” he offers. 

I want to [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] and de-brief (get it?) you and [REDACTED]. 

[finniestoncrane]

may i pretty please request for an arkham!killer croc x afab!reader (preferably gn but idc if it's fem)

with a good amount of size difference because I think the idea of him being literally too big to fit so they have sex by him just grinding against them, maybe teasing their entrance but never penetrating, basically just sloppily humping their pussy... it's just too fucking hot

(of course maybe some fluff and established relationship stuff but that's optional and I'm giving you the reigns here so to speak)

Arkham!Killer Croc x GN!Reader, word count: 750 anon i am freaking out over how similar our brains are because i would love nothing more than that big ol puppy to hump my body like there's no tomorrow, i'm happy to be used like a little grinding pad for him, i'm volunteering!! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: reader has a vagina but no gendered terms used, grinding, humping, clitoral stimulation, slobbering with that big ol tongue, marking (unintentional... he's got big nails!!)

Your whole body shuddered in response to the sensation of his teasing touches, a little bit of trembling in fear at the size of him, a lot of you shivering in anticipation at the potential for pain and excitement that he could bring.

Waylon's breathed in heavily through his tooh-lined mouth, exhaling warm air through his nostrils that had your skin flushing as you lay in front of him. He lifted his thick, impossibly large length and then let the head of his cock tap against your clit. Or at least, his intentions were to tap. Instead, it thudded against you, audibly so. And while he had made your entire nervous system twang with arousal within your body, Waylon instead looked disappointed. He looked at you, took another deep breath, and then asked.

"Painful?"

"Not at all! And even if it was... I would've enjoyed it."

He tried to smile at your reassurance, but he was so disheartened by the limitations your differences in size placed on your physical relationship.

"I don't want to hurt you. I won't fit."

The idea that he wouldn't get to experience you as wholly as he liked, that he couldn't perform for you the way he expected that you would want, made his blood run colder than it already was. You could see it in him, the disappointment, so you spoke quickly to try and prevent him from spiralling too far.

"Maybe you won't, but I'd hate for you to think that means we can't have fun. I mean, you can't leave here with nothing. Look at you! You're so hard, so needy. I think we can make this work."

His frustration was palpable, his teeth gnashing, eyes narrowed, throat rumbling as he tried to suppress the rage he felt at not being able to find pleasure with you easily. But he trusted you, so he reached his hand out, his chest swelling as both of your hands reached to grab it, not quite strong enough to pull him closer to you of your own accord.

Each step of the way, you seemed to guide him with your body. You lifted your legs up straight, holding them in the air with your thighs pressed tightly together. He was quick to pick up on what you were suggesting, his body against yours almost immediately, his hands holding your body steady as he positioned himself at your legs. He pushed his cock against your thighs, sighing as he pressed it between them, your flesh stroking him, pulling and smoothing down his shaft as he began to buck his hips.

As the tension built, aching for him to push forward and into you, you got wetter, messier. His cock slicked with you as he rubbed against it with each pump between your legs. You were willing to risk if for him, prepared for injury if it meant you could satisfy that need to be filled by him. You pined for penetration, for him to give in to the temptation and force his forearm-sized cock into your body with very little preparation or time to reconsider. But despite his frenetic movements, and similar desires, he was careful not to. He seemed satisfied at least with just his stiffness forced between your thighs, the friction killing him every time he slid over your cunt, your clit twitching in tandem with every touch.

Waylon tried his hardest to stay aware of his body and his strength, but even so, his nails still dug into your hips, sinking in deep enough to create lasting dimples that would remind you of his passion long after this moment had ended.

His desperation was obvious now as he stumbled towards his climax, tongue protruding from behind his teeth, long and firm, soaking your skin as he let it snake along it, drooling in a stupor of arousal as he finally felt himself reaching his orgasm and drenching your stomach in thick, almost clear ropes of his cum.

You lay there watching him, his eyes focused on the ceiling, breathing heavily, teeth glinting in the light as his open jaw gasped for air. His fingers still embedded into your skin, his cock still between your bruised and reddened thighs. And after a few moments, he returned his gaze to you, running his tongue along his finger, smiling as he watched his drool drip down it.

"This will fit, yes?"

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Disclaimer - I’m gonna try to keep to more mid-length emoji amounts to try to keep from overwhelming your inbox but if you’re wanting more asks of a specific size, let me know and I’ll come back with more!

Okay first theme is “Chimney and his brothers!” I’m loving both these stories and the exploration of these dynamics!! Chimney is such a fun character - of course because he’s hilarious but also because he’s so full of love for the people around him. I love reading about it!

☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️ (the plot is thickening and I am hooked!!! The crows are out to get Buck! Chim is gonna join the ranks of Buck’s captains who wish they could keep him wrapped in bubble wrap :p I’m so excited to learn more about the curse and how it involves Bertie! Also excited for the Hen-Chim drama to come to a head!)

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷 (I’m LOVING this Kevin chapter! It’s so wonderfully juicy! Everyone’s freaking out! As is their right! It’s also so good when Chim is missing Bobby when we know he’s back! Very curious if they’ll reveal Bobby to Chim earlier now that he’s experiencing the resurrections too. Can’t wait to see what’s next!)

- PCA <3

These are perfect lengths!! Thank you!!!

I try to work on one big request, and then take breaks to do smaller ones. So anything over 54 sentences, to me, is a big request. So 36 sentences are perfect.

Ah I love this theme! Writing Chim is so fun for me. I love him so much.

36 for ☠️ (Excited to slowly reveal all this! I'm glad you're enjoying it!

---

Shit. Shit. How does she know? Did Buck tell her what they’re actually doing? Why would he do that? They had an agreement!

“You know what’s going on with Buck,” Maddie says. “You’re just not telling me.”

Oh. Well… That’s easier to deal with. 

“It’s a secret!” Chim explains. Technically not a lie. “You know how I am with secrets!”

“I do,” she nods.

“So please, Maddie. Don’t push! I want to keep Buck’s confidence on this. It’s important.”

Maddie gasps. Her hands fly to her mouth.

“What?” Chim asks. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s proposing to Eddie,” Maddie says. “He’s proposing and he told you and not me?”

 “What?” Chim finds himself asking again. How did she get there?

“I mean, I figured it’d happen quick,” Maddie says. “They’ve been half-dating forever, before either of them knew it. But this quick?” 

Chim could correct her. Assure her this isn’t it. But… Doesn’t that run the risk of her not buying his half-baked lie?

---

36 for 🪷 (THANK YOU!!! Excited to share more!)

---

“You okay?” Maddie asks.

“Mhm,” Buck answers. In a way that very much suggests the opposite. “You?”

“Yeah,” she nods, in a similar manner.

Buckleys. 

Maddie steps away from Buck and looks at Bobby. She smiles. She doesn’t do the thing 

everyone else has done. She doesn’t look at him with a mix of horror and awe and tears. Well, she’s a bit teary. She’s Maddie, after all. But she seems steady. Like nothing about seeing him is unexpected or world shattering.

She prepared herself. Bobby is grateful.

“Hi, Bobby,” she says.

He smiles. 

“Hi, Maddie.”

“Can I give you a hug?” She asks.

He nods. “Of course.”

She walks forward to embrace him, and even her hug feels steadying. God, she came here to hold them all together, didn’t she? He’s never been especially close to Maddie. Not the way he is with her husband or brother. But she’s closer to him than the other returned people. Maddie isn’t here for the dead. She’s here for the living.

The children walk inside next. Jee hugs Buck right away. He kisses her on the forehead.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says. “Can you do me a huge favor today?”

“What is it?” She asks. 

“Can you keep Joze and Bertie occupied? They need someone responsible to watch them while we figure all this out.”

[girl-0nskates]

I have an idea… maybe head cannons for a reader that like attacks tuffnut with hugs at random times I think it would be chaotic and fun THANK YOU!!!

a/n: AAAA THAT'S SO CUTE YESSS I LOVE YOU. Does this count as a request? Because if it does omg this is my first one! I'm nervous haha. Sorry for taking so long, I really tried to write this well and with relatively good grammar. Hope you like it!! 😁

(am I supposed to tag you or it will get you a notification? how does this sh*t work? I'll tag you just in case) @lavendermoon777

Tuffnut x Gn!Affectionate!Reader headcannons

warnings: none(?; probably bad grammar (english isn't my first language), lots of fluff, reader likes to give hugs; could be read as platonic; and i think that's it (please tell me otherwise).

Tuffnut is clingy, but not too much. He likes to hug his sister and his friends when he feels like it. And if they hug him back (which usually doesn't happen) it's even better. Just, the average amount of clingy(?

I think he's the type of person that will come randomly at you any time and put his head on your shoulder. Not seeking attention, he just wants to be close to that person. (and honestly that's what I do with my family lol)

He doesn't receive affection, he gives it.

So it was a surprise when one day, out of nowhere, he feels a pair of arms wrapping him from behind and a head resting on his shoulder.

He froze in his place and slightly looked back.

You were giving him a hug!

He thought it was a one-time thing. You wouldn't hug him again, 'cause why?

WRONG

Two days after that, while he was walking around Berk preparing for a prank with his sister, you came running to him at light speed and embraced —or maybe tackled— him.

I mean, you are known in the village for being someone affectionate, but why with him?

When he asked "Why did you do that?"

"No reason... Bye!"

"Okay(? 🤨. Weird."

Which translates to "please do it again"

The very next day, he walked into a stable (idk if there's really a stable at some point of the series or movies, so I headcannon that there is one somewhere) and you gave him a heart attack by appearing behind a door, jumping into him and giving him a hug. Again.

And then again, and again, and again... That's when he lost it.

Do you think it's funny that now he's constanly looking around to see if he finds you running up to him to hug him?

Yes, it is.

Now that Tuffnut knows you like to receive AND give hugs, he returned you the favor.

He jumpscared you by tackling you in a hug while you were walking on that same stable with your dragon (yes, the stable is for the dragons and maybe sheeps, idk, don't judge).

So now it became kinda like a game between you two.

Who is going to surprise and attack- i mean hug the other first?

"Tuffnut, why are you awake? It's five in the morning." would complain Ruffnut when his brother accidentally wakes her up.

"They could come in and hug at any time. I have to be prepared" would reply Tuffnut, with a tiny smile on his lips.

Whether you or him hugs the other first, he wishes to stay like that forever.

He loves giving hugs, and loves it more when he gives them to you. You're so warm and he's cold most of the time. So that's an excuse to be close to you and give you a hug.

But he loves it even more to receive hugs from you; when you initiate the hug and warm his cold skin.

Definitely, you give the best hugs ever, and he will gladly accept them. Even if you jumpscare or tackle him just to hug him.

a/n#2: I really enjoyed writing this! So I think I will be taking requests(? or maybe ideas haha, not sure how all the "writing in tumblr" works. And I'm working on the other ideas some of you gave me on my post, I barely have time and I want them to be good😭. Besides that, that would be all for now. Byee!

[anonymocha]

[goldenhourology]

SLACKING OFF.

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers

summary: being technologically averse, yet a complete control freak to your core, you tend to annoy senior IT specialist, jeon wonwoo, to no end. but after an apology brings you two closer together, wonwoo finds himself reaching out to you more often than not. on and off slack. despite what you two had originally perceived, you find yourself thrown into feelings that neither of you could've ever prepared for.

warnings: handjobs, fingering, oral (f!recieving), unprotected sex, missionary position, belly bulge, grinding, praise, wonwoo is a service top!!, multiple sex scenes, jerking it in an corporate office bathroom lol, drunk horniness, miscommunication, reader is learning how to open up<3, mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 19.2k

note: hello new ppl, welcome to the first goldenhourology one shot ✨ I've written things in the past, but this is my first really long one shot. the longer it got, the more I stressed out lol. but I've seen a lot of people do this 20k word one shots, so I thought I'd try my hand at it! also idk much about tech, so if I got anything wrong in this, pls ignore it. thank you to anyone who gives this a read!!

in rotation: picture you, chappell roan / dress, taylor swift / valentine, laufey / diamond boy, sza

Some said your late 20s were the last few years of fun before you fully allowed yourself to be an adult, so why were you always drowning in work?

It didn’t help that you were an executive assistant in one of the biggest software companies in the U.S. When you took the job, surely, you should’ve known that you’d be signing up for an exorbitant amount of work, ranging from invoice management, planning travel for your boss, to even research for senior managers. Despite the constant stress you were under, you liked this job. You liked the trust that your boss had in you. You liked that they let you be independent and figure things out on your own.

And when you couldn’t … you simply contacted IT.

It helped that a senior IT specialist sat right across from your cubicle.

Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t the most talkative cubicle buddy, nor was he the most pleasant. He did his best to give you a smile every once in a while, but he had to fight the urge to throw his head in his hands whenever you send him a message on Slack. You didn’t typically need help with anything, except in the area of tech. You were so organized and incredibly smart – it didn’t take an idiot to see that – but god forbid, sometimes … you could be so technologically averse.

Maybe he just had too many years of schooling under his belt – he was 28 now with both a Bachelors and Masters in Software Engineering – but you surprised him with some of your requests. Sometimes, you’d delete files by accident, need to renew your subscription to important apps, even locked yourself out of your own computer once. He had interns underneath him that could be available to help you, but you had consistently messaged him. And he sat directly across from you. No matter what, it was always going to be Wonwoo that had to help you. Fate had made sure of that.

There were times that you realized you were bothering him. Either you heard him curse from behind his extremely large monitor or he adjusted his glasses so much that you thought he might break them in half. And to be honest, you liked being in control of your own work, so you’d try to find a solution. Typically, solving your own tech problems left your computer in more disarray.

And there was Wonwoo to save the day yet again.

You [10:58 AM]: Morning, Wonwoo!

You [10:58 AM]: I screwed up

You [10:59 AM]: Boss sent me some documents that were password protected, but he’s away for the next two days and not answering his phone

You [10:59 AM]: So I might’ve downloaded some software to help me unlock it and I think it’s attempting to hack my email as we speak

You [11:01 AM]: I’m so so sorry! I didn’t want to bother you

Jeon Wonwoo [11:01 AM]: I’ll be right over.

Luckily for you, Wonwoo was able to fix the problem and stop your email from getting hacked. Whoever was the owner of that virus-filled program you tried to download didn’t gain access to those password-protected documents before Wonwoo secured your computer. But it was close. Too close.

Not only that, but he had a multitude of other projects today. He had to train two new interns … have one of those annual performance reviews with the head of IT … change over a dozen new passwords for people … and then he found out that they’re changing servers. Which meant everything backed up on their former server had to be transferred over to the new one. Fucking great.

He wasn’t sure how many times he sighed today, but it had to be over a hundred. When he couldn’t stand to be sitting anymore, he stood up and paced around the third floor of the building. Today felt like the longest day of his life. And there was a mustard stain on his green sweater vest. And he got a shitty haircut a few days ago. And he probably needed new glasses because he was getting headaches. 

It was time for a coffee. As well as a day off.

Coincidentally, you were also headed to the break room that afternoon in need of a green tea. You were about to walk in when you heard your cubicle mate letting out a frustrated breath while talking to another IT specialist. He was clearly fed up about something, or maybe just tired of this day. You hid next to the doorframe, and just when you thought it was safe to step out, you heard your name fall from his lips.

“I don’t understand how she does it,” Wonwoo complained, hands smacking against his sides. “Seriously, it’s mind boggling. I’m pretty sure she has her Masters in Business Administration, but she does this shit that just makes me … Oh my god, she literally tried to download some faulty software off the internet today, instead of just asking me or someone else for help.” 

“Oh, yeah, everyone wants to turn to you when you got that attitude, man,” someone – Lee Seokmin, maybe? – joked.

“You get what a mean.” Wonwoo watched the first couple drips of shitty office coffee fill his cup. “I was able to save her computer, yeah, but it would be nice to avoid an emergency for a day.”

Seokmin slapped him on the back. “The joys of working in IT.”

You huffed, stalking away from the break room and back to your desk. There was only so much office gossip you could take, especially when it involved you. As soon as you sat down, you finished typing up an email at the loudest volume possible, your fingers basically punching themselves into the keys. You heard Wonwoo slide back into his desk chair, the fresh smell of burnt coffee wafting across to you, and he didn’t say a thing. Not that he would ever know you had eavesdropped. But not a “hello” or “how has computer been after this morning?” He went back to work, burning his tongue on the overly hot liquid.

Maybe Wonwoo was right; maybe you did need to just stop overthinking and ask for help instead of figuring stuff out on your own. Or maybe this asshole needed an attitude check.

You decided to not bother him for the rest of the week, complaining to your friends that Friday night about your shithead of a coworker. They said he might be looking out for you in his own fucked up way. You said he might just be an asshole.

Come Monday morning, you had realized your ignoring hadn’t effected him at all. He still sent you the same small smile as he walked in and sat down across from you. Could he really not see how pissed you are, or had the facade you’d crafted for so long as the perfect corporate employee work too well?

You should just be upfront with him, take control of the situation. Like always. 

You [9:44 AM]: I heard you in the break room a few days ago.

You [9:44 AM]: I just didn’t want to bother you. That’s why I had tried to figure out the issue on my own. Didn’t realize that was a crime

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: Crap.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: You weren’t supposed to hear that.

You [9:47 AM]: Well, I did

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Listen.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Not that it excuses anything, but there’s so much going on at work. It wasn’t all about you. I was complaining just to complain and I didn’t mean any of it.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: I’m sorry.

You [9:51 AM]: Wow

Jeon Wonwoo [9:51 AM]: What?

You [9:51 AM]: You’ve never come across as someone who can apologize well

Jeon Wonwoo [9:52 AM]: Are you sure you aren’t projecting right now? We sit across from each other. I’ve seen how stubborn you are.

You [9:53 AM]: I thought you were apologizing to me????

Jeon Wonwoo [9:56 AM]: I’m sorry. Again.

You [10:01 AM]: Okay, you’re forgiven

Jeon Wonwoo [10:09 AM]: Can I make it up to you with a coffee?

You didn’t go out on dates. The last one you went on was … years ago, probably in undergrad. Once you go for your Masters, all energy to date goes out the window.

Not that this was a date. This certainly was not a date.

This was an apology coffee after work, since the two of you seemed to have an affinity for caffeine at late hours.

Even if, per chance, he thought this was a date … you’d eventually have to let him down easy. It probably wasn’t in your best interest to date someone like Jeon Wonwoo, but you’d also closed yourself off from love for far too long. It wasn’t that you didn’t get lonely – you did, very much, especially on late nights where it was just you and your favorite vibrator – but it was just … scary. Opening yourself up. Losing just a small semblance of control. You weren’t even sure you could physically allow yourself to do that after being alone for so long. 

Your heart had been tucked away so many years ago, locked inside a box, and then in another box, and so on. With the final lock being so complicated that only someone who knew the last four of your social security number could answer. No one was opening up that box. Your heart was safe from the outside world.

You were independent, reliant on only yourself, and you liked it that way.

Once he had gotten both your coffees, he sat down next to you at a hightop table, folding his winter coat over the back of his chair. He had managed to remember your latte order and it tasted perfect. Your eyes flitted up, ogling him for a moment. When you’re not under the fluorescent lights of the office, Wonwoo was … attractive. To say the least. Maybe he always had been and you were too blind to see it. Maybe his face was perpetually hidden by his monitor.

His hair was tousled in the way that it looked effortless, even if he hadn’t brushed it after rolling out of bed. He had a tendency to wear sweater vests with white t-shirts underneath, or button-downs with jeans. But it was only when he showed off his forearms that you realized he was surprisingly built underneath his oversized clothes. He was tall and his shoulders were broad. You liked his glasses too; they always sat on the edge of his nose. A thin line was etched into both lenses, suggesting age, but they framed his face well.

Yeah, you thought to yourself, he is handsome.

“Why are you staring at me?” He asked, knocking you out of your stupor.

You blinked and looked down at your coffee, removing the lid. “Oh, I … uh … good question.”

“Listen,” he started, eyes flickering to his hands, “I’m really sorry about what I said –”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“– And I understand if you want to go to HR about this –”

You shook your head. “Wait, what? Why would I do that?”

He glanced around, until finally, his eyes were on you again. And suddenly, you were wondering if his eyes were dark brown or the color of cinnamon. “Isn’t that what any rational person would do?”

He had you stumped there. If this were a different situation … you probably would do that. “I’m not going to tell HR about this, Wonwoo. You apologized and said you didn’t mean it. I have to trust that.” And you didn’t trust lightly – hardly at all – but something about Wonwoo made you feel like it could be easy with him.

“We all have shit days,” you added, taking a sip of the scalding hot latte. “You have a ton of stuff on your plate. Doesn’t give you an excuse for what you did, but we all say things in the heat of the moment that we don’t mean. I have so many things to organize throughout the day, and sometimes it gets the better of me. Remember when I had book that last minute trip for our CEO and I was on the phone for hours with Delta and Suzanne in finance had the nerve to start bothering me about some invoice? I lost it on her for a straight minute.”

“Oh, my god, yeah,” he chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the memory resurfaced. “Her eyes almost came out of her skull at your reaction. To be fair … Suzanne needs to be knocked down a peg sometimes. She always blames IT when she can’t get into her email, but it’s because she’s constantly typing her password with one letter off.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. Your hand hit the tabletop a few times as you let your workplace personality fade in front of your coworker. “Those new IT interns don’t know what’s coming once Suzanne comes for them,” you joked.

“The IT interns don’t know anything. Period.” He jabbed his finger onto the table. “I mean, they’re interns, but it takes so much time to train them. If I have to teach them JavaScript one more time …”

“Say it, Jeon Wonwoo,” you egged him on, a chuckle filtering at the end. “What will happen if you have to teach those good for nothing interns JavaScript?”

A slow smile made it’s way onto Wonwoo’s face, and … damn, you were actually a really cool person. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll tell you what will happen …”

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: Did you bring lunch today?

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: I just found this new cafe down the street and was thinking about grabbing something there in a few. Did you wanna come?

You [12:14 PM]: Do you think they have a chicken salad sandwich on the menu

Jeon Wonwoo [12:15 PM]: I can only assume so?

You [12:15 PM]: SOLD

You both go out for more coffees, before and after work. You found yourself excited to wake up early, to meet up with Wonwoo at the coffee shop located in the lobby of your work building. Always getting there before him, you typically ordered two coffees – remembering his order to a T – and when he walked in five minutes late, he promised to buy the next round. You never let him.

You began planning lunches over Slack, discussing what was on special at that cafe he found last month. In fact, you two talked most of the day on Slack. A message from you had once gotten on his nerves, and now … he was eager for it. Eager to hear your thoughts throughout the day, excited to talk about what new dumb question an intern asked him today or to see more pictures of your grandma’s cats.

And Wonwoo … Wonwoo was easier to get along with than you thought. You just had to peel back the layers before he finally got comfortable, and honestly, you could relate. To be fair, you had a few more layers than he did, but he was slowly learning that you were more than what he perceived. After that first coffee, he realized how funny you were, and then a couple lunches later, he learned you were an avid romance and thriller reader – and nothing in between. It wasn’t until last week that he finally cracked you open enough to learn about your love for Elder Scrolls Online. He was sure you were joking at first, but when you clarified how serious you were, he almost fell off his chair.

“I’m not shocked that you play it,” he said over coffee one morning. “What I’m shocked at is that you’d rather play Elder Scrolls Online and not Skyrim.”

“Of course, you would say that,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I don’t really have an interest in the game universe. I started playing Elder Scrolls Online to relieve stress while applying to colleges, and then I just … didn’t stop.” You shrugged.

Much to his own surprise – even with your take on Skyrim – Wonwoo thoroughly enjoyed your company. It was insane that you both had spent almost two years sitting across from each other before realizing how much you liked each other. Words always left unsaid. Eyes staying glued to computers. It had been a routine for you both that you had never strayed from – until now. So many tech requests over Slack … and now he was actively looking forward to work everyday. To seeing you. To talking with you. 

You.

Jeon Wonwoo realized how much he liked stockings. Specifically, he liked the way you looked in them.

And that’s when things got dangerous.

He started to notice the days you would wear them, and then concluded which day you did laundry. You liked wearing blouses with a pencil skirt and stockings on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Those were now his favorite days. 

Wednesdays you’d wear dress pants and maybe a sweater, whereas on “Casual Fridays,” you were clad in a t-shirt with a cardigan layered and jeans. You always looked nice at the office, but those stocking days … they were getting to him.

Sometimes, he’d watch the way you walked away from your desk – either to the Boss’ office or to the finance department – and he couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down your legs. You had these stockings that had a slight tear in the back, and he wondered if you realized, or was he just too much of a perverted loser to be the first person to notice? He wanted to purchase a new pair for you. He wanted to replace all your stockings and buy you enough that you could wear them with a skirt everyday, just so he could see you in them.

Maybe he was a loser.

You looked up at him, even in heels, and you had this way of smiling at him that left him questioning why you liked hanging out with him in the first place. His personality couldn’t be that charming to warrant your attention. But you were warm – even when your hands were perpetually cold – and kind, never straying once he was in front of you. And you had this lip gloss that stained your lips magenta and made them shine. Even in the dim fluorescent lights. When his chair turned just slightly and he let his eyes glaze over you, one finger rubbing at his top lip, he couldn’t help but be curious if the gloss had a flavor to it … and then, he’d get distracted by your legs again. And your blouse, and your hair. 

