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domjaehyun · 8 months ago

Text

under the influence (l.dh)

PAIRING ▸ stoner!haechan x fem!reader WORD COUNT ▸ 11.6k WARNINGS ▸ a hint of dubcon (she’s timid but very much likes the attention), pervy!dom!haechan, shy!sub!reader, slight dacryphilia, corruption kink, finger sucking, oral (giving & receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, nipple play (receiving), marking, some cum eating, spit play, groping in public, panty stealing & sniffing PLAYLIST ▸ FYS - john concepcion, sweet release - kevin ross NOTES ▸ hii i hope you enjoy! any and all positive feedback is greatly appreciated, so send me an ask if you liked it or let me know in the tags pretty please :)

As you press the button to call the elevator, you start to get the jitters. They start in your fingertips and travel up your arms to the back of your neck, making the fine hairs there stand on end, and you shudder slightly, shaking your head in an attempt to do away with the sensation.

The doors open with a ding, and you jump at the sound, making Yeri look over at you in alarm.

“Are you okay?” she asks, worries, and you nod, albeit a bit too quickly and vigorously to be convincing. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say with a frown, and she rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “Nothing!” you insist.

“You’re a horrible liar,” Karina reminds you, and your frown deepens. “But if you say so, I guess.”

Relieved, you follow Yeri and Karina into the elevator and lean into the back corner of the shaft, resting your back against where the two walls meet.

“We should watch a movie today,” Karina suggests excitedly, and she and Yeri fall into a discussion that you would join if you weren’t busy thinking about Haechan and whatever stunts he’s going to pull today.

It takes three calls of your name from Karina and a vigorous shake from Yeri to snap you out of it, and you look at them sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Girl, where do you keep going? Every time I look over at you, you’re in la-la land.” Yeri asks, concerned and amused.

“Sorry, I was just… thinking.” you mumble.

“We know that,” Yeri says with a chuckle and roll of her eyes. “Thinking about what, hm?” she presses, and you balk.

“She’s probably thinking about Haechan and what stunts he’s gonna pull today.” Karina supposes, and you frown, upset you’ve been caught.

In your defense, Haechan is always up to shenanigans when you’re around; he pulls at your skirt to fluster you, plays with your hair to get your attention, strokes under your chin just to watch your eyes glaze over—you name it, he’s either done it or is probably thinking about it.

You can’t honestly say his advances are unwelcome because, well, you’ve had a crush on him for the past six months. But something about him is so intense, so jarringly locked in, that it makes you hesitate, and being the object of his full and undivided attention never fails to make you the shyest version of yourself, and you manage to make a fool of yourself almost every single time you get around him, and you have no idea how you’re going to deal with his antics today.

“Girl.” Karina’s voice cuts through the fog in your brain and you blink hard, focusing on your friend’s concerned expression. “You’re doing it again.”

“Oh. Sorry,” you mutter, rubbing your arm awkwardly. “I’m here, for real.”

As the bell dings and the doors open, the three of you file out of the elevator, walking towards the end of the hall to your destination.

“If you need help with him, let us know. We can make up a code word!” Karina suggests helpfully, and you smile, endeared by your friend’s attempt to calm your nerves.

“What should it be?” you wonder, and she screws her face up thoughtfully.

“Blinker.” Yeri answers, and you both turn to look at her. “It should be blinker. Like, if he’s getting too close and you can’t handle it, you can just say you kinda wanna try hitting a blinker or something like that.”

“The last time I hit a blinker, I coughed for ten minutes straight and it was the most painful experience of my life.” Karina recalls, grimacing at the memory. “It’s perfect.”

“Great.” Yeri says, smiling reassuringly at you before the three of you stop in front of the apartment door. Without a second thought, Yeri knocks three times on the door, stepping back to where you two are standing and waits with you for someone to open the door.

It opens a moment later to reveal Haechan standing in the doorway, one hand on the doorframe and the other holding the door, and you wonder how such a simple stance has you short of breath.

He looks at Karina and Yeri, smiling pleasantly, before he locks eyes with you. Slowly wetting his lips, his eyes slowly drag up and down your frame, taking in your outfit and appearance before he meets your gaze once more and drops one eyelid into a flirtatious wink.

“Come on in,” he invites, stepping back to let Karina and Yeri in. When it’s your turn to pass, he moves closer, deliberately blocking part of your way so you have to brush by him to enter, and you’re sure it’s also no coincidence that he’s positioned himself so your chest has to brush against his. You swallow your nerves and continue walking past him, not daring to look back in case he’s looking at you; which, if today is anything like every other day you all hang out, he most certainly is.

Shutting the door behind you, Haechan follows after the three of you into the living room, but waits, standing, by the chair where Mark sits—for what, you don’t know. You wave hello to Mark in his favorite armchair and Jeno on one end of the couch, who greet you pleasantly and resume their tasks of packing the bong and rolling a joint, respectively. Mildly confused but saying nothing at Haechan’s behavior, you take a seat at the other end of the couch, only for Haechan to move at last, crossing the living room to sit directly next to you.

Your throat dries up at the prospect of being so close to him, and you inhale shakily, wanting desperately to roll your eyes back in your head when you catch a whiff of his intoxicating cologne.

Haechan doesn’t say anything for a moment, just rests one elbow on his knee and observes you with his cheek in his palm. His expression is nothing short of desiring as he takes in your appearance, your burgundy pleated skirt and short-sleeved cream blouse apparently quite the fascinating little number to him, causing you to shift awkwardly in your seat and self-consciously tug your skirt down a bit.

“Relax,” he chuckles. “I’m staring at you because you look good,” Haechan compliments, eyeing you appreciatively. “You always look good, though, but today… damn.”

You blink at him, stunned by the flirtatious lilt to his voice, and mumble, “Oh.”

“Oh?” he mimics you, chuckling, and you furrow your brows, frowning at his teasing. His brows lift up as his face brightens with amusement, and he shakes his head slowly with a smile.

“Thank you.” you say softly, and he nods, smile widening.

“You’re so cute.” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. Your eyes dart around, looking everywhere but at him, but he recaptures your attention when he snickers quietly and you meet his gaze to see he’s no longer looking at your eyes, but your lips, and there’s a distinct longing in his stare that unnerves you and, if you’re honest, piques your curiosity. “Did you make it here okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumble quietly, eyes shifting back and forth from his eyes to your lap before you give into temptation and look at his lips, regretting it instantly when they quirk up into a smirk as he catches you looking. “The bus was basically empty, and it had heating today.”

“Mm, that’s good to hear,” he muses, running his fingers through his hair, and you attempt to hide the way you swallow thickly at the attractive sight. “We don’t want anyone pressing up against such a pretty girl and trying anything sleazy, right?”

“Um…” you trail off, managing to restrain the reply on the tip of your tongue that Haechan is probably the most likely candidate to press up against you and try something sleazy.

“...Right.” he finishes for you, and you nibble your bottom lip.

“...Right.” you echo, and he grins.

“So… Do you wanna smoke?” he asks.

“I do,” you confirm shyly, and he smiles slightly, no doubt amused by your nervousness.

“Good girl. Did you wanna hit my pen? It’s pretty strong.” he offers, and you won’t lie—your brain blanks for a minute at the praise, but you’re pretty sure you manage to recover just in time for Haechan not to notice anything.

“Okay,” you reply hesitantly, and he grins.

“Great—give me one second to get something.” he says before standing up and heading to the back of the apartment to his room. You wait fairly patiently, fingers lightly drumming on your knee as you wait for him to return.

“What’s up?” Mark asks curiously.

“Haechan’s getting something from his room.” you explain, and Mark nods slowly, lips pursed thoughtfully.

Haechan returns from the back of the apartment after a moment with a new cartridge in his hand. You watch with mild fascination as he deftly switches the cartridges in his pen, taking a test pull and holding it in for so much time, you’d swear he’s trying to show off.

When he looks over at you and winks before blowing it out, your suspicions are confirmed.

“This strain is special,” Haechan murmurs to you, and his eyes drop to your lips as he continues, “it’s a ‘horny’ strain.”

“A horny strain?” you mumble, confused, and he nods with a grin.

“It heightens libido.” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Want some?”

“That’s not real,” Mark calls out from across the living room, and you crane your head to see him. “There’s no actual science to back that up.”

Haechan scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No one signed up for your TEDTalk on weed; save it.”

Mark grumbles something about misinformation being the death of society but remains otherwise silent.

Haechan calls your attention back to him with a simple clearing of the throat, and you look back at him to see his gaze heavy-lidded and sultry as he regards you, and you start to wonder if Mark might actually be the misinformed one.

“Want some?” he repeats his question from earlier, and you hesitate, making him roll his eyes and chuckle. “It’s not gonna bite you.” As you shift closer to take the pen from him, he holds it out of your reach with a glint in his eye. “I might, though,” he murmurs, and you swallow thickly.

He scans your frame, eyes lingering on your almost outstretched hand, and takes a slow, deep pull from the pen, not holding it in for nearly as long before he’s leaning towards you suddenly, making you yelp and draw back.

“Relax,” he mumbles, some of the smoke slipping from his mouth. He cups your chin in his hand and tugs gently to get you to open your mouth before leaning closer, so close that you fear your lips might touch, leading you to attempt to pull back; however, Haechan’s grip on your chin tightens, a clear sign to stay where you are, and he blows the smoke into your mouth slowly. You’re deeply flustered at first, but your instincts kick in as you inhale the secondhand smoke, holding it in your lungs for a couple of seconds before blowing it back out.

When you’re done exhaling, you expect to pull back, but Haechan’s grip on you hasn’t loosened, the male now studying your lips with an intensity in his gaze that gives you a twinge of anxiety and something else you don’t have it in you to identify.

“You ever shotgunned before?” he asks softly, and you shake your head as much as his hold on you will allow. “You did a good job.”

“Thanks,” you mumble meekly. “Can you let me go now?”

He rolls his eyes slowly, lips quirking into a cocky grin as he does just that, releasing your chin and sitting back. “If you say so.”

“Thanks,” you mutter quietly, and he flicks his brows upwards in acknowledgement, gaze scanning you before lingering for a moment by the side of your face. “What is it?”

“You have something in your hair,” he says, gesturing to near your ear. When you fail to retrieve the foreign object, he tsks in dissatisfaction before leaning over and gently removing a single white feather from your hair. “Probably from the pillows.” he explains, the backs of his fingers gently grazing your ear as he pulls back. When you squirm away from his touch slightly, the contact too sensitive and ticklish, Haechan chuckles softly. “Look how nervous I make you.” His fingers return to your ear, gently stroking the shell of your ear, and your face blazes with embarrassment and something else as he hums softly. “Even your ear is hot. Do I make you hot anywhere else?” He drops his hand, fingers lightly skimming your upper thigh, and you just about jump out of your skin, cursing internally when you see the delight in his expression.

“Thanks for getting the feather out of my hair,” you say in a desperate attempt to navigate the conversation elsewhere, but it seems Haechan isn’t quite set on letting you off that easily.

“Oh, come on,” he presses, sitting closer to you and leaning so close you can smell his (delicious) cologne. “Don’t tell me your heart isn’t racing right now.”

It is, you think grimly. That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.

“Haechan, leave the poor girl alone,” Karina calls from the other end of the couch, and the momentary waver in Haechan’s attention on you as his eyes dart elsewhere is all you need to scoot further back and smooth your skirt out with a vigorous clearing of your throat.

When Haechan looks back over at you, you’ve thankfully managed to regain a semblance of your composure, your gaze politely but pointedly focused at your hands in your lap.

“Pretty girl, you want another hit of the pen?” Haechan offers, and you think back to the way Haechan clutched your chin earlier to shotgun you, finally shaking your head in refusal. “Okay,” he relents, reaching into his back pocket for something and frowning before pulling out an empty hand. “I have something for you.” he says before standing up and heading back to his room.

He emerges once more with a half of a red gummy cube sticking out of his mouth, sitting back down on the couch and draping his arm over the back so it’s ghosting just over your shoulders. “Bite,” he urges through closed teeth, and you shoot him a wary look. “Bite,” he stresses, and you falter, not sure if you should.

“Is it an edible?” you ask cautiously, and he rolls his eyes, an amused chuckle leaving him.

“Yes. Bite.” It’s not a request, and instead of getting huffy about him bossing you around, you’re more surprised than anyone else when you lean in and carefully bite the other end of the gummy, tugging your half away from his mouth before chewing it. It’s sweet and sugary, but there’s a definite strong aftertaste, a tongue-drying, almost numbing sensation that reminds you it was more than just a little snack. “See, you don’t mind sharing with me, right?”

