#but he has a few song that just.. get stuck in my head

[tiiraameesu]

The One That Got Away Pt.4

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af, you might dislike gojo in this im sorry, very very mild geto x reader

NOTESજ⁀➴ hope y'all enjoy the new chapter! appreciate all the comments and messages I've gotten so far for my last few chapters! makes me soooo excited to post even more and more! so sorry for the late upload though, school has been CRAZY and i was lowkey spiraling because of this new guy i was talking to but yeah ENJOYYY ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

wcજ⁀➴ 7.5k

taglineજ⁀➴ @kaemaybae @laviefantasie @higuchislut @domilovestoru @aishies-stuff @genxnarumi @username23345 PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Two weeks had passed, and Gojo Satoru was a ghost in your life. Not literally, of course—his presence was hard to miss, especially since you still caught glimpses of him with Mina—but the days when he’d linger outside your band practice or wait for you by the bleachers during his hockey drills were long gone.

Instead, his world seemed to orbit around Mina now. He was always meeting her, whether before or after his own practice. The few times you had decided to sit in the bleachers and watch him, hoping he’d wave you over for a laugh or even just a chat, he’d merely sent a casual wave in your direction before rushing to Mina.

By the third time, you decided he wouldn’t miss your absence. Mina was there to take your place.

Now, here you were, stuck in the middle of band practice. The studio walls felt too tight today, and even though the air was filled with the rhythmic clash of drums, the heavy hum of the bass, and the soaring melody of your guitar, the energy in your chest was mismatched.

Your phone sat on the edge of the amp, its screen glaring at you with an all-too-familiar sight: an unread message to Gojo. Delivered. Not even read.

It stung more than you cared to admit, but you knew better than to let it show. You didn’t own him. He didn’t owe you anything.

You shook the thought from your head as the band kicked into another song. This time, you focused.

The song flowed easily under your fingers, each note falling into place with effortless precision. Your hands moved like they had a mind of their own, strumming, pressing, and pulling out the right chords without a second thought.

You hit every note perfectly, the rhythm steady, the melody crisp—technically flawless. But something was off. The music, despite its perfection, felt wrong.

Instead of the light, airy feel the song was meant to have, each strum was laced with tension, harsh and biting, like a storm trapped in a song meant for sunshine. The melody should have danced, should have lifted the mood, but instead, it thundered through the room, loud and jagged. Every note you played was sharp, angry, as though you were trying to fight something—only it wasn’t the song you were supposed to be playing anymore.

The guitar hummed with your frustration, but it wasn’t the kind of emotion the song was supposed to evoke. It was heavy. It was out of place. It was angry. And as you continued, the gap between the song and your soul seemed to widen.

“You’re playing too hard,” Choso called over the final note, his drumsticks resting on the snare. His voice cut through the distorted noise of your thoughts, pulling you back to reality, but only slightly.

You lowered your guitar, chest rising and falling with the weight of the tension still clinging to you. His words didn’t quite register at first—until you looked up, meeting his steady gaze. His brow furrowed, and for the briefest second, you could have sworn he saw right through you, saw past the perfect notes and into the tangled mess inside.

“I hit all the notes, didn’t I?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended. You didn’t want to look weak, but you couldn’t help it. The question hung in the air, a challenge disguised as doubt. Your fingers still tingled from the aggressive strumming, the burn of the misplaced energy lingering.

“You did,” Yu chimed in from the keyboard. “But it’s not… you. It’s like…” He hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Like you’re following a script,” Choso finished, his dark eyes steady on you. “Instead of playing from the heart.”

Their words hit harder than you expected, stirring a frustration you weren’t ready to face. Before you could snap back, your hand slipped during the next strum. The string bit into your finger, sharp and unforgiving.

“Ah, shit,” you muttered, pulling back as blood welled up on your finger.

Iori, who had been watching from her spot near the mic, immediately stepped away, her voice cutting through the tension. “Break time,” she called, her tone more serious than usual. The mic stand clinked softly as she set it down and moved toward you.

You blinked, still reeling from the sting in your finger. The blood dripped slowly, mixing with the burn of your frustration. Iori was already moving toward the back of the room, opening a cabinet for the first aid kit.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, but still carrying that steady assurance.

You didn’t answer right away, just watched as she grabbed the kit and walked back over. The room felt strangely quiet without the hum of the music, the weight of their words still hanging in the air. Your hand felt heavy, the cut sharp but not unbearable.

Iori knelt in front of you, gently taking your hand in hers. “Let me see.” Her fingers brushed lightly against your skin as she cleaned the wound. It wasn’t painful, but the act was grounding, calming, almost too much after the storm inside you. You had to look away, feeling the sharp edges of your emotions settle, just for a second.

“You really gotta stop playing so hard,” Iori murmured, her gaze flickering up to meet yours. There was a faint smirk on her face, but there was something else too—understanding, maybe. She didn’t press the issue, though. Instead, she simply wrapped the cut with care, her voice softening. “You’re not gonna get anything out of this if you keep forcing it.”

Her words stuck with you, hanging in the air even as she finished tending to your finger. The sharpness of the cut seemed to mirror the tension inside you, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of understanding in the quiet aftermath. You weren’t just playing with your fingers; you were playing with your heart, and it had all gotten twisted up somewhere along the way.

Iori finished wrapping your finger, her hands gentle as she tended to the cut, but you didn’t feel the same sense of calm you usually did when she was around. Everything felt off, jagged, like even the simplest act was just another reminder of how out of sync you were with yourself. She stepped back, giving you some space, but the words she’d said lingered in the air.

The moment stretched, but you barely noticed it, too lost in your own head. Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw Naoya walking over with a drink in hand. He didn’t say anything at first, just tossed you the can like it was a casual gesture, but you could feel his eyes on you—assessing, calculating.

You caught it without looking, but your fingers felt sluggish, the weight of the can nothing compared to the weight you were carrying. You cracked it open slowly, the fizz rising and popping in the quiet. But it didn’t help.

Naoya sat down next to you, his posture as rigid and sharp as always, but his gaze never left you. There was an uncomfortable intensity in the way he studied you, the usual mockery and sharp edges of his smirk replaced by something a little less abrasive.

He leaned back, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if searching for something deeper than the surface.

“What’s bothering you now?” he asked, the words more direct than you expected, his voice stripped of any sarcasm or playfulness. “Last time you were like this was two weeks ago, remember? And I don’t think I need to tell you that you don’t exactly have a good track record when you start shutting down.”

His words hit like a cold splash of water, a reminder of the pattern you were stuck in. You had been here before, trapped inside your head, not sure how to get out. It didn’t matter that this time it felt different—like the frustration wasn’t just with the music anymore, but with everything around you, everything inside you. Naoya knew better than to let you avoid the question.

You didn’t answer right away, running your thumb along the lip of the can absentmindedly. The bubbles inside hissed in your ears, but the sound only reminded you of the noise in your own head.

Then, as the silence stretched, Nanami spoke up from his spot across the room, his usual calm voice cutting through the stillness.

“You know, ignoring it won’t help,” he said, his tone more matter-of-fact than anything else. “Whatever this is, bottling it up just makes it worse. You’re not exactly subtle when something’s eating at you.”

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look up, too tangled in the mess of your thoughts. Your mind raced, too much noise in your head to form a solid answer.

“I… I don’t really know,” you said finally, the words slipping out more honestly than you intended. You shook your head, frustration leaking through your voice.

You sat there in silence, the words hanging in the air. The frustration still churned inside you, a gnawing feeling that didn’t seem to go away no matter how many times you tried to shake it off. It wasn’t just the music. It wasn’t just the cut on your finger. It was everything that had been building up inside you, everything that you hadn’t been able to say or figure out.

Gojo. That name echoed in your mind, but even thinking it made your chest tighten, a knot forming deep in your stomach. It was him—his presence, his expectations, the weight of his shadow that seemed to be clouding everything. You couldn’t put it into words, not here, not now. Not in front of them. But damn, you just wished you could hear his voice. Maybe then, things would feel a little clearer. Maybe just hearing him tell you it was going to be okay would make the world feel less heavy.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder. You looked up, surprised to find Iori watching you, her eyes softer than usual, like she could sense the wall you were putting up.

Without a word, she clasped her hands together and stood up, her movements calm and purposeful. “You know what? Let’s call it a night. Why don’t we order some food and just chill? No pressure, no rehearsing. Just take it easy this time around.”

Her words were simple, but the way she said them felt like a release, like an invitation to let go of the tension that had been creeping up in the room.

You felt the weight of your own silence, the words swirling in your chest that you couldn’t quite voice. Maybe you were being unfair, maybe you were letting everything pile up inside you when they didn’t deserve it. The guilt hit you like a wave, and before you could stop it, you found yourself speaking.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s been going on with me lately. I’ve been... off, I guess.” The words came out clumsy, but they felt necessary. Like if you could just say them, it might ease the tension that had been building inside you for so long.

The room felt quieter as you looked around, but instead of a wave of understanding or sympathy, Choso’s voice cut through, calm and unfazed.

“Don’t sweat it,” he said with his usual nonchalance, leaning back in his seat. His eyes flickered toward you, but there wasn’t any judgment in them, just an effortless coolness. “Everyone has their moments. No big deal.”

He shrugged, looking more like he couldn’t care less, but the ease in his tone made the guilt inside you settle just a little.

“You’re still here, right? That’s what matters.” His words were blunt, but they had a way of hitting exactly where they needed to. No overthinking, no grand speeches. Just... simple reassurance.

You let out a small breath, realizing that maybe it wasn’t so terrible to be like this every once in a while. You weren’t perfect, and neither were they. And that, for some reason, made it all feel a little more manageable.

“Thanks,” you said, the words lighter now, like a burden had shifted off your shoulders.

Iori gave a small, approving nod as you finally relaxed, her smile soft but reassuring. “So, what are we having?”

────────────────────────────────────────────────────

After the food had been devoured, the room was filled with the casual noise of packing up and cleaning up the last bits of the mess. The rest of the crew had already begun to pack up, their laughter and chatter a distant hum as they gathered their things and said their goodbyes. The studio, once filled with the warmth of conversation and the sound of instruments, now felt quieter. The clock on the wall showed that it was nearing midnight, and everyone was ready to call it a night.

You waved them off, telling them you’d close up the studio. The others didn’t seem to mind, already heading out the door with tired smiles and promises to meet at the next session. As the last of them disappeared down the hallway, you stood there in the silence, the door clicking shut behind them.

The studio was empty now, save for the soft hum of the lights above. You set your bag down on the couch, the familiar weight of it suddenly feeling too much. But instead of heading home like you probably should have, you took a deep breath and made your way over to your instrument.

The band had been more than patient with you, more than understanding as you struggled through each practice, trying and failing to get things right. The pressure had been mounting—the gig was right around the corner, and you still hadn’t found your rhythm. But every time you messed up, they were there with encouraging words, with reassurances that you’d get it, that they knew you could.

A wave of gratitude washed over you as you stood there in the quiet studio, staring at your instrument. They could’ve been frustrated with you. They had every right to be. But instead, they were kind, patient, and supportive, letting you take your time. You couldn’t help but feel guilty for not being better, for not meeting their expectations, for not being as good as they believed you were capable of being.

You let the thoughts settle in your mind, but then, as quickly as they came, you shook them away. There was no point in dwelling on what you couldn’t change right now. What mattered was what came next.

You couldn’t take their patience for granted. You couldn’t let them down again. The gig was coming, and you had to be better.

With a steadying breath, you picked up your instrument. The room seemed to fade around you as you closed your eyes, tuning out everything except the steady pulse of your heartbeat and the strings beneath your fingers.

You began to play, your fingers moving over the strings with a gentler touch than before. The aggression was gone, replaced by a quieter intensity. It felt better, more in tune with the mood you wanted to create, but something was still missing. There was a void, a note that you couldn’t reach, a spark that wouldn’t ignite no matter how many times you strummed. The frustration lingered, swirling inside you, gnawing at your concentration.

And just as the frustration began to settle into something heavier, your phone vibrated sharply against the floor where you had tossed it earlier. Startled, you paused mid-strum and glanced over. The name on the screen caught you off guard.

Gojo.

You stared at the caller ID for a moment, your heart doing an unexpected flutter in your chest. What was he calling for? Was it... was it really him? You hesitated, fingers still lingering on the strings, unsure of whether to pick up or let it go to voicemail.

It had been so long since you’d heard his voice, but you didn’t know if you were ready to face it yet. You knew you couldn’t keep running from this, but... this? Right now?

The phone vibrated again in your hand, urging you to decide.

You took a deep breath and answered, your voice shaky as you pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Gojo’s voice came through, smoother than usual, but there was something about it that felt more serious this time. “I’m downstairs. I’ve been waiting for you.”

You froze, eyes darting to the door like you could somehow see him on the other side. Downstairs? You weren’t sure you’d heard him right.

“Wait... what?” you said, your voice wavering slightly. “You’re downstairs?”

“Yeah,” Gojo responded, his tone firmer now, like he wasn’t messing around. “Come down. I’ll be waiting.”

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected him to show up out of the blue like this. You looked at your phone, still processing the strange urgency in his voice.

“Uh, alright,” you said, suddenly feeling a rush of nerves. “I’ll be there in a second.”

You hung up quickly, set your guitar down, and grabbed your things, moving with more haste than you had anticipated. The tension in the pit of your stomach only grew as you locked up the practice room and made your way down the hall. Something in his tone had shifted, and it made the usual teasing Gojo feel distant—more... serious.

You rushed down the stairs, the echo of your footsteps against the walls reminding you how quickly everything had shifted. When you finally rounded the corner, you saw him standing by the door, his posture straighter than usual. The smirk was gone, replaced by a focused intensity in his eyes that you rarely saw.

He didn’t greet you with his usual grin or playful jab. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze unwavering. “Took you long enough,” he said, his voice almost too calm. “Let’s go.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you were in way over your head. But there was no turning back now.

The walk was quiet, but the silence felt different this time. Gojo’s usual cocky confidence was replaced with an almost tangible tension in his posture. He walked with purpose, his strides long and quick, but there was a tightness in the way he carried himself that you hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t like him to be this... off. He always wore that smug grin, that careless energy that made everything feel like a joke. But now? He looked like he was carrying something heavy, something too complicated to shake off.

You wanted to ask him what was going on, but you knew better. If Gojo didn’t bring it up, he wasn’t going to. You could tell that much, even with the unease simmering beneath his usually cool exterior.

You both reached the convenience store, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh as you entered. The familiar hum of the coolers and the bright fluorescent lights did little to ease the tension hanging between you. You found a seat near the back, not really feeling hungry or in the mood to browse, so you just sat there, hands folded in your lap, eyes following Gojo as he wandered over to the drinks section.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, expecting him to grab his usual—his go-to strawberry iced tea, the one he always joked about being his secret weapon—but to your surprise, his hand reached for something different. He grabbed a can of beer, the silver can catching the dim light as he turned towards the cashier.

Your brows furrowed slightly, not because you had a problem with it, but because it was so out of character for him. Gojo, the always-lighthearted, playful figure, wasn’t someone you expected to be reaching for alcohol, especially not when the atmosphere had been so... different tonight.