Don’t even get him started on the way you smelled.

Maybe he was a loser. No, he was most definitely a loser. 

It was a Thursday night. Almost 7 PM and you were still at the office. You had plans to go out tonight to celebrate your friend’s new job, but you ended up having to cancel when the Boss placed a stack of paperwork on your desk before leaving the building at promptly 6 o’clock. Why he couldn’t have given you all these invoices and memos hours ago was beyond you, but you weren’t even halfway through this stack and the janitor was now mopping beside you.

When a Slack notification appeared on the side of your monitor, you didn’t even read it before spinning around in your chair. There Wonwoo was, leaning back in his own chair while a progress window ticked on one of his dual monitors. You raised a brow. “I didn’t even hear you over there,” you commented. “Why are you still here?”

“A month or so ago, the IT head told me that we’d soon be transitioning servers, so all of our backups and data need to be transferred over to this new server.” He explained, adjusting his glasses and glancing over at the progress window. It changed from 23% to 24% finished. “Someone had to be the lucky person to stay after hours and make sure it all went smoothly.”

You twirled a pen in your two fingers and crossed your legs. “Oh, that sucks.” Your skirt hiked up a little, and just that small flash of exposed skin had Wonwoo averting his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m assuming you’re still here because of that.” He nodded towards the pile of paper.

“No, no, obviously I love being here after hours with you,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone, but it still ignited a short spark of hope within him. (Wonwoo, can you chill the fuck out? He chastised.) “You know the Boss has a penchant for letting invoices pile up. He just so happened to let that pile end up on my desk before he left today. And some of these needed to be filled out …” Your eyes skimmed the first paper on your desk. “Oh, yesterday!”

Wonwoo offered to help you while also keeping watch of his computer – 28% finished – but you insisted you could handle it. “I already bother you enough during work hours,” you said before turning back to your desk. He knew by now that you were simply too stubborn to give up control of the project. Once you had started it yourself, you needed to see it through. He wasn’t sure if you two were close enough that he could be completely honest, that he could tell you that it was fine to let go this independence that you kept on a tight leash. He was willing to help. (God, was he willing.) 

But he chocked it up to telling you once that you were “so fucking stubborn.”

Your reply had come in the form of a swift kick to his knee.

Wonwoo glanced at his monitor. 67% finished.

It was 10 PM and you were just about finished with the paperwork, but you were running on fumes. Just a few memos left and you’d be done. To get you through the next hour, you needed something. So you headed to the break room, suddenly craving some burnt workplace coffee. (What was it about this coffee maker that gave it such a distinct burnt flavor? You’d never know.) After placing the pod of coffee grounds in the slot and filling the water, you pressed the start button, turning around with a huff to see Wonwoo striding into the break room. A crushed, styrofoam coffee cup was clutched in his large hand before he tossed it in the barrel beside you. 

“How’s your transfer going?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Coffee had started to pour from the machine and into your cup.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s at 88% now. Hopefully should be done in the next hour.”

“Me too, if all goes well.” A sigh escaped your lips. “I still have a few more papers to fill out. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour, but I haven’t looked through them all yet.”

Wonwoo stepped forward, reaching in the direction of the styrofoam cups. “If you had let me help you –”

You tried sidestepping out of the way to give him some room, but his hand brushed against your arm anyway. Your chin tilted up as your eyes met his, back pressing against the counter. “It wouldn’t have helped,” you finished for him.

His arm paused mid-air, and he looked down at you. Eyes narrowing, he replied, “You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. You have this desperate need to be in control of everything.”

“And why is that a bad thing?” Your tone took a hard edge. The last thing you wanted right now was to put effort into arguing, but you were tired and already on the edge of a breakdown. “I’ve relied on myself for as long as I can remember. I like being in control. I like being stubborn. If I didn’t do most things myself –”

“You ask me to fix something on your computer at least once a day.”

“That’s different.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, and you noticed then just how close he was. Your chests were practically touching. “Sometimes you do try to figure things out yourself and almost break your hard drive.”

His progress window was probably at 93% finished now. He should head back to his desk, but his feet stayed planted right where they were.

“Why does it matter?” You exhaled loud, your hands slapping against your hips. “Do you want an award or something? You have your way of doing things, and I have mine. I’m not perfect, but I … I like things the way they are.” Change is scary, you thought to yourself, but didn’t dare voice it out loud.

He was so close that he could smell your perfume. The scent of lavender mixed with orange blossoms and vanilla filled his nostrils, swirling around his brain. He could get addicted to this smell, to you. Maybe he already was. When his eyes roamed down to your legs and he saw his favorite pair of stockings on you, he damn near collapsed. In fact, he hadn’t even realized the soft groan had left his lips until your gaze found his, your pretty irises growing wide.

You were just so … captivating.

His hands were on both sides of you, pressing your back further into the counter. Your black coffee steaming and fully abandoned in the coffee machine. He was holding himself back, his knuckles going white with restraint. But he wasn’t like you. He could only keep himself in control for so long. And with you here right now, your perfume surrounding him, your stockings-clad thigh brushing against his leg, your a hand placed on his chest … he was a goner.

“Wonwoo,” you whispered, palm still resting on his shirt, “we …”

When your voice trailed off, Wonwoo’s instincts got the better of him. “Please, just …” One hand came up to smooth against your cheek, and he was almost out of breath as he pulled your face to his. “Let me do this.”

He gave you enough time to shove him back, to yell at him, to tell him you didn’t like him in that way. But your neck was craning towards his, and he took that as a sign to crash his lips onto yours. They were softer than he expected, and the taste … your gloss tasted like – well, like nothing. But if he pretended, he could’ve sworn there was a slight cherry aftertaste. His glasses bumped into your nose, but he’d been too overwhelmed to remember to take them off. Mouth moving against yours, his hips crammed you more against the counter, hard enough to leave a bruise on your spine. You didn’t care though. His shoulders were so wide that they shielded you, inviting your body into his, and your fingers fisted into his button-up. Tongues tangled, eager to taste more and more of each other. 

Wonwoo could kiss you forever. You didn’t want him to stop.

But all good things must end. Because when he instinctively placed his leg between yours, he knew this was going too far. Especially because you two were still at work. In the break room.

He instantly removed his leg, his lips breaking from yours. Your eyes connected, the room filled with only the sounds of heavy breathing, before you wiped a trail of spit from your chin.

Wonwoo’s head spun behind him. Thank god, there was no CCTV camera by the coffee maker.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: Good morning.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: I shouldn’t have done that last night.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:10 AM]: Still friends?

You [9:14 AM]: We probably shouldn’t be talking about this on Slack

You [9:15 AM]: Here’s my number: 855-777-0821

You [9:18 AM]: But yes friends :D

Wonwoo did not want to be just friends. But he was utterly terrified of what you would say if he voiced that. You had kissed him back, yes, but … hadn’t you agreed to be friends far too quickly? You had both hung out post-kiss – he liked to call this period of time A.T.K. (after the kiss) – and you didn’t seem to be ruminating on it like he was. Of course, he didn’t know what you were thinking, and you could be so hard to read sometimes when your layers weren’t stripped back enough. But …

Could it really have meant nothing to you?

If that were the case, he didn’t know how it was possible for you. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss even if he tried. When he saw you the next day – Friday, January 9, A.T.K. – the first thing he noticed was your lip gloss and all he wanted was to have it smeared over his mouth again. He noticed the way your hair fell over your shoulder, remembering how soft the strands felt when his fingers had slipped between them. He noticed that you were wearing those jeans that hugged your ass just right, and – god, now he was wishing that he had touched more than just your cheek. Wonwoo wanted to touch you everywhere. And vice versa. He didn’t care if your hands were constantly freezing or if they were dry during the winter. He wanted you to touch him however you pleased. He wanted to grab you and kiss you and hold those cold hands in his warm ones –

Oh, my god. He had a boner. At work. Just the mere memory of a kiss had him shifting himself in his pants underneath his desk, hoping no one noticed.

Eventually, he stood up, trying to keep a casual hand over the bulge in his pants as he fast walked to the bathroom. Nobody batted an eye, but you did steal a glance over at him once his back was turned. Your brow raised at the way he was practically sprinting for the elevator, not realizing that he was heading for the second floor restrooms. He must be excited for something. Probably a package, you thought before turning back to your computer.

Wonwoo felt like he could finally breathe once he was inside a stall. He rested his head against the cool tile wall, feeling the ache start to settle in his groin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way. What 28-year-old gets a boner from a kiss? You had him acting like a goddamn teenager.

What had you done to him? Just one kiss and he was completely under your spell.

(Or maybe he’d been this way all along.)

His fingers fumbled with the zipper on his jeans as he finally pulled himself out of his jeans, stroking from base to tip. Thankfully, no one was in the bathroom. He couldn’t believe his life had come to this. The last thing he ever wanted was to be that guy who jacked off in the bathroom. But you had to wear those goddamn jeans –

Wonwoo wasn’t good at hiding his feelings, but he was doing a pretty good job even as this was killing him inside. He wasn’t like you; he found it hard to restrain himself, to ignore everything that was bubbling up inside him. He could feel himself cracking. What would be the thing that finally broke him?

The answer was simple: alcohol.

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: Dude lol. Why’d you run away from your desk like that

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: I think you could win the Olympics with that kind of sprint!

Jeon Wonwoo [11:39 AM]: Don’t ask.

Lee Seokmin [11:40 AM]: Alrighty then ;)

Lee Seokmin [11:41 AM]: On another note … you free next Thursday? My buddy in the marketing department, Josh, finally has a night off from his kid so we were thinking of getting a group together for drinks after work. Interested?

The last thing you ever expected was to be invited to drinks with Seokmin and some of the managers in marketing, but Wonwoo said you should come. “In fact,” he had clarified, “you should come so I don’t have to deal with DK’s drunk antics all night.” Who were you to deprive him of your presence when he was that desperate? Plus, there was a nice girl in marketing that was also invited; maybe tonight was the night to befriend her.

But the marketing people knew how to party. You were only halfway through your second beer whereas the rest of your group was on their fourth. And three tequila shots deep. Wonwoo, seemingly, had an affinity for tequila, unlike yourself. He was able to throw them back like it was nothing; he didn’t even need a chaser. When Seokmin had requested they all get a fourth, he was met with a round of cheers, and even Wonwoo – quiet, introverted Wonwoo – threw his hands up with excitement. You placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Are you sure about that?”

Wonwoo felt his whole body freeze when your hot breath reached his ear. A pale, pink flush appeared on his cheeks, but you chocked it up to how drunk he was. Eventually, he waved away your worry with his hand. “I’m fiiiiiiiiine. Hey, how about I get you another beer?”

“Are you even coherent enough to get me another –”

“HEY! Bartender! Can I get one more of these?!” He shouted, waving your empty glass in the air. “Oh, and more tequila!”

Seokmin slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, laughing along with him. As you made friends with the rest of the marketing department, you found yourself glancing at Wonwoo every so often. His cheeks were so rosy now, and his glasses kept slipping down his nose. To be fair though, everyone in this dive bar seemed to be in the same state of mind. Seokmin was singing along to the Sabrina Carpenter song blasting through the speakers. Josh was so drunk that he was crying about how much he loved his friends. They had even gotten Suzanne in finance to come out, and she was making friends with everyone for once. And Wonwoo … oh, god, Wonwoo’s head was now on the bar top and he was closing his eyes –

You abandoned your beer and walked over to your friend, shaking his shoulders. His eyes instantly opened, expecting to see Seokmin, but when his gaze met yours, he instantly felt all warm and fuzzy. “Okay,” you said, trying your best to hoist this 6 foot man off the barstool, “you’ve had enough. I’m taking you home.”

It was like pulling teeth to get him to tell you his address, but you guessed you shouldn’t be surprised when the man on your arm was blackout drunk. After flagging a taxi, you shoved him in the seat next to you and rubbed your hands together to get them warm. Wonwoo’s head was on your shoulder the second you sat down, his eyes fluttering closed as the taxi sped off into the night. You watched his fingers twitch on his thigh as he whispered sleepily, “I think my family would really like you.”

“Is that so?” You chuckled, squeezing his arm for reassurance, but little did you know just how much your touch effected him. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re you,” he replied, and then yawned. “Only you and Mingyu would do this for me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Who’s Mingyu?”

The taxi pulled up to a brick apartment building then, and your cold fingers struggled to get cash out from your pocket while Wonwoo was practically laying on top of you. Finally, you did your best to haul him out of the seat, thanking the taxi driver before gathering an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders. The building was definitely old with vines of ivy crawling up one side. There was a dead tree with snow covering it’s branches directly by the door, spilling snowflakes on your head as you struggled to input the code Wonwoo managed to remember. And then, you were pulling him up two flights of stairs, which took far longer than you estimated. You had basically ripped his keys from his hand once you reached his apartment and continued to drag him inside, laying him on the old couch that was conveniently right near the door.

Wonwoo grumbled as soon as his head hit the armrest, and he almost fell off the couch if it weren’t for you catching him and rolling him back onto the cushion. “I’m going to go get you a glass of water,” you said, quickly rushing off to his kitchen. “Please, for the love of god, don’t fall off the couch again.”

He whined for you to come back, but you pretended you didn’t hear it, because if you did, you’d have to reckon with the tingle that bloomed between your legs at the sound of his desperation.

The entrance of his kitchen was right in front of a small hallway that sectioned off two ways. There was a bedroom door on each side of the hall, and once you walked inside the kitchen, you found a tiny table from the 80s and the dishwasher currently running. You didn’t have time to contemplate that now, and instead pilfered through his cabinets until you found a glass and filled it with tap water. Rushing back to his side, Wonwoo was already laying halfway off the couch and you sighed.

You set the glass of water on his coffee table and lifted him back up. With a little bit of help from you, you both managed to shrug off his winter jacket and you tucked a throw blanket over him to prevent him from falling off again. A heavy exhale slipped past your lips as you knelt by his side, and you couldn’t help but reach out to pushed back his hair from his forehead. His eyes were closed, but you knew he wasn’t sleeping. You smiled to yourself.

Were coworkers supposed to show this much affection for each other?

“Wonwoo,” you said softly, and he cracked one eye open. “Do you want some water?”

He shut that eye again, grimacing at the thought of anything entering his body right now. “Ab…absolutely not.”

“It’ll make you feel better,” you persuaded, but he still shook his head. “Okay, so what do you want right now?”

His breath stilled for a moment. “Can I be honest?”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“I …” No, he couldn’t be that honest. “I want you to … keep p–pushing back my hair. It’s … relaxing.”

You chuckled, “Okay, you got it.” Your fingers were at the crown of his head again, smoothing back the strands. You hadn’t noticed until now that he had a freckle on the left side of his forehead; maybe you’d just never been this close to notice. Well, actually, you had. There was this thing you two did called a kiss –

“If you’re going to fall asleep, I’m going to take off your glasses,” you informed him, slipping his glasses off and setting them by his glass of water. It was late, much later than you anticipated on staying out, and you both still had to go to work tomorrow. 

But then his hand was grabbing your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm for how intoxicated he was. “Can I b–be honest again?” He slurred, his eyes half open to meet yours.

You sighed, placing your hand on top of his, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Just know whatever you say will be used to make fun of you tomorrow –”

“I can’t … I haven’t …” He took a breath to formulate the words in his head. “… Stopped thinking about our kiss.”

You blinked down at him, watching the way his eyes began to close again as he relaxed into the old couch cushions. “You can’t just say shit like –”

He scoffed dramatically. “I’m noooot,” he defended, his hand slipping off your wrist to curl underneath the blanket.

“Wonwoo …” Your voice trailed off, the words dying on your tongue.

“Who the hell are you?”

You immediately got to your feet at the sound of another person’s voice behind you. Eyes growing wide, you took in the sight of the man in front of you wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his chiseled abdomen as he shook a smaller towel through his hair. He might’ve been taller than Wonwoo, only by a little bit, and his skin was a golden tan that reminded you of summertime even in this harsh winter. Why was Wonwoo hiding handsome men in his apartment? The man looked at you, waiting for an answer, his brows raised.

“Oh,” you cleared your throat. “Um …”

“Leave her alone, Mingyu,” Wonwoo groaned from the couch, turning away from them to lay on his side.

So this was Mingyu, you concluded. This slightly god-like dude that looked like he walked straight out of a porno was the only other person who’d help Wonwoo when he was blackout drunk. Interesting.

Mingyu raised his hand awkwardly for you to shake. “His roommate,” he clarified.

“Oh,” you replied, grasping his hand for a moment and telling him your name. 

Mingyu instantly grinned, laying the small towel over his neck, holding both ends. “So you’re her.”

You blinked, not knowing how to respond to that. Perhaps there was no way to respond; the silence was comfortable enough. You decided to keep that in mind for later though.

“He’s … well, he got very drunk,” you informed Mingyu, gesturing to a now-sleeping Wonwoo with both thumbs. “I wanted to make sure he got home okay.”

Mingyu nodded, and then sighed. “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry,” he promised, opening up the door for you. “Get home safe, okay?”

Wonwoo: Sorry about that the other night. I won’t get drunk like that again. It doesn’t happen very often

You: it’s okay! I’m used to handling drunk people

You: don’t get me wrong, I like to have my fun but it’s easier for me to take care of other people than like … be incoherent and anxious lol

Wonwoo: By the end of the night I was starting to feel that way. Not fun

You: DRINK WATER

You: your roommate is hot btw. does he always walk around without a shirt?

Wonwoo: Of course, he didn’t have a shirt on when you met him

Wonwoo: Everyone likes Mingyu

You: well, I like you [UNSENT]

The bi-annual sales meeting was started to boost morale and talk with other departments that you didn’t see as often. It was typically held at a hotel in the downtown city, with the company flying in all the sales reps from across the country. There were even a few from overseas. In reality though, this was usually the week where coworkers made mistakes. At least one person was let go after these sales meetings, and HR had their eyes peeled for an entire week.

You never made a mistake at one of these. And you didn’t expect to any time soon.

This was a week of rubbing elbows with slimy sales reps and making sure some old man hadn’t spiked your drink. For most, this was a week to slack off, but a woman working in corporate couldn’t relax in these settings. You’d been making corrections to your boss’ presentation for the entire company for what felt like forever. (Realistically, it’d been almost two weeks.) You probably went through the 50 slides at least twice as much, checking for spelling mistakes and making sure it was in the right place on your desktop. Not on some random external hard drive. Not in the trash. 

But it was finally the day you’d been dreading. Presentation day, and everyone at the company was eager to hear the Boss reveal if they hit their goal for the year, amongst other things. You checked the slides another time, and then made sure no one would trip over the HDMI cord connected to the projector. The Boss gave you a reassuring smile, and then it was go time.

Your boss could be a shit bag – what CEO wasn’t? – but he had a way of speaking that made everyone so excited for the future. He was probably the reason why morale was always so high, and everyone looked forward to his presentation at these meetings. Your finger hovered over the right arrow button as he went through his speech, pointing out company statistics and what he wanted them all to accomplish this year, before finally getting to the goal reach. And his answer was nothing short of what the audience wanted to hear. He congratulated all of them, and everyone clapped together at the good news.

When you looked out at the crowd that had gathered, you realized almost every seat in the ballroom was filled. Some were even standing near the door and – wait, there was Wonwoo, leaning against the wall in the back. IT didn’t need to be here for this presentation. In fact, they were encouraged to be doing other things, like manning a table near HR and offering on-the-spot tech help. A smile made it’s way to your lips, watching the way Wonwoo was listening intently.

Once the presentation was over and the room erupted in small talk, your boss came over and thanked you for helping out yet again. “Of course,” you replied, as if there was anything else to say. He gave you a comforting squeeze of the hand before walking off to talk to some of his favorite sales reps.

As you shut your laptop and began to place your things in your backpack, Wonwoo slipped into the chair beside yours. Just the sight of his grin set you at ease, but also made you nervous at the same time. Why were you suddenly so nervous? This was just Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo. Just … your Wonwoo.

“Congratulations,” he beamed, giving you a high five. “I know you’ve been working on this all week, but you did it!”

You always stressed so much about this presentation, but at the end of the day … “All I did was press a button,” you shrugged.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, but you didn’t accidentally delete your file like every other time you’ve messaged me on Slack.” He chuckled, and you scoffed at his teasing. “I’d call that a win.”

The second to last night of sales meeting week was the longest night of the year. It was a tradition for everyone to go out to a bar the company rented out, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on while celebrating a job well done. You only saw half these people twice a year, and half of the time they’d have a beer in their hands. 

You did your best to ignore every sales rep that tried to speak with you without slurring their words, but that was damn near impossible when some were already on their second cocktail. However, no matter how embarrassing it was, you did allow them to compliment you and your hard work. Who were you to turn down the validation? And when the time came, even your boss came over to compliment you again, and you realized there was truly nothing like being good at your job. 

Just for a moment, everything felt okay. It was like the loneliness dissipated, the sting of years without pleasure or having someone by your side … it all faded when you were rewarded for your hard work.

Maybe tonight was the night you had fun for once.

When you finally found Wonwoo later that night, he was surrounded by a few younger members of the IT team, debating what computer language everyone should be obligated to learn. You waved to him from where you stood by the bar top, and that was all it took to have him walking away from his team and towards you. He wrapped one arm around your shoulders, insisting to buy you drinks for the rest of the night, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. If there was anyone here you trusted enough to hand you a drink, it was Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo.

The hour was reaching midnight now, and you weren’t sure how many martinis you had, but you were hiccuping a storm. That was a telltale sign that you were totally, thoroughly drunk. Wonwoo was only drinking beer and pacing himself, unlike that night at the dive bar, but he was enjoying the sight of you finally letting loose. You hung on his arm, staring up at him with your big eyes, glazing over from all the alcohol coursing through your system. He didn’t like how this effected him; he shouldn’t be attracted to the way your gaze looked while you were intoxicated. But he couldn’t help but wonder if your eyes held the same shine while your lips were wrapped around his –

No, this was too much. He should take you back to the hotel.

The two of you glanced around the bar, realizing it was mostly cleared out. You definitely needed to leave now.

He tugged on your arm, wrapping one of his around your waist to support you. “C’mon now,” he grunted, helping you walk out. “Let’s get you back.”

“I didn’t f–finish my drink thoooooough,” you argued, despite letting him lead you out of the bar. “And I can walk … on my own. Swear!”

“Listen, you took care of me once,” he said as you two walked into the brisk cold air. The hotel was, thankfully, only a block away. “Let me take care of you.”

Even with the alcohol pumping in your veins, just the sound of those words falling from his mouth made you grip him tighter. You felt like your bones were made of jelly, and it wasn’t just from the vodka. It was him, and the way he made you feel, and how secretly warm he was, and the way he took care of you as you took care of him, and – oh, god, you wanted to cry because you liked Jeon Wonwoo so much.

So, so much.

It was much easier to get you back to your hotel room than his apartment, seeing as this hotel had a working elevator. You slumped beside him, tripping over your feet every so often, as he hauled you down the hallway to your room. You gave him your keycard easily, and once the door was open, he squeezed your hand to silently let you know it was time to move again. He helped you into the room, shutting the door behind him, before laying you down on your bed with the clumsiness only he could have. 

You were laughing now, hiccuping from the alcohol, but laughing nonetheless. And he was laughing at your hiccups. Or maybe he just liked the way you grinned at him.

He assisted with taking off your boots and jacket, too embarrassed to remove anything else. And it definitely wasn’t appropriate to either. Tearing back the covers, he nestled you underneath them, and said, “You got everything, right? I’m a call away if you need me.” He grabbed one of the small trash cans in the room and placed it at your bedside. “If you need to vomit and can’t make it to the bathroom, just use the trash can here –”

You hand came out to wrap around his forearm. “Stay, Wonwoo.”

Your sleepy eyes were killing him, making his inhibitions melt and his cock throb at the same time. He sighed, sitting on the side of the mattress, and before he could stop himself, he was tucking hair behind your ear. “You know I can’t do that,” he said, his voice like a caress. “You know how it would look if someone saw me leave this room tomorrow morning. HR is on all our asses this week.”

“I know,” you slurred, and then pressed your flushed cheek into his palm. “I j–just thought you … were taking care of me thoooooooough …”

His resolve crumbled into a million pieces. This was complete, utter torture. You had to know how you effected him, but of course you didn’t, because you were stretching under the covers and yawning like you didn’t just make his heart stop. 

That’s how he ended up in your bed, shutting off the lights and settling underneath the comforter. Until you came closer and rested your head on his chest. Despite how fast his heart was beating, he felt so at peace, and you both fell asleep in the clothes you wore out tonight.

Only a few hours later, you woke with a clear head and the beginning of a hangover. Your head was pounding like crazy, and it took everything in you to slip out from the comfort of your bed and pad your feet over to the bathroom. The bright light was burning your eyes, but you needed it to find the Tylenol you left by the sink. Filling a cup with water, you took the medication and prayed it worked sooner rather than later.