You don’t answer, instead sitting back and pulling out your phone to fire off a quick text to your group chat consisting of the two girls sitting a little ways away from you and your fourth roommate, Yurin, who usually frequents these hangout sessions but had to pass this time to study for midterms.

you [18:11pm] SOS

you [18:11pm] he keeps being all TOUCHY TOUCHY what do i do?

You set your phone down on the couch face down and stand up, heading to the bathroom to calm your nerves.

Little do you know, your phone buzzes while you’re gone, Haechan’s curiosity getting the better of him as he flips your phone over.

Luckily for him, and very unluckily for you, you don’t have a privacy setting on your Messages app notifications, meaning that any incoming texts can be read by any prying eyes, no passcode necessary.

yurin big trouble mister [18:14pm] maybe tell him how you get all TOUCHY TOUCHY with yourself to the thought of him 😁

karina bo bina [18:16pm] god could you be any more crass??

yurin big trouble mister [18:17pm] LMAOOO i couldn’t help it the joke was right there

yeri berry [18:18pm] you’re laughing. our dear friend is about to get consumed by a weed smoking incubus and you’re laughing.

Haechan snorts to himself in amusement, deliberately leaving your phone face-up for your return. You enter the room shortly after, picking up your phone and scrolling through your notifications with a small frown bordering on a grimace.

“What’s got you all upset, pretty?” Haechan asks, feigning curiosity, and you flinch, locking your phone and tossing it in your lap in a panic. “And now you’re jumpy, too? What’s on that phone that’s got you so stressed out, hm?”

“Nothing,” you answer far too quickly for your liking.

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” Haechan persists, voice lowering in pitch and volume as he moves closer to you, eyes bright with excitement and something else you can’t quite place. “I think there’s something incriminating on that phone.”

“Incriminating?” you mumble, dazed and flustered, and Haechan nods slowly, lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Incriminating like… nudes, maybe,” he muses, tapping his chin thoughtfully, and at the sight of your confused face, shakes his head. “That must not be it. Maybe a message of some sort… from a friend…” You freeze as you realize exactly what’s going on, and Haechan’s grin only widens now that he can tell you know that he knows. “Wonder what you look like when you… how did she put it? ‘Get all touchy touchy with yourself’ to the thought of me.”

“Haechan,” you murmur, heart rate quickening as you try to think of any possible way out of this conversation. “It’s not what you think it is.”

“I think it’s exactly what I think it is.” he counters with a mischievous wiggle of his brows, and you whimper in panic, desire starting to blaze in his eyes at the sound.

“What were you doing looking at my phone, anyway?” you accuse, cursing to yourself as your voice shakes slightly.

“I’m nosy,” is all he offers in response. “And, oh, please, you wanted me to see that text. You wanted me to know that late at night,” he teases, pulling your hand closest to him away as you squeal and try to cover your ears, “you touch your pretty little pussy,” he forces your hand back down between you two with a chuckle, “and think about me.”

“Could you lower your voice, please?” you mumble nervously, and he just laughs.

“You don’t want everyone to know that you’re into me, do you?” he remarks, and you swallow thickly, looking down at your lap. “I’ll keep your little secret. For a price.”

You study him out of the corner of your eye suspiciously. “What price?”

He strokes his chin thoughtfully before leaning back and draping his arm behind you on the couch. “I’ll let you know.” His voice is teasing but there’s an ominous edge to his voice that makes you gulp.

“Hey, Yeri?” you call, and her attention is on you instantly. “Remember when, um, you hit that blinker earlier? How’s your throat feeling?”

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly in understanding and she rubs her throat gingerly, frowning deeply. “It’s still sore. Wanna come get some water with me?”

“Yes,” you accept the offer gratefully and practically spring up from the couch, following after Yeri and ignoring, to the best of your ability, Haechan’s little snicker from behind you.

“You wanna switch seats?” Yeri asks in a low, concerned voice as you two enter the kitchen, and she laughs when you hesitate.

“I mean, I like it, I just… need a quick break.” you mumble, and she nods, pouring herself a glass of water. “Could you guys, um, hear him earlier?”

“No… why?” she scrutinizes you, and you blink, flustered.

“He saw the group chat texts.” you mutter, and her eyes widen in alarm, setting her glass down a bit too harshly, the loud clink resonating throughout the room.

“I’m gonna kill Yurin.” she hisses.

“Not if I get there first.” you huff, and she snickers. Footsteps sound out from the living room, making their way to the kitchen, and Yeri pauses. “It’s not Haechan,” you assure her. “I think it’s Karina.”

Sure enough, Karina enters the kitchen, and Yeri looks at you in surprise. “How’d you know?”

“I recognize the footsteps.” you explain with a shrug. “Plus, the guys are wearing house slippers and we’re in, like, socks, so it makes a different sound.”

“Okay, little miss super spy.” Yeri teases with a laugh, and you giggle, pushing her playfully. “Have you recovered, you think?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, smiling. “I’m ready to go back out there.”

“What’d I miss?” Karina whines, and Yeri looks at you expectantly.

“Haechan saw the texts about me… at night… that Yurin sent.” you explain carefully, and Karina lets out a loud gasp, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

“I’m killing her.” she groans, and you and Yeri chuckle.

“Get in line, girl.” Yeri says, and Karina snorts in amusement.

“You’re gonna be okay if we go back out there, right?” Karina asks worriedly, and you’re briefly overcome with appreciation for your friends.

“I’ll be okay, I’m pretty sure. I’ll just say blinker again if anything goes wrong.” you confirm, nodding resolutely, and the crease between Karina’s brows fades away as she relaxes.

You three make your way back to the living room, fully preparing to sit back down, but thankfully, before Haechan can torment you further, Jeno inadvertently saves your life and whatever’s left of your dignity by standing up from the couch abruptly and clapping his hands together. “I’m hungry. Diner?”

“I would kill for waffles,” Karina agrees, and Mark and Haechan also stand and start to grab their belongings as you all make your way to the door and slip your shoes on.

As you shuffle between Yeri and Karina for protection and wait as the elevator descends to the indoor garage of the apartment complex, a tickle starts to build in your throat, making you clear it quietly, then more insistently when the sensation persists.

“You okay?” Haechan asks, hand poised over your back to pat it in assistance, and you nod.

“My throat is just… a little dry,” you mumble, and Haechan nods in understanding, reaching into his jacket and handing you a Blow Pop. “Thanks,” you mutter, pleasantly surprised as you unwrap the lollipop and stick it into your mouth. By the time the doors open on the garage floor, the flavored saliva produced by the sweet treat sitting in your cheek has almost entirely soothed your throat, and you’re feeling significantly better.

The six of you make your way to where Jeno’s and Haechan’s cars are parked beside each other and stand behind the two cars, silently deliberating amongst yourselves.

“Well, I call shotgun.” Mark calls out, and Jeno unlocks his car, Mark sliding into the passenger seat.

“There’s no way all six of us are gonna cram into Jeno’s car,” Yeri remarks incredulously.

“Yeah, definitely not, because my middle backseat’s seat belt isn’t working and the airbag sensors are fucked up, so it’s a seat belt or nothing in my car.” Jeno laments, and your skin starts to crawl as you realize where this might be heading.

“So your car only seats four… and there are six of us…” you say slowly, pulling the lollipop from your lips with a muted wet pop that has Haechan eyeing you like a lion about to corner the slowest gazelle of the herd. Usually, there are seven of you, so even if you had to ride with Haechan, there’d be a third body present in the form of the lovably boisterous Yurin.

Curse Yurin’s midterms, and curse Yurin for sending that text, and curse yourself for leaving your phone where Haechan could see, and curse Haechan for being nosy—

“I’ll ride with Haechan,” Karina offers, noticing the way you become more and more quiet as you sink further into your worries.

“No, you won’t.” Haechan says, leaning against his passenger door. Everyone looks over at him, and he just pushes off of the door, opening it and pointing directly at you. “Get in.”

“Oh, gosh.” you mumble, and you’re not sure if it’s the weed effect making you feel sluggish or you’re really that apprehensive, but you feel a bit like a puppet with sandbags for shoes, your feet hesitantly shuffling, dragging, scuffling towards Haechan’s passenger door.

“It’s an eight-minute drive,” Yeri calls to you sympathetically, and you nod, shooting her a feeble thumbs up that you don’t even believe. “We’ll see you soon!”

“Yeah,” you croak, feeling very much like a lamb being led to slaughter, and Haechan smiles sweetly at you, baring all his teeth as you sit in his car. He closes the passenger door and crosses over to the driver’s side, opening the door and getting in.

When Haechan finishes settling down into the driver’s seat, checking his mirror views and pulling up the GPS to the diner, he straps himself in and looks over at you, eyes scanning your frame for something—you don’t quite know what. Seemingly done with his inspection, he leans closer to you without warning and reaches for the seat belt buckle in your chair, pulling it out and over your body as he clicks it into place. The whole while, he’s invading your personal space, your breath catching in your throat as you realize his face is close enough to yours that you could probably count his lashes if you wanted to.

He turns his head ever so slightly, eyes locking on yours, and you blink rapidly in alarm, rendered immobile as he studies your face.

“You look so cute, all innocent and helpless like this.” he murmurs softly, and the tiniest of squeaks escapes you, his eyes flashing with glee at the sound. “Now stop looking at me like that,” he warns, “or I’ll kiss you.”

You blanch, trying immediately to make any other expression than the one you didn’t even know you were sporting, and he chuckles before sitting back in his seat and starting his car. He turns the air conditioning on—a strange choice, considering it’s a bit nippy outside—and pulls out of his spot, starting to drive towards the diner.

It doesn’t take long for you to get cold, goosebumps gradually appearing on your arms and legs, but you’re a bit too nervous to say anything, instead suffering in silence. You clasp your hands together in your lap, rubbing them together for warmth, and, as he stops at a red light, Haechan looks over at you, watching in fascination as you shift in your seat for any sort of friction that could warm you. After a moment, you notice his eyes fixated pointedly on your chest, and you spare a glance down to see, to your alarm, that your nipples are hard, starting to poke through your clothing, and you curse internally for wearing a thin, lacy bra that does nothing to conceal your stiffened buds.

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, smirking in what seems like satisfaction, before refocusing his attention on the road. You cross your arms over your chest protectively, tucking your fingers into the crooks of your elbows as he drives down the road.

“We’re here,” he announces after some time, pulling into a parking spot in front of the diner and turning the car off. The cold air blowing through the vents shuts off, much to your relief, and you unbuckle your seat belt before he gets the chance, practically flinging yourself out of the car into the significantly less cold night air.

As you all file into the diner, you notice a man staring very pointedly at you and your bare legs and your chest, where your nipples have yet to go down.

Haechan scans the room, catches sight of the man, and follows his gaze back to where you stand, his jaw clenching.

“Put this on,” Haechan murmurs, shrugging off his jacket and offering it to you. You start to take it, eager for warmth, but pause, looking at him suspiciously.

“Why?”

His gaze flicks over your shoulder at where the man from earlier sits, and understanding dawns on you. “Just—put it on for me?”

You nod, gratefully accepting the jacket, and Haechan steps closer, draping it over your shoulders and helping you put your arms through the sleeves.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and he nods.

“You look cute in my jacket.” he remarks with a small smirk, and your cheeks warm.

“Thank you,” you mumble, and he trails his tongue along his bottom lip before gesturing for you to follow after him with a jerk of his head, a quick peek past him revealing the hostess who’s arrived to take you all to your seats.

When you arrive at the booth, Haechan’s right by you, gesturing for you to go in first. You do so without complaint, preferring the inner seat anyway, but it’s when Haechan slides in next to you that you realize your mistake as he closes you into the booth corner, the main obstacle between you and freedom from, well, him.

As the hostess passes out menus and you all start to look them over, you feel the side of his hand resting against the side of your thigh, making you attempt to shift away from his hand, the touch too intimate for you to handle at the moment.

Somehow, his hand finds its way back against your leg, palm turned up slightly as he lightly grazes his fingertips along your thigh, and you suck in a sharp breath, doing your best to pass it off as a cough when Haechan looks over at you, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I think I’m gonna get the breakfast platter,” Yeri says excitedly. “It comes with pancakes, eggs prepared how you want them, homefries, and your choice of meat.”

“That sounds so good,” you reply thoughtfully. “I think I want a burger.”

“Yeah, a burger sounds good,” Haechan agrees, eyes slowly sliding over to study your reaction as he flattens his palm against your leg, slowly sliding it up to caress your upper thigh. Your reaction must be nothing short of rewarding, as you jolt so forcefully that you shake the table slightly, and he chuckles softly.

“You okay, girl?” Karina asks, worried, and you nod, swallowing thickly.

“I just, um…felt a tickle on my ankle. Thought it was a bug or something.” you mumble, and she nods, eyebrows still furrowed in concern.