He returned to the seat next to you after quickly paying for the drink, the cool can in his hand now making a soft, faintly metallic sound as he cracked it open. The hiss of the carbonation was the only sound between you two for a few moments as he took a long drink, the beer slipping past his lips without the usual playful smirk that usually accompanied any of his actions.

You hesitated, the air thick with unspoken words. You weren’t sure if you should say something or just let him be, but you could feel that something was wrong—something deeper than whatever lighthearted banter he would usually throw your way. You’d known him long enough to see when something was off. Tonight, it was impossible to ignore.

Finally, after a few more moments of silence, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You turned toward him, your voice quiet but laced with concern. “What’s going on with you, Satoru?”

He didn’t immediately respond, the can still in his hand as he stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable. His lips pressed together in a thin line as if he was weighing his words. The silence stretched on, heavy and thick with anticipation. Then, as though he couldn’t keep it inside any longer, he muttered just one word:

"Mina."

It was soft, almost lost in the distance of the moment. But hearing it—the way it left his lips so raw, so fragmented—sent a jolt through you. This wasn’t the playful Gojo you knew. This was someone who was struggling, someone who didn’t have all the answers.

You blinked, the name hanging in the air like a strange weight. Mina. You’d thought the two of them were the perfect couple. They had that effortless chemistry, the kind of bond that seemed unshakable. Gojo and Mina—it just made sense. They were the kind of pair people would look at and say, "That’s it. They’re meant to be." And yet, hearing Gojo say that name now, in the quiet of this moment, felt like a crack in a carefully built illusion.

You hadn’t expected this. The way he said it, though... so quiet, so far removed from his usual confident, teasing tone, made you pause. You’d never once imagined that Gojo—someone so composed, so unflappable—could be this thrown off by a relationship. It was unsettling to think that things might not be as perfect as they appeared.

Before you could gather your thoughts to ask what had happened, Gojo let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as if he was already exhausted by the very thought of explaining. “It’s complicated,” he said, cutting off any further questions you might have had.

You could tell from the way he said it, with that tired edge in his voice, that this wasn’t something simple. It wasn’t just an argument or a misunderstanding. There was more beneath the surface—something tangled up in emotions and expectations that Gojo clearly didn’t know how to untangle.

He took another sip from the can, his fingers tight around it once more, like he was trying to hold onto something before it slipped away.

"Tell me,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the tension creeping up your spine. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me."

He looked at the can in his hands for a long moment, his fingers white-knuckled around it. The weight of silence hung heavy in the air before he finally spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“It’s not that she’s done anything wrong,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself. “She’s... a good girlfriend. She hasn’t done anything bad, nothing’s wrong with her.”

He let out a frustrated breath, eyes narrowing as he traced the rim of the can with his thumb. “But... it’s like something’s missing. Like, when I first met her, I thought I saw something, you know? There was this... feeling, like we clicked or something. But now, every time I’m with her, it feels... off. It’s not her fault, she’s not doing anything different, it’s just—” He trailed off, searching for the words, but they just wouldn’t come.

He let out a quiet laugh, self-deprecating and bitter. “Maybe I built some kind of... fantasy around her, and now that I’m seeing who she really is, it doesn’t line up. I thought it was something real, but now... I’m not sure.”

You could see it, the confusion in his eyes. He wasn’t blaming her—he wasn’t even sure what was wrong, but the discomfort was there, thick and undeniable. It wasn’t that Mina had changed, but that Gojo’s perception of her had cracked, leaving him to figure out if there was anything left of what he thought was there.

You took a slow breath, trying to find the right words as you watched him wrestle with himself. You could tell this was weighing heavily on him, and it wasn’t just about Mina—it was about Gojo grappling with something deeper, something he wasn’t sure how to explain even to himself.

You leaned back slightly, your voice soft but steady. “I get it,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “When you first meet someone, it’s easy to get swept up in the feeling of it all—the excitement, the newness. And maybe... maybe you started seeing things in her that you wanted to see, or that felt right in the moment.”

You paused, allowing him to process, before continuing. “But just because you’re feeling like things aren’t clicking now, doesn’t mean it’s a lost cause. Sometimes, when we’re with someone, we get so focused on the idea of them that we forget to focus on who they really are. And maybe that's what’s throwing you off—you’re seeing the real her now, and it’s different from the image you had in your head.”

You could see the tension in his face, but you pressed on, keeping your tone gentle. “It’s not a bad thing, Gojo. People aren’t perfect, and relationships are never just about the spark you feel at the beginning. The real connection, the deep stuff, that comes over time. Maybe it’s just a matter of slowing down and letting things evolve naturally, instead of forcing them into some mold you’ve created.”

You shifted slightly, choosing to be honest with him. “It sounds like you’re scared of being disappointed or realizing that it’s not what you thought, but maybe you just need time to figure out who she really is, and who you are with her. You might not have all the answers right now, and that’s okay.”

You gave him a small, understanding smile. “Just don’t give up too soon because of some uncomfortable feelings. If you’re both willing to figure it out, it doesn’t have to be the end of something good. Sometimes it takes work to get through the doubts and see what’s really there.”

Gojo leaned back, his gaze drifting once more as if the answer was just beyond his reach. His hands rested loosely on his knees, the can in his hand now forgotten. His tone was quiet, almost tentative, as he finally spoke.

Gojo sat in silence for a moment, his eyes fixed on the floor as he processed your words. The usual intensity in his expression was softened, like he was turning over each of your points in his mind, carefully weighing them. His hands, once tense around the can, were now resting in his lap, fingers loosely intertwined as if the weight had lifted, even just slightly.

You could feel the shift, the way his posture had changed. He was listening—not just hearing—but truly taking in what you were saying. He took a deep breath, his shoulders easing as he finally looked up, meeting your gaze. There was a flicker of clarity in his eyes, though the storm wasn’t fully gone yet.

“I get it,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I understand where you're coming from. You're right. Maybe I’ve been too focused on this idea I had about her, this... perfect picture I painted in my head. And now that it’s not lining up, it’s throwing me off. I’m just... I guess I was expecting things to be a certain way, and now it feels like I’m not even sure where I stand anymore.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze drifted down again, looking almost lost in thought. “I know you’re right. I can’t expect everything to be perfect, and I shouldn’t be so quick to judge her for not matching whatever image I had. But—” He paused, the hesitation creeping back into his voice.

"But..." you prompted gently, knowing there was more he was holding back.

Gojo’s eyes flicked to you, a mixture of frustration and uncertainty crossing his features. “But… I’m just not sure if she’s the one,” he said, his voice trailing off like he was unsure even about admitting it to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you for a moment, as if the words felt too heavy.

“It’s not like I don’t care about her. I do. And she’s a good person. She’s been nothing but kind to me, and we get along well enough. But... I don’t know. It’s just this nagging feeling I can’t shake. Like, maybe we’re not as compatible as I thought we were. Like, something’s missing.” He let out a frustrated sigh, staring at the ground for a long moment.

He looked up at you then, his expression conflicted. “I don’t want to keep second-guessing myself, but at the same time... I don’t want to lead her on if I’m not sure. I don’t want to be the guy who’s just going through the motions, thinking it’ll work out, when deep down I’m not sure if we’re actually right for each other. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

He glanced at you with a bit of vulnerability in his eyes, a rare sight for Gojo. “I mean, I don’t want to keep dragging her into something if I’m not sure I can give her what she needs. And I can’t help but wonder if... if I’m just waiting for something that isn’t there.”

He let the silence linger for a beat before he shook his head, running a hand over his face. “It’s not that I don’t like her. It’s just... am I really feeling what I thought I was? Or was it just... a good idea in my head?”

You hesitated, unsure of the right thing to say, because this wasn’t exactly the kind of situation you were used to dealing with. Gojo was always so confident, so sure of himself, and now, seeing him so lost—it felt unfamiliar and honestly, a little overwhelming.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure how to ease his tension. You knew that you couldn’t just throw out words of wisdom like it was all simple, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t simple for him, and you didn’t want to make it worse by trying to give advice that sounded too rehearsed.

After a long pause, you spoke, trying to find a balance between understanding and honesty. “I mean, I can’t tell you what to do. It’s not like I have the answers for this kind of stuff.” You let out a soft, nervous laugh, realizing that you weren’t exactly the expert here.

“But...” You trailed off, trying to gather your thoughts. “You’re not alone in feeling confused about this. Relationships are messy, and sometimes, it’s hard to know what the right thing is. What you’re feeling—doubt, uncertainty—it’s not abnormal. It’s just... part of figuring things out.”

You fidgeted a little, glancing down at your hands. “I guess what I’m trying to say is... it’s okay not to have all the answers. I think you just need to give yourself permission to take a step back. Maybe let it go a bit slower, without all the pressure to know if it's ‘the one’ right away. And if something’s still unclear, then... you can figure it out. It doesn’t have to be right or wrong all at once.”

You looked up at him again, your voice softer. “It’s just, don’t feel like you have to have it all figured out right now. I’m not sure if that helps or anything, but... that’s the best I got.”

Gojo was quiet for a moment, taking everything in, and you couldn’t help but wonder if your words had actually made any impact. But then he turned to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t his usual teasing grin, but something softer, almost relieved.

“Man, look at you getting all deep and philosophical. Didn’t know you had it in you,” he teased, his voice light and playful.

You blinked, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Shut up,” you muttered, trying to act like you weren’t completely embarrassed by the whole thing. “I’m just trying to help, okay?”

Gojo chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you reacted. “I know, I know. But seriously, I didn’t think you were the ‘advice-giving’ type. I’ll be honest, that was a little... sappy.”

You huffed, crossing your arms and glaring at him, though you could feel the warmth on your cheeks. “Well, maybe you need it. You act like you have everything figured out, but look at you now—getting all lost in your own head.”

He held his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. “Okay, okay, I get it. Sappy, but helpful. Can’t deny that. But don’t let it go to your head.”

You looked at him, now slightly less flustered, and offered a small smile. “Yeah, well, I’m just saying... Sometimes things aren’t as simple as we want them to be. It’s okay not to have everything figured out right away. Relationships take time.”

Gojo met your eyes, his expression more thoughtful now, and he let out a long breath. “Yeah... I guess I’ve been putting too much pressure on myself to have it all figured out. Thanks for the reminder.” His smile came back, softer this time. “You’ve got a point. Maybe I do need to take a step back and just see where it goes.”

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease now. “It’s not a race, ‘Toru. Don’t rush it. Just let things happen as they do.”

There was a comfortable silence between you for a moment, before Gojo broke it, his tone still teasing but less guarded.

“Alright, alright. I’ll try to take it slow, philosopher,” he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, but the tension had definitely eased. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t get all sappy on me again.”

Gojo grinned, clearly in a better place than before. “I’ll try to spare you from that. But hey, next time you drop some deep wisdom on me, I’ll be ready.”

You flushed a little again but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Don’t push it, Gojo.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

As the two of you walked back home, the air between you had shifted. The tension that had lingered for so long was finally gone, replaced by a quiet comfort that settled over both of you. You found yourself walking in step with Gojo, the rhythm of your footsteps syncing naturally as you let the silence between you stretch, not feeling the need to fill it with words.

Now that the weight of the conversation had lifted, you allowed your gaze to wander to him, something you hadn’t done too openly before.

There was something almost disarming about Gojo when the playful edge in his voice softened, when he wasn’t in “Gojo mode.” His features, though still sharp and striking, held a kind of warmth that you hadn’t expected to see, a rawness that only revealed itself in moments like this—when he was being real with you.

His eyes, usually full of that mischievous glint, looked calmer now, more reflective, and as the light from the streetlamps caught his hair, it almost seemed to glow with an ethereal quality. The way he carried himself, effortlessly cool yet undeniably human, made you pause and just take him in, appreciating him for a moment. His presence felt different now—less overwhelming and more... grounding.

And then, as if on cue, you caught yourself smiling, soft and almost wistful. It was strange, the way just being near him—hearing his voice, feeling the quiet ease that had settled between you—seemed to heal something inside you, something you hadn’t even realized was aching until it started to fade away.

It was like the weight of the world didn’t seem so heavy anymore. Like, somehow, everything felt a little more manageable in the moment.

You allowed yourself to enjoy the moment a little longer, the quiet warmth between you two still lingering as you walked the rest of the way home. But even as you let yourself bask in the calm, a part of you couldn't fully relax. Deep down, you knew this wasn't something that would last long. Gojo had been here tonight because of his issue with Mina, and once that was sorted out, you figured things would go back to how they were before—back to the teasing, playful banter and the walls he'd built up around himself.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy this version of him, the one that was more genuine, more grounded—it was just that you knew the reality. Once he figured things out with Mina, he’d go back to being the Gojo everyone knew. And you’d go back to being just... you.

You reached the front door of your apartment, the familiar hum of the city in the background, and paused. Turning to face Gojo, you smiled, though the weight of your thoughts lingered in the back of your mind.

"Thanks for walking me home," you said, keeping your voice light, though there was a little more softness to it than usual.

Gojo looked at you, his usual playful grin starting to creep back, but there was something different in his eyes. A flicker of sincerity from earlier still hung there. "Of course," he said with a casual shrug. "What would I do if you got caught up in some crazy situation without me? You know I can’t let that happen."

His voice was light, but the way he said it carried an undercurrent of care, something unspoken that made the words feel warmer than they usually would.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to help a small laugh. “I’m pretty sure I could manage, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

He shot you that signature grin, the one that could charm just about anyone, but there was still a softness to it now—an openness that didn’t quite match his usual carefree demeanor.

"Hey, I’m just saying," he said with a smirk, "if you ever need a bodyguard, you know where to find me."

Despite the playfulness in his tone, you could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on both of you. The reality of the situation, of his relationship with Mina, still lingered in the air, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment—this brief, real side of Gojo—might slip away once everything was sorted out.

You pushed the thought down and smiled, trying to keep the mood light. "I’ll keep that in mind," you replied, though part of you wasn’t sure you’d ever need him that way.

There was a brief pause, and then you cleared your throat, pulling yourself back into the present. "I really do hope things work out with Mina, Satoru," you said, your voice sincere. "You deserve to get everything figured out."

Gojo’s smile faltered slightly at the mention of Mina. It wasn’t the usual teasing grin anymore, but something softer, more thoughtful, as though the thought of her pulled him out of the moment for a second.

He reached up, almost absentmindedly, to ruffle your hair, a subtle attempt to lighten the mood. “You worry too much,” he said, his voice a little quieter, his fingers running through your hair in a playful but gentle motion.

You flinched, swatting his hand away lightly. “Satoru, come on, you’re messing it up.”

Gojo chuckled softly at your reaction, but instead of pulling his hand away, he kept it there, his fingers still resting on your head. He gave you a gentle pat this time, his touch light but lingering, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment just yet.

He was staring at you, his expression unreadable, as if there was something in his gaze that wasn’t quite matching his usual carefree attitude. For a split second, the usual playful energy around him seemed to dissipate, replaced by something softer. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Despite how many times Gojo had been touchy with you before, this time was different. His gaze felt heavier, more intense, and it made you feel uncomfortably aware of the way his hand rested on you. A soft heat spread through you, and before you knew it, your cheeks were flushing, the warmth creeping up your neck.