You squinted at yourself in the mirror, realizing you were still in the outfit you wore yesterday. With a sigh, you picked up the big t-shirt you left on the floor yesterday morning and stripped yourself until you were in nothing but your underwear. You pulled the t-shirt on and slumped against the wall, pressing your forehead against the cold tile. Now this felt like heaven for your headache.

It took a couple of minutes to get yourself to move again, feet slapping against the floor as you walked out of the bathroom. You noticed Wonwoo was awake too, in the midst of slinking back under the covers, and you saw his jeans abandoned by his bedside.You crawled back to your cocoon of blankets, and he instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest. And you … you didn’t move away. In fact, you pressed yourself closer, finally hearing how his heart raced. Wonwoo didn’t care if it was probably 4 AM and he probably had to leave in a few hours – before anyone else woke – because he was holding you and smelling you hair. You smelled … god, you smelled so good that it made him hard almost instantly.

You felt his hand splay against your spine, as if trying to hold himself back, and it was then that your eyes opened. The room was dark, but you knew when his gaze was burning into yours only seconds later. You slipped one hand out from the covers, cupping his cheek as your thumb brushed over his lower lip. Under his breath, he muttered a soft, “Shit,” because you both knew where this was going.

You agreed you wouldn’t do this again. You agreed to be friends.

But now you’re kissing again.

Your hand moved from his face to his neck, and his hands are gripping your cheeks to make sure your mouth stayed on his. His fingers were shaking. He kissed you desperately, as if he needed this just to be able to breathe again, and maybe he did. You were like putty in his hands, molding yourself to his body as your tongue tangled with his. Whatever ache you felt in your temples drifted between your legs, causing you to moan into his mouth. And fuck, just the sound of you made his cock swell, precum soaking through his boxers.

The room felt so hot all of a sudden, but your cold hands came in handy as they rested on his neck. His left hand slid down to your ass, finally giving it a firm squeeze after kicking himself for not doing it when he first kissed you. That made you moan again, and he decided he’d never stop touching you like this, just so he could hear these sounds fall from your lips.

He slid his knee between your legs on instinct, and you didn’t hesitate to start grinding against his thigh. The friction felt delicious and soothing. You both kissed each other slower, a little messier, focusing on touching each other everywhere you dreamed about all these months. Your fingers traced down the column of his neck, down the thin cotton of the shirt he was still wearing from yesterday, while bucking against his thigh. His lips left yours, dragging across your cheek so he could nibble on your earlobe, feeling it grow warm and red from all the attention. “You have no idea how long I’ve needed you,” he whispered, and you damn near almost came from that confession.

You weren’t used to this; you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced pleasure like this with someone, but you couldn’t imagine stopping. Not when he angled his thigh just right, the muscle in his leg rubbing against your clit, your panties completely soaked. You cupped him over his boxers, feeling his bulge throb in your palm, and you cooed, “Can I …”

He groaned. You didn’t need to say more; Wonwoo was smart enough to know what you were insinuating. He felt disoriented, drunk off of you and your touch, smell, everything. “Are you … are you sure you don’t want to …” His voice was giving out, but from the way your fingers were slipping under the waistband of his boxers, you knew you wanted just this, and he’d give you whatever you wanted. “Yes. Yes, of course. That’s fine,” he finished.

You chuckled softly. He smiled against your neck. Pulling his cock out and wrapping your palm around it, you began to stroke him slowly. “Oh, god,” he was sighing into the crook of your neck, his brain in such a state of disarray when you resumed grinding against his leg while also pumping him from base to tip. This couldn’t be real; he had to be dreaming, but he could feel your wet panties sticking to his thigh. He could feel himself shake as he clung to you and pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your throat. It was all too much, but not enough at the same time. 

“Wonwoo,” you whimpered, and he dragged his lips back to yours just to feel how your mouth moved when you said his name. You bucked your hips faster, your arousal coating his thigh, and warmth bloomed between your legs. When your hand on his cock reached his head again, you rubbed the pad of your thumb over his slit, making more precum bead onto your knuckles. “Wanna cum with you,” you begged, stroking him faster and in time with your hips.

“I know you do, I know,” he breathed against your lips. “Just a little faster … yes, just like that. Fuck.”

Only a moment later were you trembling, hips stuttering as pleasure took over your body. You came hard, squeezing his thigh between your legs, and your cry was swallowed by Wonwoo’s lips. If he didn’t kiss you, he knew he’d moan so loud it would wake the entire hotel. Because – oh, god, he was cumming now, and he was sighing against your mouth as he erupted in your hand, ropes of cum staining your t-shirt. He could’ve swore he saw white. He’d never felt a release like this before; not with anyone else. Not even when he jerked off. But maybe it was because this was your hand and you were cumming on his leg, and fuck –

You were still shaking in each other’s arms, minds blank and reeling, bodies coming down from the high. It took the kind of strength that moved mountains to slip from his arms and clean yourself up. But by the time you came back from the bathroom and cuddled up next to him, Wonwoo was already fast asleep.

Jeon Wonwoo [6:08 AM]: I had to leave early this morning before anyone woke. But if you want, I’d like to see you at breakfast this morning :)

You [7:31 AM]: Jeon Wonwoo, I’m begging you to just text this to me

You [7:31 AM]: Also, was your phone hacked? Since when do you use emojis?

There wasn’t much to do on the last day of sales meeting week. The only things on your plate were to make niceties with some of the new reps, and probably attend a few presentations by HR. When you had finally woken up this morning to just you in the bed, you almost considered skipping the HR presentations, feeling too guilty and like they might see right through you. It was irrational, but you were sure that this was the only way to feel after realizing that you hooked up with your coworker and friend. 

Not that you hadn’t wanted to. Not that you hadn’t been thinking about it since your kiss. No, it wasn’t like that at all.

So why were suddenly terrified to see him at breakfast?

You got ready as quick as you could – but of course, making sure you wore that V-neck sweater that showed off your cleavage just right – and threw your hair up before leaving your hotel room. The line for the breakfast buffet was packed, but you waited patiently and decided to sit near the bar once you plate was full. The rest of the dining room was filled with people and you weren’t awake enough to make shitty small talk. Sitting here at the bar top was peaceful and quiet –

“Is this … seat taken?”

Your eyes met his instantly, and you noticed the way Wonwoo was cringing at the line he threw at you. You decided to forget it, for his sake, and gestured for him to sit down. Fuck, you were so goddamn nervous, even though you had agreed to meet him in the first place. You wore this low-cut sweater for him. You both sat in silence for a bit, crunching awkwardly on the burnt bacon, and shifting in your seats. 

“Did you …” You were surprised that your mouth was moving on it’s own volition, spilling any words that came to your head. “… Do anything this morning since you were up early?”

Wonwoo choked a bit on a strawberry, but recovered quickly. “Uh … yeah, yeah, sure. Once I came down here, one of the IT interns found me in a panic because he couldn’t set up one of the rep’s new work phones. Created a whole scene over nothing.”

You snorted and sipped your coffee. “Is that intern still breathing?”

His eyes flickered to yours, a slow smile growing on his face. “Yes, actually.”

You fell into sync then, letting the awkward silence melt away as you joked about Wonwoo’s interns. He wasn’t meant to teach college students, god help them. But as your plates became empty and a server came around to take them, you two were left with only the mugs in your hands, strangely reminiscent of that apology coffee he bought for you so long ago.

Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, so about last night – or I guess, this morning …”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you interjected, setting your coffee down. “I have a hangover, but I am thriving.”

He blinked. “Well, that’s good. But I was referring to –”

You almost couldn’t look at him when you said, “The fact that we’re definitely not just friends anymore?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that part.”

“I …” You licked your lips as you gathered yourself. There was this … terrifying flutter in your chest. You’d never felt something like this before, but you weren’t keen on letting it go. Not yet. “I would like to see you again. Like that. Definitely not during work hours. If you catch my drift. This is awkward.”

Wonwoo had to turn his head so you wouldn’t see him trying to hold in his laughter, but it was clear as day. You sighed loud and hit his arm, making him look at you once again as he snickered to himself. “You know, you could just ask me if I want to hang out.”

You leveled a look at him and huffed. “Okay, Wonwoo, do you –”

“Yes,” he beamed. “Always, yes.”

You found yourself at Wonwoo’s side more often than not. What used to be work get togethers transitioned to meeting up at a bar, or checking a new restaurant on the weekends. Sometimes he’d ask you to come over so you could taste test a new recipe he found. (Unfortunately for both of you, Wonwoo wasn’t very good at cooking, but he was getting better. Somewhat.) Those recipe nights, however, always led to him lifting you up on his creaky kitchen counter and kissing you so hard that you almost forgot to breathe. Until Mingyu came into the kitchen, making a gagging sound, and you two instantly detached from each other.

Friday nights were known as Mingyu’s Movie Nights, and Wonwoo began inviting you to those. He had said that this would help knock a few movies off your Letterboxd Watchlist, but you knew that was just an excuse for wanting to see you. You probably saw him more than anyone now, but you couldn’t deny that you … wanted to see him too. Having him in your life made everything suddenly better. He was kind and smart and thoughtful. He made you laugh in ways you couldn’t explain, and obviously … he didn’t have to do much to make you want him. He’d simply have to look at you and you’d get on his lap. If Mingyu wasn’t there, of course.

Wonwoo seemed to blossomed with you. He was more excited to leave his apartment, more eager to become a better cook. He spoke up often, whether it be at work or out with you, rather than letting someone talk. He wanted to learn all the things that you liked, wanted to touch you exactly where you needed it, wanted to find new ways to leave you breathless. Because it was for you.

Even Mingyu noticed a difference in his friend. He’d known Wonwoo for so many years now, but he’d never made this much of a change for anyone. One night, when you and Mingyu were alone in the kitchen, he mentioned, “He’s different around you.” And then kept pouring wine in three glasses while Wonwoo picked a movie from the living room.

There were also times where Wonwoo was a booty call, of course, and neither of you had any problems with that. Some nights, Wonwoo would call you after Mingyu went to bed, begging you to come over, but ended up settling for phone sex. His attraction to you in stockings only went up, and it was difficult for him to contain his arousal at work when you strutted around just knowing how it affected him. There was days where all he wanted to do was pull you into a janitor closet and fuck the living daylights out of you. But it wasn’t like you’d let him anyway.

You had your fair share of desperate moments too. Especially tonight, as you were out drinking with your friends at a local spot you’d been coming to for years. The live band was loud and you’d had your fair share of shitty margaritas already. One of your friends was tugging on the arm of some rando she met on the dance floor, yelling over the music that she was leaving and she’d text you when she was home safe. That left you shit out of luck for a ride home, and suddenly very lonely. The last thing you wanted was to drink alone at a shitty bar on a Saturday night.

Wandering outside, your heeled boots crunched in the snow as you looked for the nearest Uber. The fastest one around would take over 20 minutes to get to you, and as you looked around the empty city streets … wait, didn’t Wonwoo live around here? Maybe all the tequila was just getting to you. But you called him anyway, and despite the time reaching 1 AM, he answered instantly. He heard the slight lisp in your voice, and once he got out of you exactly where you were, he realized you were right. It only took him about 10 minutes to get to where you were, parking on the side of the road. 

He sighed at the sight of you sitting on the curb, shivering and hugging your jacket around you. Various drunk people filtered in and out of the bar, but none of them checked on you – a freezing girl just sitting on the side of the road. “Why didn’t you wait inside for me?” He asked, his breath hot against your cheek when he pulled you up in his arms. Your dress rode up a little, and his hands were quick to yank it back down. “It’s the middle of winter.”

“I jusssst thought … the cold air would sssssober me up,” you slurred, letting him place you in his passenger seat before running back over to the driver’s side. His car was warm, making you bury yourself in your jacket, but his hand on your thigh was even warmer somehow. If your fingers weren’t so cold, you’d wrap your hand around his wrist, inching his palm up higher as he drove.

Once he was parked, he wasted no time getting you out and helping you up the stairs to his apartment. Mingyu was passed out on the couch, an old movie from the 80s playing on the TV, but you could hardly register it because your brain was spinning and Wonwoo was practically dragging you to his bedroom. He was grateful that all the lights were off so you couldn’t see how messy it was, but honestly, it was a miracle if you could see anything clearly right now.

He sat you down on the bed and you looked up at him with bleary eyes, which made you so fucking hard to resist. All the tequila you drank was pumping through your bloodstream, and you couldn’t help but fist your hands in his t-shirt and try to kiss him. He evaded your lips though – no matter how much he wanted to – and you whined, “Whyyyyyy won’t you kiss me?”

“Shhh …” He whispered, yanking off your boots. “Inside voice. Mingyu’s sleeping.”

You smacked your hands against his mattress. “He’s sleeping in the living room!”

Wonwoo got back to his feet, gesturing as he instructed, “Arms up.” You were too intoxicated to do anything but oblige, lifting your arms as he struggled to pull your dress over your head. Once it was off and thrown to the side with your boots, your hazy vision caught him looking through his drawers for clothes for you to wear. But didn’t he just take your clothes off? You could’ve sworn he did that because he wanted you too right now.

You protested when he tried putting you in one of his simple white tees, but your body felt too limp to fight. He slipped the shirt over your head before pulling back his comforter and wrapping you in it. With your eyes half open, you watched him come to the other side of the bed, yanking his pants down and crawling in bed beside you. He reached over you and set his glasses on the side table. You sighed dramatically. Now he was just torturing you. Wonwoo simply chuckled to himself, realizing what you were angry about.

His arms instantly wound around you, his lips pulled into a smile at your hairline. You looked up at him with a scowl and your voice slurred, “Whysss your eyes closed?”

Wonwoo snickered under his breath. “Because it’s late and I’m tired.” His hand on your lower back traced circles, attempting to coax you to sleep.

“I thought you wanted meeeee,” you complained. Your hand reached in between you two, smoothing your palm against his groin as he slowly started to harden under your touch. You heard his breath hitch slightly, so you kept going, a soft ache beginning between your own legs at just the thought of putting him in your mouth. 

“Sweetheart, I always want you.” He then grabbed your wrist, moving your hand away from him, and then lacing your fingers together. Pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, he sighed sleepily, “But you’re much sexier when you’re sober.”

You started to realize why you didn’t usually do this, why it had been so long since you let someone see every part of you. What you looked like completely stripped down – both inside and out – completely vulnerable for your person. How your face contorted during pleasure, and how it relaxed when you were taken care of.

Catching feelings like this meant giving up control.

You didn’t work on the weekends unless you had to, and when the Boss sent you a high priority email on Saturday morning, you didn’t hesitate. He had transferred over a bunch of sensitive files that were needed for a board presentation first thing Monday morning. But of course, something just had to go wrong: the files were corrupted and you had no way of figuring out what to do. And it wasn’t like your boss was on call like you were on a Saturday.

This was how you ended up at Wonwoo’s apartment.

You had called him in a panic, explaining what had went wrong, but he didn’t seem too fazed. He was used to your tech emergencies by now. But by the time you got to his apartment, out of breath after running from the train station, he had realized just how serious you were taking this. You both sat down on his couch and you let him work his magic. His fingers moved across the keys as if he were a musician, and you couldn’t stop biting your nail nervously.

Mingyu came back to the apartment after grocery shopping, waving at you before putting all the food away. Seeing as you were here, maybe they could all go out and have fun tonight. He went into the living room, ready to mention a band that was playing at a local venue later, but upon seeing the stressed look on both your faces, he exhaled. “It’s a Saturday,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Why do you two look like that?”

“Corrupted documents,” Wonwoo answered quickly, not even looking up from the monitor. 

“I don’t even want to know more,” he said, grabbing his leather jacket from the coat rack and tugging his arms through the sleeves. “Just your faces are making me anxious. I’m heading out. Don’t wait up.”

You gave Mingyu a wave as he left, but Wonwoo was too focused to even say goodbye. It took about another hour and one cup of coffee, but Wonwoo eventually figured out how to uncorrupt the files. You let out a sigh of relief as he handed the laptop back to you and you were able to open each of them without issue. Thank god, you had managed to figure this out before Monday morning. And … having Wonwoo wasn’t too bad either.

“Thank you,” you beamed, not being able to resist pinching his cheek. “My hero.”

Silence engulfed the room as you both noticed how the sky was already getting dark. You cleared your throat, slipping your laptop back into your bag and muttering, “Thanks again. I know I kind of barged in and wasted your Saturday afternoon –”

Like the saint he was, Wonwoo simply smiled at you. “No time with you is a waste.”

Whatever words you were about to say clogged in your throat. You swallowed hard, attempting to hide your fluster, but you ended up choking out, “I … should go.”

“You don’t have to.” He stood from the couch, walking over to you and running his hands down your arms. His brow lifted. “Do you want to?”

You let the strap of your bag fall to the floor as your hands cupped his neck. “No, not particularly.”

Wonwoo chuckled, leaning in and letting his lips just lightly graze yours. “We have the place to ourselves,” he hummed, slowly dragging you backwards with him. “Mingyu’s gone … probably won’t be back until midnight.”

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle, letting him lead you to his room, as limp as a rag doll. Once he shut his bedroom door behind you, he flicked the light on. You pressed your back against the door and your eyes roamed around the space. This was the first time you saw his bedroom with the light on; every other time had been pitch black. You liked that his walls weren’t bare – they were filled with posters of his favorite musicians or photographs. On his desk was a large monitor and a gaming set up, but also a camera with stacks of film next to it. His furniture was old – probably from the 90s, probably passed down from his family – but the scratches within the wood told a story. And unlike most men, his sheets were gray.

Wonwoo realized you were scanning his room, and he became acutely aware of the clothes scattered amongst his floor. He muttered something to himself, beginning to pick up the clothes piles and chuck them into his hamper. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I inherited the organized gene like Mingyu.”

You tilted your head, striding over and pulling him up, making him halt his actions. Your hands went to his face as you brought him closer. With a smile, you whispered, “I don’t want to talk about Mingyu,” before pressing your lips to his.

The kiss became deep far too quickly, or maybe time was passing faster than usual. Your lips crashed so hard against his that they’d bruise. He took off his glasses, setting them on his drawer, before his fingers hooked into the belt loops of your jeans. You stepped forward, making him step back, then another, and another – until you had him falling back on his bed. You straddled him, arching your back so you could lick into his mouth just how he liked. Hands sliding up his shirt, you felt his abdomen flex underneath you. His fingers in your belt loops jerked you closer, pressing your hips to his, and it wasn’t long before he was moaning into the kiss.

You smiled against his mouth, dragging your lips down his neck, and then even further, as you slinked down his body. Your eyes were trained on his, and he was trying his best not to look like a complete idiot in front of you. But it was difficult when you were looking at him with those eyes and – oh, now you were pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants, practically salivating when you noticed how hard he was already.

But … this was what you guys always did. Not that he had an issue with you giving him blow jobs, but none of this felt particularly intimate. You never really let him worship you; you took control of the entire situation. As if you were bringing your professional stubbornness to the bedroom.

“Wait,” he choked out as you palmed his growing bulge. “Can we … can we try something different?”

Your brows furrowed and you continued pressing sloppy kisses above his groin. “Why would we do that?”

Wonwoo let out a frustrated sound, and before you could prepare yourself, he was yanking his pants back up and pinning you underneath him. You blinked up at him in surprise, and he was gripping your wrists above your head now, his bodyweight pressing you into the mattress. He almost looked shocked that he had the strength to push you back, but his blown-out pupils gave away his true desire.

“What was that for?” You asked incredulously. Nerves clouded your thoughts, making you stutter. “I thought … I thought you liked …”

“No, trust me, I do,” he assured you, and then tipped his head as he gazed down at you. “I just … why won’t you let me take care of you?”

You scoffed then, trying to cover up how petrifying this conversation was becoming. Were you that transparent now, or did he simply know you far too well for your own good?

“I have no idea what you’re –”

Wonwoo gave you one of his infamous leveled looks, and you sighed. “You’re in constant need of seeking control when it’s always at your fingertips. It’s okay to let it go; it won’t slip away.” He let go of your wrists then, but kept his body hovering over yours, holding himself up by his elbows resting near your head. “Please, just … surrender it for once. Let me take the lead.”

You glanced down at your hands on your chest, twiddling your thumbs. Eventually, you murmured, “It’s hard. I’ve never done that before.”

“Can we try? I like …” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then let his head fall as he chuckled to himself. “This is so awkward. I just – I like prioritizing your pleasure. It feels much better for me and I think it will for you too. And if you don’t like it –”

“I’m not good with change,” you blurted.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice taking on that husky tone that made warmth pool in your stomach. His eyes flickered to your lips now, noticing how swollen they still were. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. It was just a suggestion, and I probably ruined the mood.”

You shook your head immediately, allowing your fingers to tenderly sweep over his shirt. “No, I …” A voice in the back of your head told you this was a good thing, and you did want this, but the fear of change was overwhelming. You wanted to step out of your comfort zone, desperately, for once. You were allowed to do this; you were allowed to be happy. 

Your gaze met his again. “I want to try.”

His eyes softened with affection, but then he asked, “You’re not just agreeing for my sake, right?”

“Now when have I ever done that?” You laughed, making him smile along with you. 

But as soon as his mouth met yours, that awkward, giggling persona seemed to melt away. Jeon Wonwoo morphed into an entirely different person, someone that possessed your jaw in his large hand, pulling at your bottom lip before kissing you harder. It was enough to leave you gasping for air once he pulled away, spit connecting you two, and he continued to suck and nip his way down your throat. He made sure to leave marks in places that could be covered up for work, but he’d know exactly where they were. God, would he even be able to control himself at his desk, knowing where his bites were hiding under your clothes? 

Tugging your sweater over your head, he practically whined at the sight of your breasts, constricted in the bra that you told him was too old once, but you kept wearing it anyway because he said it was cute. He lifted you for a moment, expertly removing it with one hand, before licking the valley between your breasts. You arched into him, sighing into your arm when he swirled his tongue around your taut nipple. He glanced up and realized you were hiding your face, so he pushed your hand off. “I want you to look at me while I do this,” he cooed, but it sounded more like a demand.

Despite the embarrassment, you did as he asked, feeling completely bewitched as you watched him cup the swell of your breast, tugging on your nipple. This felt like a goddamn Pornhub video. You two have had sex before, yes, but not like this. Never like this. Wonwoo had always let you do what you were comfortable with, keeping his other side at bay while you rode him hard on the couch. But this … this felt like something else entirely. The way he was lavishing both your nipples, coating them with his spit, demanding you to watch … Expletives filtered softly from your mouth, wetness gathering between your thighs. It suddenly felt too hot and your jeans were still on.

Wonwoo was taking his time with you though, and it was very clear to you that this wouldn’t just be one of those nights where you had sex for 10 minutes before ordering pizza. When he lifted his mouth from your left nipple, he asked calmly, “Do you like this or do you want more?”

You sneered, “Well, of course, I like –”

His hand came up instantly to pinch your other nipple, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that came out of your mouth. “No teasing,” he said, lowering his head to flick that nipple with his tongue. “Just answer me.”

“More,” you choked out, your hips arching off the bed, seeking friction. “Please, more.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss between your breasts once again, before lowering himself down your body. His eyes never left yours as he dragged his lips down your stomach. Eventually, he had to stand from the bed so he could finally unzip your pants, tugging when they got stuck around your ankles. When the cold air hit between your legs, you realized how soaked you were already. Wonwoo smirked to himself, slowly rolling your panties down your legs.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you joked, kicking your panties off into a pile by his bed. 

He lifted your ankle, nipping playfully, and replied, “Told you that you’d like me taking the lead.”

You rolled your eyes as he settled between your thighs, bending your knees back so your feet rested beside his head. You bit your lip as he placed sloppy kisses on your inner thigh, biting hard enough to make a bruise. Wonwoo fought hard to maintain a sense of composure, but god, the sight of your pretty pussy oozing slick made him wonder if he could cum untouched. You had let him finger you before, but had never been in the mood for this. And this was something Wonwoo had been fantasizing about since the day he noticed that tear in your stockings. He could jump for joy if that didn’t make him look like an absolute fucking loser.

He pushed your folds apart with two fingers, running a hand down his face as he attempted to school his expression. It was just so fucking hard to act cool when you were this aroused. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. You reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead, deciding to quip, “Wonwoo, can you even find the clit without your glasses on –”

Without warning, he spit on your pussy and buried his face between your thighs. The words died on your tongue immediately, and you let out the loudest whine he’d ever heard in his life. He smiled, but that didn’t deter him from circling his tongue around your clit. He wound one of his arms around your thigh, holding you in place as he pressed his face further.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, he sucked and drew out the prettiest sounds from you, using his free hand to slip two fingers inside you. You tasted exactly like he dreamed about, sweet and tangy and so unmistakably you. He looked up at you from between your legs, curling his fingers in the spot that made tears prick at your eyes, and when your gaze found his, it was like something in him snapped. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice muffled, feasting at you like he’d been starved for days. 

Your fingers were in his hair now, pressing his head more into you, which only made this more enjoyable for him. He nearly came in his pants when your hips began to buck against his face, but this was about you. And him experiencing you cumming on his face. But mostly you. His fingers pumped faster inside you and his tongue was now flicking your clit, allowing more of your arousal to invade his mouth. He’d never get tired of this taste; he was obsessed. Now that he finally got a taste of you … he never wanted to not be doing this. Never wanted his face too far from the apex of your legs. Not when you had the sweetest taste that could move heaven and earth between these thighs.