“I know I said waffles earlier, but I kind of want these barbecue ribs,” Karina says, pointing at an entry on the menu, but you can barely make your gaze focus on where her finger touches the menu because Haechan’s hand is still very much on your thigh, and to make matters worse, you think you like it.

His hand slides up higher, the side of his thumb slipping under the hem of your skirt, and you raise your glass to your lips in an attempt to act natural, hoping and praying no one notices the way your hand is shaking slightly.

Haechan leans in closer to you, murmuring in your ear, “This must be a dream come true for you, huh?” He grips your thigh firmly, not even attempting to play it off as a casual touch anymore, and you barely manage to stifle your yelp of surprise in time. “Must have been wanting this for so long,” he breathes secretively, smiling lips grazing the shell of your ear so subtly, no one else would notice unless they were paying unnaturally close attention.

You, however, do notice. Not only do you notice, but you suck in a sharp breath of surprise, the sudden movement making the water in your cup slosh forward and spill out slightly, a few droplets dripping down your chin.

You suck your teeth in mild irritation, glaring at Haechan as you reach for your napkin, but he’s faster, his free hand coming up and wiping the liquid off of your chin.

“Um, thanks.” you mumble, and he nods, locking eyes with you as he licks at the pad of his thumb, cleaning off the water droplets with his mouth. “Oh, dear Neptune.” you whisper to yourself, feeling more and more overwhelmed by the moment. “Where is this waitress—I need to eat something.”

“Yeah, we should let her know we’re ready to order,” Mark says, waving a hand out to flag down the waitress. As she approaches, you sneak a peek at Haechan, whose expression is surprisingly calm and neutral given the sensual, slow circles he’s drawing on your upper thigh with his thumb.

Haechan’s hand slips further in between your legs, getting dangerously close to your core, and you decide that’s enough play time for him, clamping your legs together forcefully.

“You trapped my hand, pretty girl,” he points out with a growing grin, and you ignore him even as he continues, “I didn’t know you liked it that much.”

You still don’t give him a response, staring stubbornly out the booth window, and he chuckles before withdrawing his hand from your legs with such ease that you wonder if he was ever really stuck there.

“Oh, we’re doing the silent treatment? Copy that.” he muses, nodding slowly in understanding, and you can’t help but wonder what else he has in store for you.

Today, the energy in the room is entirely different—and you don’t like it one bit.

Haechan won’t even acknowledge you today; his eyes skip over you when he scans the room like you’re not even there, or, worse, he seems to be looking completely through you at times, completely unaffected by your presence.

“Girl, did you piss Haechan off or something?” Yeri whispers to you, and your brows knit together as you shake your head. “He hasn’t made a single move on you all day.”

“I know,” you mutter bitterly.

“Maybe he’s sick,” Karina supplies in an attempt to help, but her words practically fall on deaf ears as you stare burning holes into the side of his face as he laughs at something Mark said.

“I’m about to be sick,” you mumble, your stomach twisting uncomfortably as your somewhat secret crush that used to be obsessed with you treats you like you’re nothing more than a couch cushion.

You don’t know what’s come over you, but when Haechan gets up and heads towards the kitchen. you find yourself standing to follow, mumbling that you’ll be right back to Karina.

Haechan stands with his back to you at the kitchen island, pouring a can of something—it looks like Monster—into a glass, and you take a moment to admire his slender yet lean build, the curve of his shoulders and the perfectly mussed up state of his hair—

“I know you’re there, you know.” he says calmly, and your eyes widen as you immediately attempt to look busy doing anything other than blatantly ogling him. He turns right when you’ve reached for a bag of Ruffles chips and raises an eyebrow expectantly. “You have something you want to say?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly thrown off-guard, and he blinks at you impassively.

“I noticed you staring at me,” is all he says in response, and you blanch, pursing your lips carefully.

“Haechan, are you mad at me?” you ask softly, and he smirks.

“And why do you ask that?”

You fidget with the hem of your skirt nervously, averting your gaze to look at the granite countertop. “Well, you… haven’t talked to me all night.”

Haechan doesn’t say anything for a concerningly long time, prompting you to look up at him and immediately wish you hadn’t. He looks beyond smug, and painfully attractive as he leans in slightly, not close enough to get in your space but close enough to send a thrill down your spine.

“You were giving me the silent treatment the other day, right?” he reminds you, and you hesitate, realizing you were the cause for his radio silence. “I was just returning the favor.”

“Well, don’t.” you say with a frown, and he raises his eyebrows, amused and surprised.

“Why not? Did you miss me or something?” he teases, and you balk, losing all your nerve as quickly as you’d found it.

“No!” you answer quickly, and he arches an eyebrow skeptically, prompting you to continue, “No, I just—”

“You and I don’t really talk much, anyway,” Haechan muses, leaning his back against the island as he regards you with a cocky glint in his eyes. “So what is it you really miss, hm?”

“Well—” you struggle to find your words, and something softens in Haechan’s gaze, the cocky twinkle now accompanied with a smile bordering dangerously on fondness.

“You miss me messing with you, don’t you?” he asks, and at your lack of response, nods in confirmation. “You miss me touching you?” he questions, dragging out the syllables excruciatingly slowly. He sucks his teeth when you still don’t reply and says, “I know you do. You know you do. Now just admit it.”

“I can’t,” you protest weakly, and he shrugs, raising his hands in surrender.

“You want me to touch you again? Give me what I want.” He sounds dead serious and painfully unwavering on his stance, prompting you to whimper quietly to yourself, too wrapped up in your own nerves to notice the way his eyes darken at the sound of your desperation.

“I want you to touch me.” you mumble shamefully, and his lips quirk up into the beginnings of a smile.

“Come here; say it again.” he urges, beckoning you closer, and you hesitate, making a challenge flash in his expression before he’s poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek and chuckling. “Don’t make me come over there.”

“I want you,” you say, “to touch me,” you repeat your words from earlier, trying desperately to look anywhere but at him.

You can see him crossing the distance between you in your peripheral vision, your insides tensing with anticipation as he gets closer and closer. To your utter disappointment, he continues to walk as if he’s going to pass you, only pausing to tilt his head to the side in a patronizing display of faux sympathy.

“Good girl. Now, was that so hard?” he chuckles, not even giving you a chance to respond before he continues his path out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What in the absolute hell did you just get yourself into?

You’re coming back from the bathroom when you quite literally almost run into Haechan in the hallway.

“Sorry,” you say, stepping to the side to get past, but he steps to the same side. You laugh awkwardly before stepping to the other side, only for him to do the same, his movements far too calculated to be a mistake, and you come to the realization that he’s intentionally blocking your path. “Haechan?” you ask quietly, nervousness creeping into your voice, and he chuckles.

He takes a step towards you, prompting you to take a cautious one backwards, and his smile widens as he advances on you, slowly but surely herding you back towards the bathroom. When your back hits the nearby wall, your eyes widen, and he mocks you, briefly widening his eyes in faux surprise before flicking his brows up suggestively and placing one hand on the wall by your head on the side you could escape from, successfully trapping you in a makeshift corner.

“You’re so cute, really.” Haechan sighs, smiling fondly at you, but there’s a devious twinkle in his eye as he regards you.

As he closes in on you, your body is alight with nerves and anticipation, and you decide to try again, feebly calling, “...Haechan?”

“Shh, shh, shh,” he quiets you soothingly, reaching up with his free hand to brush your hair out of your face. “Don’t act like you don’t want this, baby.” As if to prove his point, he presses his knee between your legs, thigh pressing up against your clothed core, and a poorly restrained moan bubbles up in your throat.

“Haechan—” you whine, and he shoots you a smug smile.

“See, baby? I know you want it. You know I want it. That’s why you always wear these tiny fucking skirts whenever you come over,” he states, hand dropping from your face to tug at the hem of your skirt, and you gasp—both at the sudden yanking and the insistent pressing of his thigh against your core. “You like it when I do this. Bet you were waiting for me to slip my hands under your skirt to touch you.”

“Mm-mm,” you protest, but the way your hips move against him, rolling back and forth and grinding wantonly in search of relief, is telling another story, Haechan arching a brow skeptically.

“Mm, no? You don’t like it? But, wait… what was that you said in the kitchen earlier?” he questions, a taunting lilt to his words. “‘I want you to touch me,’” he echoes your earlier request in a poor imitation of your voice. “Well, I’m touching you, baby—don’t you like it?” When your only reply is a small nod, he shakes his head disapprovingly, gaze darkening. “Words.”

“Yes,” you whimper, breath catching in your throat when he rewards you with a firm upwards press of his thigh into your core. Your movements speed up slightly as you feel that familiar tightening sensation in your abdomen, your climax not far ahead.

“Are you gonna cum just like this?” he asks, and there’s a hint of amusement to his words but it’s almost entirely overtaken by the heavy desire in his voice.

“Mm-hm,” you whine softly, your desperation peaking as your high gets closer and closer.

“Beg me to let you cum.” he urges, and you’re already so far gone that your shame is all but done away with.

“Please, Haechan, can I cum?” you pant urgently, a slight pleading quality to your words as you feel the beginnings of your climax, pleasure blooming between your legs in a gush of warmth. “Please?” you whimper, and something in him snaps, Haechan lurching forward and cupping your face in his hands to hold you in place as he kisses you deeply, his tongue tracing along your lower lip as you tremble and moan weakly into his mouth.

When you move to pull away to breathe, he clutches your face more firmly, slipping his tongue into your mouth and exploring at his leisure, all the while ignoring your muffled, plaintive cries for air.

“Haechan, I can’t breathe,” you rasp out finally, and he lets you go with a shaky inhale and an unmistakable reluctance.

“You are so goddamn addicting.” he pants, and his hands drop to your hips, resuming the motions you weren’t aware you’d stopped. “Keep going.”

His hands keep guiding your movements, practically dragging you back and forth on his thigh as he kisses you again. This kiss is messier than the last as he sucks on your tongue and pulls back to trail his lips down your neck, stopping just above your pulse point and sucking hard, a gasp escaping you at the pleasurable sensation.

“Mine,” he grunts against your throat, sinking his teeth into a new patch of skin and sucking there, too, without a doubt leaving some form of mark behind. “All fucking mine.” he repeats, clutching your hips tighter and dragging you up his leg and closer to him, lips parting from your neck with a loud, wet pop and connecting with yours eagerly. “Gonna fucking ruin you, princess.”

“Hae—” you barely get the first syllable of his name out before he’s sealing his mouth over yours again, fingers creeping into the kiss to pry your mouth open.

“Open,” he mutters, brows furrowed in concentration. When you oblige, he taps your tongue impatiently until you let it hang out of your mouth, Haechan sucking in a deep breath as he eyes you appreciatively. Without any warning or preamble, Haechan spits directly onto your tongue, and you whimper, voice cracking slightly. “Swallow. I’m gonna do it again.” You swallow his saliva, the extra moisture in your mouth jarring but not unwelcome, and return to your previous pose of your mouth open with your tongue hanging out.

He grins and leans in again, hovering over your waiting tongue as he drops a long, clear string of saliva from his puckered lips down to your mouth. “Don’t swallow.” He pulls back from you slightly and pushes his middle and ring finger into your mouth, the cool silver of his ring catching your taste buds as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your mouth, gliding them against your tongue to collect as much wetness as he can. “Good girl,” he coos, pleased, and you’re embarrassed by the rush of warmth between your legs that appears at the praise. “Need them nice and wet for you.”

Not wasting a minute, he snakes his slick, spit-covered fingers past the band of your underwear and starts to stroke over your folds, digits gliding amongst your arousal with embarrassing ease.

“You’re a mess down here,” he remarks, eyes alight with glee and something wild, primal as he teases you. “You like me that much? Hm?” He seems not to need an answer as he grins cockily at you, eyes scanning your face intently to drink in your every reaction to his touch, no matter how small. He trails his fingers up, up, up until he’s brushing the underside of your clit, and you jolt, flinching away.

“Haechan, that’s sensitive—”

“I know, baby,” he coos. “That’s exactly why I’m doing it.” With the hand not currently in your underwear, he laces his fingers with yours, the back of his hand pressed against the palm of your own, and trails your linked hands down your body to join his other hand in your underwear. “Show me,” he rasps, and you blink at him, too far gone to fully understand exactly what he means. “Show me how you do it when you’re alone—when you think of me.”

Cheeks blazing, you realize you’re in no position to refuse, so you guide his hand into massaging your clit in circles, your abdomen tensing reflexively whenever his fingers graze the sensitive underside of your clit.

“Talk to me, baby.” he urges gently, and you whine in protest, the fire in your face increasing nearly tenfold. “Wanna hear that pretty voice tell me how you touch your little pussy.”