Then, almost absentmindedly, Gojo’s hand dropped from your hair to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft skin beneath your eye. You froze at the touch, your breath catching in your throat as the tender motion sent a shiver down your spine.

His touch was so gentle, so unexpectedly intimate, that it left you momentarily speechless. Gojo’s thumb continued its slow, soothing stroke over your cheek, his eyes still locked onto yours, watching the way your expression shifted.

For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away—the night, the world around you, even the uncertainty that had been lingering in the air. It was just him, just you, and the quiet tension that seemed to wrap itself around the both of you, neither of you daring to move or speak.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart race, unsure of what this moment meant or how to react to it. You’d never felt quite so exposed in front of him, as if his touch and gaze were pulling something out of you that you didn’t know was there.

Gojo’s smile was still soft, his eyes not leaving yours, but there was something about the way he looked at you—something different than before. A strange vulnerability, maybe, or perhaps just a shared moment of silence that neither of you had the words to explain.

And for a heartbeat, everything felt... unsettled, as though the line between what was familiar and what was new had blurred just enough to make you question whether you were still in control of the situation.

You broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the stillness like a soft breeze. “Satoru?”

The sound of your voice seemed to snap Gojo out of whatever trance he had been in. His eyes blinked rapidly, as though he were shaking himself back to reality, and the softness that had filled the air between you suddenly wavered.

Gojo blinked rapidly, his eyes shifting as if he were suddenly realizing what had just occurred. His hand pulled away from your cheek like it was almost burning, and he stepped back, an almost startled expression crossing his face. The teasing, playful demeanor faltered for a second, and you could see the surprise flicker in his eyes—not just from you, but perhaps from the moment itself.

"Ah... sorry," he muttered quickly, running a hand through his hair in an awkward gesture that didn’t quite match his usual calm. “Didn’t mean to... uh... get so close.”

He cleared his throat, visibly trying to regain his usual composure. With a shaky smile, he waved his hand as if brushing it off. "Anyway, I should get going."

You nodded, a strange tightness in your chest. He was already backing away, his voice lighter than before but with a hint of haste in it. "Take care, alright?" His tone was almost clipped, a sharp contrast to the softness that had lingered moments before.

You wanted to say something, to stop him, but the words got stuck in your throat. You simply watched as Gojo, with one last glance over his shoulder, turned and started walking down the hallway.

He didn't look back this time, his figure disappearing into the distance and then into the lift, the doors sliding shut behind him with a soft, almost final sound.

The quietness that followed felt almost suffocating, the cool night air filling the space where he had stood. You stood there, staring at the spot where he had just been, unsure of what to make of everything. Your heart was still racing, the lingering touch on your cheek echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was.

As the sound of the elevator faded away, all you were left with was the lingering memory of him, his touch, his gaze—and the sudden weight of everything unsaid.

[haunted-headset-alt]

goin' back to old yazoo 𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚ ⊹

summary: headcanons about Vox with an old-fashioned reader (like Alastor)

warnings: Vox is a bit of a stalker, mentions of Valentino, one mention of slavery from Valentino (talking about the reader's time), reader is an overlord (not really a warning but just a heads-up), Vox being a little jealous

a/n: hello, readers (i need to think of a name for you guys lol)! i know this wasn't requested, but i played Bad Parenting recently and the intro song has been stuck in my head for days 😭

tags: (as always, just tagging a few people i think would be interested in this, please let me know if you would like to be on or off of the taglist!) @o-kye @zuuriell @strangleetomz@ax-y10 @stars-around-scars-collective@blu3-lemonad3@myheartticks@mochamuff1n@unbeleevable@danvstheworld @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @average-vibe @back-totheoldhouse @prettysinners @lovevxle

(listen to this while reading if you want!)

When Vox first saw you at an overlord meeting, he was pissed. Was there another one like Alastor?

He took a little bit of a liking to you when you retorted back at him when he made a passive-aggressive comment about you.

^^ "How'd you even get here? You probably don't even own a cellphone or a car with your old-timey ass. I bet you don't even know what those are." "First of all, cars were invented in the 1920s, so I know of their existence. Second, just because I'm old-fashioned doesn't mean I'm stupid or incapable. Being a tech-savvy businessman doesn't make you smart; I'd say all that screen usage has fried what's left of your brain, Mr. Vox."

You two eventually became friends and even let him ramble about his technology (even though it took a little explaining)!

I think he'd realize at some point that you weren't as interested about technology as he was and would be fine with letting you talk about things from your era.

If you two started dating, at first he might try to make you dress in a more "modern" way to better suit his brand, but soon enough he'd just let you dress however you wanted (he would love it if you had a blue flapper dress 🤭)

He wouldn't try to explain security cameras to you (he wouldn't want you to know that he watches you whenever you leave the house), which he claims is "just to make sure you're safe"

I think Vox would eventually become a know-it-all about your era

^^ "So like...wasn't there slavery in the 20s, cariño?" "Actually (🤓☝️), Val, slavery was abolished in 1865." "I was asking Y/N, Voxxy." "I don't care. Get educated."

He would for sure dance with you to vinyl records of your favorite songs to give you a feel of nostalgia <3

[wewontbesleeping]

booked plane tickets to Seattle and my first thought was Hello Seattle by Owl City, who I was obsessed with for a very short period of time around 2008, and it’s just. Amazing what things stick around in that noggin

[brunchable]

The Marriage Bet

Pairings: Best Friend Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Themes: A bet. A bit of comedy but mostly fluff and Bucky treating his woman right ;)

Summary: If in three years time both of you were still single, you will marry your best friend, Bucky. That's the bet.

A/N: For those of you who voted for 'Calm Down, Dad Mode' I've added it to this story. This has got to be my favorite fluff FML. Also let me TELL YOU, the cravings in pregnancy and the emotions are real because I lived it lmao. PART 2

Three Years Ago

"You know what we should do?” Bucky said out of the blue, his gaze fixed on you with a seriousness that made your stomach flip. The two of you had been lounging on his couch for hours, talking about everything and nothing. It was a lazy night filled with laughter, shared memories, and the kind of comfortable silence only you and Bucky knew how to savour.

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“If we’re still single in three years… let’s get married,” he announced, as if it was the most logical suggestion in the world. His tone was light, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t joking.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. “Bucky, have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, his lips twitching up into that familiar smirk that made your heart skip. “But think about it. No more crappy dates, no more getting your heart broken by idiots who don’t deserve you. Just us. You and me. We already know each other’s worst habits, and we get along. It’d be a good marriage.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You make it sound like we’re signing up for a business merger.”

He laughed at that, the sound deep and genuine. “Maybe. But at least you’d know you’re stuck with someone who’s never going to walk out on you. Someone who’d fight for you.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten, and for a second, you allowed yourself to picture it. A life with Bucky, the two of you navigating the ups and downs together. No more failed relationships, no more loneliness. Just the comfort and security of someone who knew you better than anyone else.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you murmured, still stunned by the idea.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I am. So, what do you say?”

You hesitated for just a beat, then broke into a grin. “Deal, Barnes. If we’re still single in three years, I’ll marry your crazy ass.”

He grinned back, his hand shooting out to seal the promise with a firm handshake. But as your fingers clasped around his, the energy between you shifted — playful and yet, inexplicably serious.

“Deal,” he echoed softly, a knowing look in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

× × × × 

Present

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes skimming over the city lights below as the faint notes of Taylor Swift’s break-up songs filled the air. You and Bucky had been up here for hours, talking and drinking, the night air crisp against your skin.

It had been a rough few months for you — the breakup still felt fresh, the sting of rejection and disappointment lingering. But being here with Bucky made it easier. He had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when it didn’t seem that way.

“Y’know, you’re the best,” you murmured, your words slurred slightly from the champagne. “I mean it, Buck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled softly, his gaze warm as he watched you. “Good thing you don’t have to find out, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a sigh as you turned back to the view. “Still, I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m destined to be alone or something.”

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, setting his glass down and turning to face you fully. “And you know it.”

You shrugged, glancing over at him. “Yeah, well, sometimes it feels like it. Everyone I’ve ever dated just—”

You stopped mid-sentence as Bucky suddenly shifted, reaching into his pocket. Your eyes widened as he pulled out a small blue velvet box and, without hesitation, flipped it open. The soft light of the rooftop glinted off the 1.5-carat diamond ring nestled inside — simple, elegant, and undeniably breathtaking. 

“What’s that?” you asked, your breath catching in your throat.

Bucky arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look. “An engagement ring, Y/N. What else?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a ring!” you sputtered, your mind reeling. “But why—how—what are you doing with it?”

Bucky sighed, muttering under his breath, “For someone so smart, she really can’t see what’s right in front of her.”

You barely had time to process the words before he got up from his sitting position and slowly knelt down on one knee. The movement made your heart jump into your throat, your breath hitching as he looked up at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I want to marry you, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm and sure. “Not because of some bet or joke we made all those years ago, but because… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be the one you come home to. The one who makes you laugh when you’re sad. The one who fights for you.”

You felt your chest tighten as the weight of his words sank in, the sincerity in his voice making it almost impossible to breathe. “Bucky… this is—”

“I know this is crazy,” he continued, cutting you off gently, his gaze never leaving yours. “But when have we ever been normal, huh? I’m not asking you to feel something you don’t or to change anything between us. But I am a man of my word, and I’m keeping the promise we made.”

Your mind raced, memories of that night flashing through your mind — the promise, the shared laughter, the way he’d looked at you back then as if you were the only thing that mattered. And now, here he was, years later, kneeling in front of you with an engagement ring, ready to turn that promise into something real.

He took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he held out the ring, his expression almost pleading. “So… will you marry me? Not because you feel like you have to, but because you want to?”

You stared down at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing anchoring you being his blue eyes, filled with nothing but hope and determination.

“Well? Say something, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper now. “Because I’m dying here.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over as you shook your head in disbelief. 

“You’re really going all out, huh?” you teased, “Getting down on one knee and everything… how could I say no to a man with such dedication?”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard, and then let out a soft laugh of his own. “Is that a yes, or are you just stalling to make me sweat more?”

You glanced at the ring, then back at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I guess… if I have to be stuck with someone for the rest of my life… it might as well be you.”

“Yes,” you added quickly, your smile widening as you looked at him with all the warmth and affection you felt. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot!”

Relief washed over his face, his grin so wide it could’ve lit up the entire rooftop. “You really know how to keep a guy on edge, don’t you?”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” you replied with a laugh, reaching out to brush your fingers against his cheek. “I can’t make it too easy for you.”

His chuckle was deep and genuine, the tension melting from his shoulders as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can be so mean you know that?”

“Mean?” you scoffed, giving him a playful look of disbelief. “You’re proposing to me, remember? I’m just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

Bucky shook his head, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I know. And I’m still all in, even if you make me work for it.”

You grinned, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky didn’t hesitate, his arms coming up to hold you close, his chin resting gently on top of your head. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest as your eyes locked with his. The sound of the music drifted softly through the air, wrapping around you both like an embrace.

You could see the tenderness in his gaze, the way his eyes softened as he looked down at you. There was something indescribable in the way he held you, his hands warm and secure against your back, as if he never wanted to let go.

“You know,” you murmured softly, a small smile playing on your lips, “I completely forgot about that bet.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up at the corners as he started to sway gently, rocking you both back and forth in time with the music. 

“Yeah? Good thing I haven’t.” he agreed quietly, his voice low and filled with something that made your heart flutter.

You let out a content sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you swayed together under the soft glow of the rooftop lights, the melody of the song weaving its way into your soul. There was a peace, a sense of rightness in the way his hands rested on your waist, the way your fingers curled into his shirt.

Opening your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, the corners of your lips curving up into a playful smile. “I’m really going to make you regret this, you know.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently against your side as he gazed down at you. “Doubt it. But you’re welcome to try, sweetheart—I mean what else could I possibly not know about you?”

Your smile widened as you looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. “Oh, you’ll find out. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I’m not full of surprises.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Just remember you asked for it,” you teased, your voice soft as your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. “You’re the one who’s committing to a lifetime of never quite knowing what I’ll do next.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again, a smile playing on his own. “I guess I like keeping things interesting, too.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you felt the tension melt away as you both swayed gently to the music. It felt like a new beginning — a promise that whatever came next, you’d be facing it together.

× × × ×

A few months later.

The garden was alive with soft laughter and murmurs as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves. The air was filled with the delicate scent of roses and jasmine, and the gentle rustling of leaves provided the perfect backdrop for the small, intimate gathering of friends.

Bucky stood under the floral archway, his suit somehow both perfectly fitted and slightly askew in that way only Bucky could pull off. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh. When you turned the corner, your eyes met his, and you couldn’t help but smile at the exaggerated sigh of relief he let out.

“Thank God you showed up,” he teased, his voice carrying over the gentle breeze. “Thought I’d have to marry Sam instead.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you made your way down the short aisle, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest. “Yeah, yeah, keep it up, Barnes. He’d leave you at the altar, you know.”

Bucky grinned, his shoulders relaxing as you stepped up to him. “True. He couldn’t handle my morning breath.”

The officiant cleared his throat gently, drawing soft chuckles from your friends. Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on yours, a playful twinkle in his eyes as if you were sharing a private joke no one else could understand.

“You ready for this?” he murmured softly, his tone light but his smile genuine.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, giving him a small nod.

The ceremony was simple and sweet, with your closest friends standing in a loose circle around you, their smiles reflecting the joy and camaraderie that had always defined your relationship with Bucky. 

When it came time for the vows, Bucky cleared his throat dramatically, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he began, waving the paper around, “so I wrote it down. Just so I don’t forget the important parts. Like promising I won’t eat your fries without asking.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head. “So that’s why you’re marrying me? For my fries?”

“Partly,” Bucky said with a wink, earning a few laughs from your friends. “But seriously… I promise to always be your partner in crime. To watch bad movies with you, to be your go-to plus-one for all those events you hate, and to be the one you can call at 3 a.m. when the world feels like too much.”

His voice softened slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I promise to be your best friend, to listen, and to support you. And yeah, to not eat your fries — unless you’re not looking.”

You chuckled, blinking back the unexpected prickle of tears. “Damn, Barnes. Setting the bar high for husband material, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he replied with a smirk.

When it was your turn, you took a deep breath, glancing down at your own slightly crumpled paper. “Bucky, I promise to keep being your reality check, to make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously. I promise to help you with your crazy woodworking projects, even when you refuse to read the instructions. And I promise to be your partner in all things — the weird, the good, and the unpredictable.”

Bucky’s grin softened into a small, genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think we’re gonna be pretty good at this whole marriage thing.”

“I think so too,” you murmured back.

The officiant’s voice broke through the quiet moment, his smile warm. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bucky, you may now—”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted, holding up a hand as he turned to you, his expression half-serious, half-teasing. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging a shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is technically our first kiss. I want to get it right. So… how do you like it?”

A burst of laughter escaped you, the tension in your shoulders melting away as the sheer Bucky-ness of the question made you grin. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Come on, humor me,” he pressed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Slow? Gentle? Or should I just go for it?”