And when you finally came on his tongue, he noticed that your legs shook like an earthquake. Your essence flooded his mouth, and he moaned – god, did he moan – lapping at you, never missing a drop of what you gave him. His fingers kept curling inside of you, making your orgasm feel like forever. When he finally removed them with a wet pop, he didn’t miss the opportunity to have more of you, wrapping his mouth around those two fingers and licking off the last of your release. You watched him, completely mesmerized by the way he savored you, even darting his tongue out to capture the whatever seeped out of you. Your hips jolted, suddenly so sensitive, and he grinned up at you.

You hardly caught your breath before he crawling up your body, kissing you hard and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands fisted in his t-shirt, and when you ripped your lips away from his, you arched a brow. “You are still fully clothed,” you reminded, and then swiped at the spit lining his bottom lip.

Wonwoo simply smiled, ghosting his lips over yours before trailing them to your ear. “I’m getting to that part. Patience,” he whispered, nibbling on your earlobe. “You must really want me inside you.”

“I want to not be the only one naked.”

“Say it,” he prodded in a weirdly casual tone.

“What?”

“Say you want me inside you.”

“This is ridiculous –”

He lifted his head from your jawline. “I can easily leave this room and order a pizza,” he teased, and you blinked at him. He was actually being serious. He would completely ignore what looked like a throbbing erection in his pants, just to make a point. You knew he wasn’t trying to be mean; he wanted to get you out of your comfort zone. This was so stupid, because you did want him inside you. Embarrassingly so. He had just given you one of the best orgasms of your life, but you still had this … aching need to be filled. Your cheeks heated just at the thought of it.

“I …” Your eyes closed for a moment, trying not to make your whole face turn bright red. With a sigh, your eyes connected again, and you answered, “I want you inside me, Wonwoo.”

He rewarded you with a kiss, pulling away before it could get too heated again, and stood from the bed. “Well, when you ask nicely …” He smiled, that dominating demeanor slipping for a moment as he pulled his shirt off. You’d never get tired of the way Wonwoo looked without a shirt. He didn’t let anyone see it very often – he wasn’t like his roommate – but the moments he did, you felt eternally grateful. His torso was toned, with defined abs and pecks that made your mind boggle. You liked that his arms were long and muscled; his hands large and slightly calloused. 

You liked everything about him.

When he finally went to kick off his sweatpants, he noticed a large precum stain on the gray fabric from just eating you out. Which was probably the biggest jab to his calm and collected attitude right now, but he didn’t let it slip. He simply threw the sweatpants to the side, coming up close to the bed again, where your legs were now hanging off the edge. You gazed up at him as if he held the world in his palms, watching the way he reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, never used to the size. He was slightly thicker than average, but long. Longer than you ever expected. With a pretty pink head leaking sticky precum.

It was killing you how long he was taking. Your legs shifted, ready to make a move to yank him underneath you, but he was faster than you. He pinned your wrists about your head with one hand this time, using his other to keep a firm grip on his cock. “You want to be in control that badly, huh?” He asked, tilting his head.

His hand was moving up and down his shaft now, letting precum dribble on your stomach. Your eyes flickered from his cock back to his eyes. “I just … I need you, Wonwoo,” you begged, your voice taking on a new tone. And somehow … wanting him so bad like this was ten times more arousing than riding him on the couch. “Please, please, Wonwoo. Please, fuck me.”

Your pleas had him falling apart, and he sighed, letting go of your wrists to discard his boxers too. His cock flopped against his stomach, hard and aching and – fuck, had he always been veiny? He got on top of you again, cooing against your lips, “I know, baby, I know.” His rubbed the underside of his length against your wet folds, moaning at the slightest bit of friction. “I’ll fuck you real good. I promise.”

Pressing the head of his cock at your entrance, his breath hitched at just the feeling of your arousal coating his shaft. You both had never taken your time with sex. But he was doing that tonight now that he was in control, letting himself slowly push inside you, feel you completely stretch open for him. You mewled, slinking your arms around his neck and carding your fingers at the nape. And when he finally buried himself to the hilt, his lips fell open and he groaned. You felt so good he could cum right now, but he needed to get a grip. The last thing he needed was to cum too fast.

Not that you would like him any less if he did.

“Wonwoo,” you cried, your hips arching up to meet his. “Please.”

Your voice snapped him out of whatever trance-like state he was in. He settled more on top of you, resting his elbows on both sides of your head, and pulled all the way out so only the tip remained. You whined at the emptiness, which soon changed to a gasp when he bullied his cock back in. Your fingers tugged at his hair; your legs crossed around his waist, drawing him deeper inside. “Fuck,” he muttered, still feeling how tight you were, how you molded yourself for him. “So fucking … god, so wet.”

His restraint could only last so long. He’d gotten his fill of feeling you adjust around him. He couldn’t take this anymore, or he was going to cum before you both had even started. With a deep breath, he set a brutal pace inside of you, his hips snapping forward. Tears rolled down your cheeks; how could something feel so good that you cried? Wonwoo seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he was burying his face in the crook of your neck and groaning, “God, so good … you feel so good … how can anyone feel this good?”

The only word you could choke out was, “Ditto,” which you’d regret for hours after this. But now was not the time.

He was fucking into you so hard that you were already sore, but you were holding onto him for dear life, clinging to him as that warmth burned in your gut. The way his cock curved and grazed your g-spot perfectly, making you tremble and whimper his name like a prayer. He placed a hand on your stomach, feeling how deep his cock nestled inside you, and you noticed him shiver in your arms. He was trying desperately to fight off his release. That coil in your gut began to tighten, and from the way Wonwoo was breathing, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He wanted you to cum first though – like always – wanted to feel you clamp around him, squeeze him so tight that he saw white. 

So he did what he did best: reached in between your bodies, finding your swollen, sensitive clit so easily, and rubbed slow circles. He lifted his head from your neck, wanting to see that familiar look in your eyes when you saw stars. “Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice was so deep that it reverberated against your chest.

And finally, as he pressed his thumb down hard and pushed into you just right, you felt your orgasm crest. “Fuck, Wonwoo,” you sobbed, body shaking as you came undone. 

But Wonwoo wasn’t stopping. He kept fucking into you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And when your walls squeezed him so tight, he buried himself completely and came hard, a generous amount of fucks leaving his lips. His cheek pressed against yours; his groans muffled by the comforter. You held him close as he filled you to the brink with his release, and it almost felt like hours before he realized he finished. 

You exhaled together, allowing your heart rates to settle. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and then to your nose, and now he was kissing all over your face. Your cheeks instantly tinged pink, but you let him do as he pleased. He didn’t even make a move off you, letting his cock soften inside your warmth. When your eyes opened, he was staring down at you like you were the sun. You searched his eyes, “What?”

His dark gaze flickered to your lips for a moment, and then he asked, “Did you really say, ‘Ditto,’ during sex?”

You and Wonwoo had gotten into a routine. Of course, you saw him 5 days out of the week at work, but you wanted more of him. You figured out Mingyu’s schedule, coming over most nights when he wasn’t home – besides Mingyu’s Movie Nights. You would let Wonwoo cook for you, and he promised he was getting better, before he led you to his room with kisses to your neck and a firm grip on your hand. 

He always went with whatever you were comfortable with, but you found yourself letting him take the lead more often than not. You liked letting him prioritize you; you liked being selfish with him. Giving up control felt … much better than anticipated. Everything about this felt too good to be true. But you couldn’t help yourself, and you didn’t want to spoil it by asking him the dreaded, “What are we?” For now, you’d exist in your safe little bubble, where he would smile at you at work and then fuck your brains out after hours. It felt perfect, simple.

You approached sex through a different lens now. Instead of simply riding him on that godforsaken old couch, you let him go at his own pace: placing you on his lap, having his way with you and making you cum at least 3 times before he sunk you down on his cock, bouncing you up and down as you clung to him, practically letting him use you as a flesh light. Even when he let you sit on his face, it was on his terms: his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave a mark, trying to suffocate himself with your pussy, not allowing you to cum until he said so, no matter how much you needed to. But it felt too good to stop. You didn’t want this to stop. You liked the lack of control, liked the way he took care of you. The way he bent your knees back as he slid into you, keeping eye contact, so you’d feel him that much deeper … the way he could feast on you for hours, never getting enough of your taste … there was something about it that made you feel more than beautiful. 

Especially when he looked at you as if you were his world.

Especially when he fucked into you and you realized you might be in love with him.

You tended to get lost in thought while laying in bed on an early morning. The birds chirped outside, your phone chimed along with each new notification. Curling underneath your comforter, you held your pounding head, reminiscing on last Sunday. You had gone over Wonwoo’s apartment and he had surprised you with a spaghetti dinner. Mingyu promised that it was “more edible than usual” before he left you two alone in the apartment.

You had noticed the shine in Wonwoo’s eyes, how excited he was to do this for you. He had never bothered to learn anything for anyone, but all he wanted to do was please you. To make you happy. And you could see that in the way he gazed at you, making your stomach do flip flops. Letting him have all this control over you, letting him see past the fortress you’d kept up for who knows how long … it was scary and exhilarating all at the same time.

He taught you how to play his favorite video game after dinner, placing you in between his legs on the couch and letting you lean back against his broad chest. His arms cocooned around you, nestling your body in his embrace. Sometimes he would nibble on your ear as you fought to maintain hand-eye coordination with the controller. Eventually, you had given up and asked to watch him, but that led to his hand dropping the controller as the enemy killed him off. And then his fingers were slowly slipping down the waistband of your leggings, rubbing your slit over your panties. You had arched into him, your ass pressing against his hardening erection as he pulled your panties to the side, already finding you wet and ready for his touch. He chuckled in your ear, “How long have you been thinking about this?” His index finger rubbed tight circles on your clit, and all that you could formulate for a response was a moan as he –

You cut yourself off from the memory before it could end you.

Your stomach churned. Despite your better judgement, you had completely fallen head-over-heels for senior IT specialist, Jeon Wonwoo, and that was terrifying. He had seen your personality unfold, seen the most vulnerable parts of you. But nothing was more scary than admitting to yourself how much you liked him, maybe even loved. You were frantic to the point of exhaustion, so stressed that you felt sick. Soon you were shivering, your head pounding as a fever came on, and you stayed home from work for a few days. Your phone notifications be damned – you stayed in your bedroom with the blinds closed, sleeping the days away.

Every so often, you would hear your phone chime. Your phone screen would light up with another text message. But … you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him. This behavior was illogical and stupid; you just simply couldn’t help yourself. You were an avoidant. The only thing you knew how to do was slowly push him away before he saw all the layers underneath your carefully crafted facade.

What if he finally saw how anxious you were all the time?

What if he knew how you secretly craved to be loved your entire life, but you looked for it elsewhere, in places like workplace praise or crowded bars where you couldn’t see another person’s face?

What if he knew you weren’t as organized up in your head as you were at your desk?

Or worse … what if he didn’t like you back?

TUESDAY, APRIL 22

Wonwoo: What’s going on?

Wonwoo: I managed to find out that you’re sick. I can make you soup, if you want? I know my cooking is terrible. But what if this time it’s good and it cures you?

Wonwoo: If I threaten to message you on Slack, will that make you reply?

Wonwoo: I promise I won’t. Unless … lol

Wonwoo: You’re not dead, right?

Wonwoo: Please, answer me.

FRIDAY, APRIL 25

UNKNOWN: hey, it’s Mingyu. I found your number in Wonwoo’s phone. he’s really messed up right now and worrying about you.

UNKNOWN: idk what’s going on between you two, but I don’t like seeing him like this.

UNKNOWN: just … call him. or text him. or something.

Jeon Wonwoo [10:13 AM]: Did your computer die and you need a new charger?

Jeon Wonwoo [3:21 PM]: I miss you.

When you finally returned to work, it’s on a day that your cubicle mate had decided to work from home. You couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or curse until the next day, when you wished that he decided to work from home forever. It was on a Tuesday morning that you finally faced him again, locking eyes with him from across the boardroom table in an all-hands meeting. You weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure what you could say, but … he didn’t speak to you any way. In fact, even when you both got back to your desks, he kept quiet, throwing on his headphones and focusing on whatever task was at hand. His attitude change wasn’t exactly surprising, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him either.

All your other coworkers looked bewildered. The silence between you two made just about everyone feel awkward. They all saw how close you and Wonwoo had become, and now everything just felt … flat. Silent. Empty. It was like you two were strangers. Maybe you had never really known each other in the first place, if you could both discard each other so easily. 

But that just seemed too good to be true. You thought about him everyday, despite yourself, and he had to think of you too. You caught his eyes on you every once in a while, and you couldn’t help but yearn for him in silence. It was probably time for you to take charge again and make the first move, but you found yourself hesitating. Again. You were overwhelmed with thoughts of rejection. 

This was why you never gave up control with someone before. It left you suddenly so, so doubtful.

You [1:34 PM]: I can’t get into my Outlook. I think I’ve locked myself out 

Jeon Wonwoo is now offline.

You [1:36 PM]: I miss you too

It was a busy Sunday, the first notes of Spring evident in the air. You needed to go to the post office today, the supermarket, probably check in on your parents … but that was all discarded when you made the sudden decision to take a taxi to Wonwoo’s apartment. Your hands were shaking more than his when he first touched you. Your leg was bouncing with anxiety, and when the taxi finally pulled up to his building, you considered never getting out. 

But you couldn’t continue being a coward. Besides, this driver had places to be, with the way he was arguing for you to pay in cash.

You were lucky enough to slide in through the building’s entrance while someone was walking out. The less you had to embarrass yourself by calling Mingyu to let you in, the better. The walk up those two flights of stairs was long and tiring, and it wasn’t because you always hated them. You physically couldn’t make yourself go faster, too frightened of what he was going to say when he saw you. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything; maybe he’d slam the door in your face. And you couldn’t blame him, because now you were at his door and – oh, god, you wanted to hurl.

The door was opening before you could even catch your breath. When you caught that first glimpse of Mingyu, you realized how much of a mistake this was. You could always turn back, run down the stairs before anyone could say a word.

But as soon as you both locked eyes, Mingyu raised his brow, but not in a mocking sense. It was as if … he expected you to be here. He sighed, leaning against the door, and without looking back, he called out, “Wonwoo! You got a visitor.”

Your eyes went wide, and then Mingyu was pushing past you, leaving the door open and muttering, “Good luck.” He was rushing down the stairs two at a time before you could even say a word back. But then you were seeing him, and you wondered if it had always been this hard to breathe around him.

Your fingers played absentmindedly as you both stared at each other. His glasses were slipping down his nose, but he made no move to fix them. His own hand was too busy dropping the controller that had been in his grip, now clattering to the floor. His hair was messed up and he was wearing his favorite comfy sweatsuit, and you … you were put together, as always. Your hair unwashed, but pulled up in a ponytail, and wearing that cardigan he liked so much on you. If he wasn’t so hurt, just the sight of you would have him on his knees right now, begging to have you.

He had to turn around and walk away. If he didn’t right now, he’d just –

“Wait,” you said, walking in and closing the door when he spun away. “Please, don’t. I –”

“What could you possibly say?” He snapped, facing you once again. You had never heard his voice at this octave before, never seen so much distress on his face. “I thought we knew each other well enough that you wouldn’t cut me off out of nowhere. As if I’m just some guy you met at a bar last weekend.”

Your mouth opened, and then closed. 

“Do you … do you even understand how worried I was about you?” He ran a hand through his hair, voice cracking for the first time in forever. You took a step closer to him. “You weren’t answering me and I just … my head went to the worst. I thought Mingyu was gonna kill me the next time I mentioned your name. And then, to see you at work and realizing that you were actually just ghosting me was a fucking punch to the gut. I didn’t get it. I still don’t get it. But I’m so pissed at you for hurting my feelings that I’m not even sure if I wanna know.”

“Wonwoo –” You started.

“Please, don’t say my name like that,” he sighed and pinched his nose. “I realize that you came all this way to finally break the news to me, but I’m good. It’s very obvious to me now that you don’t like me as much as I like you, and to save us the pity party, let me get you home –” He reached for his wallet to grab some cash for your next taxi.

But you interrupted before he could finish.

“I love you.”

He paused, looking up and making sure he heard you right. “What?”

“I’m in love with you,” you said it again, and it felt so freeing to have this weight lifted off your shoulders. You moved closer, now standing a foot away, but refusing to touch him for your own good. “And I’m not just telling you that as an excuse. Ignoring you was cruel and I can never forgive myself for hurting you. I just … when I realized how deep my feelings for you were …” Your throat closed up, as if your body was acting on instinct, preventing you from being vulnerable with him.

Wonwoo closed the distance. “Hey,” he whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear. “I’m right here with you.”

His voice was so reassuring – as always – opening you up like a blooming flower. And suddenly, your mouth didn’t feel so dry anymore and your nails stopped making crescent-shaped indents in your palm.

“I got scared,” you confessed, your gaze locked on his. “And I ran away, because that was the easiest thing to do. I thought ignoring you would be best for both of us, and I stubbornly didn’t want to hear your opinion on any of this. What I did was wrong and I … I hate myself when I do stuff like this to people I care about.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, but he wiped them with his thumb before they could fall. You sniffled, noticing the hurt in his eyes had faded, replaced only by adoration. Your lips pursed as you searched his gaze.

“I’ve just … never allowed anyone to open me up like this. I’ve never given my feelings to someone and let them care for me.” You blinked, your eyes rimmed red. “I’ve hardly been able to comprehend my own feelings because I’ve been scared shitless of them in the first place. But I can’t … I can’t justify pushing you away anymore. Because I love you. I don’t like being alone anymore and all I ever want to do is see you. Sometimes I’m afraid if I stop holding you, you’ll disappear. You do so much for me; you literally fix something on my computer everyday. I think if I let you go right now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, and I –”

Wonwoo cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t remember the last time he kissed you like this: so gently with his palm cupping your jaw. You felt yourself relax when he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His tongue licked into your mouth, sighing with relief when the familiar taste of you entered his orbit again. The taste of coffee and peppermint gum and the peanut butter and jelly you definitely had for lunch today. It was everything he loved about you, and he smiled into the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he said, “Sorry, I interrupted your monologue.”

“It’s okay. Someone needed to before I got into the Hamlet soliloquy I prepared.”

He chuckled, grinning from ear to ear, and just that had a blush creeping to your cheeks. “I forgive you,” he whispered, leaning back in to ghost his lips all over your face. Your warm breath fanned his mouth. “Just don’t do that again. I know I don’t show it very often, but I’m secretly very …” He smiled softer this time, pecking just slightly on the corner of your mouth. “Sensitive.”

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, wanting him all the more closer. “I know. I promise.” You brushed your nose over his. “If I ever ignore you for even a couple hours, you have full permission to annoy me on Slack.”

Wonwoo had to cover his mouth from letting out the loudest laugh possible, but it made you feel all the better to see him happy. You could spend forever seeing him this happy. You got up on your tiptoes just to stare at him more, to press yourself closer and feel his grin against your cheek.

But he was holding your face now, sighing down at you with a smile that almost made you swoon. “For the record,” he replied, “I love you too.” 

[ari-ana-bel-la]

hiii how are you ?

can I request a dad Charles where his daughter tells everyone that she French instead of Monegasque (just like Arthur) and Charles is just losing it every time she says it

She's Monegasque, not French

It started innocently, as most things with toddlers do.

Charles was sitting in the Ferrari motorhome, his three-year-old daughter Yn nestled comfortably in his lap, her tiny hands clutching a crayon-streaked drawing of what she insisted was “Papa’s race car.” The sun was bright, the paddock buzzing with media and mechanics and laughter as the summer European leg of the season carried on in full swing.

And then it happened.

“Papa,” she said sweetly, tilting her head up at him, eyes wide and so heartbreakingly sincere, “I’m French.”

Charles blinked.

“Quoi?” he said, pulling back slightly, eyebrows lifting in gentle confusion. “Ma chérie, no, you’re not French. You’re Monegasque, like Papa.”

Yn looked at him, lips pursed, deep in thought. And then she gave a little shrug. “Non. I’m French, like Uncle Thur.”

Charles groaned softly and let his head fall back against the couch. “Not this again.”

From across the room, Arthur—lounging lazily in a chair, eating grapes like he was Caesar in a past life—choked on his laughter.

“I didn’t teach her that,” Arthur said through wheezes. “She came up with it on her own. Genius, really.”

“You encourage it!” Charles accused, pointing an indignant finger at his younger brother. “You always say you’re French!”

“Well, I am French,” Arthur said with a grin. “Monegasque passport and everything. And clearly, Yn has excellent taste.”

“Excellent taste in traitors. And Monaco is not France,” Charles muttered, pulling Yn closer as if cuddling her tightly would somehow absorb her back into Monegasque pride.

But it didn’t stop there.

No, Yn had decided. French it was.

She told the Ferrari PR team she was French when they asked where she was from. She announced it proudly to the camera when someone tried to film a cute moment with her and her dad. She whispered it solemnly to Carlos while sitting in his lap eating strawberries.

“Papa’s sad ‘cause I’m French,” she told Carlos.

Carlos, eyes sparkling with mischief, leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s okay, Princesa. I’m Spanish, and he still talks to me.”

“Does he love you?” Yn asked, dead serious.

Carlos blinked. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Then maybe he’ll still love me even if I’m French.”

Behind them, Charles face-palmed.

The drivers got wind of it quickly—because of course they did.

By the next day, the jokes were relentless.

“So,” Lando said at breakfast in the hotel, stirring sugar into his coffee like he was preparing to deliver a monologue. “Do I address her as ‘Mademoiselle Yn’ now or...?”

“She’s not French,” Charles groaned.

“She told my engineer she wants her birthday cake in the shape of the Eiffel Tower,” Max deadpanned, walking by and tossing Charles a sympathetic look. “Good luck with that.”

Even Seb, who was visiting that weekend with his kids, gave Charles a comforting pat on the back. “At least she’s not saying she’s German. Yet.”

And then there was Esteban.

“Oh, this is fantastique,” Esteban beamed, scooping Yn up in the paddock one afternoon. “You’re French, just like me!”

Yn squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “Oui!”

Charles practically melted into the tarmac. “Mon dieu…”

But it was Arthur who reveled in it most.

He started wearing a beret. A beret, for god’s sake.

One afternoon in the hospitality tent, he presented Yn with a baguette and a small fake mustache. “For my fellow French citizen,” he declared proudly.

“Merci, Uncle Thur!” Yn beamed, sticking the mustache crookedly on her nose.

“I am living in a cartoon,” Charles mumbled into his hands.

No amount of explaining helped.

“But Monaco is in France,” she argued one night while Charles tucked her into bed in the team’s motorhome. “It’s right there.”

“No, chérie,” Charles said gently, brushing her curls back. “It’s close, but it’s its own country. Like Papa said before, remember?”

“I like France better.”

He sighed and tried the next best tactic: bribery.

“If you say you’re Monegasque again,” he whispered conspiratorially, “Papa will buy you ten ice creams tomorrow.”

Yn narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What kind?”

“Any kind. Strawberry. Chocolate. All of them.”

“Hmm…” she tapped her chin with exaggerated thought. “I still wanna be French.”

He clutched his chest. “Traitor.”

The situation hit a new peak during the Saturday driver briefing. Yn, accompanied by Carlos and Charles, had been allowed to come along briefly before things got official. She toddled in wearing sunglasses way too big for her face and a little Ferrari cap.

Yuki crouched down to her level with a big smile. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Yn.”

“I’m French!” she declared proudly, striking a pose.

Yuki laughed. “That’s so cool! Then you must know that Uncle Pierre is also French!”

Yn froze.

All the drivers went still.

Charles raised his head slowly, eyes narrowing.

Yn’s nose scrunched up.

“…Uncle Pierre?”

“Yes,” Yuki chirped, unaware he was about to break the world’s most stubborn three-year-old. “He’s very French. Like super French.”

The silence that followed could have swallowed a pit lane.

Charles watched her face shift—concentration, confusion… and then determination.

She took off her sunglasses, turned to her father, and declared solemnly, “Papa. I’m not French anymore.”

Charles blinked. “You’re not?”

“I’m Monegasque now.”

“...Why?”

She folded her arms. “I don’t wanna be the same as Uncle Pierre.”

“WHAT?!” Pierre shouted from across the room, utterly betrayed.

Arthur was on the floor, laughing so hard he nearly cried. “Nooo! The French alliance has fallen!”

Carlos, barely holding it together, whispered, “Monaco wins.”

Charles scooped Yn up with the biggest grin he’d worn in days. “You have made Papa so proud.”

Yn patted his cheek. “Do I still get ice cream?”

He laughed, hugging her tight. “You can have all the ice cream you want, mon amour.”

Behind him, Pierre was muttering in disbelief, “What did I do? What did I do?”

And from that day on, Yn was proudly, defiantly, loyally Monegasque.

Until next week, when she decided she wanted to be Italian because “Papa’s car is red like Italy.”