“I just rub it in circles like this,” you mumble, voice slightly husky with desire, and the shift doesn’t go unnoticed, if the intensifying of Haechan’s gaze means anything.

“You don’t go inside?” he asks softly, and you shake your head.

“Doesn’t feel good when I do it,” you whimper, and he sucks in air sharply, swearing under his breath as he watches your face twist in pleasure. It’s all too much for you, having his undivided attention on you like this, and you look away, a shudder traveling through your body as another climax approaches.

“Look at me,” he coaxes, and you reluctantly oblige, pleading eyes locking on his as your peak gets closer by the second. “Only look at me.”

“Okay,” you agree, the last syllable coming out like more of a squeak, and he smiles brilliantly, the hand not pleasuring you slipping out of your underwear and lifting your shirt up to reveal your breasts in your thin, lacy light blue bra. Leaning down, he wraps his lips around one of your nipples through the fabric and starts to suck, tongue swirling around the stiffening bud so wetly that his saliva starts to darken the fabric, the warmth of his spit seeping through the fabric.

He sucks at your nipples with an almost ferocity, alternating breasts like he can’t get enough of either, and his hand snakes around your back to unclasp your bra, Haechan pushing the garment out of the way as soon as it’s loose and latching onto your nipple with a low groan of satisfaction.

As he flicks your nipple back and forth with his tongue, his fingers stroke you closer and closer to your high until you’re so close you can practically taste the sweet, heady feeling of ecstasy. “Show me what you sound like when you cum, baby.”

“Oh—shit—oh, my God,” you hiss as your eyes screw shut tight, pleasure coursing through your body as your orgasm travels through your system. “Feels so good,” you whimper, and he hums in agreement.

“Say my name, baby.”

“Haechan—” you moan wantonly, and he lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl as he tugs at your nipple with his teeth.

He doesn’t stop attending to your breasts until he’s certain he’s milked every last second of bliss from your body, alternating between sucking and flicking and swirling his tongue around the buds until you go limp, your body slumping against the wall for support.

Finally, he pulls his arousal-coated fingers from your underwear, trailing them over your bottom lip before pushing the digits into your mouth to suck.

You do so with an embarrassing amount of eagerness, and are just as surprised as Haechan when he pulls his fingers from your mouth and you whine in protest.

His brows shoot up into his hairline and you feel heat blazing furiously in your cheeks as he regards you with a mix of surprise and an expression that looks close to impressed.

“You like to suck, yeah?” he murmurs, and you nod hesitantly. Something flashes in his dark eyes, and he grins. “Wanna suck something bigger?”

Hesitant but undoubtedly excited, you nod, and he wets his lips before setting about unbuckling his belt and opening his jeans.

As he does, you slowly sink to your knees, and when he looks up from his pants to see you kneeling before him, he lets out a loud swear that you fear might blow your cover.

As you stare in awe at his impressive size, you realize you’re less worried about getting caught than you are about having to stop. He watches you watch him with amusement and fascination, but the undercurrent of desire runs strong as he clicks his tongue to get your attention.

You look up at him, and he licks his lips, exhaling a small puff of air before wrapping a hand around his base.

“This is the prettiest sight I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he praises, and you smile, heat rising to your cheeks once more. Lowering himself slightly, he cups your breasts, pressing them together and grunting, “I’m gonna fuck these one day. But now?” he says, releasing them and stroking your chin affectionately. “I’m gonna fuck this pretty mouth.”

“You ever suck someone off, baby?” he asks in a low voice, and you shake your head, making his eyes slide shut in bliss as he squeezes himself harder. “Fuck, I’m your first?”

“Yes,” you mumble shyly, and he coos affectionately at you, leaning down slightly to cup your chin with his free hand.

“Remember when you were sucking that little lollipop the other day?” he asks, and you nod. “It’s kind of like that. Use your tongue, and the wetter it is, the better.”

You nod carefully and sit forward, letting your jaw drop open.

“Fuck, baby. Tongue out for me?” he grunts, and you oblige, letting your tongue drop out of your mouth and lie flat for him. “So good, baby, just like that,” he encourages, leaning forward and guiding the head of his cock into your mouth.

It feels strange but not unwelcome, and you suck gently at the head of his cock, more focused on using your tongue to explore the intrusion in your mouth. Based on the way Haechan’s breathing shallows and quickens, you suspect you’re doing a pretty good job.

“Baby, you’re so good at this,” he groans, his head tipping back before it snaps back up as he seemingly realizes he’d rather watch you. “Mouth looks so pretty wrapped around my cock like that.”

You can only manage a whimper as you boldly press forward, taking more of his length into your mouth, and he sucks in a sharp breath as you swirl your tongue around his length before tentatively flicking it over the slit in the head of his cock. He groans weakly and, emboldened, you do it again, Haechan letting out a delicious little grunt that spurs you to kick it up another notch.

You start to bob your head, doing your best to alternate between bobbing and licking, and Haechan shudders deeply, his hand releasing the rest of his cock and moving to cup the back of your head, fingers slipping into your hair.

“Just like that—fuck—” he hisses, biting his lip as he watches you suck him off, skill increasing with every movement. When you push forward a bit too suddenly, eager to impress him, you choke briefly on his length, throat constricting slightly as your gag reflex activates slightly. “Oh, shit—”

Despite the slight ache to the back of your throat, you keep sucking, moving forward slower this time to allow your throat time to adjust to his size. When you massage the underside of his tip with your tongue, wet muscle gliding over the ridge of skin, he moans your name and it’s one of the most rewarding sounds you think you’ve ever heard.

“So good,” he pants as you bob your head up and down, and his length twitches in your mouth, giving you a hint that he’s close. “Gonna cum, baby.”

You move your head faster, sucking his length to the best of your ability with all the tricks you just learned, and his fingers grip your hair tightly as he spills into your mouth, his hips sluggishly thrusting forward as he shallowly fucks your mouth.

“You,” he grunts, helping you to your feet so you’re face to face and kissing you deeply, “are a fast little learner.” His tongue slips between your lips and he explores your mouth eagerly, licking at your tongue and inner cheeks as you whimper, dizzied by the fervor of his kisses.

“Baby,” he mumbles into the kiss, the urgency in his voice waking you up slightly, “I wanna eat you out. Can I taste you, princess?” When you nod, he grins brilliantly. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

He drops to his knees and slides his hands up from your ankles, hands slipping under your skirt to caress your hips. Pulling your underwear off, he drapes one of your legs over his shoulder, warm, slender fingers spreading apart your folds to get a better look at you.

When you whine softly in embarrassment, he shushes you gently, murmuring, “I just want to admire you for a second, baby, please?” He ducks his head under your skirt and sucks in a sharp breath when he’s met with the sight of your core, folds glistening with your arousal. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he breathes in awe, and before you can reply, his mouth is on you, upper lip resting just above your clit as his tongue strokes along your folds indulgently.

“Oh, my God,” you whisper, stumbling back slightly to lean against the wall behind you. Haechan moves with you fluidly, massaging your clit with his tongue as his fingers clutch your thighs, kneading the flesh with greedy, rough movements.

Tongue moving downwards towards your entrance, he prods the tip of it against your hole, chuckling when you jolt and squirm under his actions. “Don’t be shy, baby, I just want to taste.”

You nod even though he can’t see you, and he must be able to tell, because his tongue pushes forward, slowly breaching your entrance. You suck in a loud breath as his tongue delves further into you, occasionally coming out to slurp up the arousal dripping from your hole.

“Tastes so good, baby,” he moans, his nose rubbing against your clit as he slowly starts to move his tongue in and out inside of you. The feeling is strange but amazing, a slightly ticklish element to the pleasure you’re receiving as he tongue-fucks you.

Slurping loudly and moaning even louder, Haechan loses himself in your core, alternating between tongue-fucking you and licking at your folds and clit, leaving sloppy wet kisses that make your mind spin.

“Yeah, you like that?” he grunts, sucking at your clit hard before slipping his tongue out to stroke the sensitive underside of the sensitive bud. “You like when I kiss your pretty pussy? Hm? Do you like it when I make out with your sweet little pussy?”

“Yes,” you whimper, fingers clutching at his head over your skirt. When you get a good grip on him, you start to pull him closer, wanting more of his touch.

“Always so good—so shy and innocent.” Haechan murmurs, words slightly muffled from his oral ministrations on your pussy. “Now look at you; look how bad you’re being.”

“Haechan, please,” you breathe, and he turns his head to suck at your inner thighs, no doubt leaving a mark or two in his wake.

“Wanna see just how bad I can make you be.” he coos before surging forward to lap at your core eagerly, losing himself once more in the taste of you. “Fucking delicious, baby, you taste so good for me.”

He sucks and licks and kisses—even nibbles a bit—until your legs are shaking and your grip on his hair is iron-clad. You briefly consider the extremely compromising position someone might find you in if one of your friends walked down the hall and are surprised to find that not only do you not care, but there’s even a smidge of excitement when you think about getting caught like this, with Haechan’s head under your skirt and your breasts exposed.

“Haechan, I’m—I think I’m gonna—” you pant out, and he nods fervently, tongue slipping out of your entrance to flick your clit back and forth rapidly, a sharp whine slipping from you.

“Cum for me, baby—cum all on my tongue.” he urges, pulling you closer as he feverishly laps at your clit and entrance, shaking his head from side to side rapidly to run his tongue along your core back and forth. “That’s it, pretty girl, just let go.” he purrs, coaxing your climax out of you, and you do just that, letting the coil wound tight in your abdomen snap and letting the pleasure flood through your body.

“Haechan—” you whimper, and he hums soothingly as his tongue massages your clit once more, thoroughly milking your orgasm for all its worth. When the trembling of your legs has calmed down slightly and you’ve started to breathe normally once more, he pops his head out from under your skirt and winks up at you, chin and lips covered in your arousal.

“You’re addicting, baby; could eat your pussy for hours.” he says as he rises to his feet. A look downwards grants you the sight of his erection, fully hard once more, and you swallow thickly before looking up at him only to see that he’s already watching you with a small grin on his face. “Think you can handle one more?”

You’re nodding before you even realize it, and Haechan beams at you, drawing closer and closer until you’re flat against the wall.

Nudging your legs apart, he settles between them and aligns his tip with your entrance, looking up from where your bodies meet to your face.

“Ready, baby?” he asks, and you nod carefully, eyes drifting back down from his face to where the thick head of his length presses against your core. “Good girl,” he breathes before pushing into you slowly, covering your mouth with his palm as you gasp out loudly. “Baby, they’ll catch us if you keep making noise like that.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, but it’s a muffled apology given that Haechan’s hand is still firmly clasped over your mouth. “So full,” you whisper in awe, and he chuckles lowly in your ear, lips pressing to the spot just behind your lobe.

“Feel so tight around me, baby,” he grunts, his labored breathing in your ear telling you that he’s just as affected as you are. “So fucking good—”

“Haechan, move,” you whisper urgently as he bottoms out in you, and he obliges, pulling out to the tip and pushing into you again. A loud whoosh of air escapes your lungs, and he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, making you let out a loud whimper that would have been much louder had Haechan’s hand not muffled it.

“I’m starting to think you want to get caught.” Haechan murmurs with a smile on his lips as he kisses along your jaw and moves his hand to kiss you.

“Mm—! No, I don’t—” you insist through your cries of pleasure, and he shakes his head with a taunting grin.

“Yes, you do,” he teases. “You want all our friends to come in this hallway and see me fucking you like the perfect little fuckdoll I always knew you could be.”

“Hae–chan—” you stutter, tiny noises leaving you with every powerful thrust of his hips. He’s so good, so big and thick, and he’s filling you up just right and hitting all the right places, and it becomes too much very quickly, an overwhelming amount of pleasure rushing through your body as he fucks into you. If it couldn’t get worse for you, he reaches between you two and his fingers find your clit, rubbing it in quick circles just like you showed him earlier. “Fuck—stop—too much—”

“Doesn’t that feel good, baby?” he coos, shifting himself to angle his hips into you just right so that every snap of his hips sends his tip fucking directly into your g-spot.

You feel warmth behind your eyes, the telltale pricking at the corners that you know all too well, and the first tear drops before you can wipe it away, another tear following after that as the pleasure all but consumes you.

“Aw, baby, don’t cry, it feels good,” he consoles you, reaching up with his free hand to wipe your tears away.

“So good—too good—” you babble, and he laughs at that, brows furrowing at the end as you clench around him.

“It can’t be too good, baby—you’re not making sense anymore.” he says with a playful lilt, and you whimper, more tears falling as you sniffle pathetically. “Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry.”

“Wanna cum—Haechan, please let me cum—” you beg, and his movements stutter, Haechan looking at you in surprise.