You shook your head, still laughing softly. “Just… kiss me, you goof.”

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Alright, Mrs. Barnes,” he said softly, leaning in. “I’ll make it good.”

His grin widened and shifts a little closer to you, Bucky dipped his head and you felt your noses brush. His breath is on your lips, and you quiver a bit at the odd sensation. Without another moment to spare you realise that he's pressing his lips to yours—it was nothing like you’d expected. His hand slipped to the small of your back, drawing you closer, his eyes fully closed. Bucky was concentrating on the kiss, and you realised that your eyes were wide open. Slowly you close them, hiding away your brilliant orbs. 

Bucky’s lips are oddly doft in this kiss and it stays slow and sweet. He wrapped his arm around you more, lifting you slightly off your feet. The veil fluttered around you like a soft cocoon, and then everything disappeared as his mouth moved insync with you, his kiss remained slowly, his mouth molding against yours in a way that made your knees weak.

His fingers gently tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing softly along your cheekbone as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

But then he shifted, tilting your head just slightly as he deepened the kiss, his hold around you tightening. It was then that you felt him let go completely — every barrier, every wall he’d kept up around himself crumbling as he poured everything into that kiss. 

Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint cheers and whistles of your friends—Sam being the most obnoxious—but it all felt like background noise. It was just you and Bucky, wrapped up in this kiss that felt like it had been building up for years. His lips slid over yours with a kind of sweet intensity, a silent confession of everything he hadn’t said — of everything he didn’t know how to say.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you were breathless, hearts pounding in unison. He didn’t let go, his arms still wrapped around you as if you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

A soft cheer went up from your friends—Sam being the most obvious— and Bucky’s grin turned almost smug. “How was that?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah, Buck. I think you got it just right.”

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for a long, lingering moment before his smile widened into something boyish and relieved. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased gently, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me after a kiss like that.”

Bucky’s laugh was soft, his nose brushing against yours. “Guess I should keep practicing, huh?”

You nodded, your grin matching his. “Yeah. Keep practicing, Barnes.”

And as he pulled you in for another kiss, slower and just as sweet as the first, you knew that this — all of this — was exactly how it was meant to be.

× × × ×

1.5 years later

You were pacing back and forth in the bathroom, your heart hammering in your chest. Every few seconds, your eyes would dart to the three little sticks sitting ominously on the edge of the sink — three white, plastic harbingers of potential chaos.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you whispered frantically to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as if willing the tests to disappear — or at least show some clarity.

How did it come to this? You were supposed to be life partners — partners in crime, best friends — no strings attached, no expectations. Just two people who promised to be there for each other. Sure, you got married, but it was all because of the bet. A way to keep each other from loneliness, you both said. Nothing more, right?

Except somewhere along the line, late-night talks had turned into stolen kisses. Comforting hugs had turned into tangled limbs. And now… this.

“Oh my god, he’s going to flip,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the still-blank screens on the tests. “This isn’t how we were supposed to—”

“Supposed to what?”

You jumped about a foot in the air, letting out a small squeak of surprise as Bucky’s voice filled the bathroom. You whipped around, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Bucky! Don’t—don’t just sneak up on people like that!” you stammered, instinctively shuffling over to the sink to block his view.

His smirk widened. “I didn’t sneak. You’re just too distracted, sweetheart.” He pushed off the doorframe, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you squeaked, your voice a little too high-pitched.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh-huh. So, you’re just hanging out in the bathroom, talking to yourself?”

“Yes!” you answered quickly, nodding like a bobblehead. “Yep, just a totally normal conversation with… myself. Very productive.”

He eyed you, suspicion etched all over his face. “Uh-huh. And why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I don’t!” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest as if that could somehow shield you from his scrutiny.

Bucky took another step closer, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. “Then why are you standing like that?”

You moved subtly, trying to casually scoot to the left, but your back hit the edge of the sink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hiding something,” he said, leaning down slightly to look your directly in the eyes. “What’s behind you, Y/N?”

“Nothing!” you insisted, but your hand twitched involuntarily, knocking into one of the sticks. It clattered onto the counter, bouncing once before rolling to a stop right at Bucky’s feet.

You froze.

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the test, and his entire expression shifted — from curiosity to confusion to wide-eyed realization.

“Wait… is that a—?”

“No!” you yelped, diving forward to snatch up the stick and hide it behind your back. You stood there, breathing heavily, your face flushed with a mix of panic and embarrassment.

Bucky’s gaze slid back to you, his lips quirking into an incredulous smile. “Y/N, are those… pregnancy tests?”

You glanced around desperately, as if you could conjure up some kind of diversion to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Uh… no? Maybe?”

“Sweetheart…” Bucky stepped around your easily, and in one quick motion, he plucked the other two tests off the sink. He held them up, his eyes wide and eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “There are three.”

“Yeah, well… you know, the first one could be a fluke, and the second one too, and…” you trailed off, wincing at how ridiculous you sounded.

Bucky blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Three tests, huh? You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“Bucky!” you hissed, mortification washing over you. “This isn’t funny!”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, though his lips were still twitching with amusement. “But you’re freaking out over here, hiding them like I wasn’t gonna notice.”

“I wasn’t freaking out!” you lied, folding your arms across your chest again. “I was just… assessing the situation.”

He raised an eyebrow, waving one of the tests in front of your face. “Assessing, huh? And what’s the situation, then?”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know, okay? I haven’t looked at them yet!”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Wait, you haven’t looked?” Bucky’s voice was filled with genuine disbelief. “You’ve been pacing around in here, stressing yourself out, and you haven’t even checked?”

“I’m not ready!” you snapped defensively. “I mean… what if they’re positive?”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he stepped forward, gently cupping your cheek. “Then they’re positive.”

Your eyes met his, the sincerity and calmness in his gaze making some of your panic ebb away. “But we’re not even— I mean, this was supposed to be—”

“A bet?” he finished softly, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah. I remember. But bets don’t always go the way you plan.”

You swallowed hard, your heart still hammering wildly. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” he repeated, his expression incredulous. “Why the hell would I be mad? I mean, sure, this is unexpected. But mad?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “C’mon, Y/N. You really think I’d be mad about having a family with you?”

The words made your heart stutter, and you stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Bucky…”

“Let’s just see what they say, alright?” he murmured gently, stepping back and nodding toward the tests. “No more freaking out until we know.”

With trembling hands, you turned each test over, your breath hitching as you looked at the results.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

Bucky’s grin had barely faded before the reality of the situation seemed to really hit him this time. His gaze drifted back to the three tests lined up on the sink, and you watched as his face slowly drained of colour.

“Bucky?” you asked cautiously, noticing the way his grip on your arm loosened slightly.

He blinked, his eyes darting between you and the tests like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. “So, uh… positive. All three?”

You nodded slowly, worry beginning to creep back in. “Yeah, Buck. All three.”

“Oh… Oh, wow,” he muttered, his eyes widening. “That’s… that’s a lot of positive.”

“Bucky—”

“I mean, I knew one was a lot, but three—positives?” he rambled, swaying slightly on his feet. “That’s… that’s a whole lot of… baby.”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you asked, reaching out to steady him as his face turned even paler.

“I’m—yeah, I just—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back slightly as his knees buckled.

“Bucky!” you shouted, grabbing for him as he crumpled to the floor in a faint.

You managed to catch his weight just enough to keep him from completely knocking his head on the tiles, though it took every ounce of strength you had to keep him semi-upright.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” you huffed, looking down at his unconscious form with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You’re the one who said you’d be fine with this!”

He let out a soft, incoherent groan, his head lolling to the side as you carefully lowered him all the way to the ground and raised his legs above his head for bloodflow.

“Of course you’d faint, you big drama queen,” you muttered, crouching down beside him and lightly patting his cheeks. “Come on, Buck. Wake up. I’m not doing this alone, you hear me?”

After a few more pats and murmured reassurances, his eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked up at you, dazed and confused.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, his voice slurred. “What… what happened?”

“You fainted, you big idiot,” you said, the frustration in your tone softened by the overwhelming relief that he was okay. “Over three little tests.”

Bucky stared at you blankly, then his gaze drifted back to the sink where the tests still sat in a neat row, mocking him with their tiny positive signs.

“Oh… right,” he murmured, his face scrunching up as he tried to process it all again. “So it wasn’t a dream?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, giving him a half-smile. “Definitely not a dream.”

“Damn,” he breathed, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I really fainted, huh?”

“Yeah, you did,” you replied, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “And you’re lucky I didn’t let you hit your head.”

He chuckled weakly, his gaze still lingering on the tests. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently.

“I love you, Y/N, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice soft and a little slurred as he still looked dazed. “Not like a friend, but y’know… like, love love.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden confession. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting you all over again. “Bucky, you’re still out of it.”

“Yeah, probably,” he murmured, blinking up at you with a lopsided grin. “But doesn’t make it any less true.”

Shaking your head, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, your smile softening. “I know, Buck. We’ll talk about that later when you’re not busy fainting over pregnancy tests, okay?”

“’Kay,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping slightly. “But just… so you know.”

“I know,” you repeated gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Just rest for a second, and then we’ll figure this all out together.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before he opened them again, looking at you with a sleepy smile. “We’re really gonna be parents, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, your heart swelling with affection. “We really are.”

“Cool,” he murmured, his head lolling back against the bathroom tiles. “Love you, Y/N… love love.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you sat beside him, holding his hand. “Love you too, Bucky. Now, no more fainting, okay?”

“No promises,” he mumbled, but his grip tightened around your hand, as if even in his half-conscious state, he didn’t want to let go.

And as you sat there on the bathroom floor, Bucky still looking a little woozy but smiling up at you with that goofy, endearing grin, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — everything was going to be just fine.

× × × ×

First Trimester.

The clock on the kitchen wall glowed a soft, accusatory 2:37 a.m. as Bucky shuffled groggily into the dimly lit space, scratching at his head. He was half-asleep, dressed in rumpled sweatpants and a t-shirt that had seen better days, and still trying to figure out why he’d been dragged from his warm bed.

He paused mid-step when he spotted you sitting at the kitchen table, your shoulders hunched, face buried in your hands. He blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation. “Uh, sweetheart… what’s going on?”

Your only response was a pitiful sniffle, followed by another one. Bucky’s brows shot up in alarm, and he quickly moved to your side, crouching down in front of you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, peering up at you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head, letting out a small, hiccuping sob. “I… I really wanted… chocolate chip pancakes… with whipped cream and strawberries…”

Bucky blinked again, glancing around the empty kitchen as if he expected a stack of pancakes to magically appear on the counter. “Okay… uh… we don’t have any of that stuff right now, but I can go to the store—”

“Everything’s closed!” you wailed, cutting him off with a fresh wave of tears. “And I really wanted it now!”

The sheer devastation in your voice made Bucky’s heart clench in sympathy — but a very tiny, very unhelpful part of him also found it hilariously absurd. He had fought aliens, Hydra agents, and all manner of nightmares… but he’d never faced down a pregnant wife in the throes of a pancake craving at nearly 3 a.m.

“Oh,” he said lamely, scratching his head again as he tried to think of a solution that didn’t involve breaking into the nearest IHOP. “Okay, um… we can make pancakes without chocolate chips, right?”

“But I don’t want plain pancakes!” you cried, your voice wobbling dangerously. “I want chocolate chip pancakes! And… and I want whipped cream on top, but we don’t have any!”

Bucky swallowed, his panic rising as you continued to cry. He was the Winter Soldier, damn it. He could handle this. There had to be a way out of this. “Okay, alright. Just breathe, okay? How about… uh… what if I make you some toast? I’ll put some Nutella on it? It’s kind of like chocolate.”

“It’s not the same!” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands again. “I want… pancakes…”

Bucky let out a helpless laugh, running a hand down his face as he glanced at the empty fridge like it was somehow betraying him. “Baby, you’re killing me here.”

You sniffled, peeking out from between your fingers with watery eyes. “You don’t understand, Buck. I can taste the pancakes. I can taste the strawberries… I can feel the whipped cream…”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. “Yeah, uh, I can’t pull that out of thin air. But…” He glanced around, his gaze falling on a tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer. “What if I make you a sundae? It’s kinda like a pancake… just cold.”

“No…” You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek. “It’s not pancakes…”

Bucky let out a long, dramatic sigh, his hands resting on his knees. “Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna wake up, and I’m going to go get you all the chocolate chips and whipped cream and strawberries you want, alright? I’ll make a pancake buffet.”

“But I want it now,” you murmured miserably, rubbing at your eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he cooed gently, reaching out to pat your head awkwardly. “But unless you want me to bust into some diner and get myself arrested, I’m gonna need you to hang in there for a few more hours.”

Your lips trembled, and you nodded reluctantly, sniffling again. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiled softly, his heart melting a little. “Nah. You’re growing a tiny human.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Although, I gotta say, if I can handle your craving meltdowns, I think I deserve some kind of medal. Or at least, like… superhero husband status.”

A small, watery laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Bucky’s smile widened triumphantly.

“There she is,” he murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to your temple. “Look, we can’t have pancakes right now, but how about we get creative? Maybe I can whip something up with what we do have? I’m talking PB&J sandwich sculptures. Or,” he gasped dramatically, “a waffle made out of popcorn!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “Popcorn waffles?”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he said with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “This could be a revolutionary invention, Y/N. We could change the breakfast game forever.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, wiping at your tears as Bucky’s ridiculousness slowly chased away the lingering sadness. “You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you married me,” he shot back, a grin spreading across his face. “So who’s the real weirdo?”

“Still you,” you teased softly, shaking your head.

Bucky let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow, so rude. No respect for the man who’s about to go MacGyver your snack cravings at 3 a.m.”

You smiled despite yourself, reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing your hand gently. “Now, what do you say we get a little creative in this kitchen and see if we can’t make something that’ll make these pancake cravings shut up for a bit?”

“Okay,” you agreed, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. “But I’m holding you to that pancake buffet tomorrow morning.”

“Pancake buffet with extra chocolate chips, whipped cream, and strawberries,” he promised with a mock salute. “You’ve got my word.”

And as Bucky scoured the pantry for the weirdest possible combinations — “How do you feel about a peanut butter, banana, and potato chip sandwich?” — you couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of your cravings lightening in the face of his relentless optimism and willingness to do whatever it took to make you smile.

“World’s best husband,” you murmured fondly as he started arranging sandwich slices into a goofy face.

“Damn right,” he replied with a wink, holding up the plate proudly. “And this? This is my masterpiece.”

You took one look at the ridiculous sandwich sculpture — a lopsided smile made from pickle slices and a beard of crumbled crackers — and the tears came flooding back, but this time they were unstoppable.

“Bucky… you’re… you’re the best husband… in the world!” you sobbed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—hold on!” Bucky stammered, his eyes widening in alarm as he quickly set the plate down and moved back to your side. “What… why are you crying? Sweetheart, it’s just a sandwich! A really ugly sandwich, but—”

You let out another wail, shaking your head as more tears spilled over. “No, it’s not that! It’s you! You’re just so—so good, and sweet, and—and I don’t deserve you!”