And Charles just sighed into his espresso.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[that-one-girl2020]

Pretty pretty pretty PLEASE could you work on reader’s first kiss with each of the saja boys? I’m actually so in love with your writing I wish I could eat it, ya know? Your work is so beautiful 😭 I’m also waiting on your other ideas!!! ❤️❤️

First Kisses

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: This can be read without reading the main series but I still encourage any new readers to read it! I also encourage you guys to comment, it helps encourage and motivate me to keep writing.

Sorry to everyone requesting to join the tag list, I’ve reached the max amount of tags I can have!

Synopsis: Now that Gwi Ma has been defeated, it is clear that you and the boys have immense feelings for each other. But you have still yet to kiss anybody. Well, until now.

Word Count: 2,091

Master List

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

Hyeon was the first one that kissed you.

As a man of few words, actions meant much more to him and it was often how he expressed himself. Whenever he felt that pulsing warmth in his chest, had you in his arms, the words wanted to come out. ‘I love you.’ But they kept getting stuck in his throat even while you smiled so contently up at him.

It was one of those moments when it was just the two of you. You were cuddled in Hyeon’s arms, the two of you laying on the couch as something played on the TV. Neither of you were really paying attention though.

Your mind was stuck on your upcoming solo debut, humming your new song to yourself under your breath. Hyeon’s attention was on you, your low humming swimming around him. The words were on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t get them out.

You looked up at Hyeon when you felt him lean closer to you. “Hyeon? What’s wrong?” You asked him with a curious furrow in your brow.

He didn’t answer though. He just leaned down and down, so close to you that you could feel his breath fanning gently across your face. He pressed his lips to yours.

You gasped softly in surprise, even though you could see it coming. But then you leaned into it, returning the kiss gently.

Hyeon’s lips moved against yours, slowly exploring and parting your lips to be let into your mouth. His arms tightened around you, holding you closer against him. Your hands tightened in their grip around his shirt.

Hyeon’s heart pounded in his chest. Pressing his lips against yours, it was like he could breathe your warmth, your scent, your love in so he could hoard it away in his chest where his heart beat for you and you alone. He couldn’t help but feel that this was greater than words as he poured his emotions into this kiss, hoping you would feel what he didn’t say.

Breathless, the two of you pulled away just enough so Hyeon could press his forehead to yours affectionately. It was quiet for a moment.

You chuckled softly, reaching up to brush his bangs aside to smile up at him, “I love you too.”

Hyeon smiled too, cuddling you closer to him.

~~~

Jinu hasn’t been sleeping well the past few weeks.

You had found out recently when you had gotten up for a drink in the middle of the night while you were spending the night at the boys’ apartment. Jinu had been awake, sitting out on the balcony with Derpy and Sussie, laying against the blue tiger.

You had sat with him, talking to get his mind off of what had been on his mind and listening when he was prepared to talk about it. Jinu had been having nightmares about what happened during Gwi Ma’s defeat. The image of you turning to ash as he desperately, futilely tried to reach you.

You spent the rest of the night reassuring him, the two of you falling asleep against Derpy in the early morning light.

It was the night after and you had decided to sleep in Jinu’s bed with him so you could help him with the nightmares and hopefully help him get a full night of rest. The both of you had talked to each other until it faded into incoherent mumbling back and forth and humming mindlessly. And then you both slept.

You were startled from your sleep when you felt Jinu gasp awake from his sleep. You rubbed your eyes, trying to clear the blurry, bleary haze over them from sleep as you turned on your side to face him.

Jinu’s eyes were wide and frantic, his pupils were unseeing pinpricks flickering between brown and demonic amber.

You took his hand, unclenching his fingers from the fist he had curled them into in his panic. You pressed it against your chest, over your heart as your other hand cradled his face, “Jinu, it’s alright, I’m right here.”

Jinu sucked in a shuddering breath, his eyes watering as his arms pulled you to him and held you desperately to his chest. Then, before you knew it, he had pulled away just enough to desperately press his lips to yours.

You gasped but returned his kiss. It was gentle but it was greedy as he devoured your lips, pulling away for air just for a moment, “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just… so glad that you’re with me…” And then he was pressing his lips to yours again, slower but just as greedy, pressing your lips together over and over.

Jinu couldn’t help it as his hand came up to the side of your neck, his fingers lingering over your pulse. His heart was racing but it slowly shifted from racing because of terror to racing because you were alive and he was pressing his lips to yours. The two of you were alive. So alive.

Eventually, the two of you separated and you shifted so you could pull Jinu’s head to your chest, pressing his ear to listen to your heartbeat. “Go back to sleep, Jinu. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Jinu pressed closer to you, closing his eyes to focus on the steady but slightly fast beating of your heart. “Don’t leave me again, (Y/n)…” Jinu drifted off to sleep, curling closer, pressing into your warmth.

You fell asleep stroking his hair.

~~~

Kwan had taken you out on one of your usual dates, to a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that the two of you often frequented. Afterwards, you two walked along the river like you had when you two had first been getting to know each other.

You were laughing as you bickered with the man, “There’s no way that’s true!”

Kwan smirked, “How would you know, you weren’t there. I’m telling you, he went and got his head stuck in a geyser! He went flying when it finally burst!”

You shoved him, “Shut up, I don’t believe you!”

He laughed, shoving you lightly in return but it was still enough to make you stumble, “Hey!”

You shoved him again and started running, laughing breathlessly as he gave chase behind you. Usually, he would easily have caught up with you but there were plenty of people that you could easily duck and weave between despite their surprised shouts. You called apologies behind you but you kept running.

Kwan eventually caught up to you when the people thinned out, snagging your wrist and pulling you into his arms so he could spin you around, the both of you laughing uproariously.

He gently set you back on your feet, your laughter fading out as you were caught in a moment between the two of you. “Babe?” Kwan asked simply.

You simply nodded in permission.

Kwan leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. You sank into his arms, feeling the muscles of his arms beneath your fingers. He was gentle but confident, there wasn’t any unsure stumbling or fumbling as he joined his lips with yours once and then twice and then again and again.

Kwan eventually got tired of the strain on his back leaning down like he was caused. He separated from you briefly to crouch and wrap your thighs around his hips so he wasn’t leaning down and you weren’t standing on your toes anymore. Then he rejoined your lips eagerly.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair and he groaned into your mouth. Your face flushed darker at the sound.

Kwan couldn’t believe how right it felt to have you in his arms, lifting you easily so he could press his lips to yours over and over again. It felt like you were the matching piece to his puzzle, slotting perfectly against him and in his heart. You felt so soft against him and he couldn’t help but hold you tighter.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, on the edge of the river as Kwan kissed the breath from your lungs. Time lost meaning. But he eventually pulled away and put you down, sharing a soft smile with you as he took your hand and the two of you continued on your walk.

~~~

Jum had been introduced to video games, which may or may not have been a mistake.

You weren’t sure. But it led to you sitting in Jum’s lap as he sat criss-cross in front of the TV as the two of you played Minecraft. Jum had a sucker in his mouth, the stick flicking back and forth as his tongue licked the candy.

You turned your head to look up at the maknae curiously, “What flavor is it?”

Jum quirked his lips, “Do you really wanna find out?”

You tilted your head as much as you could as you looked over your shoulder at him, “Yeah… I just said—“

You were cut off as Jum pulled the sucker from his mouth and pressed his lips to yours. You were surprised but you quickly closed your eyes and melted into it. Jum was demanding, his lips parting yours so his tongue could enter.

Jum’s tongue was enthusiastic, mapping every crevice of your mouth. You could taste the sweetness of the sucker he had been eating, and no matter how many times he pulled away, Jum quickly rejoined your lips so he could keep exploring your mouth.

Your head was dizzy from the lack of air but you didn’t push Jum away as he held you closer, a hand on your jaw to angle your head as he claimed your mouth. Thoroughly.

Meanwhile, Jum was in heaven—a place he thought he would never be permitted to. The taste of you, the feeling of your warmth against his tongue and the little gasps you let out when he pulled away for air were addictive. He could stay here forever, even as your lips swelled and bruised, the two of you remained liplocked.

Jum only pulled away when the other guys started coming back. But even then, he pouted.

~~~

Chungae sulked, lying atop you on your bed back at the tower. “Do you love me?” He asked you with a frown. It looked more like a pout to you though.

You furrowed your brow at him, “Of course I do. Do I need to sing another song to prove it?”

Chungae rested his chin on your stomach with a sigh, “But I’m the only one you haven’t kissed yet.”

You couldn’t help but smile in amusement at his words, “I haven’t kissed anyone. The others all initiated it first.” You brushed a hand through his hair, unraveling the braid you had mindlessly weaved into his hair earlier. “Would you like to be the first one I’ve kissed?” You smiled fondly with a teasing edge to it.

Chungae’s eyes widened, his face blushing a slight pink. For the ‘flirty’ one of the group, Chungae was sensitive when it came to the relationship between the two of you. Probably because he rarely experienced true love and affection when he was human. He nodded.

Blushing at your own actions, you slowly moved your hand from his hair to Chungae’s jaw, guiding him closer to you. And like a sailor before a siren, he followed where you beckoned. He rose to his elbows, following your guiding hand as you led him closer to your face, to your lips.

Until your lips finally met.

Strangely, Chungae was the most unsure of the boys when your lips first met. But he gained confidence quickly, pressing his lips more firmly against yours as his greed for you grew.

Chungae’s heart was racing. His hand was trembling as he shifted his weight so he could cup your face. Your lips were addictive—or perhaps it was the love he could feel through the dance of your lips. He parted your lips with his so he could taste your love.

Your face was heated, it wasn’t long before Chungae took the lead in your kiss. He was passionate, pouring every ounce of his emotions for you into it.

Slowly, Chungae began pulling away from you, but he kept coming back to leave another kiss on your lips, lingering until they became soft pecks that left the two of you giggling.

Until Chungae settled, resting his head on your bosom and you returned to running your fingers through his hair. There were content smiles on both of your faces.

A/N: I fully believe that Baby has some kind of oral fixation. Also, was brainstorming a poly ship name for the reader and the Saja Boys, like how poly Huntr/x is Polytr/x. What do you think of the Poly Pride? Too much? You guys got any ideas?

Outtakes:

The Saja Boys: *fighting for who would kiss you next*

You: *swollen, bruised lips* “Help…”

…

Huntr/x: “What happened to your lips?”

You: *holding an ice pack to your bruised lips* “Demons.”

Huntr/x: “And…why are you here and not with your boyfriends…?”

You: “Avoiding said demons.”

…

Tag List: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374 @esposamultifandom

[helaintoloki]

Across the Hall

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings/notes: kind of a slow burn with fluff, angst, themes of insecurity, violence, reader has an abusive ex, eventual happy ending

a/n: this took me forever to write but hopefully you guys like it! and also friendly reminder that my requests are open so feel free to send in your ideas :)

summary: Bucky’s quiet life is disrupted when a new neighbor seeks his help

It starts with three knocks to his door.

Bucky had only been home for five minutes since returning from his workout when the noise startled him out of his contemplative state. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the interruption considering he wasn’t expecting company so late into the evening, but he felt obligated to throw on a sweater to cover his arm and answer the door for whoever stood on the other side.

The man is taken aback when he finds you standing there before him nervously wringing your hands together with a timid smile. He doesn’t quite recognize you, but he vaguely recalls hearing word of a new tenant in the building and assumes that must be you. He notes the way your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him and shifts uncomfortably in response, unsure as to what exactly it is you’re here for.

“Hi,” you promptly greet after regaining your composure. He’s much more handsome up close, and you hadn’t been prepared for that. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I kind of have a bookshelf that’s a bit too heavy for me to move on my own and I was hoping you could help me? I just moved in across the hall so I’m trying to get settled in, but it’s proving to be more difficult than I anticipated.”

The stoic man can’t help but to let out an amused chuckle at your predicament; you appear so jumpy and nervous after asking such a mundane request, but he oddly finds it endearing. Bucky was known to keep to himself and avoid interactions with other tenants, but he figured he could make an exception for a new neighbor.

“Sure,” he offers with a friendly smile, feeling oddly proud at the look of relief that washes over your features in response. He didn’t exactly have any exciting plans for the evening, so he could spare some time to help you move your heavy shelf.

“Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver!” You exclaim before offering your hand for him to shake. “I’m y/n, by the way.”

“James,” he replies before cautiously taking your hand in his left one, thankful for the fact he’d left his leather gloves on when returning home. You don’t seem to notice his abnormality as you pull your hand away and lead the man into your apartment.

Unsurprisingly, it’s sparsely decorated and overflowing with boxes that have yet to be unpacked, but there are hints of personal touches spread throughout. The bookshelf in question sits in the center of the room, and by the scratches in the floor Bucky can tell you’d fruitlessly attempted to move it yourself before seeking his help.

“Just tell me where you want it,” he prompts you before grabbing the edges of the shelf.

“I was thinking of having it up against this wall next to the couch,” you explain while wildly gesturing with your hands towards the empty space. “At least, it will be against the couch once I buy one…”

“I take it you didn’t bring a lot of furniture with you,” he jokes lightheartedly despite how awkward he feels being in the apartment of a woman he’s only known for about three minutes. He moves the shelf with minimal effort, though he plays up the amount of strain he experiences so that you don’t become suspicious of how incredibly strong he is compared to the average man.

“I was kind of in a rush to leave the last place I was staying so I brought what I could,” you explain with a sheepish smile. “Thank you again for this, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies easily before stepping back to admire his work. “This good?”

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

“Anything else you need?” He offers, but you simply shake your head in response.

“I think that should be it for now, but if something comes up you’ll be the first to know,” you joke with a smile, appearing more at ease now with the man. Your face brightens before you wordlessly disappear into the kitchen, leaving Bucky alone and unsure if he should make his exit or not. However, before he can make a decision you quickly return with a Tupperware full of muffins. “Here, I just baked these an hour ago so they’re still pretty fresh.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” he tries to deflect with a bashful smile, but you’re insistent he take the container from your grasp and practically shove it into his hands.

“Really, take them. Consider them thank you muffins for allowing me to briefly inconvenience you.”

Letting out a small huff of amusement, Bucky finally relents with a nod and accepts your offering. “Thank you.”

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” you proclaim with a sigh before walking him out the door. “Have a good rest of your night, and don’t be a stranger.”

You part with a friendly wave before gently shutting the door behind him, leaving Bucky to stand aimlessly in the hallway with the container of muffins in his hands. He feels oddly warm and content inside, emotions that rarely follow interactions with strangers, but he figures you’re not really a stranger now.

However, you have interrupted his evening, for Bucky spends the rest of the night thinking about your smile.

~~~

Three days pass before Bucky decides to seek you out.

He isn’t sure what compels him to become so bold, but he knows that he has to see you again. You haven’t left his mind in days despite how hard he tries to push the thoughts down, so he figures he might as well get it over with and attempt to start another conversation. He can’t exactly recall any of his old moves back from his own time or know if they’re still reliable, so he approaches the situation the only way he knows how.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greets with a timid smile when you finally open your door. You look surprised to see him, but he doesn’t miss the way your eyes brighten at his presence. You thought the man charming but quiet and assumed his reserved nature meant he liked to keep to himself, so you’re pleased to see him again after the bookshelf fiasco.

“Hi, James,” you say with a pleasant smile. “What brings you here?”

“I was hoping I could trouble you for a cup of sugar?” He asks, face immediately heating with embarrassment at the insanely cliche request. James had a perfectly good container of sugar in his own apartment, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Of course! I actually just went grocery shopping, come in.”

Your apartment looks vastly different from the last time he’d been here, more personal touches spread throughout and only a handful of unpacked boxes still remaining. It feels warm and inviting, and Bucky swallows nervously as he processes the fact that this is only his second time in your space. Maybe he should leave you alone before he gets in too deep, before he has to ruin your camaraderie by coming clean about the person he really is and you decide that you don’t want an ex-assassin in your apartment anymore. Instead, he chooses to make small talk.

“How are you liking it here so far?”

“It’s nice,” you hum thoughtfully as you reach for the sugar up on the shelf. Bucky quickly looks away when your shirt starts to ride up with your reach, but he can’t ignore the way his stomach flips at the sight of a little skin. “Everyone I’ve met so far is friendly and it seems really peaceful. I like having my own place again.”

“Were you living with someone before?” Bucky prods, hoping he’s not asking too many questions. You smile faintly as you begin to pour the sugar into a small jar, but he notes the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Yeah, uh, my fiancé. Or, ex-fiancé now, I guess,” you murmur with a humorless chuckle. “It didn’t work out.”

Your usually cheerful demeanor has now dulled, and Bucky feels guilty for having brought it up in the first place. He isn’t exactly sure what to say or do to make it better, but thankfully you choose to save the conversation for him.

“What are you using the sugar for, by the way?”

Bucky stiffens, eyes widening slightly as he realizes he didn’t rehearse a script to go along with his lie. He wasn’t making anything, but he didn’t think he could flat out tell you that the sugar was just an excuse to see you again.

“Apple pie,” he quickly replies, wincing at the abruptness of his tone while you smile and carefully slide the jar of sugar across the counter his way.

“Sounds good. I’m more of a pumpkin pie girl, myself,” you hum thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I’m not really a pie person at all. Just thought I’d try something new,” Bucky offers with a sheepish grin, eyes glancing around the apartment only to notice the empty space next to the bookshelf. “Still haven’t found a couch?”

“Nope,” you relent with a tired sigh. “I’ve been meaning to go couch shopping, but I’m kind of worried about how I’m gonna even get it up the stairs and into the apartment by myself.”

“I can help you with that,” Bucky blurts before he can stop himself. You appear taken aback at first, but a look of relief soon washes over your features at his words.

“Oh my god, would you really?” You exclaim with delight, and before Bucky can even process what’s happening you’re quickly throwing your arms around the man in an appreciative hug. He stiffens immediately upon contact, not used to such acts of affection and especially not from a woman as pretty as yourself. You, however, don’t seem to notice his awkward demeanor in the slightest. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he offers bashfully as he tries not to let you see how much of an impact your touch has on him.

“Does tomorrow around one sound good?”

“It sounds perfect,” he replies earnestly.

It isn’t until later in the evening that he realizes he’s never been couch shopping before.

~~~

As Bucky promised, he accompanies you in your search for a couch and helps you carry it into your living room. It nestles in perfectly next to your shelf, and you couldn’t be more thrilled.

You invite him to stay for a movie in celebration of finally having a spot to sit, and though he promised Sam he’d meet him for dinner he doesn’t have the heart to say no to you. That’s how Bucky ends up nestled next to you on the couch enjoying his first ever viewing of Silence of the Lambs.

“So you’re telling me you’ve really never seen this movie before?”

“I guess you could say it’s been on my bucket list,” he admits with a diffident laugh, grateful you’re none the wiser to the truth his words hold.

“It’s one of my favorites!” You gush enthusiastically before passing him the bowl of untouched popcorn. “But I think that might make me sound crazy to admit out loud.”

“Crazy is good,” Bucky assures you with a tender smile, chest tightening at the way your eyes light up in response to his words. “I like crazy.”

You settle into the movie together with ease, enjoying snacks and answering any questions Bucky has about the film. It amazes him how naturally he can fall into spending time with you, almost as if you were merely long lost friends and not strangers who lived across the hall from one another. He hadn’t felt this way since Steve, but even then, what he felt with you was different. Special. You existed outside of his life as a Sargent or the Winter Soldier, and he enjoyed having you help him fulfill his need for normalcy.

A random sitcom now plays to provide background noise as you and Bucky continue to converse way past the movie’s end. You long to know more about the handsome stranger who has slowly become a normal part of your routine, and you hang onto every word he says no matter how heavy your eyelids feel.

“I’m not sure if I have a favorite song, but I definitely think I won’t be able to get ‘Goodbye, Horses’ out of my head for the next few days after watching that movie,” he confesses with a wry grin that has you quietly giggling into your hand.

“You seem like the type of guy who listens to oldies,” you note with a thoughtful hum, prompting him to shift uncomfortably from his place on the couch. “Would you say you have an old soul?”

“Something like that,” Bucky notes with a wince. He wants nothing more than to be completely honest with you, but he fears it may be too soon to unload his history on you. He’s not sure he could handle the hurt that would come from you pushing him away if you didn’t like the truth. “Do you like that type of music?”

“I did at one point, but I kind of fell out of it once I started dating my ex-fiancé. He hated it,” you note while scrunching your nose in distaste at the mere mention of the man. “He hated everything, if I’m being honest.”

“Is that why you called it off and moved here?” Bucky asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t mean to pry or be invasive of your past, but he wants to understand how any man could fumble an absolute gem like yourself.

“Well, that, and the fact that he had a habit of getting physical with me,” you confess casually with a despondent smile that fails to reach your eyes. Bucky rears back in shock at your confession, prompting you to quickly interject, “But I got out of there as fast as possible, and now I’m much happier on my own.”

“I’m… I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Bucky offers gently. “I hope you know how incredibly strong you are.”

Smiling, you carefully reach across and take his gloved hand in your own. Despite not being able to feel the touch of your skin, the warmth you emit is enough to have his heart racing in his chest when you tightly clasp his hand.

“You’re unlike any guy I’ve ever met, James.”

“Bucky,” he corrects you gently. Your brows furrow slightly in response, prompting him to let out a small chuckle at your puzzlement. He gently gives your hand a squeeze before continuing, “My friends just call me Bucky.”

Realization sets as your brows lower and lips pull into a delighted smile at his clarification. You gently return the squeeze before nodding in understanding, thrilled at the idea of having your first official friend in the city.

“Okay,” you agree softly, “Bucky it is.”

~~~

You knock on Bucky’s door with the hopes of having him over for dinner, but it isn’t your neighbor that greets you on the other side.

“Can I help you, little lady?” The man says with a playful smile. His stature is intimidating but his features are kind, and for a moment you find yourself forgetting what you even came for in the first place.

“Is Bucky home by chance?” You ask with a bashful smile, hoping your eagerness to see the man in question isn’t too obvious to his guest.

“He should be on his way back with some takeout,” the man explains. “You like Chinese?”

He doesn’t allow you to answer before opening the door wider and allowing you entry into the apartment. It feels wrong to do so without Bucky being present, but you don’t want to be rude by rejecting the kind man’s offer. You swallow nervously when stepping foot into his home for the first time; the apartment is tidy but scarcely furnished, though you’re not one to judge considering you went four days without a couch.

“You a friend of Bucky’s?” The man asks while pulling out a chair from the island counter for you to sit. You nod.

“I just moved in across the hall, and Bucky’s been helping me get settled in. I’m y/n, by the way.”

“Oh, so you’re y/n,” he says with a knowing smile before offering a hand for you to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Name’s Sam.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smile politely before freezing as his words finally settle in your mind. “Wait, really?”

“Of course, Bucky speaks very highly of you,” Sam affirms with a wink.

“What do I speak highly about?” A voice interrupts, prompting you both to turn your heads towards the man juggling boxes of takeout in the doorway. His eyes widen in surprise at your presence before a careful smile settles on his face. “Y/n, what brings you here?”

“I came to see if you wanted to join me for dinner, but I guess I’m jointing you and Sam instead. If that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Sam answers for him, heartily clapping the man on the back. “A friend of Bucky’s is a friend of mine.”

You hide your laughter behind your hand at Bucky’s obvious annoyance towards his friend and decide to make yourself useful by setting the table for dinner. Despite this being your first time in his apartment, you’re easily able to find your way around his kitchen. It amazes him how quickly you’re able to make yourself comfortable in his space and how well you mesh into his life as if you’d always been a part of it.

“You never told me she was cute,” Sam murmurs under his breath with a playful nudge to Bucky’s side. The Sargent merely scowls in response before elbowing him back with more strength than necessary. However, the two immediately act inconspicuous when you turn your attention back to them and sit down to enjoy dinner.

“So how do you two know each other?” You ask before taking a bite of broccoli. Bucky gives Sam a pleading glance and attempts to convey his want for you to be kept in the dark about his true identity, and thankfully the Captain is able to pick up on his signals.

“We met through a mutual friend,” Sam answers with ease. “We actually hated each other at first.”

“Hate is a strong word,” Bucky tries to defend only to deflate at the pointed look Sam gives him.

“I don’t know how you can stand living across the hall from him,” Sam quips much to his friend’s chagrin.

“I’m actually really glad to be neighbors,” you confess with a sheepish smile, face heating with embarrassment while you try to avoid Bucky’s gaze. “I didn’t think I’d be able to make any friends when I first moved here, but he’s made it so much easier on me.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky offers with a careful smile before finally meeting your gaze. The room is charged with romantic tension as you two take in the other’s presence, and Sam makes sure to point this out to Bucky hours later when you finally return to your own apartment.

“I’m telling you, dude, she’s into you!” Sam exclaims from his place behind the sink. “You should go for it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky rebuffs with a scoff while taking a freshly washed plate from Sam and placing it on the drying rack.

“You’re kidding, right? You think I didn’t notice the eyes you were giving her?”

“What eyes?”

“You know, the eyes,” Sam emphasizes, immediately imitating the look of longing Bucky had worn earlier in your presence. The soldier’s face scrunches in bewilderment before he quickly shakes his head in displeasure.

“Don’t do that, that’s not what I look like.”

“That’s exactly what you look like,” his friend defends before handing him another plate. “Look, all I’m saying is it wouldn’t hurt to maybe tell the girl how you feel and invite her out for something nicer than Chinese takeout.”

“Alright, let’s say I ask her out. I pull out all the stops, and it goes perfect. She decides I’m the guy she wants to be with, and I decide that I need to come clean about who I really am in order for that to happen? What happens when I tell her she’s dating the Winter Soldier? When I tell her about the blood on my hands? She doesn’t even know about the arm.”

Sam is silent after Bucky’s line of questioning, and unsurprisingly, he doesn’t have an answer. The super soldier sighs before slumping against the island counter and allowing his head to hang in shame and regret.

“I’ve already lost one good friend. I don’t know if I can handle losing another,” he admits quietly, almost afraid to voice the thought aloud.

Sam rests a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder but remains silent, contemplating his next words before finally giving him a reassuring pat on the back.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” he reminds him gently. “And you and I both know this girl is worth the risk.”

Bucky smiles faintly at Sam’s words, thoughts already straying to you and the light you’ve managed to bring to his life. He knows his friend is right, but he still can’t bring himself to make a move, at least not yet.

All he can do is hope you won’t mind having an ex-assassin super soldier for a boyfriend.