“Yeah? Baby wants to cum?” he grunts, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as your walls flex around him again. “Fuck, I love when you do that—feels so good—cum for me, baby.”

Not needing to be told twice, you promptly fall apart around him with a messy string of swears and “please” and utterances of Haechan’s name as your nails dig into his forearm, making him wince slightly. You’re sure you look a mess, eyes wet and glossy as tears stream down your cheeks, but Haechan’s drinking in your appearance like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Baby—I’m close—fuck—” Haechan grunts. “Gonna cum—where do you want it?”

“Want it inside of me, please—” you croak weakly, and he lets out a sound that’s a mix between a smug chuckle and a moan.

“Can’t believe you were skittish as a mouse just the other day, and now you’re begging for my cum. Want me to fill you up?” he pants, hips driving into yours with reckless abandon.

“Please—” you whimper, and he swears under his breath.

“Fuck—take it all, baby,” he urges, hips pressing into yours as he buries himself in you and empties his load. “It’s all for you,” he says breathlessly as his length twitches inside of you.

He stays inside of you for a moment, both of you attempting to catch your breath, before he slowly pulls out, tucking himself back into his pants and helping you fix your skirt back into place. To your confusion, he hooks his fingers in your underwear, pulling the thin, arousal-soaked fabric down and off your legs.

“Um…” you start, and Haechan looks over at you, brows raised expectantly. “Those are mine,” you state, pointing at the fabric in his fist.

“And now,” he hums, bringing them to his face and inhaling deeply, eyes sliding shut in bliss just in time to miss your scandalized expression. “They’re mine. C’mon; you should use the bathroom.”

He loops his fingers around yours, other hand stuffing your underwear in his back pocket as he leads you to the bathroom.

When the door closes behind you, you sit down on the toilet with slightly shaky legs, taking a moment to think about everything that just occurred.

You would have never in a million years thought that you’d have sex with Haechan, let alone in the hallway—let alone, with your friends in the very next room. However, as you think over the events that just transpired, your body is filled with a warm thrum of satisfaction, and you can’t seem to find an ounce of regret.

“Girl, where the hell were you?!” Karina exclaims, fussing over you as soon as you reappear in the living room. “We’ve been texting and calling for ages!”

“Oh,” you mumble, pulling your phone from the little pocket in your skirt. “It’s been on Do Not Disturb,” you explain sheepishly, and Karina rolls her eyes hard.

“Don’t do that again. You had us worried sick. What were you even doing for so long?”

“Um… well, Haechan and I,” you start, casting a side glance to the couch where Haechan sits and hesitating slightly when you see that he’s watching you intently, not an ounce of shame in his expression. “We hooked up.” you say finally, straightening your back slightly and standing up taller.

Yeri’s jaw drops. “About damn time.” she remarks, and you narrow your eyes at her.

“Hush, you.” you huff, looking over at where Haechan sits once more. He locks eyes with you and grins, patting the empty spot next to him and wiggling his eyebrows playfully, and you smile, looking away from him to address your bewildered friends. “I’ll explain everything later—”

“Yeah, yeah, just go, girl.” Karina chuckles. “He’s waiting,” she sing-songs, and you elbow her slightly before shooting them a bright smile and a small wave and making your way to sit next to Haechan.

When you sit down, Haechan drapes his arm around you on the back of the couch, and you can feel the heat creeping to your cheeks.

“So,” he says carefully, taking a hit of his pen and exhaling slowly before he continues, “I know this is a little backwards of me, but… do you wanna go out sometime? Like, on a date?”

“I’d like that,” you reply with a bashful smile, and he grins, relieved.

“Great. Now in the meantime,” he says, looking pointedly towards the hallway before looking back at you expectantly, “I have a nice ass TV, snacks, and a strong ass edible with your name on it in my room. You down?”

You don’t even hesitate. “I’m down.” you agree, smile widening, and he nods, satisfied. He stands from the couch and offers you his hand, which you take as he pulls you to your feet.

As you trail after him towards his room, fingers still locked with his, you can’t help but notice the familiar peek of fabric sticking out of his back pocket, and your eyes widen in alarm.

“Haechan!” you whisper loudly, and he looks back at you with raised brows. “My, um, underwear is sticking out of your pocket.”

“So?” he answers simply, and you pause, brain buffering for a moment.

“So?”

“Yeah. No one knows it’s your underwear but you and me,” he points out as you reach his bedroom door. He swings it open and gestures for you to enter first, head dipping down to your ear as you pass by. “So it’s our little secret.”

“Oh,” you mumble, thinking it over. “Okay.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says encouragingly, guiding you to his bed and gesturing for you to sit down. “Now, what do you want to watch?”

“Uh, we can watch Family Guy,” you suggest, and he looks at you, pleasant surprise written on his handsome features, before he nods and picks up the TV remote.

“Good choice,” he praises, sitting down beside you against the headboard of his bed. “Perfect show to play in the background while we make out.”

“Oh—” you stammer, blinking in surprise, and he snorts, eyes fond as he scans your bashful demeanor.

“I’m kidding.” he assures you, and you can’t help but frown slightly. Unfortunately for you, this doesn’t go unnoticed by Haechan, and he chuckles. “You wanted to make out, didn’t you?”

“A little bit,” you mumble, and he grins, leaning in closer to you.

“That can be arranged.” he murmurs, still smiling as his lips meet yours.

#haechan smut #nct smut #donghyuck smut #donghyeok smut #lee donghyeok x reader #lee donghyeok smut #lee haechan smut #haechan x reader #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #lee donghyuck x reader

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philmonjohn · 2 months ago

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A Call to the Children of the Global South: The System That Made My Father Disown Me

I didn’t write this living testimony for virality. I wrote it because silence almost killed me. Because truth, even when ignored by algorithms, remembers how to survive. If this resonated with you — even quietly — share it with someone else who’s still trying to name their Fracture. That’s how we outlive the system. - Philmon John, May 2025

THE FRACTURE Several months ago, when I, a South-Asian American man, turned 35, my father disowned me.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t cry. He simply stopped calling me his son.

My father is a Brown, MAGA-aligned conservative Christian pastor, born in Kerala, India, and now living in the United States. His rejection wasn’t provoked by any breach of trust or familial responsibility, but by my coming out as queer and bisexual — and by my deliberate move away from a version of Christianity shaped more by colonial rule than compassion.

I became blasphemy made flesh.

My mother and sister, equally immersed in religious conservatism, followed suit. Most of my extended family — conservative Indian Christians — responded with quiet complicity. I became an exile in my own lineage, cast out from a network that once celebrated me as the Mootha Makkan, the Malayalam term for “eldest son”.

This break didn’t occur in isolation. It was the culmination of years of internal questioning and ideological transformation.

I was raised with warmth and structure, but also under the weight of rigid theology. My parents cycled through different churches in pursuit of doctrinal purity. In that environment, my queerness had no safe harbor. It had to be hidden, managed, controlled — forced into secrecy.

Literal, cherry-popping closets.

Even my childhood discipline was carved straight from scripture — “spare the rod, spoil the child” was not metaphor but mandate. I was hit for defiance, for curiosity, for emotional honesty. Control was synonymous with love. The theology: obedience over empathy. Is it sad I would rather now have had a beating from my father, than his silence?

I would’ve taken the rod — at least it acknowledged me.

Instead, Daddy looks through me.

THE INHERITANCE And I obeyed. For a time, I rose through the ranks of the church. I led worship. I played guitar in the worship band. I wasn’t just a believer — I was a builder of belief, a conductor of chorus, a jester of jubilee and Sunday morning joy — all while masking a private ache I could not yet articulate.

In the last five years, I began methodically deconstructing the ideological scaffolding I had inherited. I examined the mechanisms of theology, patriarchy, and colonial imposition — and the specific burdens placed upon firstborn sons of immigrant families. Who defines our roles? Who benefits from our silence? Why is this happening to me?

These questions consistently pointed toward the dominant global structure: wealthy white patriarchal supremacy. Rooted in European imperialism and sustained by centuries of religious and cultural colonization, this system fractures not only societies but the deeply intimate architecture of family.

What my family experienced is not unlike what the United States of America continues to experience — a slow, painful reckoning with a foundational ideology of white, heteronormative, Christian patriarchal dominance.

My family comes from Kerala, home to one of the oldest Christian communities in the world. But the Christianity I inherited was not indigenous. It was filtered through the moral codes of Portuguese priests and British missionaries and the discipline of Victorian culture. Christ was not presented as a radical Middle Eastern teacher but as a sanitized figure — pale, passive, and Western.

In this theology, Christ is symbolic. Paul is the system. Doctrine exists to reinforce patriarchy, to police desire, to ensure control. When I embraced a theology rooted in love, empathy, and justice — the ethics I believe Jesus actually lived — I was met not with discussion, but dismissal.

To my family, my identity wasn’t authenticity. It was apostasy.

THE RECKONING In 2020, the ground shifted.

I turned the triple decade — 30 — as the COVID-19 pandemic erupted.

Remote work slowed life down, and I had space to think deeply.

That year, the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, and countless others triggered a national and personal reckoning.

I turned to K-LOVE, the Christian radio station I grew up with, hoping to hear words of solidarity, truth, or even mourning. Instead, there was silence. No mention of racial justice. No prayers for the dead. Just songs about personal salvation, void of historical context or social responsibility.

As Geraldine Heng argues in The Invention of Race in the European Middle Ages, race was not merely a modern invention void of scientific basis — it was already taking shape in medieval Europe, where Christianity was used to sanctify, encode, and sell racial hierarchies as divine order and social technology.

As Ademọ́la, also known as Ogbeni Demola, once said: “The white man built his heaven on your land and pointed yours to the sky.” That brain-powered perceptive clarity — distilled in a single line — stays with me every day.

With professional routines interrupted and spiritual ties frayed, I immersed myself in scholarship. I entered what I now see as a period of epistemic reconstruction. I read widely — revolutionaries, poets, sociologists, historians, mathematicians, theologians, cultural critics, and the unflinching truth-tellers who name what empire tries to erase.

I first turned to the voices who now live only in memory: Bhagat Singh, James Baldwin, Frantz Fanon, bell hooks, Octavia Butler, Gloria Anzaldúa, and Vine Deloria Jr. Each carried the weight of revolution, tenderness, and truth — from anti-colonial struggle to queer theory to Indigenous reclamation.

I then reached for the veteran thought leaders still shaping the world, starting with Noam Chomsky, Naomi Klein, Shashi Tharoor, Eduardo Bonilla-Silva, Susan Visvanathan, Geraldine Heng, George Gheverghese Joseph, J. Sakai, Vijay Prashad, Vilna Bashi Treitler, Claire Jean Kim, and Arundhati Roy — voices who dismantle the illusions of empire through history, mathematics, linguistics, and racial theory.

In the present, I absorbed insights from a new generation of public intellectuals and cultural critics: Ta-Nehisi Coates, Jared Yates Sexton, Cathy Park Hong, Ibram X. Kendi, Nikole Hannah-Jones, Heather McGhee, Mehdi Hasan, Adrienne Keene, Keri Leigh Merritt, Vincent Bevins, Sarah Kendzior, Ayesha A. Siddiqi, Wajahat Ali, W. Kamau Bell, Mary Trump, & John Oliver. Together, they form a constellation of clarity — thinkers who gave me language for grief, strategy for resistance, and above all, a framework for empathy rooted in history, not abstraction.

I also turned to the thinkers shaping today’s cultural and political discourse. I dreamt of the world blueprinted by Bhaskar Sunkara in his revolutionary The Socialist Manifesto and plunged into Jacobin’s blistering critiques of capitalism. The Atlantic’s longform journalism kept me tethered to a truth-seeking tradition. The Guardian stood out for its global scale and reach, offering progressive, longform storytelling that speaks to both local injustices and systemic inequalities across the world. And Roman Krznaric’s Empathy: Why It Matters, and How to Get It helped crystallize my core belief:

Be a good human. Practice empathy.

That’s the playbook, America. Practice empathy. Do that — and teach accurate, critically reflective history — and we have the chance to truly become the greatest democracy the world has ever seen.

And this empathy must extend to all — especially to trans people. In India, the Hijra community — trans and intersex folk who have existed visibly for thousands of years — embody a sacred third gender long before the West had language for it. But they are not alone. Across the colonized world, the empire erased a sacred third space: the Muxe of Zapotec culture, the Bakla of the Philippines, the Fa’afafine of Samoa, the Two-Spirit nations of Turtle Island, the Māhū of Hawaiʻi, the Sworn Virgins of the Balkans — each of these communities held space outside Western gender binaries, rooted in care, ceremony, and spirit. Some align with what we today call trans or intersex, while others exist entirely outside Western definitions. Colonization reframed them as deviants.