Bucky froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

“Wait, what? Where did that come from?” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around as if he expected someone to pop out with a manual for how to handle this. “Hey, you deserve everything, okay? Even pancakes at 3 a.m. if I could make it happen.”

“I just… you’re always trying so hard, and you’re just… you’re amazing,” you whimpered, reaching out to grab his hand like it was a lifeline. “And I’m crying because I can’t have pancakes, and I’m a mess, and you’re making me a weird pickle-beard sandwich…”

Bucky stared at you, completely lost, before he finally let out a helpless, incredulous laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out of my depth here,” he muttered, gently pulling you into his arms and patting your back awkwardly. “But hey, let’s save the compliments for when I’m not half-asleep, yeah?”

You nodded miserably against his chest, your sobs starting to subside as his steady heartbeat grounded you.

“Good, because you’re gonna make me cry if you keep this up,” he joked softly, running a soothing hand through your hair. “And no one wants to see the Winter Soldier ugly-cry over a pancake buffet.”

You let out a watery giggle at that, sniffling as you pulled back to look up at him. “You’re really gonna get me all the pancakes tomorrow?”

“Every last one,” he promised, his smile gentle and reassuring. “Now come on, let’s see if we can make this popcorn waffle thing work. You’ll need to tell our kid one day that their mom ate the weirdest thing ever while pregnant,” Bucky finished with a grin, his hand sliding down to gently cup your cheek as he wiped away the lingering tears with his thumb. “That way, when they give us a hard time as teenagers, I can say, ‘Hey, kid, I made your mom a popcorn waffle at 3 a.m. She bettered have loved me.’”

You laughed again, hiccupping through the tears as you tried to calm yourself. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Bucky shrugged, his lips twitching up into a lopsided smile. “Maybe. But you married me, so what does that say about you?”

“That I’m a glutton for punishment,” you teased softly, feeling some of the tension start to ease as his thumb continued its gentle, comforting strokes on your cheek.

“Or just smart enough to know when you’ve got a good thing,” he murmured back, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “And I’m gonna keep being that good thing — even when it means making bizarre snacks and wrangling your tears at stupid o’clock in the morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, smiling up at him as you looped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Bucky.”

His eyes softened, his gaze locking onto yours as he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “I love you too, sweetheart. And we’re gonna figure out this whole craving thing. Even if it means starting a midnight pancake truck or something.”

The image of Bucky in an apron, serving pancakes from a food truck, was so ridiculous that you let out a genuine, hearty laugh. “A pancake truck?”

“Why not?” He smirked, his fingers playing with a lock of your hair. “I’d be the hottest pancake chef around. We’d have a line out the door.”

“Because everyone’s desperate for pancakes at three in the morning?” you asked, still smiling.

“Exactly,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “They’d be calling me the Pancake Soldier instead of the Winter Soldier.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter again, your earlier tears completely forgotten. “I swear, you’re impossible, Bucky Barnes.”

“Impossible and all yours,” he said with a wink, then glanced at the kitchen. “Now, how about we whip up some sort of Frankenstein snack to tide you over until the morning, huh?”

With another sniffle and a smile, you nodded. “Alright. But I’m still holding you to that pancake buffet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of backing out,” he promised, kissing your forehead again before guiding you to a chair. “You sit right here, and let Chef Barnes work his magic.”

You watched as Bucky moved around the kitchen, his clumsy efforts at ‘creative’ snack-making bringing a smile to your face despite the ridiculousness of it all. He muttered under his breath, concocting weird combinations — “What if we crush some pretzels on top?” — and talking to the food like it would reveal some hidden trick.

Eventually, he managed to cobble together another makeshift treat: a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich with a few random M&Ms sprinkled on top for good measure. It looked as chaotic as you felt, but the effort and love behind it made your heart swell.

You stared at the messy sandwich, your lips trembling again — but this time with a whole different set of emotions.

“Hey, no more tears,” Bucky said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m running out of ideas here, babe.”

“I’m not crying,” you sniffed, reaching out to take a bite. “It’s just… you’re really, really sweet, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to give your knee a gentle squeeze. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, your heart feeling lighter than it had all night.

“Good.” He smiled, leaning back in his chair as he watched you take another bite. “Now eat up, because come morning, I’m getting up at dawn to get everything we need for that pancake buffet. You’re gonna be the happiest pancake-eating pregnant lady in the world.”

“And you’re gonna be the best pancake-making husband in the world,” you replied with a soft smile, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right,” Bucky murmured, his voice filled with so much affection it made your heart skip a beat.

As you finished the bizarre snack and Bucky continued to ramble on about potential pancake flavors and topping combinations, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful.

Because, bizarre cravings and all, there was no one else you’d rather navigate the chaos with than him — your best friend, your partner, your ridiculous, wonderful Bucky Barnes.

× × × ×

Third Trimester

Bucky’s overprotectiveness had started out in small, endearing ways—like lingering in doorways or making sure you had an extra pillow at night. But as your pregnancy progressed, so did his paranoia, turning him into an almost comical shadow of your once-confident, battle-hardened husband.

It began with the shoelaces.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He practically skidded across the living room to kneel at your feet just as you were about to bend down to tie your sneakers. You straightened up, raising a brow, watching him fumble with the laces like it was a complex puzzle rather than a simple bow.

“Bucky, it’s just tying my shoes. I can do that,” you pointed out gently, but he shook his head fervently.

“Not risking it. What if you lose your balance?” His words were muffled as he double-knotted the laces, his shoulders hunched like he was shielding you from some invisible force.

“I’m not gonna lose my balance,” you murmured, amused. “I’ve been tying my own shoes for decades.”

“There’s a first for everything.” He tightened the bow a little too firmly, making you flinch. He winced in apology and adjusted it again, softer this time, before peering up at you with those intense blue eyes, a mix of worry and resolve. “Humor me, okay?”

You sighed, relenting with a small nod. “Okay. But just so you know, you’re not going to be doing this every single time.”

He grinned—victorious, as if you hadn’t noticed how he conveniently “lost” all your slip-ons just last week.

Then there was the laundry basket incident.

It happened when you were carrying a half-full basket of towels from the dryer. You’d barely made it halfway down the hall when Bucky materialized out of nowhere, intercepting you like you were carrying live explosives.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was all mock-seriousness, but there was genuine concern underlining it as he gently pried the basket from your hands.

“Laundry?” you deadpanned, trying to tug it back, but he held firm.

“Not anymore, you’re not.” He shot you a look that dared you to argue as he held the basket up high, well out of your reach. “You don’t need to be lugging this around.”

“It’s not even heavy!” you protested, exasperation seeping into your tone.

He scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it. Just point me to where you want it.”

Grumbling, you pointed down the hallway. “Our bedroom.”

“See?” he said with a self-satisfied smile, striding down the hall like he was conquering new territory. “No big deal.”

You had to fight back an eye roll. “You’re gonna be like this until the baby is born, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” he called over his shoulder, unashamed.

It didn’t stop there, of course. In the kitchen, he’d barely let you near the sink.

One morning, you’d decided to tackle the breakfast dishes—something you could usually manage without too much hassle. But as soon as you set the first dish into the soapy water, Bucky’s hand appeared out of nowhere, lightly shoving you to the side.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission. “Your belly’s gonna bump into the counter. Let me do it.”

“Bucky—”

“Let. Me. Do it,” he insisted, holding a soapy plate hostage as he gazed at you, lips set in a stubborn line.

With a sigh, you threw your hands up in surrender. “Fine. But I’m not a porcelain doll, okay? I can do dishes just fine.”

“Sure,” he replied, but he was already washing the dishes with focused precision, occasionally glancing at you to make sure you hadn’t slipped or stumbled in the two feet he’d moved you back.

It was both infuriating and endearing, and it made you love him even more—though you’d never admit it when he was acting like a hovering mother hen.

The grocery trips were almost unbearable. He’d insisted on coming along, despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of picking up a few items.

“We need milk,” you pointed out, motioning toward the far end of the aisle.

“Got it,” he said immediately, guiding the cart forward with one hand and slipping his other arm around your waist as if to support your entire body weight.

You shot him a look. “I can still walk, you know.”

“Of course you can,” he agreed with a grin. “I’m just… helping you waddle.”

“Waddle?” You narrowed your eyes, smacking his arm lightly. “Did you just call me a waddler?”

“Um…” He glanced at you sheepishly, realizing his mistake a second too late. “No?”

“Yeah, nice try.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright, bad choice of words. I’m just keeping pace with you,” he corrected, slowing his stride even more so that the two of you were practically moving in slow motion down the aisle.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all. “If we go any slower, we’ll start moving backwards.”

Bucky just chuckled, his arm tightening around you protectively. “I’ll take my chances.”

By the time you reached the milk, you were almost tempted to ask him to sprint the rest of the way just to get it over with. But the truth was, there was something undeniably sweet about having Bucky hover around like this.

“Let me guess,” you teased as you plucked a carton of milk off the shelf. “You want to carry this too?”

“Of course,” he said, already reaching for it, his expression deadly serious.

You held on to the carton just long enough to make him sweat before handing it over. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he replied easily, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Smooth,” you muttered, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

With Bucky being his overprotective self, you had no doubt that he’d be like this for the next few months—and likely long after the baby was born. But as much as you complained, deep down, you knew you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

× × × ×

“Bucky, for the last time, it’s just a shoe box,” you emphasise, glancing at your husband as he carefully hoists the empty box off the couch like it’s made of glass.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, eyes darting suspiciously to the plain cardboard. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

“Condition? Bucky, I’m pregnant, not broken.” You cross your arms, watching as he tucks the box under his arm like it’s a rare artefact. The man is a walking, talking fortress of muscle, but right now, his overprotectiveness is reaching absurd levels.

“And nearly at your due date,” he points out, placing the box on the counter with a sigh of relief as if he’s saved you from imminent danger. “I’ve read all the books. I know how this goes.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, yeah? So what’s the worst that could happen if I pick up a shoe box?”

Bucky turns to you with a dead-serious expression. 

“It’s not about the weight. It’s about…” he falters, eyes scanning your swollen belly, “…stability. Your centre of gravity is off right now. A box could trip you.”

“A box could trip me?” You arch a brow, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yes!” His tone is insistent, and you have to bite back a laugh. This is the same man who once told a pack of HYDRA agents they were outnumbered—just because it was him and Steve versus a dozen of them. But now, he’s reduced to eyeing an empty cardboard box like it’s a mortal enemy.

Sighing, you sit back on the couch, deciding it’s not worth the argument. Besides, there’s a certain charm in seeing the Winter Soldier so worked up over an inanimate object. You lean back, letting out a small groan as you shift your weight.

Bucky’s been hovering around you all day like a lost puppy, eyes following your every move. The moment you make the slightest sound, his head whips around, concern flickering in his eyes. So when you groan, immediately, he’s by your side, eyes wide, hands hovering over your belly.

“What? What’s wrong? Is it time? Should I get the bag?”

“Calm down, Dad-mode. I’m just stretching.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve gotta stop panicking every time I make a sound.”

“Every time you make a sound, it could be something serious!” Bucky exclaims, sounding almost affronted. “Do you know what it’s like hearing you groan and not knowing if it’s ‘I want ice cream’ or ‘I’m about to go into labor’?”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” you tease.

He huffs, muttering something about ‘pregnancy hormones,’ and kneels down in front of you. Strong hands lift your foot gently, and he starts massaging your arch. You sigh, instantly melting under his touch.

“Better?” His voice is softer now, concern etched in every syllable.

“Much better,” you mumble, letting out a little moan as he presses down on a particularly tight knot.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bucky freezes, eyes wide again. “What’s that? Pain?”

“Relax,” you say, though your voice is slightly breathless. “It’s the good kind of pain. Keep going.”

You lean your head back, closing your eyes as Bucky continues the foot massage. The man has hands that could crush stone, but right now, he’s so gentle you almost feel like you’re floating. It’s hard not to feel a little spoiled under his doting care.

But just when you’re getting lost in the bliss of his hands working away the tension, you catch his face out of the corner of your eye. Bucky’s brow is furrowed, and his expression is one of fierce concentration, like he’s facing down a particularly difficult opponent. You stifle a giggle—only Bucky could make a foot massage seem like a high-stakes mission.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” you say, reaching down to tug on his hand. “If you keep looking at my foot like that, you might set it on fire.”

Bucky blinks up at you, clearly having forgotten where he was. He chuckles, the sound low and almost shy. “Can’t help it. I just… I want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

“Bucky, it’s a foot massage, not defusing a bomb.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart swells at his concern. “You’re doing it perfectly.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks, but he lets out a small huff, pretending to be grumpy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Then, without warning, he shifts beside you on the couch, a determined look settling on his face. “Now, hold still.”

Before you can ask what he’s up to, Bucky leans down, pressing his ear gently against your belly. You’re about to ask him if he’s comfortable, but the sheer look of wonder on his face stops you short. His eyes close, and he inhales deeply, as if trying to capture every little movement your baby girl makes.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs softly, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. His fingers splay across your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. “It’s your dad. Just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re being good for your mama.”

You bite your lip, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight. The fierce Winter Soldier, the man with a list of enemies longer than most people’s grocery lists, reduced to talking softly to your baby girl like she’s the most delicate thing in the world.

“She’s probably plotting her escape already,” you joke quietly, and Bucky grins up at you.

“Nah,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s too busy practicing her karate kicks. Isn’t that right, little one?”

Right on cue, a small flutter against your belly answers him, and Bucky’s eyes light up like fireworks. He leans down again, pressing his lips gently against the spot where your baby kicked.

“Whoa, easy there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Save the punches for when you’re out here. We’ve got plenty of training sessions ahead of us.”

You snort, shaking your head at his words. “Bucky, she’s not even born yet, and you’re already planning training sessions?”

“Gotta start ‘em young,” he says seriously, but the way he softens his voice when he turns back to your belly is anything but tough. “But don’t worry, we’ll take it easy. I’ll make sure you get to be a kid and have fun first. No one’s gonna mess with you. Not when I’m around.”

He pauses, his eyes misting over for a brief moment, and you know he’s thinking about everything he’s been through—everything he wants to shield your daughter from. Slowly, he rubs his thumb along your belly again, his touch featherlight.

“And you’re gonna love your mama,” Bucky continues softly. “She’s strong, and she’s funny, and—” He glances up at you, his smile turning mischievous. “She’s a little bit stubborn sometimes. But you’re gonna be just like her, I bet.”

“Great,” you mutter, faking a groan. “Two of you plotting against me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky promises, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s already imagining all the ways he’ll spoil his little girl.

He shifts again, his head still resting on your belly, and you have to stifle another laugh as he starts a running commentary, complete with exaggerated gestures.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” he whispers conspiratorially to your baby. “When you get here, you’re gonna kick a lot. Cry a lot. But not too much. Your mama needs her sleep. Then, we’ll team up to get you extra dessert when she’s not looking.”

“Bucky!” You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You can’t be plotting behind my back already!”

He grins, looking up at you with mock innocence. “Hey, it’s not my fault if she wants ice cream. Right, sweetheart?”