~~~

A harsh thunderstorm plagues New York and cuts off the power to your building. Your apartment is shrouded in candlelight as you make the best of what you have, and you’re grateful for the fact that Bucky so graciously offered to come over and keep you company until the electricity is restored.

“I hate thunderstorms,” you shudder after lighting another candle to set on the coffee table. “They weren’t very common where I was from.”

“They’re a little loud,” Bucky agrees pensively. Each clap reminds him of his foggy past in the war, and he finds himself fighting to keep the unwelcome memories at bay.

You seat yourself on the couch across from the man and drape your throw over your legs to keep you warm. The living room is freezing now that the heater is out, and despite the amount of layers you throw on nothing seems to help.

“I don’t think I ever asked this, but what do you do for work?” You prompt him after a moment’s silence. Bucky shifts uncomfortably on the couch.

“I, uh, I’m retired,” he replies lamely while offering you a meager smile. “Army veteran.”

“You served in the army?” You ask with piqued interest, shifting a bit closer to the man. “What did you do?”

“I was a Sargent.”

“I never would have guessed,” you say thoughtfully.

“It was so long ago, I don’t… really like to talk about it,” Bucky confesses, refusing to meet your gaze. He knows he’s not technically lying to you, but he’s also aware of the fact that he’s not giving you the entire truth. He doesn’t know how to be straightforward with you, too petrified of risking you becoming afraid of him and withdrawing yourself, but he can only hide his true identity for so long before you find out.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you immediately apologize only for Bucky to assure you it’s fine. “We can talk about something else. How’s Sam?”

“That topic actually might be worse,” he grimaces, but his lighthearted smile that follows signals he’s only kidding. “Sam is good, just busy.”

“Being Captain America?” You finish for him with a raised brow much to Bucky’s surprise.

“You know?”

“I don’t think it’s exactly a secret,” you reply with a sheepish smile while wrapping the throw tighter around yourself. “He looked so familiar when I first met him, and a quick internet search helped me put it together pretty quickly.”

Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat at your words. If you’d done your due diligence on Sam, who’s to say you hadn’t done the same for him? Knowing you, he feels it’s safe to assume you would have brought it up by now if you had found any real information about his past, and he tries to remind himself of this as he attempts to quell the panic bubbling inside him.

“I won’t tell anyone that I met him personally or that he visits this apartment building,” you assure him, incorrectly assuming the reason for his panic is a need to protect Sam’s privacy. “Not that I really have anyone to tell considering you’re my only friend here.”

“Thank you for that,” Bucky breathes out in relief, anxious to move on from the conversation. “But what about your friends back home?”

“I didn’t really have any,” you quietly admit. You look away almost shamefully and take a moment to collect yourself before you can meet his eyes again. “My friends were my fiancé’s friends, and I knew they would never pick my side over his if I told anyone the type of man he really was. I knew if I wanted to get away I had to cut them off too or they’d just tell him where I’d run off to.”

Bucky knows he has no right, but every time you mention your ex-fiancé he can almost feel the anger boiling inside him. He can’t comprehend how anyone could ever mistreat someone as wonderful and kind as you, and he knew if he ever got the chance to meet the man he’d make him pay for all the hurt and anguish he’d caused you. Bucky almost felt like your protector in a sense, like it was his responsibility to look after you now that you were alone in such a big city, and he hoped you didn’t mind the fact.

A sudden clap of thunder has you nearly jumping into the air as you immediately throw yourself at Bucky’s side and anxiously grip onto his arm. He’s grateful for the fact that it’s his right arm you hold onto, but he still finds himself stiffening at the sudden closeness. It’s been years since a beautiful dame has thrown herself at him like this, and his brain feels like it’s overloading as he tries to process the moment.

“I’m sorry,” you offer meekly, clearly embarrassed at your frightened outburst. You start to move away only for Bucky to pull you back, prompting you to look up at him in surprise.

“Don’t be sorry,” he assures you with a comforting smile. “That’s what I’m here for.”

You find yourself slowly relaxing at his benevolent demeanor, and with his permission you slowly ease yourself back into his side and allow him to wrap an arm around your trembling figure.

The rain continues to pour outside your modest apartment, but you find yourself able to fall asleep in the comfort of Bucky’s embrace. The man never makes an attempt to move, not even when the power returns and the lights finally turn on. Instead, he allows himself to enjoy the warmth your closeness brings and admires your relaxed features as you sleep soundly with your head resting comfortably against his shoulder.

He could get used to this.

~~~

You scored a job as a waitress at a nearby diner to help pay your bills now that you’re completely on your own and your savings are beginning to run low, and Bucky notices that you’re gone from your apartment more often than not. His knocks go unanswered, and he finds himself feeling sullen in response to your sudden absence. You’ve invited him multiple times to come visit you at work and enjoy a free slice of pie, and on this particular day he decides to take you up on your offer.

It isn’t a long walk from the building, and he appreciates having an excuse to leave his apartment for once. His stomach is twisted in nervous knots at the thought of finally getting to see you again while he rehearses what he plans to say. Bucky’s boyish charm isn’t what it used to be, and his romantic moves are rusty from years of inaction. However, he is able to remember one move in particular that always went over well with the girls back in his day, and for that reason he stops at a local flower stand to buy you the nicest bouquet of roses he can find.

Bucky is a man in love, and if his gift goes over well, he plans to finally come clean and tell you everything about his past so that he can have a chance at being with you. No more beating around the bush.

The diner is empty save for a few occupied booths, and this makes it easier to spot you when he sets foot through the front doors. Though the sight of you immediately brings a smile to his face, it quickly fades when he notes the distress on your features. Your eyes are wide with fear, hands moving frantically as you speak to a man Bucky doesn’t recognize, and he doesn’t miss the relief that seems to wash over you when you meet his eyes from across the room and silently plead for help.

“Bucky!” You call with a nervous smile, anxiously wringing your apron in your trembling hands. “Perfect timing.”

“Who’s this?” He asks with a raised brow, eyeing the stranger up and down methodically. Bucky could easily take the man without question, but he still didn’t like the look of him. The man’s eyes were shifty and calculating, and his demeanor was one of arrogance and callousness.

“Bucky, this is Michael-“

“Her fiancé,” Michael boasts proudly with a braggart smile.

“Ex-fiancé,” you correct him through gritted teeth, “and he was just leaving.”

“Fine, fine,” Michael offers before raising his hands in surrender. “I know when I’m not wanted, but don’t think this is over.”

Bucky grunts in irritation when Michael goes out of his way to harshly bump his shoulder against your friend as he pushes his way out of the diner, leaving you a terrified mess as you stand trembling in the middle of the walkway. You swallow thickly and meet Bucky’s gaze with an apologetic smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’m sorry about that,” you offer quietly, hands still nervously wringing your apron. Bucky notes the subtle quiver of your bottom lip and the way your lashes flutter quickly to hold back tears. You look terrified, and he hates to see you so wound up.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky assures you gently as he sets the bouquet aside and takes your unsteady hands in his gloved ones. “Maybe you should sit down a minute and take a breath, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you murmur quietly before allowing him to gently ease you into the nearest booth. In your panic you hadn’t even noticed the flowers he’d brought, and despite your frenzied state you’re still able to offer him a bashful smile for his efforts. “Are these… are they for me?”

Nodding, Bucky grins before handing you the bouquet. “They’re for you, pretty girl. I thought they’d look nice in your apartment.”

“Thank you… for these, and for saving me back there. I can’t believe I froze like that.”

“What happened?” Bucky presses gently, wanting to know every detail possible so he can better protect you moving forward. You let out a shaky breath and absently fidget with the ribbon tying the flowers together as you begin to relay the events to your friend.

“I did everything I could to cover my tracks and start over, but he still managed to find me,” you murmur in defeat. “He wants me to come back home with him, and he says he won’t take no for answer. I don’t know what to do- he knows where I work, and it will only be a matter of time before he figures out where I live-“

“Hey,” Bucky urges gently, affectively stopping you from spiraling. “Nothing is going to happen to you under my watch. I’ll have Sam look into the guy, and in the meantime I’ll do whatever you need to feel safe, whether that’s walking you to work or crashing on your couch so you can sleep at night.”

You give him a watery smile and immediately rush to his side of the booth so you can throw yourself into his arms for a hug. He returns the embrace immediately, taking extra care not to use too much force with his vibranium arm while he holds you tightly to his chest. You don’t know when he’d managed to steal your heart, but you know that you’re falling in love with your neighbor from across the hall. He makes it so easy and has fallen into your life like a puzzle piece you hadn’t realized was missing from the picture. Unlike the men in your past, Bucky treats you with the utmost care and respect, and you adore him more than anything.

Bucky will keep good on his promise, and you trust him with your entire being to keep you safe.

~~~

As promised, Bucky has made it his own personal mission to be your bodyguard during your time of need. He drops you off and picks you up from work, accompanies you when you have to run out for groceries, and spends his nights sleeping on your couch. You feel guilty over the fact that the man is hardly ever in his own apartment anymore, so after some convincing you’re able to talk him into letting you cook him dinner at his place.

“Any word from Sam?” You prompt quietly while stirring a pot of marinara sauce on the stove. Life has been uneventful since Michael’s appearance at the diner, but you hate having to constantly look over your shoulder wherever you go. You don’t enjoy being on edge every waking moment and not being able to get a good night’s sleep, and you just want this whole situation to be over with.

“He hasn’t been able to find anything about your ex or his whereabouts. The man knows how to stay hidden,” Bucky replies with a scoff. The mere mention of him has the super soldier’s blood boiling, but he tries to remain composed for your sake. “But don’t worry. He can’t hide forever.”

Dinner is a quiet affair, and Bucky is disheartened to see how dejected and small you’ve become in the past few days. You aren’t yourself, not that he can blame you, but he just wishes there was something he could do to help you.

Nightfall comes soon after, and Bucky helps you get settled into bed. Despite being in his own apartment, he’s adamant that you take the mattress while he resumes his position on the couch. He thinks it will be safer that way, and he’ll be able to hear any threats before they make their way into the apartment.

“Try to get some sleep, doll,” Bucky utters softly, gently brushing his knuckles along your cheek before making his exit.

“Will you stay?” You blurt without thinking, surprising both you and Bucky as he stops in his tracks.

“Y/n, I… I don’t know,” he starts to say only for you to gently take hold of his hand and carefully tug him back towards you.

“I haven’t been able to sleep, and I’d feel better if you were here next to me,” you plead meekly, the exhaustion clear in your features. Bucky finds it hard to say no to you when you stare up at him with doe eyes and a trembling bottom lip; the sight pulls at his heartstrings, and so he finds himself carefully crawling into bed with you.

“Thank you,” you whisper gratefully as you shift onto your side to face him. Your noses are mere inches apart as you stare into each other’s eyes and enjoy the comfort of being together in bed.

“You’ll never have to thank me for wanting to take care of you,” Bucky whispers back while carefully pulling the blankets up higher over your shoulders. You feel the leather of his gloves brush against your bare skin and shudder before peering over at him.

“You sleep in those?” You voice curiously, prompting him to immediately stiffen in response. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without those gloves on.”

“I… have a prosthetic arm,” he confesses quietly, figuring now is as good a time as ever to tell you the truth. He refuses to meet your gaze as his lips pull tightly together into a frown, waiting for you to say something.

“Oh,” you hum softly. His heart pounds in his chest as he waits for judgement or disgust, but instead he feels your hand gently rest upon his left bicep. His entire body tenses, and he watches with bated breath as you run your fingers along the fabric of his long-sleeve shirt. You can’t feel the coolness of the metal, but you can sense the lack of flesh and muscle. He’s not sure how you’d never noticed before, but you weren’t exactly one for details.

“If it makes you uncomfortable I can sleep on the couch-“

“I think it’s cool,” you interrupt with a careful smile, no hint of insincerity or judgement in your tone. “You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to, but I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of.”

Bucky lets out an embarrassed huff of laughter and grapples with himself over your naivety. Would your opinion change if you knew what he’d done with his prosthetic arm as the Winter Soldier? He feels conflicted, but overall at ease with the fact that you seem receptive to his artificial appendage.

“You’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever met,” Bucky compliments you before leaning forward to press his lips against your forehead. You find yourself moving closer so that you’re pressed against his chest, and it almost feels natural to him when he wraps his arms around your frame and pulls you tightly against him.

Nestled in Bucky’s warm embrace, you’re able to enjoy your first peaceful night of sleep since Michael’s return.

~~~

Bucky leaves your sleeping form behind the next morning to pick up breakfast sandwiches from the nearby bodega for you both. He doesn’t exactly have the supplies necessary to make a homemade breakfast, but he knows you’ll never say no to a coffee and your favorite sandwich. When he returns, he finds that his apartment is empty and you’re missing from the bedroom. Initially he figures you must have gone across the hall to your own place to freshen up for the morning, so he’s not worried.

Bucky decides it best to bring the food over to your apartment, but before he can even knock on your door he’s met with the sound of commotion coming from the other side. He hears your muffled voice frantically speaking to someone followed by the sound of shattered glass, your screams prompting him to break down the door and barge his way into the room.

You sit cowering against your bookshelf while Michael menacingly towers over you. A fresh bruise blooms along your cheek while hot tears make their way down your face, and you look to Bucky pathetically for help while curling in on yourself. The roses he’d bought for you now lay scattered on the ground with shards of glass accompanying them, allowing the man to easily piece together what had occurred in his absence.

“You again,” Michael scoffs before slowly making his approach towards the super soldier. He flashes a snide smile as he condescendingly speaks, “Thanks for looking after my fiancé while I was away, but I got it from here.”

Bucky is unmoving, his eyes cold and unrelenting as his hardened gaze stares down at the intruder. Through your tears you can note the enraged tick of his jaw and the way his hands are tightly clenched at his sides as he holds himself back from doing something he’ll regret.

“She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want you here,” he nearly growls through clenched teeth. “You need to leave.”

“Or what?” Your fiancé provokes with a disbelieving laugh. “You think just because she bats her lashes at you and spends the night in your bed that makes you special? She’s a little attention whore, and you’re an idiot if you think otherwise.”

“You can’t talk about a woman like that,” Bucky utters lowly. His body is vibrating with rage, his ears beginning to ring while the tension continues to build within him. He notes the way you watch on helplessly from your place on the floor, and the last thing he wants to do is scare you by becoming aggressive, but Michael was making this feat more difficult with each second that passed.

“I can talk however I want about my own fiancé, pal,” Michael speaks before giving Bucky a harsh shove. The man remains unmoving, and your attacker momentarily falters when realizing how sturdy his opponent is. “Now do yourself a favor and mind your business.”

“Bucky,” you softly cry out, shoulders trembling and eyes pleading for him not to leave you.

James finds himself taking a deep breath in while allowing his body to relax. Michael’s antagonistic voice drones on, and he knows there’s only one way to remove this man from your apartment and out of your life for good. He just hopes you won’t hate him after what is to come.

His hand immediately shoots out and catches Michael’s throat, effectively cutting off his air supply and his ability to speak. Your startled gasp fills the room as Bucky lifts the man before throwing him through your doorway. He slams against the opposite wall with a deafening thud before landing on the floor, and despite the excruciating pain he feels in his body he still desperately tries to crawl away as Bucky takes slow steps towards him.

“Not so fun when you’re on the receiving end, is it?” Bucky taunts before kneeling down next to him. “You’re lucky I’m letting you leave here while you’re still breathing. But if you ever come here again, if you ever put your hands on her again, if you ever even think about her again, I’ll make sure you leave in a body bag. Is that understood?”

Bucky doesn’t receive an answer, but he knows he’s made his point clear when your ex pathetically scrambles onto his feet and books it down the hallway. Resting his hands on his hips, Bucky lets his head hang with a sigh. He didn’t enjoy having to berate the man in front of you, but he can at least take pride in the fact that your ex-fiancé will never bother you again thanks to him.

Bucky quietly makes his way back into your apartment and finds you carefully picking up the scattered shards of glass. You remain silent, even when he kneels down to help you, and he begins to worry that maybe he had gone too far.

“You okay?” He asks you in the softest tone he can manage. Your tired eyes peer up at him through wet lashes, and it takes you a moment to gather your thoughts before you can reply.

“Your glove came off,” you murmur quietly, and Bucky almost isn’t able to catch it.

“What?” He repeats before slowly turning his gaze to his left hand. Sure enough, his usual leather glove is missing and his metal hand is on full display. He swallows down the lump in his throat despite the building anxiety he feels, clenching and unclenching his fingers before looking back up at you. He must have lost it in the scuffle, and he’d been too engrossed in making his point clear to notice.

“That’s not a normal prosthetic arm… is it?” You feebly prompt him. Bucky refuses to meet your gaze and quickly stands himself upright before slowly backing away from you. He feels suffocated by his shame and his guilt, and as he takes in his surroundings he realizes that his worst fear is manifesting itself into reality right before his very own eyes.

He wordlessly leaves your apartment and swiftly locks himself back into his own living space. The walls are closing in around him, and Bucky can do nothing but let his anguish consume him.

He’d ruined everything.

~~~

You haven’t heard from Bucky in over a week and your knocks to his door go unanswered. You’re all alone again, and the isolation is suffocating.

You miss the man who had became a part of your daily routine and infiltrated your space with his kindness and warmth. You had fallen in love with him, your heart aching for him every time he was away, and now only a tightness in your chest remained in his absence. You hadn’t meant to embarrass him when pointing out his arm, and you meant what you said when you told him he had nothing to be ashamed of. Everything had happened so quickly you hadn’t had a chance to explain yourself, to explain that despite the fact that you knew everything, your opinion hadn’t changed of him.

Your meeting with Sam had led to a deep dive into the history of Captain America, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that your search had led you to a plethora of information on the hero’s close friend James Buchanan Barnes. You knew you should have stopped yourself from reading further and instead asked Bucky to explain everything to you instead, but once you started reading you couldn’t stop. You were overloaded with information about his time in the war, his relationship with Steve Rogers, his affiliation with Hydra as the Winter Soldier, and his role in the fight against Thanos. It overwhelmed you, but it did not deter you from the man or prompt you to end your friendship with him. You weren’t afraid of him, and you worked desperately to get him to see that.

You hold a freshly baked batch of cookies in one hand while the other relentlessly knocks on his front door. You’ve been at this for about a good five minutes, and though it has earned you annoyed looks from neighbors that pass by you in the hallway, you’re determined not to give up until he sees you.

“Bucky, please,” you beg in exasperation, knuckles beginning to turn red from the constant impact against the wood of the door. “I know you’re in there so please come out. I can’t take this anymore.”

You’re met with silence, but this doesn’t deter you in the slightest; you know he’s in there and can hear your pathetic pleas. What you don’t know, however, is that he’s leaned right against the door on the other side watching you through the peephole. His mind is filled with turmoil as one part of him screams to open the door and let you in while the other insists this is for the best. What good does he have to offer you as an ex-assassin? What kind of life can you live tied down to the Winter Soldier? Bucky can’t bring himself to put you through the torment and the danger that comes with being his partner, and he curses himself for ever letting you get close to him in the first place.

“I miss you,” he hears you relent, voice wavering as you fight back tears. “You’re my best friend.”

Bucky can physically feel his chest tighten at your confession, and it takes everything in him to not open the door. He doesn’t think he can stand the torture any longer, and he begins to move towards his bedroom only for your voice to stop him in his tracks.

“I know everything,” you utter gently, prompting his heart to leap anxiously in his chest at your confession. “I know that you were a Sargent in World War ll, and your best friend was Steve Rogers. I know you’re the Winter Soldier. I know… I know that in spite of all of that, you’re the kindhearted man who befriended the complete stranger that knocked on your door and asked for help to move a bookshelf. You’re more than your past, and it doesn’t scare me like you think it does. I… I love you.”

You let your forehead fall against the door and shut your eyes, waiting with bated breath for any sort of response or movement from the other side of the door. You’re given nothing, and it’s now that you start to realize your friendship with Bucky is most likely over. You slowly back away from the door and set the plate of cookies beside it before taking one last longing look at his apartment.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bother you anymore,” you finally sigh, turning to make your way back to your own apartment. However, the click of the lock turning causes you to freeze in your tracks, and you hesitantly turn around to face the man whose door you’ve been assaulting for the past ten minutes.

His blue eyes are glossy with tears that threaten to fall, and his tired features display the torment he’s endured while isolating himself from you. He looks at you almost in astonishment, and for a moment neither of you dares to move or speak. You don’t know what to say or how much he’d heard.

“You…” he starts to say before taking a nervous swallow. “You said you loved me?”

You manage to flash him a meager smile while anxiously stuffing your hands in your pockets and casting your sheepish gaze to the floor. “I thought that was obvious. Why else would I be showing up at your door all the time?”

A quiet laugh of disbelief leaves him at your words, and Bucky feels confident enough now to leave the doorway of his apartment and take a step closer towards you.

“So this,” he says while raising his left hand and flexing his fingers, “doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it when that very arm kept me safe?” You utter gently, taking another step closer so that the space between you grows smaller. You hesitantly bite the inside of your cheek before slowly raising your hand and offering it to Bucky. A pregnant pause fills the air as he stares down at your outstretched fingers, his brows furrowing with uncertainty while he hesitantly clasps your hand in his artificial one.

The metal is cool against your palm and brings an instant sense of comfort as you lock your fingers together. You fit together perfectly as if your hand had been made for him, and a funny feeling tingles within his chest as Bucky comes to this realization.

“I’m sorry for shutting you out,” he professes earnestly, gently pulling you against his chest so that he can wrap his arms around your figure. “Everything felt too real, and I was terrified of the possibility that you might not want to be around me anymore.”

“You could never do anything to scare me away,” you assure him gently, your eyes full of sincerity as you peer up at him. “I meant what I said, Bucky. You’re my best friend, and I love you.”

“I love you too, doll,” he murmurs with an adoring smile. Using the tips of his metal fingers, Bucky gently angles your face so that he can meet your lips in a kiss. Your eyes immediately flutter shut as you melt against him and savor the feeling of being so close to the man you’d missed so dearly while you were apart.

It’s as if the rest of the world fades away while you share your tender embrace in the middle of the hallway where you’d first met months ago. You came to the city for a new start, but Bucky never would have guessed that your arrival would signal the start of his own new beginning.

A bookshelf brought you into each other’s worlds, and a kiss in the hallway would keep you together for the rest of your lives.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Ok so i saw a tweet that made me feral, so here i am with a request

It was based on a still from Thunderbolts* with Bucky in the kitchen wearing the tank top, the person said he looked like a dad waiting for the baby bottles to sterilise,,,, so true

I was thinking about #that bucky joining reader in the kitchen after dinner and doing it for the first time after having their baby 😵‍💫

so sorry it’s taken me way longer to get to than planned. thanks for requesting 💌

EIGHT WEEKS. 18+

bucky barnes x fem!reader

wc. 1407 warnings. 18+ only! quickie in the kitchen, pinv (but not much smut, my apologies. ive written so much porn lately i fear my brain may explode) mdni

⎯ ☆ ⎯

For the last near eight weeks, shitty diapers, vomit and fatigue had been all you and Bucky had known. The excessively late nights and nipple pain all being traced back to the sweet, beautiful tyrant of a daughter that you recently welcomed into the world.

And while you were both worse for wear and stretched incredibly thin with the new change of dynamics in the household, you wouldn’t have it any other way — motherhood a great look on you and fatherhood just as good a look on your lover. 

Like anything, it all took some getting used to: the stress, running on minimal sleep, intense blinding irritation, but it was all made easier with the great support system you call a husband. All of his attention and time being divided between his two girls. And with time, you began to feel like your old self again.

By now, it was late and it was like you were each too tired to sleep, each of you barely functioning as you work through the household jobs. 