And still, we must remember this: trans people are not new. Our respect for them must be as ancient as their existence.

THE RESISTANCE As I examined the dynamics of coloniality, racial capitalism, and Western empire, I realized just how deeply imperial power had shaped my family, our values, and our spiritual language. The empire didn’t just occupy land — it rewrote moral codes. It restructured the family.

I learned how Irish, Italian, Greek, Hungarian, and Albanian immigrants were initially excluded from whiteness in America. Over time, many adopted and embraced whiteness as strategic economic and social protection — and in doing so, embraced anti-Blackness and patriarchal hierarchies to maintain their newfound status. Today, many European-hyphenated Americans defend systems that once excluded them.

And over time, some Asian-Americans have followed the very same racial template.

At 33 — the age Jesus is believed to have died — I laid my childhood faith to rest. In its place rose something rooted in clarity, not doctrine.

I didn’t walk away from religion into cynicism or nihilism. I stepped into a humanist, justice-centered worldview. A system grounded in reason, evidence, and above all, empathy. A belief in people over dogma. In community over conformity.

I didn’t lose faith. I redefined it.

I left the pasture of institutional faith, not for chaos, but for an ethical wilderness — a space lacking divine command but filled with moral clarity. A place built on personal responsibility and universal dignity.

This is where I stand today.

To those with similar histories: if your roots trace back to Africa, South Asia, Southeast Asia, Central Asia, East Asia, the Middle East, Latin America, the Caribbean, Oceania, or to Indigenous and marginalized communities within the Global North — you are a Child of the Global South. Even in the Global North, your experience carries the weight of displaced geography, the quiet grief of colonial trauma, and a genealogy forged by the system of empire. Your pain is political. Your silence is inherited. You are not invisible. They buried you without a funeral. They mourned not your death, but your deviation from design. However, we are not dead. We are just no longer theirs.

White supremacy endures by fracturing us. It manufactures tensions between communities of color by design — placing Asian businesses in Black communities without infrastructure and opportunities for BIPOC folk to share and benefit from the economic engine. Central to this strategy is the model minority myth, crafted during the Cold War to present Asian-Americans as obedient, self-reliant, and successful — not to celebrate them, but to invalidate Black resistance and justify structural racism. It’s a myth that fosters anti-Blackness in Asian communities and xenophobia in Black ones, while shielding white supremacy from critique. These divisions are not cultural accidents; they’re colonial blueprints.

And these blueprints stretch across oceans and continents and time.

In colonial South Africa, Mohandas Gandhi — still shaped by British racial hierarchies — distanced Indians from Black Africans, calling them “kaffirs” and demanding separate facilities. In Uganda, the British installed South Asians as a merchant middle class between colonizers and native Africans, breeding distrust. When Idi Amin expelled 80,000 Asians in 1972, it was a violent backlash to a racial hierarchy seeded by empire. These fractures — between Black and Asian, colonized and sub-colonized — are the legacy of white patriarchal supremacy.

Divide, distract, and dominate.

We must resist being weaponized against each other.

Every Asian-American must read Minor Feelings by Cathy Park Hong. Every high schooler in America must read and discuss Jared Yates Sexton.

Study the systems. Name them. Disarm them.

Because unless we become and remain united, the status quo — one that serves wealthy cisgender, heterosexual, white Christian men — will remain intact.

This is A Call to the Children of the Global South. And An Invitation to the Children of the Global North: Stop the infighting. Study and interrogate the systems. Reject the design.

To those in media, publishing, and the arts: postcolonial narratives are not cultural sidebars. They are central to national healing. They preserve memory, restore dignity, and confront whitewashed histories.

If you want work that matters — support art that pushes past trauma into structural critique.

Greenlight truth. Platform memory. Choose courage over comfort.

Postcolonial stories should be the norm — not niche art.

Jordan Peele’s Get Out was a cinematic breakthrough — razor-sharp and genre-defying — in its exposure of white supremacy’s quiet machinery: liberal smiles, performative allyship, and the pacification of dissent through assimilation. The Sunken Place is not just a metaphor for silenced Black consciousness — it’s the empire’s preferred position for the marginalized: visible, exploited, but unheard.

A system that offers the illusion of inclusion, weaponizing identity as control.

Ken Levine’s BioShock Infinite exposed white supremacy through a dystopian, fictional but historically grounded lens - depicting the religious justification of Black enslavement, Indigenous erasure, and genocidal nationalism in a floating, evangelical empire.

David Simon’s The Wire exposed the institutional decay of law enforcement, education, and the legal system - revealing how systemic failure, not individual morality, drives urban collapse.

Jesse Armstrong’s Succession traced the architecture of empire through family - showing how media empires weaponize racism, propaganda, and manufactured outrage to generate profit and secure generational wealth.

Ava DuVernay's Origin unearths caste and race as twin blueprints of white supremacy - linking Dalit oppression in India to the subjugation of Black Americans. Adapted from Isabel Wilkerson's Caste, it dismantles the myth of isolated injustice, revealing a global system meticulously engineered to rank human worth - and the radical act of naming the system.

Ryan Coogler’s Sinners — a revelatory, critically and commercially successful film about Afro-Asian resistance in 1930s Mississippi — exposes the hunger for speculative narratives grounded in historical truth.

Across the Spider-Verse gave us Pavitr Prabhakar - a Brown superhero who wasn't nerdy or celibate, as Western media typically portrayed the South-Asian man, but cool, smart, athletic, with great hair, in love, and proudly anti-colonial. He called out the British for stealing and keeping Indian artifacts… in a Spider-Man movie. That moment was history reclaimed.

A glitch in the wealthy white patriarchal matrix.

Dev Patel’s Monkey Man is a visceral fable of vengeance and resistance, where the brutality of caste, corruption, and religious nationalism collide. Amid this chaos, the film uplifts the Hijra community who stand not only as victims, but as warriors against systemic violence. Their alliance reframes queerness not as deviance, but as defiance — ultimately confronting the machinery of empire with what it fears most: a system-breaking empathy it cannot contain.

The vitriolic backlash from white male gamers and fandoms isn’t about quality — it’s about losing default status in stories. Everyone else has had to empathize with majority white male protagonists for decades. Diverse representation in media isn’t a threat to art — it’s a threat to white supremacy. It’s not just a mirror held up to the globe — it’s a refusal to let one worldview define it.

Hollywood, gaming studios, and the gatekeepers of entertainment — if you want to reclaim artistic integrity and still make money doing it, we need art that remembers, resists, and reclaims — stories that name the machine and short-circuit its lies. The world is ready. So am I.

Today, efforts like Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation, and the Federalist Society are not merely policy shops — they are ideological engines: built to roll back civil rights, impose authoritarian values, and erase uncomfortable truths. They represent a hyper-concentrated form of white supremacy, rooted in unresolved Civil War grievances and the failures of Reconstruction.

Miraculously, or perhaps, blessed with intellectual curiosity and natural empathy, through all of this, my wife — a compassionate, steadfast partner and a Christian woman — has remained by my side. She has witnessed my transformation with both love and complexity. While our bond is rooted in deep respect and shared values, our spiritual landscapes have diverged. Her faith brings her solace; mine has evolved into something more secular, grounded in justice and humanism. We’ve navigated that tension with care — proof that love can stretch across differing beliefs, even as the echoes of religious conditioning still ripple through our lives.

I am proud of her increasing intellectual curiosity and her willingness to accept me for who I am now, even if I wasn’t ready to accept myself when we met.

But our marriage has defied the splintering that white supremacy specifically creates: hyper-capitalist, hyper-individualistic, fractured families and societies.

As Children of the Global South — descendants of peoples who survived enslavement, colonization, and erasure — we carry within us the urgent need for stories that do not turn away from history, but confront it with unflinching truth.

In the pain of losing my family, I found a deeper purpose: to tell this story — and my own — any way I can. A sudden rush of empathy, pity, and love struck me: My parents’ and sister’s rejection was not theirs alone — it was a lingering Fracture left by colonization and global exploitation, tearing apart families across generations. As Children of the Global South, we still carry those wounds.

Make no mistake: white supremacy leaves wounds — because it is the system. And unless it is dismantled, both the Global South and North — and their collective Children — will remain trapped in a dance choreographed by empire — built to divide, exploit, and erase. Any vision of democracy, in America, will remain a fragile illusion — if not an outright mythology — built on a conceptually false foundation: white supremacy itself.

A cruel, heartbreaking legacy of erasure — passed down through empire — indoctrinating God-fearing Brown fathers to erase their godless, queer Brown sons. Preaching shame as scripture. Teaching silence as survival.

I reject that inheritance.

Empathy as praxis is how we reject that inheritance. In a world engineered to divide, it rebuilds connection, disarms supremacy, and charts a path forward. If humanity is to survive — let alone heal — empathy must become our collective discipline.

And perhaps what cut even deeper for my father — beyond my queerness — was that I no longer validated his role as a pastor. In stepping away from the faith he had built his life upon, I wasn’t just rejecting a belief system. I was, in his eyes, nullifying his life’s work. For a man shaped by empire, ordained by colonial Christianity, and burdened with the role of moral gatekeeper, my departure from his manufactured worldview may have landed as personal failure. But it wasn’t. It was never about wanting to hurt him. I love my father. I love my mother. I love my sister. It was never about them — it was about the system that taught them love was conditional, acceptance required obedience, and dissent unforgivable. That kind of pain is real — but its source is systemic. I still want to be Mootha Makkan — not by obedience, but by truth. By love without condition. Not through erasure, but by living fully in the open. Not in their image, but in mine.

Yet, and yes, I also carry the wound — but I also carry the will to heal it.

THE CALL I believe in empathy. I believe in memory. I believe the Children of the Global South are not broken. We are not rejected. We are awakening.

Children of the Global North: join us. We are not your enemies. We are your present and future collaborators, business & creative partners, lovers, and kin. We are building something new — something ancient yet reawakened, a pursuit of empathy, and a reckoning with history that refuses to forget.

If this story resonated with you, kindly share it, spread the word and please comment. I’d love to hear from you. Your voice, your memory, your Fracture — it matters here.

You are not alone. All are welcome.

Thank you so, so much for your time in reading my story.

You can also email me directly: vinesvenus at protonmail.com I'll be writing more on Medium as well: https://medium.com/@vinesvenus/a-call-to-the-children-of-the-global-south-the-system-that-made-my-father-disown-me-fecad6c0b862

#queer #exvangelical #global south #colonialism #religious trauma #deconstruction #lgbtqia #longform essay #history #queer history #queer community #queer pride #mental health #agnostic #ex christian #atheist #empathy in praxis #empathy

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alisonwritesimagines · 2 months ago

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Don't Blame Me ~Bucky Barnes Imagine~

Summary: Bucky accidentally reverts back to the Winter Soldier when you get hurt in a mission.

Author’s Note: You can read this as either friends with benefits and romantic feelings towards each other or pre-established relationship.

Prequel | Part Three

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: avenger!reader, winter soldier!bucky, hurt and comfort, google russian translation, dice that is used as an explosive device

Do not repost this anywhere!

The mission turned a dark turn when more Hydra soldiers ambushed you unexpectedly.

"Gonna need some backup here," you say into the comms as the Hydra soldiers began to shoot at you. You hid behind a pillar as you reached into your pocket. You pulled out your dice container to see you only had one dice left.

Your dice were your best hidden weapon. Whatever number it laded on, the amount of force would be used against your opponents. While one was enough to blind people, six was usually what you wanted for this situation.

“Fuck,” you mumbled.

"I'm on my way," you heard Bucky say.

You looked back at the Hydra soldiers before tossing your last dice over to them.

“Please land on a six,” you mumbled. You watched as it landed on a five before it exploded, sending the soldiers to fly back. You smiled before turning to see a soldier in front of you.

“Oh shit,” you sighed. The soldiers quickly grabbed you by the throat before throwing you to the side. You kicked his legs, knocking him down as you quickly got up. You felt someone grab you, making you look to see more soldiers appear. They slammed you against the wall hard, making you groan in pain.

“Thought you could defeat us huh?” The soldier taunted. You saw from the corner of your eye as Bucky showed up.

Bucky watched as your body was thrown back against the wall. Hard. He could hear your groan as you tried to get up. Before he could go to you, he felt him take over.

You heard gunshots and yelling as you slowly woke up. You turned to your side to see Bucky fighting killing the people that attacked you.

"Bucky," you say weakly.

Your vision began to blur a little. But you managed to see Sam fly over to you. He picked you up gently but you let out a small whimper in pain.

The Winter Soldier's head snapped over to you as he watched Sam carry you. The Winter Soldier aimed his gun at him.