A few more soft kicks seem to echo his words, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m doomed,” you say, shaking your head fondly.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softening again. He presses one more kiss against your belly before shifting to sit up beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you gently against his side. “You’re gonna be the best mom. And I’m gonna be right here, making sure you both have everything you need.”

You lean into his warmth, smiling as his hand drifts back to your belly, tracing idle patterns.

“I love you,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“And I love you,” he replies, voice deep and steady. He leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Both of you.”

With Bucky holding you close and whispering to your daughter, you feel your heart swell with a contentment so strong it almost aches. It’s moments like these that remind you just how lucky you are to have this overprotective, sweet man by your side.

Even if he does go overboard sometimes.

[boobearymuch]

Their Habits —♡ LADS Scenarios

—♡Summary: Everyone has habits, but not everyone enjoys having you point them out... —♡Tags: gender-neutral, pure fluff —♡A/N: Silly thing I whipped up after being told I bounce my leg too much lolll —♡ masterlist

—♡ Zayne

Zayne squints so much without his glasses. He insists he only needs them when his eyes get tired—but clearly—that wasn’t the case. “Zayne, look!” You eagerly pointed out a flyer posted on the door of his favorite boba spot. They were hosting an event next weekend, it read, and encouraged customers not to miss out on the opportunity. You watched his hazel eyes sharpen into a squint.

“Event…?” He still had trouble reading it, though, and absently tugged your clasped hands forward as he leaned in for a better look. After a few seconds, his eyebrows relaxed, and he hummed appreciatively, “They’re introducing new flavors. Perhaps we should…what?” 

You failed to conceal an amused smile. “You need your glasses, old man.” The nickname was not received well, by any means.

“The text is small.” He answered coolly, “The average person would also have difficulty reading it.” Then he slipped his hand around your waist, eyes narrowing, “And I’m not old.”

You couldn’t help yourself, you laughed, “Have you considered contacts?” The look he gave you was deeply unamused, “No, no, you’re right. You look cuter in glasses, anyway.” Zayne's ears tinted pink under your playful stare. 

“...Let’s go inside before they close.” You pinched his flustered cheeks.

“Are you sure? The menu is so tiny. What if you can’t read it and order the wrong thing?” Your mouth promptly shut after his grip on you tightened in a warning. Zayne remembered to bring his glasses on your next outing (and the one after that).

—♡ Sylus

Sylus hums nonsense when it’s too quiet. It’s like he constantly needs to fill silences with some kind of noise. Even his humming is off-key…

“What song is that?” 

Sylus barely spared you a glance, “What song?” His fingers worked a microfiber cloth into the metal of his pistol. 

“The one you were just humming.”

He huffed, “Didn’t realize I was humming, sweetie.” Then he removed the cloth to admire his handiwork, “Don’t you recognize it?”

You almost felt bad for saying this but, “...No?” Sylus finally glanced up from his work to shoot you a look. A concerning one.

“Really? You had it on repeat all day, yesterday.” Horror dawned on you at the realization, “The chorus has been stuck in my head since morning…” And then a laugh sputtered from your lips. 

“Oh my god, that sounded nothing like it.” Sylus glared and returned his focus to his pistol with what you could only describe as a pout. 

“What a picky kitten.” You bit your lip to stop the smile threatening to break loose. He was a god awful singer, but the room felt emptier without his noise. Gently, you padded over to where he sat, and invited yourself onto his lap. Despite his mood, a hand wrapped around your waist without hesitation.

“Sing it again.” Sylus’ hold on you tightened, “I think I like your version better.” A soft chuckle left him, and quietly, he hummed once more.

—♡ Rafayel

Rafayel taps. All. The. Time. Taps his legs, hands, pens, pencils, anything and everything within reach. And he’ll deny the hell out of it when you ask him to stop. “I wasn’t doing anything,” The candies on his phone screen lit up and exploded with color as he scored another combo. Too engrossed in his phone to realize the arm slung around your shoulders was still tapping you. You leaned into him with a huff.

“You’re doing it now.”

Rafayel gave you a sidelong glance, frowning, “I dunno what you’re talking about, cutie.” You suddenly captured his hand to still it, and Rafayel gave you the most scandalized look, “If you wanna hold it that badly, I’m not stopping you.”

“You’re not even aware you’re doing it,” You blinked incredulously, “Are you?”

Rafayel threw his head back and groaned dramatically, “Doing whaaat?” Then he lifted his head to press his forehead against yours and huffed, “Is this your way of telling me to get off my phone?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You look like a fish up close like this.” Rafayel pulled away to roll his eyes and clicked his phone off.

“Alright, fine, you have my attention.” Then he began tapping his foot, “You know, that’s a little offensive to say to a Lemurian. You could get cancelled for that.”

Your hand drifted to his bouncing knee, and you watched as both your hand and his leg now jumped up and down. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?!”

—♡ Xavier

Xavier is always chewing on something, and it is almost always never gum. It’ll be something random, like a straw from a drink he’d long since finished. The strings of his hoodie, a toothpick. Once, it was a plastic tie. He reminded you of a teething puppy; he’d probably chew on wires if you left him alone long enough. Today, though, his chew toy of choice looked a lot like…

“Xavier, is that my pen?” 

He blinked, eyes floating from his comic book to your frown, “Yours…?” His jaw froze mid-chew. 

“Yeah,” You scooted closer on the couch, “the one from my desk at work.” 

A blush crept along his cheekbones, but he didn’t drop the pen like you expected him to, “...Are you sure?”

Your eyes fell to the pen trapped in the corner of his mouth, “The one with little stars on it? Yeah, that’s mine. I thought I lost it at work, why do you have it?”

The comic book shifted in his hands, “I found it, that’s why.” This explanation would be more convincing if he hadn’t shifted his gaze sideways. His blunt fingernails picked nervously at the corner of his book, curling the edges.

“Xavier,”

“Okay, I borrowed it.” You bit back a chuckle, and he guiltily removed the pen from his mouth. It shined with his spit, and the cap bore teeth marks, “You can have it back.”

You couldn’t hide your grimace fast enough, “...Actually, you can keep it.” Xavier merely blinked before bringing the tip back to his mouth. Then a smile curved the corner of his lips.

“My pen now, hm?”

[kerokeeces]

ENHYPEN SFW hyung line fanfic recs!

who am I? im just silent reader who enjoys fics and want to help others find some of my favorites! srry im hee + hoon biased so most are about them

short fic - 1-5k words long fic - 5k+

HYUNG LINE

the look of love by @won4kiss - (how they look at you when they’re blinded by their love) - short fic

low power mode by @sungbeams - (when you get overwhelmed while you're out together) - text msgs

just a bet by @all4yoi - (after a few months of dating, you find out you were just a bet.) - short fic

HEESEUNG

sing me a song by @senascoop - (when you can't fall asleep and heeseung tries to help by singing you a song) - short fic

race to your heart by @coqhee - (lee heeseung who's always been a pro at racing takes on a change of pacing ; racing for your heart.) - long fic

uh oh im falling in love by @won4kiss - (you and heeseung have been rivals for as long as you could remember, constantly competing for the top spot in school—basically everything. living next door to each other only added to the fire, the tension between you, especially when heeseung’s cocky aura never seems to waver. but one single encounter shifts the entire dynamic, leading to confusing emotions arising, jealousy, and new surprising revelations. what happens when rivalry starts to feel like it’s growing into something more?) long fic

a stoner's guide to starbucks by @jayflrt - (in which you work at the starbucks where heeseung is a regular at (and considered a public enemy). also he only goes when he’s stoned off his ass.) - smau series

she knows her sour patch kids by @allforhee - (living under the protective eyes of your older brother, park sunghoon, he thinks he knows you the best. but litte does he know that heeseung knows you love your sour patch kids more than you love his usual swedish fish.) - short fic

win one win me by @jaylver - (who knew being angry and impulsive can get the captain of the hockey team to notice you? cussing them out when they were losing wasn't the best idea, but it definitely made lee heeseung's head turn, leading to him making a deal with you to win a game in order to get your number. but that wasn't enough for him, he was determined to make you his.) - long fic

from screens to scenes by @enreveriee - (you decide to give online dating a shot but have never met your boyfriend in person, nor do you even know what he looks like. when your friends pressure you into finally asking him out for a real-life date, things take a surprising turn. what you expected to be a simple meetup becomes an adventure filled with unexpected twists.) - long fic

taste of life by @mygnolia - (heeseung is invisible to everyone, robbed of recognition as people pass through and never acknowledge him. to live as a shadow who observes is hard—heeseung sinks into corners and simply wishes for a chance to be a part of something. but when you finally come to the biggest halloween party of the year and see him, he can’t help but be attached.) - short fic

bring the heat by @kairoot - (y/n has always disliked heeseung, the arrogant rising star of the racing scene. she especially dislikes him when he beats her brother in the city’s street racing round and takes it upon herself to do a rematch and race him. but when she gets herself stuck in a predicament, her enemy is the only one who can save her. maybe there’s more to heeseung than just his big ego.) - short fic

bjoux by @okikeu - (The fashion industry is difficult, so when the CEO of Korea's finest, luxury fashion brand, Le Désir, loses the most important ambassador of her career, her life is pretty much over. That is, until she finds a face that makes her previous fumble look like a simple marketing scheme.) - smau series

cliches are okay by @chogiwow - short fic

JAY

how you get the girl by @jaylver - (Beach parties are supposedly fun and exciting, aren’t they? Wrong. Experiencing college parties is rare for you, but you decided to give this one a go after your best friend’s constant pleas. Things were alright until everything turned sour when trouble found you and eventually you were roped into a fight alongside the campus’ famous hockey playboy. As if that wasn’t enough, the devil himself conjured up an idea that you found yourself being entangled in. It was all fun and games up until confusion arose, feelings being confessed and played, in the end, Jay had to learn how to get the girl, his girl.) - long fic

white corvette and lipstick by @okwonyo - (waiting for the cab with your boyfriend in the night.) - short fic

pictures enhypen send you of bf!jay by @ddksoo - fake texts

fast forward by @asahicore - (After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy… and future husband, or so it seems.) - long fic

JAKE

bed chem by @cupidhoons - (your friend sets you up with a cute aussie boy at her party) - short fic

texts with bestfriend!jake by @silquids - text msgs

found you by @whjluv - (jake is very well known and loved by everybody on campus. equally popular was his relationship with the captain of the volleyball team, haneul. even more popular, sadly, is his breakup after more than a year. the months following the event take a significant toll on jake, who becomes unrecognizable. his once sweet, friendly and pure nature is replaced by a constant gloomy and somber aura. what happens when this new version of jake sim unexpectedly clashes with a very straightforward and quite intimidating member of the school’s podcast?) - long fic

SUNGHOON

deep honey by @paarksunghoon - (the last thing you want to do is interrupt sunghoon’s time with his friends, but your doting boyfriend has always said he’ll be there whenever you need him. when a shift at work leaves you hanging by a thread, he and his friends are there to patch your soul back up.) - short fic

cafeteria confessions by @reinahwanggg - (everyone thinks you're dating your childhood best friend sunghoon. well, everyone including sunghoon because he confessed to you almost a year ago and you didn't exactly know it was a confession because of how casually he said it.) - short fic

sunghoon with a crush on you by @woniecore - smau

get well soon by @senascoop - (You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.) - long fic

love on air by @pshbites - (two podcast groups, both equally popular on the internet, start interacting with one another. however it isnt how fans want it to be.. OR yn sees sunghoon hating on lauryn hill and accidentally starts an entire fanwar with him.) - smau series

the 24-hour dating challenge by @jaeyunverse - (being a famous youtuber isn’t easy, especially when you have to constantly come up with new ideas to keep your audience entertained. and this time, your viewers want you to date park sunghoon, your best friend of nearly a decade, for the entirety of 24 hours.) - long fic

[lalunalando]

High Altitudes - LN4

Pairings: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+! minors dni! smut, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), needy gf reader, mile high club, cockwarming

Songs: Own My Mind - Maneskin / White Glove - Dove Cameron (bold parts are lyrics used)

It’s been 5 hours into this 22 hour flight, and to say you were bored would be putting it lightly.

With the AusGP and surrounding celebrations over, you Lando and Max were flying back to England with a few of the team on the jet so he could do a factory debrief after another successful podium.

Lando was currently asleep in the seat next to you, worn out from a big week of exploring and most of all the celebrations from the evening before that ran well into the morning hours.

You on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. Lando had started something right before you had to leave thinking it would be funny, but being stuck on a plane for 22 hours now, you wanted to kill him for leaving you so needy.

Every time you tried to close your eyes, images of his hands on you plagued your mind.

The way his facial hair tickled your thighs while he buried his head in your heat.

The way he looked down at you half-lidded with pouty lips parted while you were on your knees for him.

You couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together hoping to relieve even a little pressure.

Lando woke up to you squirming around in your seat, reaching a hand over to grab your thigh and make you stop.

“Babe, are you okay? You’re being real wiggly right now.” He says through a yawn.

“Uh, yeah sorry, just um feeling a little cold i guess” you respond, looking away from him as to not show him the blush across your face that was red enough to rival Ferrari.

Tapping your thigh to get your attention back on him, he has to hold back a laugh hearing the high pitch of your voice, knowing exactly what was going on.

“Princess, you should have told me sooner, come here” he says softly, as he lifts the blanket that’s laid over him for you to join him on his seat.

You thought for a second, knowing you wanted to be close to him but also knowing you wouldn’t cope being that close to him.

Seeing the way he looked at you with sweet puppy dog eyes as he laid on his side, you realized he really did just want to help, so against your better judgements you got up and wiggled into the space beside him, getting cozy under the nice warm blanket as his arm wrapped around your waist from behind.

Feeling him pressed against you wasn’t doing anything to help the ache building between your legs, but at least it was cozy enough now that you could try and get at least a few hours sleep to distract your mind.

Or at least you thought that would be the case.

Just as you started to feel yourself drifting off, Lando starts sliding his hand from your waist down to your heat, bringing you back to full alertness.

“Lan, wh-what are you doing?” You say, trying to hold in a whimper as his fingers trailed up under the dress you’d worn, just trying to be comfortable for the flight.

“Just trying to warm you up darling, you were cold right?” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he buries his face into your neck, leaving little kisses in his wake.

“Lando we can’t, max is right across the table” you whine quietly as his fingers trail up and down the wet patch that has well and truly formed on your panties.

“Max is asleep, don’t you want to know what the good, good, bad things all feel like?” He whispers, sending another chill down your spine as he starts moving your panties to the side and circling your clit slowly.

“Can you be quiet baby? We can only keep going if you stay quiet, don’t want anyone waking up to see you like this do we?” He says as he leaves another kiss right below your ear, making you bite your lip to stay quiet as you nod in agreement

As he continues his torment with one hand, he quietly releases himself from the confines of his sweatpants with the other, giving himself a few strokes.

“How about you keep this warm for me princess, think you can do that?” He asks as he parts yours legs slightly, hooking one over his own to give himself more space, as he runs his tip through your folds a few times before poking his tip at your entrance.

All you can do is whimper and nod as he pushes in slowly, so slow it’s making you lose your mind.

After a few minutes of stillness, him just resting inside, you feel like you’re going to go crazy.