Bucky’s at the kitchen counter, his time split between bottle sterilisation and the dishes, while you’re at the sofa’s, organising and piling the excessive amounts of baby grows and other laundry. Each of you doing jobs to lighten the giant load.

You stack the clean laundry in the basket and set it on your hip, using your free hand to drag the laundry hamper with you as you walk. You set it in your shared bedroom and meet Bucky back in the kitchen.

You stand beside him and rest your head on his shoulder, eyes closing as if to soak up the calm quiet. He presses a kiss to your temple and lays the side of his head atop yours, giving you a moment of attention while he focuses on the tasks at hand: carefully attaching bottles with lids so as not to contaminate the sterile vessel.

You wrap your arm around his back, snuggling into his side as you watch him. Whoever would have thought that the hands that were made for death and destruction could now be preparing bottles for your baby in a few rooms over. 

“Good news about the doctors today, huh?” 

He pauses and lifts his head from yours. So you turn and see his expression confused, brows furrowing.

“What news?” he asks, utterly perplexed.

“I texted you this morning,” you match his befuddled tone and reach into your robe pocket for your phone. “The doctor gave me the all clear. I told you about it as soon as I found out…” you mindlessly reiterate, eyes then beginning to narrow as you look at your screen. “Oh my god,” you whisper, and shake your head. “I never send it.”

“Is it bad news?” he questions, eyes softening slightly as they meet yours.

“God no, well… depends how you look at it,” you smile and turn your phone, showing him the screen.

He stills as he reads your unsent text, brows continuing to furrow. “What is that? Is that an eggplant?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why is it there?”

“It’s supposed to be sexy,” you playfully frown.

“Sexy?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pointing to the emoji beside the eggplant one. “See, the peach.”

“I don’t understand,” his head shakes, eyes flickering between you and your phone.

You inhale and close your eyes. “Okay, alright,” you focus on him. “I saw my doctor today, and she gave me the all clear…” you pause, watching the connections slowly being made in his tired blue eyes.

“So we can have sex?”

“So we can have sex,” you repeat, mirroring his tone and expression. 

Part of you questioned whether you should wait until the weekend, wait until you’ve dropped your daughter off with your family. It had been a long time since you’ve been properly fulfilled by your husband, everything but full penetrative sex to suffice during your weeks of healing. 

So this was quite the confliction.

You give it a moment's thought and meet his eyes again.  “Are you tired?” you ask.

“Are you?” he deflects and returns the question, wanting to hear what you have to say before he answers for himself.

“I mean…” you shrug your shoulders. “Yeah, very. But… a quickie can’t hurt, right?”

“Who doesn’t love a quickie?” 

“Exactly,” you smile and turn so your back is against the counter. You lift yourself up onto it, sitting on the edge with your feet dangling down.

He moves to stand between your knees and settles his hands beside yours. “And then this weekend…” he pauses and itches forward, lips ghosting yours briefly. “I can take you up to the lake…” he presses a slow lengthy kiss to your lips.

“Yeah…” you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him again. “What else?”

He pretends to give it some thought but the plan was already extensively created in his head. “I can make us some dinner,” he begins to list and reaches for the bow of your robe, tugging on it gently. “We can go for a walk around the woods, maybe collect some firewood. Sit on the deck and watch the sun go down.”

You drop your hands from around his neck and move to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, fingers mindlessly slipping into the top. You reach down the front and begin palming over his cock, eyes focused on his as you listen.

“Mhm-hm,” you prompt, eager to hear more.

“Well,” he pauses and reaches into the elastic of your underwear. “We can sit in the cabin, maybe have some wine by the fire…” he starts, voice drawing to a whisper, speech halting when he leans in to kiss you again. But he doesn’t continue on with his plan. Instead he grows quiet, quite like he was wanting to reserve the more intimate moments for a surprise. 

And so he slips your underwear down your thighs, the lifting of your ass from the counter aiding the removal. He watches the fabric drag across your skin, the material grazing flesh until it gets caught between your knees. You feel the resistance and lift a knee, letting the underwear fall from one leg and down the length of the other.

The hand you had tucked down the front of his boxers moves back up to the waistband, fingers resuming their prior finnicking into the elastic. You drop your hand from around his neck and join the one at the top of his pyjama bottoms — both of them hastily yanking on the fabric. 

Bucky helps, moving his hands from your underwear to his own. He gives both garments a heavy tug, each catching around the swell of his thighs — revealing just enough of himself as required.

He spits into his palm and smears it messily over his dick. You both watch the lewd display between you, eyes transfixed on the slight twitching of him, cock growing hard under his touch. 

Guiding himself closer he smacks his head against your cunt. The little slaps an attempt to speeden up his erection. 

He holds himself within his left, metal hand and spits once again into the palm of his other, only this time he smears it over your pussy — a makeshift lube saving you both a trip to the bedroom. 

Lining up with you, he teases at your entrance briefly, quite like he was refamiliarising you with the contact of his cock and himself with your cunt once again. He sinks into you slowly and both of your faces contort, the feeling of sheer, unadulterated, lustrous bliss growing with each passing inch.

Your arms wrap around him as if you’re in dire need of his touch, your hands squeezing tightly around his bank. And with the close contact, his forehead falls to press against yours, bodies close as you both delve into the bliss of what got you your daughter in the first place. 

Although this brief, fatigued session was about to reopen a massive can of worms for your sex life, it was clear that this time it may have to be cut short — the long awaited sensations could not quite be replicated by one to the other meant things tonight were bound to end prematurely. 

And so this little session might just have to serve as an appetiser, a taster for the weekend to come when you both finally get around to rekindling things properly in the bedroom.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[tastesousweet]

⭒ crush

| hamzahthefantastic x youtuber!reader au

summary: hamzah has a crush that is extremely obvious to everyone except you ... somehow?! (both written & smau!!!)

a/n: happy new years!!!!!!

— march 2024

hamzah is hungry beyond belief.

martin's already assured him both over facetime and text that he's on his way with their full course meal of chinese takeout— currently sat in the basket of martin's rented bike, jostling up and down with every bump of the toronto pavement without a doubt. yet his stomach is still throwing a tantrum, depraved of any nutrients while his brain repeats in a neanderthal-like manner "food. coming. soon." in hopes of reducing the pressure within his poor stomach.

he opens instagram, needing some sort of an escape, because naturally a little doom-scrolling will ease his (dramatic but still very real) pain. somehow, among the ridiculous animal reels and comedic twitch clips on his explore feed, he stumbles upon a reel from you. a girl with a different quality and charm to your face and character than anything he's seen in other content creators.

not only does your bubbly yet elegant voice keep him watching but the subject matter is rather fitting— you're cooking a homemade chicken pot pie for the first time. in the video you talk about how often your mother would prepare it growing up and now it's become a popular craving for you. hamzah watches intently as if he were ready to get up and make his own pot pie alongside you.

"hey! the hell are you smiling at?" martin's voice is breathy due to his trek to and from the chinese restaurant. he walks into the living room holding a crinkly plastic bag reading: "thank you! have a nice day!" with that big, yellow smiley face in between.

"huh? nothin'." hamzah dismisses and adjusts himself on the couch, "come on, 'm starving!" he reaches his hand out to take the food from martin before patting the seat next to him.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

— june 2024

"so when are you gonna come see us?"

it was a surprise to see hamzah follow you on instagram a few months ago. you'd heard his name thrown around in certain spaces of the internet but never really indulged in any of his content.

his instagram had the format of a shitposting ten-year-old but it only made you curious about the humorous twenty-something. eventually you'd watched a youtube video of his; completely laughing your ass off and finding your eyes chasing after hamzah whenever he was in even the tiniest of frames.

it was never a serious crush by any means, just a nice piece of secret eye-candy who also happened to have a great personality and an enviously good work ethic (the effort martin and hamzah put into their videos was astonishing to you).

so you were quite nervous to be the first to dm him, in hopes of a friendship or a least a quick exchange of "hey." it was only right — you two had been liking each other's poss and stories a consistent amount.

the mellow first exchange between the two of you in april blossomed into you both constantly talking in your free time; your friendship quickly to developed a flirty back-and-forth dynamic that sometimes borders on way more than platonic. eventually martin was added to your consistent facetime calls and you’ve even let them convince you to create a discord account to play minecraft and grand theft auto online with them.

and now you’re lying on your leather couch with both of their faces displayed in your laptop’s screen, eager to hear your response.

“i don’t know…” you play with a loose end of the sweater you’re wearing, “what would we even do?”

they both stay quiet for a moment before hamzah laughs, “why are you acting like you don’t wanna say yes right now?”

a smile slowly grows on your face “okay… gimme a second,” you begin to google flight information to and from toronto.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

— september 2024

yourusername

Liked by clairedrake, hamzahthefantastic, and others

yourusername Y’all didn’t tell me they get wild in the 6 , Omg??!! Highly requested video out neow <3

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chaserutherford 🍽️8️⃣ • ♥︎ by author

yourusername I rlly do miss u already 😖😖😖😖

ynfan01 ohhhh this was so necessary thank u mother☺️!! • ♥︎ by author

yourusername Mhm!!! Olivia Wilde head nod 💞💞

slushieeee333 y/n: slurping pasta , hamzah the whole time: 😊👀😍😊

thatmartinkid hey look ma i made it!!! 🫵😂 • ♥︎ by author

ynsnumberone THE FLIRTING WENT CRAZYYYYY

slushedyn her and hamzah are obsessed with each other i fear

thatslushykid COME BACK 2 TORONTO ASAP I NEED MORE COLLABS RN!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

hamzahluver45 ok but like it’s so obvious that her trying to flirt was just irritating them the whole time !! Like girl ..💀💀

hamzahthefantastic Posting our dms is already one thing , but TAGGING ME is actually crazy 🤔🤔 • ♥︎ by author

yourusername R u mad @ me Bby???? 😕

hamzahthefantastic BruhLmaooooooooooo

freakzahfan that's one too many "o"s just say u wanna kiss her my boy

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“oh!” you accidentally trip over yourself while walking backwards and stumble into hamzah, who was standing in front of the unfamiliar grocery store, watching you prepare to give an intro. “jesus,” martin laughs under his breath from behind the camera. he lowers the camera, showing his feet but still picking up his voice in the mic, “you good?!”

the clip cuts to you stood upright again, "i'm in the six!!!" you exclaim loudly, raising your arms above your head. "and i'm here with slushy noobz to add to my series where other creators "teach me" their specialty. you tug at hamzah's arm and pull him into the frame with you, "hamzah tell them what you and martin are gonna teach me," you look up a him while still holding onto his arm. you interrupt him before he even begins to speak, "oh yeah! martin is also here by the way!" you point and martin flips the camera to himself. "they're just leaving me out it's fine, i know i'm out already, just vote just vote," he references with a sigh before turning it back to you and hamzah. "don't start! chase is on his way to come and film for us-" "listen! this is our plan-- we're gonna teach you how to mukbang; everyone knows we're very qualified in this field and know everything there is to know about the subject, so, uhh, yeah we're kinda experts. i dont know, would you say that, martin?" hamzah rambles. "yeah, i think that's a good way to describe us" "perfect! then you're teachin' me how to kiss next, right?" you ask. hamzah goes from looking at you attentively (hanging onto your every word) to a face deadpanned as he glances over to martin trying not to smile.

the video cuts to a clip with the three of you, finally, all in one shot now that chase is behind the camera. you pull a cart out from its slot and push yourself on it before standing both feet on top of the tiny foot bar, gliding through the automatic doors.

next, a clip of martin speaking to the camera while you and hamzah look through different pasta sauces together, "okay we didn't really explain this well but essentially we're all going to cook a nice dish and then eat it together in front of you guys. isn't that cute?" "yeah, can't wait for us to mukbang together" hamzah speaks. martin turns back to the camera with a smirk, "i bet you wish you were mukbanging with us huh, chase?" "no. and you just made that word up." martin's face falls.

the entire grocery shopping trip is filmed with little moments like hamzah mispronouncing a few brand names, martin talking to strangers about which pasta noodle to try, and you randomly walking off into estranged aisles "just to see if things are really different here"

now, you're all back at martin's home; you read aloud the recipe and hamzah is stood practically on top of you as he also looks down at the phone, all while martin lays ingredients out of the counter. "okay simple enough," hamzah says. "yeah, and you're still gonna make me do all of the work anyway," martin huffs sarcastically. you giggle a bit, "martin the most you'll have to do is boil water, i'll force him to do the rest." "huh???!! who??" hamzah questions, his smiley face “accidentally” leaning far too close to yours. "you, duh!" you laugh and turn away to look for a large pot.

throughout the cooking process you slowly stop helping; talking to mandy while you two eat chips and salsa while leaning on the counter or petting the pets instead of doing any of the tasks given to you from the self-proclaimed chefs.

"this is literally your video! what the hell y/n?!" martin whines when he finds you and mandy making a tiktok in his "man cave" together after you'd told them you were going to the bathroom, "seriously mandy?" all of the audio can be heard from the mics on your clothing. "where was she?" hamzah says monotonous as he scrolls on his phone. "making freaking tiktoks with mandy of course!" you giggle as you walk into the kitchen behind him, "what? the food is practically done, we're just waiting on garlic bread!" you shrug and hamzah immediately turns at the sound of your voice. "well, you gonna at least show us?" hamzah asks casually placing his hands on the counter around you, trapping you in the space between him and the marble surface. "yeah," you tilt your head so you can look at his face as you make fun of his not-so-friendly gesture, "you wanna keep breathing down my neck like that while i show you?" he laughs and moves away to cover up the embarrassment of being called out. "stop!" you laugh and bring him back into frame forcing him and martin to watch you and mandy dance on your phone screen.

the four of you sit on the carpet with plates full of chicken alfredo and pieces of garlic bread laid out on martin’s coffee table. you all talk about your experience in toronto so far, how you and hamzah first met, … et cetera.

martin attempts to teach you canadian slang: “keener is big here.” “actually? what the hell does that even mean?” “it’s kinda like a try hard— people will call you a keener if you’re doing too much, basically.” “wait tell me more!” “i mean things like buddy is way too common here. some random old guys will call me that and it always throws me off??” “yeah they always say it so demeaning,” hamzah laughs. “do you guys actually say ‘eh?’ all the time? i feel like i haven’t noticed it a lot.” you ask genuinely. “i won't lie.. i say it more often than i like to admit!” mandy says. you’ve noticed that no matter if you’re the one speaking or not hamzah’s eyes keep glancing and sometimes full on staring at you (he really doesn’t mean to but he thinks he’s finally processing that you’re actually here with them after months of wanting this) you're flattered nonetheless.

at some point hamzah and martin recreate a scene in lady and the tramp, successfully slurping at the same noodle until hamzah retreats and martin sighs at his lack of commiting to the bit. you laugh along before asking hamzah’s to share a noodle with you with a smile slapped over your face, “me next?” he fights off any blushing with a roll of his eyes and his response of, “yeah? ask me again in a sec.”

after you’ve all finished eating, you complete the video with a big smile and a promise of more collaborations in the future.

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•••

[espinosaurusrexex]

You try to find Bucky a date but he only has eyes for you

a/n: playful Bucky and "clueless" reader are my new fave

word count: ~800

warnings: fun fluff, teeny bit angst

･ﾟ✫* 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ｡✭･ﾟ

“Do you have any preferences for a partner?” You sat next to Bucky on the sofa in the common room, determined to find the perfect date for him upon request from Sam.

“Well, I’m very particular when it comes to my type.” Bucky clasped his hands in his lap as he eyed you opening your notes app. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of dating anyone. Well, anyone that wasn’t you to be clear. There was a reason he’d yet to ask anyone out since working here. The same reason he chose to entertain your attempt to set him up. He liked spending time with you. 

“Particular is good. More details mean I can find the perfect person for you.” You beamed at him and Bucky cursed under his breath when his heart did the somersault thing. 

Then he decided to shrug it off. “If you think so.”

Seemingly nonchalant, he watched you prepare some bullet points on your phone, itching to reach out and smack the thing from your grasp so you could hold his hand instead. 

“I am the perfect matchmaker, Bucky. You should be glad I’m helping you. The amount of feedback I’m given for my relationship expertise is unmatched.”

“Think I should check your references, doll,” Bucky smirked. “Cause you never once went on a date since I’ve been here.”

You stared at him blankly and Bucky took the opportunity to look at your lips. And just as he suspected, they looked perfectly kissable today.

“Coaches don’t play, Bucky.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, making Bucky chuckle. 

“Okay now, favorite hair color?”

“I do enjoy a nice y/h/c,” Bucky answered immediately. He knew you’d not let this go, so he might as well play into it. He knew exactly who his type was, so the questions shouldn’t be too hard. 

“Preferred height?” You typed away and Bucky stood and held up his hand to the spot he knew your head ended when you stood next to him. “Abooooout this tall.” 

You glanced at him swiftly, nodding and typing the info like a machine. Bucky chuckled again. You were so invested, he could probably say your name as his preferred one in a partner and you’d write it down without question. 

“Perfect eye color?” 

“Y/e/c.” You froze in your tracks for a second and then you proceeded to type. 

“Wait,” Bucky said, grabbing your face with his metal hand and looking into your eyes with furrowed brows. “Y/e/c with those beautiful speck in ‘em. That’s what I like...”

He watched as your pupils switched between his and Bucky wondered if you’d finally caught on. He wasn’t trying to hide it, after all. However, all he got was another moment of intimate eye contact before your jaw slightly pressed against his hand with the next question tumbling out of you.

“Preferred occupation?” There was the hint of a smile on your lips, and Bucky couldn’t have missed it. Maybe you were even wittier than he thought you to be. 

“Hmmm....” He tabbed his chin now embracing the game you’d invited him into. “I’d die for a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.” He let go of your face. “Maybe an avenger even - I think that would be perfect for me.”

Bucky turned back slightly, now watching you out of the corner of his eye, heart hammering in his chest yet again. Your fingers typed furiously on that phone of yours and his hand began to sweat. It was fun while it lasted, now he’d have to go back to serious. 

“Bucky-“ his heart dropped when you whispered his name as you watched your notes. But then you put your phone down and grabbed his hands. God, this was worse. You’d let him down easy - somehow he wanted you to be clueless again. “I think I may have the perfect candidate for you.” 

That’s when he finally found the courage to look at you again. Firstly at your hands which were gently wrapped around his and then your face, where big eyes were watching him from below. 

His chest deflated when he saw the unreadable expression in your eyes. “You don’t have to-“

Bucky didn’t get to finish his sentence because warm pillowy lips were pressed to his and catapulted him into a state of utter shock and disbelief. After a few seconds of freeze mode, your fingers squeezed his gently, as a reminder that this was truly happening. And before any more time could have gone to waste, Bucky’s arms wrapped around you with an urgency that had settled deep in his bones. Maybe you weren’t so clueless after all...

Follow my library blog for fic updates! @espinosaurusrexex-library

[screampied]

Hello my love🩵 I know you’ve had a similar request to this before but I just love the way you write him so can we get soft dom choso who an obnoxiously big dick😵‍💫 like reader is trying to act like she can take it but he just knows she can’t so he just stays buried inside them and rubs their clit until she cums and is finally comfortable enough for him to move

trying to take big dick choso ★

warnings. fem! reader, soft dom choso, size kink, praise, whiny choso, cowgirl.

“just lie back baby,” you whisper against the shuck of his ear, gawking lovingly as his pretty long lashes flutter from your words alone. choso’s heart flutters dramatically by default, you’re hovering over his leaky tip and he can’t help but exhale out a low sigh of what’s to come. he’s all pent up and frazzled—he’s had a long day with dealing with irksome enemies and you told him you’d help relieve some of his stress. “wanna ride you.”

“o- okay,” he swallows, gently bringing his perspiring-coated hands towards your waist. choso’s touch was always so delicate, he stares at you all doe-eyed like and tries hard to suppress his moans once you finally hover over his top. you inhale, glancing down at his wide, mushroom tip that was leaking with various amounts of viscous candied pre. “you’re so pretty.”

his words of affection only make you pulse more between your thighs as you prepare to take him. inch by inch, once his tip bedaubs near your soddened entrance in such a sloppy fashion, you whine. choso’s overwhelmed with how pretty you look like this — in such a position, straddling him. he bites his lip as you’re barreling his length. with a brief jerk forward, he’s slowly easing his way into your folds before your jaw gradually swings itself open it utter surprise. then it hits you,

he’s fucking big.

almost right away, you feel the thick impact of choso’s stupendous girth,

you’re barely even moving but you’re still trying to take him fully. he hears the sudden change of patterns from your breath — they’re all trembly and erratic. with a cute look of worry, he nips a few kisses near your collarbone. “baby,” he whimpers, albeit it’s in the more form of a question. the softness of his fingertips brush against your skin as he feels you struggle to take him. “h-how is it? ‘s it okay? should i hold your hips?”

“i’m okay, ‘cho,” you huff out, almost positive at this rate you were gonna cum. you look down, feeling the pressure inside of you weaken only to then arise. as you grind your hips forward, you bite your lip with your head slightly throwing itself back. “f-fuuuck,” you’d croak out, slumping your limp arms around his broad shoulders. choso awkwardly holds onto you tightly, moaning himself from the way your gummy walls try to swallow him whole. “y- yeah, jus’ hold me okay? just like that, baby.”

“so warm inside,” he purrs, a sheepish smile tugging against his lips as he slouches back. you had him whipped—he needed you in such a carnal way that the tips of his ears burn a feverish hot. he’s feeling all of you all at once, your insides mashing against his, it was pure bliss. so warm, your gloopy walls itself were seductive—loose and clamping down on him, wringing against him voluntarily. “you can take it baby, s-so good, fuckkk.”

you could barely bare around him, the plump head of his cock continues to squeeze around you before you stay still, dragging your hands toward between your thighs.

choso watches with hazy eyes, your own fingers ghosting against your clit. “is it okay if i touch myself, choso?”

“you don’t have to ask,” he whines, his eyes softening as he presses a wet kiss against your chin. for a few seconds, you rub your fingers against your clit before he’s fully in. you moan, feeling his cock just sit still inside of you. choso swallows the lump residing in his throat before he holds onto your right hip with one hand. “even if you’re not riding me, you still look so b-beautiful.”

it makes his mouth water, you’re squeezing around him so tight, his breath is coming out in short pants as he’s just stuffing you full of his inches. choso’s big, you and him both knew that.

the raw stretch makes your mouth open ajar, you try to shift your hips forward but he’s just so big.

choso’s swollen sack sticks against your skin like glue. the lower undersides of his thighs burn, a scorching temperature of heat whilst you sit on him before he lies back. ripped abs of his curl and clench underneath his white tee as he suddenly starts to feel his own head theon back. with a low sigh, choso covers a hand over his face that was starting to brighten a cute tint of embarrassment.

“f- fuuuck,” and with that, you collapse right into your boyfriend. he catches you, soft inky pupils of his take in your beauty as you’re stuffed full of him. his cock remains still as a statue before you whimper once you feel his own fingers brush against your clit. “k- keep doin’ that baby, please. ‘m gonna cum.”

“i love your voice so m- much,” choso whines, feeling himself get sensitive himself from the hot warmth your clingy walls provide. it’s barely any friction happening but still — with his size, you’re basically getting fucked stupid. just without the delicious movement to back it up. choso starts to nibble on your neck, continuing to rub against your sweet drooling cunt. “praise me some more, please, t- talk to me, wanna make you cum.”

his voice— it was also sweet and shaky, you lift your head up to give him a quick kiss before moaning, “you make me feel so good, baby. keep rubbing me there, o- okay? jus’ like that,” and you press a kiss against the left temple of his cheek.

choso’s heart was about to explode— he was so in love, figuratively melting with his twitching shaft exploring your love cave.

“mmhn, cum for me. ‘s okay, make a mess so i can clean you right up princess.” he mutters back, hearing a familiar ring screech through his ears.

the pressure continues to alleviate, your entire body feels misty, everything’s a blur.

as choso’s thick fingers consistently strum against your sopping cunt, he’s still buried into your tightening walls before you finally let go. it’s as if everything’s going in slow motion.

your lips part and you gasp—a devoted, obscene orgasm finally rips out of your throat before your thighs shake over him.

skin to skin, body to body, he feels like you’re just stuck against him like a leech—clinging onto him like velcro, never ever letting go. that was perfect for choso because he didn’t want you to ever go anyway. you’re so pretty once you release though, eyelashes compressing together, jaw hung open, brows furrowing into a disbelieving curve—oh, you were in heaven.

despite how you weren’t able to ride him how you originally wanted— you were still a bit saddened by it, embarrassed.

choso notices the cute pout forming against your spit soaked lips before he cups your face. heaving heavily, he leans in to kiss your nose, a humming “mwah,” comes from him and your rapidly beating heart suddenly swoons. “i love you.”

“i- i love you too,” you puff out a single breath of fresh air, still feeling your thighs quaver from your recent teeth-shattering climax. as his dick was still tucked inside of your gripping walls, you mimic his gesture, kissing the tip of his nose. “you’re such a good boy ‘cho, did so good.”

“heh, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep praising me like that, baby.” he tries to joke— yet once he feels you shift your hips a little to move, he’s suddenly hard again. “o-oh fuck.”