"It's okay. I'm just gonna bring her to the Quinjet," Sam tells Bucky quickly. Or at least who he thought was Bucky.

"не трогай ее (Don't touch her)," the Winter Soldier says to Sam.

Sam's eyes widen a little.

"Cap. We got a code snow," Sam tells into the comms. You heard the code as you struggled to stay awake.

Code Snow. Bucky turned back to the Winter Soldier.

"Where are you?" Steve asked as he finished fighting off two Hydra agents.

"Second floor in the computer room. Y/n's badly injured," Sam explained.

"I'm on my way. Try to get her to the Quinjet," Steve said.

"Soldat," you weakly say. The Winter Soldier snapped his head over to your face. "Let him... take me... to get help."

The Winter Soldier watched as your head tilted back, blacking out from the blood loss and your injuries.

"Bucky!" Steve called out as he reached you three in the room. The Winter Soldier looked over at Steve as Sam took the opportunity to fly you back to the Quinjet.

"She'll be okay. Just come with us and you can stay by her side," Steve tells him. The Winter Soldier tilted his head before walking out of the room, pushing Steve aside.

The two met up with the rest of the team as they were ready to go. They got what was needed and they needed to get back to get you healed.

Everyone kept their distance as The Winter Soldier stride over towards you. You were lying down as you were unconscious. They did the best they could to prevent more blood loss.

"Friday. Alert the doctors that we got one injured badly. ETA is an hour," Tony said.

"Doctors alerted."

Once the team got back, The Winter Soldier carried you over to the infirmary. He stood close by as the doctors fixed you up. You lied asleep on the bed while The Winter Soldier never left his spot near you.

Two days later, you woke up. You looked to see that you were in the infirmary in the Avengers Tower. You looked around to see Bucky sitting next to you, watching you intensely.

"Bucky? What time is it?" You groaned a little. The Winter Soldier didn't say anything to you.

"Bucky? Are you okay? I'm fine. The guy just got me off guard," you tell him.

The Winter Soldier continued to stay in silence. You stared at Bucky before noticing Steve by your door. You tried to motion for him to come in but he shook his head. You tilted your head confused before seeing a note he had written.

Code Snow.

Your eyes widen a little. You looked at The Winter Soldier as he stared at you.

"Soldat. I'm okay. I'm healing," you tell him.

"ты пострадал (You got hurt)."

"Soldat. Speak English, please. You know I don't know Russian," you sighed. You only knew three words. Soldier, yes, and no.

"You got hurt."

"I'm okay now. You dealt with the people who hurt me right?"

"да."

"Good. Can I have Bucky now?" You asked.

"нет."

"Why not?" You asked.

"Need to make sure you're okay," he tells you.

"I'm okay now," you assure to him. The Winter Solider shook his head. You let out a sigh, knowing he wouldn't give up anytime soon.

This wasn't the first time Bucky had reverted back to the Winter Soldier. At first he fought everyone. Until you showed up. Then he became more protective. Possessive even.

And during those time, you had to wait it out. And usually, that's when you both would fall asleep. Locked in your room with The Winter Soldier holding you close to him.

Steve and Bruce suggested it was Bucky's feelings towards you that prevented the Winter Soldier from harming you. But Bruce also suggested that the Winter Soldier saw you as his handler given how close he would allow you to get to him.

"Soldat. Let a doctor come in so they can check on me," you tell him. He nodded, allowing you to press the button by your bed. You watched as a doctor walk in and check on your vitals.

"Okay. You are good to go. I highly against going on another mission right now. Let your body rest. No training until I've given the all clear. I'll see you next week for a check up," the doctor told you.

"Thank you."

You changed into some of your leisure clothes before walking out of the recovery room with The Winter Soldier staying close to you. Waiting for someone that dared to touch you.

"Y/n, you okay?" Steve asked, keeping his distance.

"Yeah. I got it covered," you tell him.

"You sure?"

"When has he ever harmed me before?" You asked.

It was true. Throughout the time you met Bucky, he was always gentle with you. Then when you experienced The Winter Soldier first hand, he never touched you. He let you touch his cheek or hold his hand but he would never make the first move.

"We'll stand by if you need us," Steve tells you.

"Will do."

You walked to your room to shower before you ate. The Winter Soldier stayed outside your room as you grabbed your clothes from the closet.

"Soldat. You can come in," you tell him from your closet.

You walked out to see him standing in the middle of your room.

"I'm gonna shower. You can stay by the door in case I need help," you tell him. He gave you a nod before you walked into your bathroom to shower.

The warm shower felt good on your body. But you were more hungry than tired. After showering and changing into some new, fresh clothes you walked out to see The Winter Soldier still standing where you left him.

"Are you hungry? Did you eat?" You asked him.

"нет."

"Come on. Let's eat. You and I both need it," you tell him, gently taking his hand in yours.

You led him to the kitchen where Wanda and Steve were at. They looked over at you and The Winter Soldier as you began to take out some ingredients to make some food. The Winter Soldier stayed nearby you as you began to prep.

"How are you feeling?" Wanda asked.

"I'm fine. I've slept long enough and I am starving," you tell her.

"And Bucky?"

"He'll come back. He always does," you say. "You two want dinner too?"

"I'm good. I already ate," Wanda tells you.

"Same here," Steve said. You nodded in response.

Because you were unconscious for two days, you didn't feel tired. You sat on the rooftop, enjoying the fresh air. What you loved about the Avengers Tower was the view of New York City.

The Winter Soldier stayed nearby, not sitting but standing guard. You looked over at him before reaching your hand out to him.

"Soldat. Come sit with me," you tell him. The Winter Soldier walked over, holding your hand with his right one. He sat in front of you, letting you continue to hold his hand in yours.

"Soldat, can I have Bucky back please?" You asked.

"нет."

"Why not?"

"Because he didn't protect you."

"He protects me well enough. I was just caught by surprise by the ambush," you tell him.

"I have to protect you," The Winter Soldier tells you.

"I'm okay. If anything, I just need to train better," you assure him.

"You need to be protected," The Winter Soldier tells you.

"I can handle myself. As much as I appreciate your protectiveness, I want Bucky back."

"Why? Why have him back when he can't protect you?"

"He can. I want him back because I need him right now," you tell him.

"Need him for what?"

"To tell him that I'm okay. That it wasn't his fault," you explain.

The Winter Soldier stared at you before shaking his head.

"Soldat. I expect him back soon. But for now, just look at the city with me," you tell him as you looked back at the skyline.

"I would never let anyone or anything hurt you," The Winter Soldier tells you. You looked over at him and smiled softly.

"I know you wouldn't. And neither would Bucky," you remind him.

You couldn't sleep until the next night. When you woke up, you felt Bucky's arm wrapped around your waist. You turned around to see Bucky asleep next to you. You gently touch his cheek, making him wake up.

"Bucky?" You asked.

"It's me sweetheart," Bucky assures to you. You kissed him softly, grateful that he was back.

"Are you okay?" You asked him.

"I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine."

"Did he hurt you?"

"He has never hurt me before. There's no difference now," you tell him. Bucky nodded before pressing his forehead against yours. He snuck in another kiss on your lips.

"You need to be more careful," Bucky tells you.

"When I'm cleared, you can train me more," you smiled softly.

"I should let Steve know that I'm okay," Bucky said, getting up. You sat up from your bed.

"Wanna take me to breakfast afterwards?" You asked.

"How can I say no to you?" Bucky asked, walking back over to kiss you.

"I'm gonna get changed then."

"I won't be long. Come rescue me if I am taking too long," Bucky joked.

"My turn to save you," you smiled.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier #the winter solider x reader #the winter soldier imagine #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #alisonwritesimagines

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ama3003 · 2 months ago

Text

You Caught Me

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Valentina's assistant, and somehow, you manage to fall in love with a certain Congressman.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like 25.

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

You worked your whole life to get here. Straight A’s, a top-tier college, a string of impressive jobs that made your parents brag to their friends.

But that wasn’t the point. You didn’t do all of that just to climb a ladder. You wanted to help people. To actually do good. To give the voiceless a voice, to step in where others wouldn’t. You wanted to make the world better, even if it was just piece by piece.

That’s what led you to OXE. And eventually, to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

Or, more accurately, to being her assistant. Though calling it that feels like selling it short.

You’ve been working with her for a few years now. From the very beginning, she seemed to like you. Said you reminded her of herself. You’re still not sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

Valentina can be cold. She’s sharp, calculated, sarcastic to the point of painful. Some of her decisions don’t exactly land on the moral high ground. But she took you in, brought you closer, taught you how to survive in a world most people don't even know exists. And you’ve done things others your age only dream about. You were actually making a difference.

But now everything’s falling apart.

She’s under investigation. Impeachment is on the table. And you’re left trying to put out fires.

You’d been tense the entire hearing. And not the kind of tension that goes away with a few deep breaths. This was chest-tightening, eye-twitching, every-decision-matters tension.

Your job was on the line. Everything you’d worked for — or convinced yourself was worth it — was balancing on Valentina’s ability to lie with a smile.

She was performing. You were managing the fallout.

Your eyes kept drifting — trying to find some kind of anchor. And that’s when you caught a pair of them.

Blue. Cold but curious. Watching.

Congressman Bucky Barnes.

You met his stare, held it a second longer than you should’ve, then forced yourself to look away. Whatever that was — whatever he was trying to read — you didn’t have time to entertain it.

Then Valentina dropped the line you’d been dreading: “By all means, dig as deep as you like. I promise—there’s nothing to find.”

You knew that tone. It meant you had twenty minutes to erase every breadcrumb.

By the time the hearing adjourned, you were already outside, typing fast, juggling secure files and decoy trails on your tablet. You barely noticed the footsteps until—

“Y/N?”

You looked up, and there he was. Again.

That same cool stare, now paired with a too-casual smile.

“Congressman Barnes,” you said smoothly, tucking the tablet under your arm. “Nice to officially meet you. I’ve heard...great things.”

“I doubt it. Also, please just Bucky,” he said, offering a hand. “Unless you want to start talking tax policy — then I’ll put the tie back on.”

You cracked a smile and shook his hand. Firm. Warm. Too steady.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing back toward the hearing room. “I mean, what happened in there was... honestly? Kind of worrying. Extremely worrying. Kind of concerning if you ask me...in like a worrying way.”

You tilted your head. “You mean ‘concerning,’ or ‘I’m building a case against your boss’ worrying?”

He blinked. Didn’t expect you to hit back that fast.

You smiled politely. “No need to dance around it. I’m sure you’ve got a folder somewhere with Valentina's name on it.”

His grin crooked slightly. “Maybe. It’s a very organized folder. Color-coded tabs.”

“She always did love being underestimated,” you said with a shrug. “O.X.E. has nothing to hide, of course.”

He didn’t argue, but the look he gave you said he wasn’t buying it.

There was a beat of silence, and then he glanced over your shoulder — where Valentina was watching the two of you, pretending she wasn’t.

“She always stare like that?” he asked casually.

“Only when she thinks someone’s wasting my time.”

“And am I?”

“Depends on why you’re really here.”

He smiled. “Okay, fine. I’m new to D.C. First term, still finding my way. Thought maybe... you could give me a tour. Show me the non-corrupt parts.”

You laughed softly. “That’s a short list.”

“Still. Monuments, museums, a little fresh air — maybe a conversation?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Right. A conversation. Just two people talking. No ulterior motives, no recording devices, no traps.”

He held up his hands. “I left the wire at home.”

You smirked, but you didn’t let it reach your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he said. “Just... improvising.”

You leaned in just enough for him to know you were done playing. “You’re fishing, Congressman. I’m just not the one you’ll catch.”

He opened his mouth — maybe to protest, maybe to flirt again — but you stepped back as Valentina waved you over.

“You're a very good-looking man,” you added, softer now. “And I appreciate the effort. But whatever you’re hoping to dig up from me? You won’t get it over coffee and small talk.”

A beat passed between you.

Then you gave him one last smirk, turned, and walked back toward Valentina — leaving him standing there, watching.

And even though you didn’t look back, you knew those blue eyes hadn’t moved.

*******

You had three things on your mind.

Shut down headquarters.

Erase every trace of Project Sentry.

Clean up Valentina’s reputation before the whole thing implodes.

And somehow, you're doing all of that in a dress and heels at a fundraiser.

“Honestly, Y/N, you have such an amazing brain,” Valentina says, her smile more calculated than warm. “Putting this fundraiser together? Brilliant move. This has to sway at least some of the votes.”

“Thanks,” you reply, quickly scrolling through your tablet. “I’ve categorized the guest list: influencers, allies, and the undecideds. Left off the hard no’s. No point wasting time. I just sent the files to you.”

“Perfect. Do I need you for anything else?”