“Lan can you please move? Need to feel you already”

“Nuh uh baby, you’re just supposed to be keeping it warm for me. Thought we couldn’t do this with everyone around, what if max wakes up” he teases, using your own words against you.

“You might be the answer to the sinner in me” you quietly groan as you lean your head back against him.

It takes Lando all of his self control to not wake the entire plain up with a loud groan after hearing that, knowing he can’t keep the teasing much longer.

“Meet me in the bathroom in 5 minutes” he demands before pulling out, making you whimper at the loss of contact as he readjusts himself in his sweatpants, before getting up and heading to the small plane bathroom.

This was it. You were going to join the infamous mile high club today you guess.

After what you assume to be 5 minutes, you quietly get up and head to the bathroom, hoping no one wakes up.

You knock as lightly as you can on the door to alert Lando that you were there, and within seconds you were being pulled into the bathroom with him and pushed back against the door the moment it was locked behind you.

Lando wasted no time, biting at your neck as he pushed his bulge into you, making sure you knew how painfully hard he was for you.

“Excited to join the mile high club baby?” He smirks before finally kissing you properly, hands still wandering up your thighs to your ass, tapping lightly on your ass to tell you to jump and wrap your legs around him.

You use this moment to mess with him a little, as payback for his earlier teasing.

“Who said i haven’t done this before?” You ask as you pull back and tilt your head at him, a smirk on your lips

“Well then angel, gonna make you swallow all that pride, take you up to higher heights” he growls before putting you back down on the ground, turning you around and pushing you to bend over the sink.

You don’t have a moment to think as he pushes your skirt up over your ass and smacks it hard, making such a noise you’re sure anyone awake outside would have heard it.

Before you can scold him, he’s pushing his sweatpants down to free himself again and pushing your panties to the side, lining himself up with your entrance before pushing himself in roughly, giving you no time to adjust.

You bite your lip to contain your moan, biting so hard it draws blood.

“You know I’ve just gotta have it baby, can’t help myself being rough when you take me so fucking well” he growls in your ear, snapping his hips into yours so rough your sure the sink in front of you is going to bruise your own hips that are hitting it in the process

You’re a whimpering mess in front of him as he pulls your hair and makes you watch yourself taking him in the reflection of the mirror.

“Look how much of a slut you are, taking every inch of me in a plane bathroom while our friends are outside all because you were too needy and desperate to wait until we got home”

”I couldn’t help it lan, need you so bad all the time” you’re a panting mess at this point, fueled by the feeling of your own arousal sliding down your legs as he continues his relentless punishment on you.

“God you’re such a good girl for me always, you own my mind” he says as he locks eyes with your own in the mirrors reflection

It doesn’t take long before his thrusts get sloppy, signaling he’s not far off finishing.

“Please Lan, need to cum, need to be full of you” you pant out, your own high teetering on the edge.

He slides the hand, that’s currently gripping your hip with such force your sure there will be bruises of his entire fingerprint on it, around to your clit and rubs tight circles with the rough pads of his pointer and middle finger, completely making you come undone.

Feeling you tighten around him, he’s quick to release your hair and cover your mouth to muffle the moans spilling out of your mouth as he bites on your shoulder to muffle his own, spilling himself into you as you pulse around his cock.

After a few minutes of regaining your breath, he’s slipping out of you and making you whine as his cum seeps out after him. Suddenly he’s shocking you and your over sensitive parts once again as he pushed his cum back into you with two fingers and then places your panties back into place, patting your pussy as if to say “good job”, before sliding your dress back down over you.

You give yourselves a few minutes to regain composure, Lando helping you fix your hair he’s knotted up with his fist but unable to help you stop looking so blissfully fucked out and flushed, before you get ready to slip out hopefully without anyone noticing you’ve both been missing for so long.

As you open the door while looking at Lando and giggling, you turn around to the cocky face of Max Fewtrell, arms crossed in amusement.

“Took you both long enough, I’ve had to piss for 20 minutes now” he says with a smirk, holding back laughter as he watched you turn paler than a ghost in horror that you we’re caught.

“I won’t tell anyone, if you both move the fuck out of the way before i piss myself” he suddenly gets serious, pushing you both out of the way and locking the door behind him.

Lando just laughs as he leads you back to your seats, pulling you down to squish back into his one and cover you both with the blanket again before cuddling up to you.

“Think you can get some sleep now pretty girl?” He asks as he places a kiss to your temple

“yeah i think I’m warm enough now” you respond with a smile, making him let out a chuckle into your hair

Max returns and sits across from you both, making a face of disgust before breaking character and laughing, making you and Lando laugh with him.

“Well, welcome to the mile high club lovebirds”

[sarahroutldge]

i love you, i'm sorry.

a/n: requested based on a prompt list - the dialogue prompt is in bold! gif not mine, all credits to the creator (also the title has nothing to do with the song, it was just stuck in my head lol)

pairing: jj maybank x reader

summary: you and jj maybank drunkenly hooked up a few nights ago, and neither of you know how to deal with that. (routledge!reader)

word count: 3k

warnings: fluff/humor, angst w/ a happy ending, implied sexual content, drinking, semi-proofread, I think that's it

John Booker Routledge never thought he’d actually have to tell his best friend JJ Maybank that his little sister was off limits. Not once did it ever occur to him that JJ would ever think of you in a different way; he hardly liked to consider the idea that you dated anyone in the first place, let alone that you’d express any interest in the man he knew inside-and-out.

But things change and people get older. After you and the rest of the Pogues found El Dorado and began construction on Poguelandia, JJ started to see you differently. Sure, he always found you attractive, but JJ also found every woman he encountered attractive, so he never thought much of it. 

And you certainly didn’t ever think of JJ in that way either. At heart, you were a relationship girl; and while the fact that you were single was proof enough that no relationship of yours had worked out in the past, one of your greatest strengths was that you knew what you wanted. You didn’t seek out something casual because you knew you’d be left unfulfilled. You wanted something all-consuming and destined for marriage. Seeing your older brother grow and mature in his relationship with Sarah Cameron only clarified that further. In your mind, if the second-most relationship-allergic person you knew (after JJ of course) was able to dive headfirst into marriage with a girl so remarkably different from himself, then you decided you wouldn’t settle for any less.

Feelings, however, have a funny way of messing with plans and expectations. While JJ had essentially lived with you and your brother for years, building Poguelandia only pushed the two of you even further together. And watching someone so unpredictable and chaotic as JJ tame himself for the sake of his friends and his future stirred something in you that you hadn’t been expecting at all.

Over the months, your interactions with JJ changed, little by little, and for a while neither of you noticed. It just grew natural for JJ to fix something in the bait shop that you were fussing over, or for you to bring JJ a sandwich or a snack while he worked. You found little ways to make the other’s day brighter, even if subconsciously you never even considered why you were doing these little favors in the first place.

What actually brought the two of you together wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, however. One night, after a long day of work on the house, the Pogues found themselves hanging out above the bait shop, buzzed off of beers, seltzers, and a few joints made of flower grown right from Kiara’s secret spot in the garden. And while the rest of the Pogues eventually found their ways inside and to sleep, JJ and you probably drank a bit too much. One thing led to another, and that was the first night you hooked up. It was slow, passionate, and clumsy, and while the both of you would later blame it on the alcohol and the weed, deep inside you were both fully aware that it was simply the end result of months of pining.

And that’s how you found yourself waking up on the hammock above the bait shop in only one of JJ’s t-shirts and a pair of underwear. The combination of the blinding North Carolina sunrise along with John B.’s extremely loud footsteps on the floor below practically forced your eyes open. While you play the night before over in your head, trying to piece it all together, you’re scrambling to get the rest of your clothes on.

Running downstairs with your shoes untied, you let out a huge “oof” as you collide with your brother, almost sending the two of you to the ground. 

“Good morning to you, too, sis,” John B. says, his eyes expressing his confusion at the fact that you obviously slept upstairs last night.

“Oh, um, sorry, JB, I guess I just drank too much last night and crashed on the hammock,” you practically vomit out.

“Riiiiight,” John B. responds, clearly not convinced but nonetheless wholly uninterested in this situation in the first place. “Just, uh, go shower. You stink.”

Assuming John B.’s comment is a joke, you let out a laugh that immediately sounds forced. “Yeah, uh, that’s what I planned on.”

John B. shoots you a thumbs-up before making his way behind the counter, clearly prepping to open the bait shop for customers. Deciding to avoid any more awkwardness between the two of you, you begin to make your way back to the house. However, your brain can’t help but consider the possibility that only more awkwardness awaits you back in the house, which you’re really not ready to process. You spin around to face John B. at the entrance to the bait shop. “Hey, uh, is JJ up?”

John B. doesn’t even look up from whatever he’s doing at the counter, clearly focused on something else. “Yeah, he took his bike to the grocery store about ten minutes ago, I think.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, and then turn back around to make your way into the house. Occupied with trying to wrack your brain about what exactly happened last night, you again stumble into someone else as you walk through the kitchen.

“Ow,” Sarah squeaks. 

You immediately apologize, looking her in the eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just, uh, didn’t sleep well last night,” you explain, hoping she’ll move out of the way so you can make your way to your bedroom upstairs.

But Sarah, unfortunately, has the attention to detail that your brother lacks. Looking you in the eyes, her brows furrow. “Did you sleep outside last night?”

You scratch your head. “Uh, yeah. Just, uh, crashed after all those drinks, you know?”

One thing that Sarah does share with your brother, however, is her unwillingness to let things go. Clearly noticing that something is on your mind, her eyes stare into yours, as if she thinks that she can figure out everything about you based on your facial expressions alone. And evidently, she can, because she then proceeds to whisper-yell, “Y/N, is that a hickey?”

She lightly taps a new bruise on your neck that JJ must have left last night, and you can feel your cheeks heat up at the action. You bat her hand away, and she smirks when she realizes what you must be hiding. 

“I don’t have time for this,” you blurt out, before maneuvering yourself around Sarah and walking over to the bottom of the stairs. 

“Whatever you say,” she taunts behind you, and you can practically hear her giggle as you make your way up the steps. 

Once you get to your bedroom, you lock the door behind you. Sliding down the wall, you let out a sigh, grateful that you met no more obstacles on the way upstairs. But as soon as your butt hits the ground, reality comes crashing down, and you realize that you have a much harder obstacle to deal with than running into one of your friends in the hallway. Instead, you have to deal with the fact that you slept with JJ Maybank—the man you’ve known practically your entire life who not only happens to be one of your closest friends, but even more than that, is your brother’s best friend. Yeah, you’re screwed.

For the next few days, JJ avoided you at all costs. He didn’t want to face the consequences of what you’d done, and was worried more than anything that his friendship with you (and John B. for that matter) would be ruined. And while you had the same idea for a while, within only a few days you decided that talking about it was the only way to move forward. Knowing JJ’s extensive dating history, you were convinced that JJ would only tell you that it was a mistake and a regret. You prepared herself for the negative, and found him alone at night in the employees-only area above the tackle and bait shop.

You carefully tiptoe up the stairs to prevent JJ from getting spooked and immediately bailing on the conversation. When he notices your presence, he shoots up from where he was laying on the hammock, just like you had anticipated. “JJ, we need to talk—”

“Y/N—”

“No, please, JJ, just let me speak,” you clarify, before walking closer to him. 

Realizing he doesn’t have any other choice, JJ sighs, gesturing for her to continue.

Working up the nerves, you wring your hands, preparing yourself for a moment that seemed more daunting than any of the actually threatening experiences you’d had with the Pogues over the last few years. “You know me, Jayj. You know that I don’t have one-night stands or casual relationships. And I can’t go on like this, pretending like what happened between us is normal or that I can just ignore it. I know that you’ve probably never had feelings for me, but if I don’t tell you this now, I’ll regret it. I… I like you, JJ.” Taking a breath, you step back, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of your chest. Only now, you have to brace yourself for the inevitable rejection.

Looking into JJ’s eyes, you can’t tell what he’s thinking, and that’s nothing short of terrifying. You’ve known JJ since he was a kid, and he’s not the best liar, so you can usually tell what he’s feeling from the moment you see him. But this time, you’re clueless, and the silence is deafening.

“JJ, please say something. If you’re going to tell me you don’t like me back, then just say it so we can move on and put this behind us.”

He brings his hands to his face, trying to piece the words together. “Just, uh, gimme a minute.” You nod at him, before moving to sit where he’d previously sat on the hammock. You swing your knees up to your chest, hugging them in comfort. 

You watch as he paces the floor around you. It’s not long before he speaks, but it feels like hours as you wait. 

“Y/N, I… We’ve been friends forever. You, me, and John B. It was the three of us for the longest time and then Pope came and then Kiara and… Uh, I’m getting off track.” He starts fidgeting with the ring on his thumb as he looks down at the ground, preparing for what he’s about to say next. “I won’t lie—you’ve always been hot. Like super fucking hot. And I’m not good at relationships or whatever, but I… I like you, too.” 

And your ears can’t believe what they’re hearing, so your head immediately jerks up to meet his eyes. “Wait… you do?” 

He nods, and you can feel a smile beginning to form on your face. “Well, then, why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. 

“Because it doesn’t matter,” JJ answers, and your heart immediately sinks in your chest, once again. “I can’t do this to John B., Y/N. I just can’t.”

“Who cares about him? He’ll get over it. John B. is not my problem.” 

“That’s the point, Y/N! He’ll be there for you no matter what. But the Pogues are basically all I have left. You and John B. are my family, and if I mess shit up with you, I’ll lose you both. And I can’t do that to myself.”

“You won’t mess it up, J,” you reassure, though part of you understands what he’s getting at.

“When have I not messed something up? I mess shit up all the time, and you mean too much to me for me to risk it. You need to go and find someone out there better than me, because as much as it’ll hurt me to see you with someone else, it’d be a lot worse if you were in pain and I was the reason. It’s because I’m in love with you that I wish we’d never done what we did,” he blurts out. 

And while you were trying your best to listen to him carefully, all you heard was him telling you that he’s in love with you. “You… You love me?” you whisper, and JJ’s eyes go back to the floor.

“Of course I fucking do! How could I not? You’re gorgeous and funny and weird and you know me better than anyone else, and I’ll never forgive myself if I ruin shit with you. So just let me go, because this is the hardest thing I’ve had to do.”

As you process what JJ says, he rushes down the stairs. The heavy pattern of his boots hitting the wooden floors grabs your attention again, and you sprint downstairs to meet him before he can run away completely. You grab his hand and pull him towards you. When his head moves, you can see tears in his eyes, even as the sky gets darker. “It’s not okay to just leave me here after telling me you love me back,” you choke out.

“We can’t—we’ll never be together,” he bites back, trying to sound angry. But you can read right through him, and he knows it. You drop his arm and reach up to grab his face with your hands. Your thumb wipes away a stray tear.

“JJ, you’re right: I do know you better than anyone else. And yes, you’re not the best at relationships. But don’t you think that with us it could be different? That maybe because we know each other so well we can figure it out together?”