[ferrarifinnick]

CHAIN OF ARMOUR | DAE-HO (PLAYER 388)

pairing: gentle!dae-ho x reader (and father figure!jung-bae x reader)

summary: with lights out approaching, there's a heavy feeling in your stomach. but dae-ho's right there to comfort you, and so is jung-bae and the rest of your group. warnings: angsty fluff, established relationship, allusion to sexual harassment, protector!dae-ho, fear, comfort, alliance (young-il, gi-hun, jung-bae), fatherly figure, jung-bae/dae-ho military roleplay.

2.3k words

an: this might be my favourite piece i’ve written for some time. it’s lengthier, so sweet it’ll melt your heart (it melted mine!), and say hello to the other characters for me would you? feedback and requests are always welcomed. enjoy! <3

“players, please prepare for bed. you have ten minutes until lights out.”

there was something in the air. something ugly and perverse, and you saw it every time you glanced to the other side of the hall. every time you made eye contact with a man. the hunger in their gaze wasn’t for food, but for you. maybe to the other women around you, too, but with the amount of eyes settling on you, it felt personal. targeted.

the longer you sat silent in the company of your group, the more you seemed to focus on the unease growing in your stomach. the more you seemed to catch the occasional word from the other side of the room. pretty girl, they said without enough worry about being discreet. so little, they whispered.

it’s only when you caught parts of their plans for you that the heat drained from your body, along with any semblance of confidence that you’d had earlier of surviving the night.

but maybe survival isn’t what you wanted if they did get ahold of you. maybe death is what you were really after. the guards, always eager to pull the triggers of their big black guns, but would they grant you that mercy? would they interfere with games? with the immorality threatening you from what felt like every corner?

the call of your name was gentle.

you glanced up and caught dae-ho’s soft eyes. the warmth returned so quickly to your body, you wondered if the sun had been made obsolete.

he sat opposite you on the benches your group settled around, lunch trays strewn messily over the floor as you finished up your supper.

“yes?” you replied, but the shakiness of your voice was evident even through one word.

dae-ho glanced down at your hand and you followed his gaze. your carton of milk a crumpled mess, squished to the point that milk oozed out the hole your straw poked through. you gasped at the milk trickling down your wrist, and quickly wiped your skin with the sleeve of your jacket.

he watched you with a frown, concern knitting his brows together. “are you alright?” he asked, the softness of his words tinged with the worry bubbling in his chest.

you nodded, too quickly to quash his suspicion, and the squeak of your “yes!” was the icing on the cake.

dae-ho sighed and pushed himself to his feet, crossing the small distance between you to settle at your side. he wordlessly used the sleeve of his own jacket to wipe up droplets of milk you hadn’t even realised had dropped onto the thighs of your sweatpants.

“you don’t need to worry,” he said quietly, close enough for only you to hear. he lifted the edge of his sleeve to your face and tilted your head to wipe up a little trickle of milk from your neck. “how hard were you squeezing?” he gasped quietly, brushing one final drop from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

you sheepishly lowered your head. he pressed his thigh against yours, a silent show of support, and his way of encouraging you to meet his gaze once more. you did, and nearly flinched at the worry that brought out the tiny fine lines in his forehead.

“i mean it,” he repeated. “i won’t let anything happen to you. not now, not ever.”

you wanted to believe him. you wanted to believe he could fight off all those men, all those who wished you harm. but he was only one man, and no matter how mighty and brave, no matter how hard he would fight for you, you knew he wasn’t a superhero. he couldn’t beat impossible odds, no matter how hard he would try to.

suddenly that feeling gnawed at your stomach again. you wanted to leap into dae-ho’s arms, let him shield you from the dark, scary world and the monsters you feared would get bold in the dark. but you couldn’t. you could only glance back across the hall, at the hungry gazes stuck on you like an angry, unrelenting wasp.

dae-ho called your name again, but this time you couldn’t look up. he repeated it, his hand lifting to catch your cheek, trying to block your view of the men. trying to refocus your attention to him, to the man who would stretch and tear himself into three, five, seven, however many bodies he needed to become your hero.

but it was jung-bae who got through to you. the short and stout man who warmly took you under his wing, who accepted you as a little chick in his bird nest, and who gave you a father figure in a place that felt far from home.

“you’re trembling like a leaf!” he gasped, his own hands plucking up yours, before leaning in closer to examine your face. he caught your chin in his fingers. “what is it, chicken? what’s bringing you such fright?”

his comfort drew you closer, and you shifted closer until your head fell against his shoulder. “i’m worried… about tonight,” you said, sneaking a nervous glance to the other side of the room.

the o’s. although they matched the numbers on your side, their presence was twice as ominous, and it would only be worse under the veil of darkness fast approaching. the tension slowly spread through your muscles, and suddenly it was no longer just your hands shaking. legs, arms, anything that could contract, trembling as you pictured the men across the room as only silhouettes. your thigh bumped into dae-ho’s, and he caught it with one of his big hands, holding it flush against his. he traced patterns over the cotton of your sweatpants.

but you were only growing more tense.

jung-bae gasped, pulling his hands from yours. “ow!” he cried, rubbing soothing circles into the palms of his hands, looking to you with surprise. “such strength in such a little girl!” he said, and you caught a glimmer of playfulness in his wide eyes.

your head sank sheepishly. “sorry, sir,” you apologised.

“and yet, the manners of a princess!” he exclaimed, approval rife in taking your hand to squeeze. he lifted it, shaking it along as he said, “a princess has no reason to fear with her noble guards around to protect her.”

you held his gaze and tried to smile, tried to believe him, tried not to think about the hungry gazes harassing you from the other side of the room. you couldn’t help but look up, see the danger targeted right at you in the licking of lips, in sly grins, and suddenly the shaking in your hands vibrated through jung-bae’s body.

“young-il!” suddenly your hand was swept in the direction of your newest ally, and jung-bae shook it as he said, “strong, clever, fierce.”

young-il nodded firmly, a confident smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he held your gaze, but you were quickly locking eyes with gi-hun as jung-bae warmly said, “gi-hun! loyal, determined, kind.”

the warmth of his eyes was all the convincing you needed, but gi-hun still reached out to squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. that’s the kind of man he was.

“jung-bae,” jung-bae said of himself, slapping your hand into his chest this time. “marine,” he said, lifting his other arm into a flex of his bicep, and while you saw no activation in the muscle, somehow it didn’t matter. it was the pride in his eyes, the conviction in his tone as he said, “wise as time,“ and you believed him. “and handsome as brad pitt.”

the widening of your eyes preceded your surprised giggle, but you couldn’t cover you mouth in time to suppress it.

jung-bae’s eyes blew wide again. “she laughs!” he accuses in mock disbelief, glancing between the other men in your group, before settling back on you. “many women say jung-bae is the one that got away!” he insists, but only grins wider as you stifle more of your little giggles.

your hand still in his thrown around again as he pretends to take offence, but he soon eases into calmness again, before leaning in closer.

“don’t forget, there are two marines here,” he said quietly, and you barely caught the flash of mischief in his eyes before he suddenly straightened his back, snapping his other hand into a click as he commanded “dae-ho!” with such authority that he jumped immediately to attention.

“yes, sir!” he shouted back, unflinching as his chopsticks crashed and clanged on the hard floor under his feet.

jung-bae’s chest swelled with approval. “are you afraid?!” he commanded.

“no, sir!”

“of men?”

“no, sir!”

“of the dark?”

“no, sir!”

you caught the sly smirk jung-bae shot you, before asking, “of jung-bae?”

“no, sir!”

his face dropped into a scowl, and he swatted a hand to the side of dae-ho’s shoulder, landing a blow right against the ink of his marine tattoo. dae-ho didn’t even flinch, back still straight and standing tall, his eyes fixed ahead with determination.

jung-bae asked one final question of him. “what of the men, the oh’s, behind you?”

a beat was not skipped when dae-ho sharply insisted, “no, sir!”

jung-bae slowly turned back to face you, a warm confidence as he said, “the dark is frightening. it’s where monsters live, where evil lurks. but what can defeat the dark?” he asked, leaning back ever so slightly to let you ponder, inviting you to look at the three other men in your alliance. each one stared back warm, kind, determined, and when jung-bae leant back in, you understood him when all he gently said was “light.”

you couldn’t seem to look away as dae-ho held your gaze, the quiet confidence radiating from his kind eyes, and suddenly the tension in your muscles faded away. the trembling of your hands subsided, and you weren’t gripping onto jung-bae’s hand so tightly.

dae-ho offered you sincerity when he promised, “they’ll have to get past us to get to you,” he said. “through me.”

he offered his hand out, and jung-bae lifted your hand to meet dae-ho’s. you took it, fingers interlocking as he gently but effortlessly pulled you up from the bench. he rested your entwined hands against his chest, leaning down to press a kiss to your skin. he gazed down into your eyes.

“i would set all the money in the world on fire to keep you safe,” he said so gently, you swore your knees would give out. “let me be your light,” he referenced jung-bae, nodding a head toward the cluster of your bunks. “stay with me tonight, in my bunk.”

you didn’t need to think about it. “please,” you whispered, holding onto his hands tighter.

the corners of his lips stretched into a smile softer than his breath on your knuckles as he kissed your hands again.

he climbed up the benches towards the bunks, stopping patiently after each step to turn and help you up. your legs were shorter than his, and he didn’t want to risk you catching your knee on a sharp corner and getting a bruise. but when you got to the ladder of his bunk, he dropped your hand to take purchase on your hips, lifting you with ease up the first few rungs.

he followed after you, glancing up and holding a hand out just in case you lost your footing.

“careful,” he warned as you approached the shelf of his bunk, rushing up the last few steps just to reach out and cover the sharp corner of the bunk above. you ducked your head under it, and his hand dropped to your lower back to help guide you in.

he joined you on the thin mattress after you settled down.

“are you cold?” he asked, fingers catching the zip of his jacket, waiting for your command.

“a little,” you admitted, but stopped him from declothing himself by placing a hand over the zipper on his chest. you lifted your eyes to find his. “can you lay with me? please.”

dae-ho’s gaze softened. “yeah,” he breathed gently, and you wondered where his voice had gone. he slowly lowered himself onto his back, one arm spreading out for you to curl up to his side. when you did, he closed his arm around your body and secured you in place. to him.

you nuzzled into his side. everything about him was so safe, and you wondered if it was the lingering scent of his shampoo or his gentle breathing that made your eyes heavy.

he held you, gentle but firm, while the others in your group climbed and settled into the surrounding bunks. the presence was suffocating in the best way. all around you, a friendly face, a willingness to shield you from danger, and for once in your life, a selection of men you could count on.

it dawned on you, like this, that jung-bae was right. the ease in your chest came down to the shield around you, the men willing to protect you for no reward, for no recognition. everything to gain by letting you get eliminated in the dark of night, and everything to lose by letting you live. but yet, they chose the latter. they chose to guard you. their princess.

and even as the lights turned out, when the shadows played tricks on your eyes, your hands didn’t tremble. they laced with dae-ho’s, who pulled you in closer, lips pressing against yours in a silent promise.

“i’ll see you in the morning,” he whispered.

as the heaviness in your eyelids became too much to fight off any longer, you took one last moment to savour the warmth radiating from his body. only then, with your head in his chest, the chill leaving your body, did you realise that yes, so long as dae-ho was here, the sun was obsolete.

i could sleep easy in dae-ho’s arms. please like, comment, reblog. love <3

[cherrygarcia-07]

Absolutely no pressure, babes. Writing should be fun, not stressful!

What thoughts do you have about say…early seasons Spencer being completely whipped for his girlfriend? He has absolutely no idea how he landed this really awesome gal, but there she is, his beautiful girl, who wants to listen to him, spend time with him.

Serendipity // Spencer Reid☕️

Thank you so much for my first request🥺 your support means so much! I got a little carried away, this is definitely more elaborate than what you asked, I hope you like it anyway but lmk if you want anything a little more playful and light and I can totally give that a go too!

Synopsis: Spencer Reid has never looked for love, believing it was simply just not in the cards for him. That was until you stumbled into his life, changing his perceptive on life- and on himself.

Pairing: early seasons glasses! spencer x reader

Genre: deep fluff

Word Count: 3k

Notes/Tags: bees as a catalyst for love because why the hell not, infodumping as flirting, talks about constellations (from me? shocker), lot of references to spencer’s past bullying & home life, hes down BAD bad he literally studies what to do on a date, princess and the frog reference at the end just pretend it didn’t come out in 2009 okay <3

masterlist

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Spencer Reid had always been a man of science, not of superstitions or of coincidences of the universe. While he found stories fascinating, to him that’s all they were- stories. He believed in facts and numbers, things that were tangible and real and he never indulged in any kind of magic of destiny. That was until he met you. No amount of research, no book he threw himself into or study he conducted could ever account for just how he ended up with you. He wrecked his brain trying to calculate the statistical probability of this happening and how you could have appeared right when he needed you, but for once in his life he was stumped.

He’d never been one to look for love. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, in fact he felt it like a rock in his chest where his heart should be, heavy and aching behind his ribs as it yearned for what it thought it could never be. It was simply something Spencer believed just wasn’t meant for him. He’d never seen himself in the happy faces of couples he passed on the street, he never related to the dreamy, put-together romantic leads he’d seen in movies, rather he saw himself in isolation. In solitude. A lone star with no constellation. He was there, that much he knew, and he twinkled in his own way, but not in any way that drew attention. Just enough to show that he was alive, just evidence that he existed up there too. He had no connections around him, no story to be told and no greater picture that he was a part of. He felt more like a torch imitating a star, a false light that didn’t dazzle quite as authentically as it searched the dark for what it needed rather than just resting in what it had. Spencer had made his peace with this though- at least he thought he had. After all, the stories behind the constellations are just myths. They’re simply just things humanity had attached meaning to with no real science or history behind them, and he truly believed that.

That’s why you were so baffling to him.

It started with a bee, of all things. It was Spencer’s turn to do the coffee run for the team in the middle of a local case, his steps weighing beneath him with exhaustion despite it being the middle of the day as he dragged himself to the door of the café. He had just wrapped his fingers around the door handle and was gathering the little energy left in him to swing it open when a sudden scream rang out behind him, jolting him awake as he dropped his hand and spun to face the noise. On edge from the case, his mind rattled through a thousand dire possibilities as he mentally prepared to jump into action. What his eyes landed on, however, wasn’t any kind of crash or violent attack like he had feared, but rather a girl… swatting a bee. The panicked lump in his throat cleared as he caught his breath and watched you flail your arms in the air as you continued squealing, coffee flying out of the small hole in the top of your takeaway cup in every direction. Deciding to put you out of your misery, as it was still his duty to protect no matter how small the stakes, he took a step closer and with one heroic wave of his arm the bee was gone.

There was a feeling he couldn’t quite place somewhere deep in his chest as he took in your expression; big dazed eyes flooding with relief as they watched the culprit flew away; soft cheeks painted pink in the aftermath of the chaos; and lips parted ever so delicately as small puffs of air escaped them, before they spread into a brilliant grin that took over your whole face. Laughing lightly, you reached out and gently held his arm to grab his attention, not realising you’d had it the whole time.

“Thank you so much. You saved my life there.” Your voice chirped, though he barely registered it through the flustered rush of blood pounding in his ears.

Spencer looked down to where your hand still rested on his arm. Usually this was the part where he would recoil, politely but firmly snatching his arm back as he mumbled something about germs and bacteria and pathogens. But he didn’t pull away. Why didn’t he pull away? A beat of awkward silence passed as he stuttered internally, trying to get his mouth to cooperate with his brain as he failed to tear his gaze away from your eyes.

“It was a drone.” He groaned at himself in his head. Respond normally, idiot his brain yelled.

For a second, your brow furrowed as you bit your lip in thought. “I’m sorry?”

“It, uh-“ He stammered, painfully aware that your hand was still on his arm. “It was a drone. A male bee. It wouldn’t have hurt you.”

Nice going he cursed himself. Spencer held his breath as he braced himself for the inevitable reaction he was all too familiar with; the awkward hum as the other person pulled away, the barely masked grimace on their face at his compulsive need to drop facts at any given moment, and finally one of the many variations of ‘I’m running late, I better get going” among other excuses to stop talking to him. Except it never came.

Instead, you tilted your head to the side curiously, a thoughtful look on your face as you stared at the space in the air where the bee had been just moments ago. You were still touching him.

“Do male bees not sting or something?” You asked, the genuine interest in your voice taking Spencer by surprise.

He almost wasn’t sure what to do. If he wasn’t used to people actually listening to him when he rambled, someone asking him for even more information was practically unheard of.

“They can’t sting,” he begun, a mix of confidence and excitement at your interest bubbling up in his words, “stingers aren’t compatible with their anatomy. The stinger is essentially a modified ovipositor so it only exists on the female bees so they can lay their eggs. The stinger also isn’t needed for male bees for any defensive purposes since they have no role in defending the hive either so, uh.” His voice trailed off as he cleared his throat, his confidence dipping as he realised how much he was speaking. “Yeah, perfectly harmless.”

He sheepishly met your gaze once again, still half expecting to find that disinterested, disapproving look in your eyes. You finally pulled your hand away from his arm and oddly, Spencer found himself mourning your warmth through his sleeve and shocked himself with how much he wished you would reach for him again.

“That’s actually good to know.” His heart raced as you flashed a grin at him. “I’ve always been terrified of bees. That little fight you saw just now is a regular thing for me.” You replied with a giggle so sweet Spencer thought he should bottle it and pour it in his coffee- if he ever remembers to go in and get it.

“It’s a pretty common phobia, but actually bees have a lot of positive symbolism that contradicts people’s connotations about them.” His felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He ignored it.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Spencer noted the way your fingers drummed against the coffee cup in your hands, realising you had your drink already and there was really no reason for you to be here anymore. You were choosing to be here with him. For a moment, he felt like he’d had the breath knocked out of him and he felt his heart beat so hard behind his shirt he worried it would break out.

“Most commonly, they’re associated with hard work and community but in a lot of cultures they also represent prosperity and the circle of life. In ancient cultures they even believed bees to be of divine wisdom and they were seen as a symbol of guidance.” His cadence was suddenly a lot livelier, much more sure of itself as it evened out and strayed from the quiet shake of his words earlier.

“A symbol of guidance?” You repeated, not so subtly eyeing him up and down, adoring the nerdy way his glasses slipped down his nose as he spoke. “Maybe that’s what that bee was doing here today.”

There was a flirty undertone to your voice, not that Spencer noticed. Girls never flirted with him, or at least he convinced himself they didn’t. He’d spent far too much time on the receiving end of older girls in school pretending to like him for their own amusement and so he’d stopped looking for the signs entirely until they just began to pass him by.

“What do you mean?” He asked quizzically, his head tilting like a puppies in confusion.

“It guided you to me.”

His phone began ringing again- no doubt the team wondering where their coffees were, but he couldn’t even hear it over the ringing in his ears.

“Do you need to get that…?” You trailed off, trying to catch his name.

“Spencer.” He managed to croak out eventually. “And no- well I probably should actually, but it can wait.”

His doe eyes were blown wide, his mouth hanging open like a fish in a stunned state you didn’t yet know you would grow to love. You bumped his arm in a playful manner, holding back a smirk when his still dazed eyes darted between your face and your hand on his arm once again.

“Give me another one before you go, another nice bee thing.” You smiled softly, staring up at him through your lashes, and the invitation to teach again pulled him back to reality as he snapped into action instantly.

“This isn’t necessarily anything to do with bees themselves but have you heard of the Beehive Cluster?” He smiled fondly when you shook your head. “It’s a cluster of around a thousand stars within the Cancer constellation- described by Ptolemy as a nebulous mass. It’s named after its resemblance to a beehive, both in shape and in symbolism- the stars together in harmony like the bees.”

“That sounds beautiful, Spencer. You know a lot about the stars?” He nodded eagerly, but not smug. More like a man who was passionate about what he knew and was eternally grateful to have someone to share it with. “Well you’ll have to take me stargazing some time, it looks like I’ve got a lot to learn. What do you think?”

It was as if he’d been hypnotised, your proposal like the magic word that snapped his confidence back like elastic as his jaw dropped again immediately and he became a stuttering mess right there in front of you.

Spencer had a lot of explaining to do when he arrived back at the BAU empty handed.

Fast forward a few unfathomable months down the line and here he was, somehow lying beside you in bed watching the moonlight drape over your sleeping frame like the blanket wrapped around your waist. A heavy but pleasant feeling tugged at his consciousness, unsure whether it was from the late hour blinking on the clock or the love-drunk haze he always seemed to be in around you (though he would happily bet on the latter).

Afraid to touch you and disturb your sleep, Spencer let his eyes wander over you lovingly. His breath hitched with admiration as if it was his first time looking at you, overwhelmed and quite frankly astounded at the fact you were even here. With him. He gazed over your hands -your soft, gentle hands that pushed his glasses back up his nose with a touch so delicate against his face that he forgot about every hand that ever struck him there; your doting, attentive hands that buttoned his cardigans each morning when he was rushing too much to care about it himself; your tender, caring hands that combed through his hair as he cried into your shoulder after a case that hit him particularly hard. He let out a shuddering breath, his trance travelling to your lips, parted in your sleep and rosy like a cherub’s. Those same lips that harboured your sweet voice and that flashed your heavenly smile his way and made him weak. Those lips that reassured him that he was the only thing that mattered when he felt he was the only thing that didn’t. Finally, with bated breath, his focus shifted to your eyes that shone like the north star. His Polaris. His guiding light home, always waiting in the dark with open arms for him to fall into whenever he was lost. Those enchanting eyes that saw the beauty in everything- that somehow saw it in him.

Spencer was someone who valued his privacy and he had tried to keep the relationship to himself for a while, but working with a team of profilers and the fact he wore his heart on his sleeve meant it didn’t last very long. Before your first date he had shown up to work a little fancier than usual, like a child on their first day of school, knowing he would have to meet you straight from the office. Derek had immediately caught onto his gelled back hair and elaborate tie, embroidered with a sea of stars, and had thrown a few teasing comments his way along with his signature brotherly smirk. Gideon in a fatherly manner had straightened his tie for him before he left, patting him on the back and holding back a proud smile. The next day, when the grin Spencer wore pulled at his lips so hard it may as well have been stitched in place, his walls came crashing down and he told the team everything.

Spencer would never admit it but he’d studied beforehand, scouring the library for anything and everything even remotely romance related. As it turns out, being years below your peers your whole life doesn’t really open any doors in the dating world, often leaving him tuning out his emotions over a solitary game of chess, but he was determined to do everything he could to learn to be the perfect gentleman for you. At the restaurant, he pulled your chair out for you before seating himself closest to the door to protect you from the breeze whenever it swung open. Afterwards he walked you home, lingering close enough to breathe in the intoxicating smell of your perfume but refusing to touch you uninvited lest you think that was all he wanted from you.

Eventually, you approached your front door and you stopped for a moment, turning your head up towards the blackening sky, the stars not quite poking their pretty little heads out yet.

“What’s the matter?” Spencer asked, concerned as you sported a slight pout.

“I wanted you to show me the Beehive Cluster.” You sighed, dropping your gaze to the floor, a crease appearing between your brows that he found himself wishing he could kiss away, touched that you’d even remembered what he’d told you.

Your head snapped back up as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a notepad and pen with a small smile. You watched, confused as he frantically scribbled in silence, not daring to speak incase you burst the focused bubble he was in. After a moment, he glanced back up at you with a bashful expression, shyly holding out the piece of paper, now torn from the book.

“Until next time.” He said softly, barely audible but impactful nonetheless. Heart melting, you took in the scribbled illustration of the cluster on the page, fingers delicately tracing the ink like it was sacred.

That same drawing now lived framed on the nightstand beside where you slept, lit up by the moonlight creeping in through the curtains. The memory played over in Spencer’s mind on loop and he thought about waking you, overcome with the urge to pepper your face with a thousand kisses for every painful memory of his past you’d overwritten. For every girl that had asked him out as a joke; for every boy that made him feel inferior; for every time he had refused to let himself believe he could be in love, there was a countless amount of new memories with you. From his understanding of the world, love had always looked like something that left you in pieces more often than it put you back together. Love looked like a broken home and a broken family. Like something that only worked out in fiction and sometimes not even then. Love was a forbidden fruit hanging illuminated in an artificial light that looked just real enough to trick people into taking a bite, punishing those who dared think they were deserving of it. What he never even dreamed was that love could look just like this. Like sci-fi movie nights curled up together on the couch wearing matching mis-matched socks, or like quiet evenings spent comfortably side by side saying nothing but feeling everything. Truthfully, he never knew love could look like you.

All this time, Spencer believed it was his place in the universe to sit alone and observe, twinkling humbly from his place in the dark. He believed he was simply meant to tell the stories, not be part of one himself. Little did he know his place was beside you, his Evangeline, in a harmonious beehive all his own.

Spencer Reid had always been a man of science. But that night, as you lay beside him, he thought about the old mythological beliefs that bees were once divine messengers between mortals and the Gods- and he thought that maybe he believed it. Tears pricked his eyes as he leaned in and pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead and he found himself thanking that serendipitous bee that day for bringing him everything he didn’t know he was missing.

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