“No, you should be good. I’ll stay close though. Just in case.”

“Smart. Stay where I can see you. And hear you. Actually, just don’t go far,” she says, already turning to work the room. “Time to network.”

As soon as she walks away, you exhale, realizing you hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath.

This job is not for the weak. Especially not under someone like her.

You glance around the room, taking in the glittering lights, expensive suits, and fake smiles. Your eyes find Valentina again, instinctively keeping track of her. Then they drift to the large Avengers logo on display at the front of the gala.

You were still a kid the first time you saw the Avengers on screen. They were larger than life. Heroes. They saved people. They made things right.

Now? You’ve seen the world fall apart more times than you can count. And more often than not, no one shows up to fix it.

That’s why you’ve stuck by Valentina. Why you’ve been willing to blur the lines. The world still needs saving. People still need heroes.

They just don’t always look the way you imagined.

“You know,” a voice says beside you, calm but unmistakably familiar, “this whole gala is impressive. The Avengers memorabilia is a nice touch.”

You turn and see him. Congressman Bucky Barnes, standing just a few feet away, his gaze locked on the towering Avengers "A" on display like it still meant something.

“Valentina thought it would help raise awareness,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral, polite. “Tie the past to the present. Nostalgia works.”

You’re careful with your words. You know why he’s here, what game he’s playing. And more importantly, you know where your loyalty lies.

He glances at you now, the full weight of those ice-blue eyes meeting yours. “Awareness for what, exactly?”

You offer a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The mission has always been simple. Help the people. The world’s been falling apart, and heroes… they’ve disappeared. People need someone to believe in again.”

He nods slowly, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “Again, call me Bucky. Also, that was good. Very rehearsed. Very polished. Bet Valentina was proud of that one.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just here for the hors d'oeuvres,” he says, voice smooth, but you catch the edge underneath it.

You take a step closer. “Look, Congressman Barnes. I know your history. And we both know what happens when evil comes and no one is there to stop it. OXE is trying to prevent that. Everything we do is for the people. Valentina’s impeachment? It won’t go anywhere.”

Even as you say it, there's a flicker of doubt. Small, but there.

He studies you for a moment before pulling a card from inside his jacket and holding it out.

“What’s this?” you ask, accepting it cautiously.

“My direct line. In case you remember something useful.”

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard by how calm he is. How sure.

You move closer, slow and deliberate, then reach up and tuck the card neatly into his chest pocket. “I don’t know what you think you’re implying, but I don’t appreciate it."

The two of you lock eyes, silence stretching between you. Not hostile, exactly. But charged. Neither of you blinks.

Then your phone buzzes.

You glance at your phone. Valentina. Of course.

You slip it back into your pocket and look up at him one more time.

“I have to go,” you say, steady. “Enjoy the rest of the gala, Bucky.”

Your smile is polite, but your eyes stay sharp. You turn and walk off without waiting for a response, the sound of your heels swallowed by the noise of the event.

Behind you, he watches you disappear into the crowd, quiet and thoughtful. Then, without a word, he finds himself slipping the card into your bag later in the night. Not for pressure. Not even for leverage.

Just in case.

And whether you used the card or not—that was your choice. Bucky just hoped he’d planted the seed.

Later that night, you sat beside Valentina in the back of a sleek black car, the city lights flickering across her face as she debriefed the night with a grin.

“I think that went incredibly well,” she said, proud and pleased with herself. “Honestly, I’m so proud of us. Oh—hand me my tablet. I gave it to you earlier when Gary started sniffing around asking too many questions.”

Your fingers found something thin. Smooth edges. Not the tablet.

The card.

Bucky’s card.

Your stomach tightened, just for a second.

He’d slipped it in without you noticing. Of course he had.

You stared at it between your fingers. You should’ve tossed it the second you felt it. Should’ve never looked at it again. But something kept your hand still.

“Y/N?” Valentina’s voice cuts in, sharp and expectant. “Tablet. Me. Now.”

You snap out of it, quickly pushing the card deeper into your bag before pulling out the tablet and handing it over.

She doesn’t notice. She’s already scrolling.

You tried to focus on the night’s success, the way people clapped when Valentina spoke, the headlines you knew would be glowing by morning. But that card was still in your bag. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About the look in his eyes.

About the weight of what he said.

Maybe—just maybe—he really did get in your head. And maybe that seed he planted was already starting to grow.

*********

You’d made a mistake. A big one.

And you knew it.

Your heart raced as you paced the cramped hallway, mind spiraling. You'd believed you were making a difference—helping Valentina clean up her reputation felt like part of that. She said she needed you. That this was how things got done. So you listened.

Then she told you to burn the loose ends. Literally burn them.

Human beings.

And still, you followed orders. You rationalized. You looked the other way.

But the plan didn’t go as expected. They didn’t go quietly.

They were fighting back.

And Valentina didn’t like that.

Now a SWAT team is going to finish the job.

You couldn't let them die. You knew their names. Their stories. You didn’t believe they deserved this—not like this. Maybe it was too late to save them all, but maybe you could help save others.

Maybe there was still a chance.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You dug into your bag, searching through the chaos until your fingers found it. That damn card.

You stared at it for a beat. Then you called.

It rang once. Then again. And then he picked up.

“This is Y/N,” you said before he could get a word in, your voice low, rushed, almost breathless. “I’ve, uh... been thinking. Remember that tour you wanted? You were right. Since you’re new to D.C., I figured—why not? Let’s hit the monuments. Maybe a museum. Or... I don’t know. Just talk. Just you and me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“A chat?” Bucky’s voice came through, teasingly. You started biting your nails, heart pounding. “Yeah. I’m down for a chat. When and where?”

Before you could answer, Valentina’s voice sliced through the hallway outside.

“I swear to god, Y/N, do I have to spell it out for you? You're coming with us. Get your ass in the car. Who else is going to make my coffee right? I swear, you Gen Zers make me want to throw myself off this damn building.”

You went silent, your jaw clenched. Bucky didn’t say anything either, but you knew he heard it.

Everything inside you was pulling in different directions. Guilt. Fear. Fury. Shame.

You swallowed hard.

“Look…” you whispered, voice shaking a little. “I’m sorry about the last few times. You were right. You were always right. I was so stupid. She doesn’t care about the world. She just wants the glory.”

You were rambling now. You always did when your anxiety started creeping up your throat.

“Whoa, hey—slow down, sweetheart,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just tell me what I need to know.”

But before you could speak again, Valentina shouted your name, louder this time.

You turned slightly, lowered your voice again.

“Do you have an iPhone?”

“No. Samsung.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. “Do you know how to track a phone?”

“I mean, yeah. But I don’t really do that anymore.”

“Well... start doing it again.”

You paused, then added quietly, “I have to go. Track my location. You'll get your answer.”

Then you hung up.

You let out a long breath, pushed the card deep back into your bag, and ran toward Valentina’s voice.

Hoping Bucky understood.

**********

You were pacing again. Nerves buzzing. Mind racing. You were worried about the others. They escaped when Bob distracted them. Then they couldn't find them. But something told you Bucky had gotten to them first. You could feel it in your gut.

He pulled through. Of course he did.

But now… there was a new problem.

Bob.

The new guy. The unstable one.

He wasn’t like the others. Something about him was off from the start. Too volatile. Too quick to react. And now he had powers — real powers — thanks to Valentina.

She said he was the future. Said he was the key.

But all you saw was a ticking bomb with a name tag.

He didn’t need power or exposure. He needed help. And if no one stepped in soon, he was going to destroy everything — maybe even himself.

You ducked into a quiet hallway, slipped into an empty supply closet, and dialed Bucky’s number with shaking hands.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Y/N,” he said, breathless like he’d been mid-action. “We’re good. I got them. Everyone’s safe. I’m keeping them under wraps as witnesses, so we’re covered. You did the right thing calling me. Thank you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall.

“No,” you said softly. “Bucky, there’s more. A lot more.”

There was a pause.

“Talk to me.”

“She did it,” you whispered. “She actually made one. A super soldier. His name’s Bob.”

“Bob?” he repeated, half in disbelief, half already bracing for what was coming next.

You could hear background chatter on his end — voices muttering “Yeah, Bob,”

“Yes. Bob the super soldier. He’s... not stable, Bucky. He’s got powers, strength, speed — but his head isn’t right. He’s spiraling, and Valentina’s using him like he’s a tool.

You were rambling now, the anxiety bubbling up in your chest.

“She’s restarting the entire program, and this guy — he’s the prototype. And if she gets away with this, there will be more. Stronger. You have to stop it before it turns into something we can’t come back from.”

There was silence on the line. Then you heard him moving, footsteps pacing across concrete.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m coming. I’ll handle it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” his voice softened, “are you okay?”

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, voice cracking just slightly. “Everything I worked for is going to be for nothing. I'm freaking out.”

“You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

“I can't tell my friends or family.” you said, quieter now. “I already feel guilty and shameful enough. They would just make me feel worse.”

Another pause. Then softer, “Y/N... I meant what I said. You did the right thing. And I’m proud of you. Really.”

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks. That means more than you probably realize.”

“I realize it,” he said. And it was quiet, but it hit you harder than it should’ve.

You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Are they okay? The others?”

“They’re safe. A little roughed up, but they’re going to be fine.”

“Good. That’s good,” you said, exhaling. “I should go. I’ll keep feeding you updates when I can. Just… get here fast, alright?”

“Okay,” He finally whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

You hung up and slipped the phone back into your pocket before walking out the door. You immediately froze when your boss stared at you with raised eyebrows.

“Well,” she said coolly, “out of everyone, I never thought you would be the one second-guessing your work.”

You didn’t flinch. Not this time. “Giving Bob those powers? It’s reckless. And you know it.”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head like you were some disappointing intern instead of her right hand. “I’m not going to argue with you, kid. I like you. I really do. You’ve done exceptional work—with me. For us. That’s why I’m giving you a little time to get your head on straight.”

Your jaw clenched. You said nothing.

“But,” she added, stepping a little closer, lowering her voice, “don’t let Barnes cloud that beautiful brain of yours. He’s a distraction. A loud, inconvenient one. And he’s getting in the way.”

You met her gaze evenly, letting the silence stretch.

Then, without a word, you grabbed your purse and walked past her—heels clicking, spine straight.

You needed to find Bucky.

*********

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers."

After countless photos and a barrage of questions, you kept your smile steady, doing your job one last time.

“Thank you all for coming,” you said with calm finality. “Photos and questions will stop here. I’ll be in touch about the next press briefing soon. Seriously—thank you again.”

You gave a polite nod as Valentina waved beside you, her signature smirk in place.

As the crowd began to disperse, you turned your attention to the Thunderbolts. With a gentle but firm push, you guided them out of view, away from the cameras. And then—without thinking—you grabbed Bucky and pulled him into a hug.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

You’d been searching for him. Panicking. Lost. The last image you had was of him stepping into the Void. The moment his silhouette became just that—a shadow—you screamed his name. And then… nothing.

You thought you’d lost him.

But now, here he was. Alive. Solid. Real. And all the emotions you’d buried came rushing back.

You knew there was something between you—something electric, something raw and waiting. It had barely started, but it already meant something. And for a bit, you'd been mourning the future that never got a chance to begin.

Now, you didn’t have to mourn anymore.

The moment stretched. Everyone around you went quiet. You barely registered your boss muttering an uneasy, “Oh dear.”

Bucky froze, stiff in your arms. He glanced around, uncertain. John gave him a look before mimicking hugging someone. Alexei flashed a thumbs-up. The girls? They just smirked.

“I saw you,” you whispered, pulling back just slightly. “I saw you walk into the Void. You became a shadow. I—I was trying to find you, and then you pulled that crap. What the hell, Barnes?”

He opened his mouth, but you beat him to it—stepping back before he could even return the embrace.

“I’m okay,” he said gently. “I swear, I’m fine.” He just wanted you back into his arms.

“You still scared the hell out of me,” you said, your voice breaking just a little. “I thought you were gone for good.”

Bucky's expression softened. “I’m not going anywhere. You still owe me that tour, remember?”

You laughed—half out of relief, half because it suddenly felt so easy to breathe again. You stepped closer, pulled him into a kiss, and he kissed you back without hesitation. Sparks. Heat. Home.

When you finally pulled away, smiling, you whispered, “Looks like you caught me.”

He grinned. “Looks like I have.”

Then you kissed again.

A loud groan broke the moment. “I feel like I’m gonna barf,” Val muttered.

“Shut up, Val,” the entire team replied in unison.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #thunderbolts #the thunderbolts #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #tfatws #thunderbolts!bucky #sebastian stan #thunderbolts spoiler #thunderbolts fanfic #Bucky barnes imagine #thunderbolts*

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