He begins to shake his head, but before he can get any more words out, you continue. “JJ, I know everything about you. I know the worst things you’ve done and the best things. You’re always calling me a know-it-all, and yet right now you don’t seem to believe me when I tell you that I know we can do this. We can do it, and it’ll be hard, but it’ll be worth it because I can’t picture myself loving anyone else the way I love you.” And as the tears stream down your cheeks, JJ inches a bit closer to you.

“You… You love me?”

“Of course I do, you idiot. How could I not? You’re the sweetest, kindest, funniest, bravest person I know and my life would be so unbelievably boring if you weren’t in it.”

His eyes look all over your face, trying to see if he can detect a lie. But all he sees is someone so convinced in their feelings, so articulate, and he can’t believe that it’s possible but he might just love you more than he did five minutes ago. 

“Let me deal with John B., okay? I get why you’re scared and I would never want to come between the two of you, but you deserve to be loved, JJ. And I want to be the one who gets to love you.” 

As soon as you get the words out, he’s pressing his lips to yours, and you’re so glad he reached out to hold your waist because otherwise you’d be falling to your knees. It’s magical and romantic and you can taste the salty years you’ve both shed. His right hand moves to grab the side of your face and pull you even closer somehow, before moving back down to your waist and squeezing you in anticipation. The two of you break away, panting. He grips you again and gestures for you to jump, which you do, and you wrap your legs around his back. He carries you over to the counter of the bait shop, where he sets you down. Your legs squeeze his, and he grabs ahold of your face with his hands. “Before we um… do anything else… Are you sure?”

You nod immediately. “Babe, I need the words.”

Your heart clenches at the term of affection, and you pull his shirt to bring him even closer to you. “I am absolutely, positively sure that I love you, JJ Maybank.” He grins so wide you start giggling.

He smashes his mouth back to yours, and this time the kiss is hotter and needier. It’s just a mess of clashing teeth, lips, and hands, with little “I love yous” whispered in between. 

JJ tugs on the bottom of your shirt, and you break away so that he can lift it off, throwing it somewhere else in the shop. His shirt follows, but before he can unclasp your bra, you push him back. “JJ, I’m not fucking you in the bait shop.”

“It’s dark out and no one’s gonna see—”

You jump down from the counter. “It’s either in the house or in the Twinkie. Your choice,” you challenge, and he rolls his eyes.

“Oh come on, people do it all the time,” he justifies, and you look at him like he’s grown two heads.

“What on earth are you talking about?” you ask.

“Hooking up in the bait shop, duh. I caught Pope and Cleo on top of the freezer once, and I’m pretty sure I saw Kiara making out with her ex-girlfriend behind the counter.”

You roll your eyes. “You are literally proving my point,” you say, and he scratches his head. 

“Well, I know for a fact that John B. and Sarah hooked up in the bait shop once and I didn’t see anything!” he explains.

“That’s not any better! You’re talking about my brother!” you whine, and JJ starts to see that you’re not budging. 

He lifts you up bridal-style into his arms, and you squeal. “Fine, my lady, my room it is.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck. “Have you cleaned it recently?” you ask, knowing how messy his room gets. 

“Uh… Like, maybe not super recently. But I can make it nice,” he offers.

You squint. “As nice as my room?”

“Yeah, let’s just go to yours,” he says, and you giggle at how easily he gives in. As he walks down the talk, carrying you in his arms, you can see a smirk grow on his face. “But after we’re done, it’ll be as dirty as mine.”

“JJ!”

so... what did y'all think? I might consider making a part two where john b. finds out. is that something y'all would be interested in??

also... feedback is very much appreciated - pls comment, reblog, send asks, etc.!

[ohodie]

SECOND THAT

luke castellan x reader

★ “i’m restless, i’m wrestling with the song that you love, it’s been stuck in my head”

ABOUT - luke castellan is the only one at camp who sees right through your perfect and poised persona; and all he wants is the satisfaction of ruining it.

WARNINGS - smut, mentions of choking, both the reader and luke are TERRIBLE but luke is much worse lol, swearing, written from the perspective of a deranged luke, penetration, only loosely proofread.

A/N- i have NEVER written and posted smut before EVER. like i get close but i never go all out. so… no hate guys 😘 also i feel like this is a bit ooc for luke so just pretend he’s actually insane and terrible guys!!! if you ignore his incoherent ramblings, it’s PWOP sooo… anyways this might be the first and last time i ever write smut who knows

luke castellan is no amateur when it comes to pretending to be something else. growing up, the only thing that mattered to luke was receiving praise or recognition for being ‘great’ or ‘honourable’ or whatever.

when you live your whole life pretending to be a perfect person, you kinda start to believe you really are a perfect person.

and if everyone you meet also believes you are indeed a perfect person, what’s the harm in continuing to pretend?

at the end of the day, both parties gain something. you get the validation and acclaim that you truly deserve, and they get a role model they aspire to at least halfway resemble.

luke is the sweetest guy at camp- everyone loves him. and he deserves it, doesn’t he? he deserves their praise and love and respect. gods, he should be rewarded for pretending to be so admirable for so long. he’s entitled to it.

you, on the other hand? you don’t. you don’t deserve an ounce of the praise luke has worked so hard to receive.

to luke, you’re vermin. behind your polite smiles and sweet words, there’s darkness. there’s an evil lurking within you- he’s sure of it.

he sees it during early morning sparring sessions, watching from the wings while you tactfully dodge every attack that comes your way. and when you eventually falter, he sees how your eyes turn cold and your smile fades.

he sees how you take a shaky breath, brushing yourself off with your bony hands before flashing a toothy grin. he feels nauseous when you extend your arm out to shake the hand of your opponent- because how the fuck can they believe your little act?

your gentle kindness and bashful charisma is so obviously fake. of course, he’s not pissed that you’re acting; everyone at camp is acting to an extent. but you’re going all out, and he can still see through it. what pisses him off, is that nobody else seems to recognise how truly malicious you can be.

maybe it’s because you’re pretty. luke is no stranger to getting special treatment based on his appearance, and neither should you be. maybe that’s the whole basis of your appeal. it seems to be the only thing holding your pathetic little facade together, considering your sloppy acting skills.

if you were ugly everyone would be able to call out your bullshit straight away, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about sharing the spotlight. honestly, the only reason why everyone loves you so much is because half of them want to fuck you, and the other half want your attention or approval- not that it’d be worth anything.

it was the last week of spring, meaning only the year-rounders and a few of the older kids were at camp. you just graduated high school, and arrived at camp early.

of course, you just had to return to camp prettier, taller, more confident, and with a fancy college acceptance letter. maybe you were much smarter than you let on- but it became very apparent that your intelligence wasn’t the reason you got accepted into NYU once he learned what you were studying.

“oh, i’m getting a degree in art history,”

seriously? art history? that’s gotta be the funniest thing luke has ever heard in his entire life.

“really? why art history?” he asks politely, watching your every move as he awaits your dumbass explanation.

you shrug cheerfully, looking around at the few other campers scattered around in a tight-knit circle as they wait for you to tell them about your ‘lovely’ 18th birthday and ‘eventful’ senior year.

“i don’t know, my mum works with a lot of artists, so she said it’d be a good conversation starter,” you say cheerfully, as if it wasn’t the stupidest thing to ever exit your mouth.

luke can’t help but let out a little giggle, before instantly lowering his head to offer some non-verbal apology. but to his surprise, you laugh along. “yeah, i really wanna score a job at the MET or something. i don’t mind either way,”

luke nods politely, letting the conversation continue without interrupting with a snide comment or unsolicited laughter.

he plays along as the conversation continues, pretending he doesn’t want to grab you by the throat and push you against the wall, demanding you to confess. demanding you to tell the fucking truth; that you’re a manipulative sycophant who’s bound to end up in rehab for getting addicted to designer drugs.

why is he the only one that sees you for who you truly are? gods, if he knew any better he might be charmed. you were naturally picturesque- or at least you seemed to be. the way that you were sitting on the grass with your hair draping over your body; you looked gorgeous. but you always look gorgeous, that’s your best quality after all.

of course all of camp half-blood was fooled- you were to pretty and kind to be lying. maybe it was better to let them keep on believing that you were this perfect image of a girl.

but he’d still appreciate the satisfaction of seeing you for who you are- seeing you in your rawest form.

and then suddenly, he saw it. some athena girl asked you if you wanted to go on a run with her later, to which you politely declined. of course, you kept your composure, told her that you had to take a nap, offered her a sympathetic smile and a ‘maybe next time’. but she didn’t see the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head as soon as she looked away.

luke was astonished. you really were getting sloppy, huh?

and yet, nobody else saw it. nobody else saw the look of disgust on your face as soon as she finished talking. he was seething- how on earth could everyone be so blind?

luke looks around at the group of people surrounding him, his eyes darting back to you ever 5 or 10 seconds. they all look at you with awe- as if you’re the most precious thing on earth.

fuck that. he was going to put you in your place.

a few hours pass, and it was finally time for everyone to walk back to their cabins.

luke spots you walking alone to your cabin, your face dimly lit by the moon as it shines over the camp. he’s so overwhelmed with anger, he couldn’t fathom caring about the consequences of whatever situation he was about to put himself in.

he quickly catches up to you, meeting your walking pace as he shoots you a friendly smile.

“hey, y/n. you got a minute?” luke asks, still adorning that charming smile. you smile back at him, nodding your head ever so gently, as if it would fall off if you moved it too fast. like a rusty elvis bobble head bought 1976 that resides on the dash of your grandmother’s busted car.

“yeah, why?” you hold your hands behind your back as you walk beside him, slowly approaching your empty cabin. luke shrugs his shoulders. “oh, i just had a little question. mind if we talk in your cabin?” he asks.

you nod, opening the door for luke and letting him walk through. you close the door behind him, before leaning your back against the wall. luke stands in front of you, his cheery demeanour vanishing as he crosses his arms.

“why the fuck are you such a little bitch all the time?”

you furrow your brows, mirroring his posture as you cross your arms defensively. “excuse me?”

luke rolls his eyes, letting out dry laughter as he looks you up and down. “you heard me,” he adds, watching you anxiously begin to pick at your lips with your freshly manicured fingernails.

“do you have a problem with me or something?” your whole body feels tense as you continue picking at your lips, your eyes locked onto his.

“yeah, i do have a problem. i’m tired of your little ‘nice girl’ act. it’s getting fucking annoying,” luke scoffed, taking a step closer towards you. your eyes darken, before shaking away your hostile expression.

“are you sure you wanna do this right now, castellan?”

“is that a threat?”

you pull your fingertips away from your lips, shifting your weight to the other side of your body as you cross your arms once more. you let silence fill the room before finally speaking up.

“listen, luke. everyone pretends to be someone they’re not. you and i just tend to do it more than others-“

luke cuts your off, taking another step forwards. “fuck off, we are not the same.”

you roll your eyes, banging your head against the wall as you groan irritably. “so what? are you gonna go around spreading cheap lies about me now?” you ask tiredly. luke shakes his head, slightly shrugging his shoulders.

“nah.” he replies curtly, his voice blunt and expression vague. “mkay, then what the fuck is your problem?”

luke takes another quick step forward, tightly holding your chin in his hand as he lifts your head to face him. “you’re my fucking problem.”

you let out a dry laugh, staring into his eyes as you attempt to intimidate him. “you’re such a loser.” you whisper, refusing to fight back against the way he’s gripping your face.

he stays silent, biting his lip as he looks over your form. “and you’re a brat.” he retorts.

“are we just going to keep throwing insults back and forth all night, or are you gonna explain why you’re so obsessed with me?” you ask playfully, cupping his face in your hand as an attempt to patronise him.

luke is stumped. to be fair, he is entirely obsessed with you. and he has been for years now. and now he has you cornered, watching your weak attempts at asserting dominance over him.

luke was over it.

suddenly, luke leans in, harshly pressing his lips against yours. you retract your hand from his face, pressing it against the wall as you feel his body moving towards you.

he wraps his other hand around your neck, only gently gripping it as to not alarm you.

luke is surprised by how you sink into his grip, pulling away to see your closed eyes and swollen lips. when you wipe your mouth and look at him with those hauntingly innocent eyes, he’s almost fooled.

you scoff, smirking as you tear away from his grip and take a few steps back. “is that all you wanted?” you say confidently, watching him turn around to watch you carefully pace around the room.

he shakes his head, groaning quietly as he walks over to you once more.

luke purses his lips, trying to suppress any sense of genuine attraction to you. but when his eyes gaze over to your red lips and flushed cheeks, he can’t help but let his mind wander.

“if you’re done, you can leave, castellan.” you say irritably, leaning against your bed frame.

it goes straight to his dick when you call him that, especially when your voice sounds so hoarse and cocky. he feels as though he’s finally accomplished what he’s been yearning to do for years now. he’s seeing the real you.

he couldn’t dare squander this opportunity now.

he pushes you down onto your bed, watching how your hair flows over your newly made bedsheets as your head hits the pillow.

“but you don’t want me to leave, do you?” luke says lowly, hovering over your body as his hand hold your wrists together above your head.

“i don’t care what you do, castellan.”

luke groans, pressing another rough kiss against your lips. you kiss back for whatever reason, and your firsts relax within his grip. it was almost as if you got off on the idea of someone calling out your bullshit. or maybe you got off on the idea of somewhat hating your guts. either way, luke knew you were more than eager to continue.

he let go of your wrists, before biting your bottom lip. your mouth opens slightly, offering entry to his tongue, deepening the kiss.

you hand cups his face, while the other grips his shoulder. after a few moments, he pulls away and begins sucking at the skin of your neck, leaving purple marks on your delicate skin while you let out hoarse whimpers.

his hands begin to fiddle with the fabric of your shirt, causing you to push his body forwards as you position yourself to sit on his lap. you take off your shirt, throwing it away as you run your hands down his back.

luke looks down at your chest, growing more aroused at the sight of your lacy little bra. it’s as if you knew someone was going to see it.

you feel a hardness growing from under his jeans, poking against your upper thigh as you slowly grind against his lap. luke let’s put a low moan, continuing to bury his face in your neck.

“i fucking hate you,” he growls, gripping the sides of your waist with his hands as you move against him.

“don’t care, take off your shirt,” you demand hurriedly, running your fingers through his hair as you tilt his head up to look at you.

luke rolls his eyes, before taking off his shirt. he quickly presses another series of harsh kissses against your neck, fiddling with the clasp of your bra as you push your chest up against his. you giggle softly at his incompetence, before he finally unhooks it and ravenously pulls it from your chest.

luke pushes your body backwards onto the bed, trailing kisses down from your neck and onto your tits. you let out a quiet moan, before biting down onto your hand in order to stifle the sound. his large hands knead your left breast, while the other grips the area just under your right breast, resting on top of your ribcage.

luke’s hands slowly move downwards, hip thumb tracing circles against the side of your hip as you gently grasp onto his hair. his fingertips gently pull down your shorts, leaving you in only your underwear.

he rubs his thumb over the wet fabric, before tilting his head to look up at you. “pathetic,” he mutters, smirking at your flushed faced. you groan, burying the back of your head further into the pillow as your back arches involuntarily.

luke’s thumb massages your clit from over the soaking fabric, watching you squirm in response. he lets out a dry laugh, before pulling down your panties and tossing them onto the floor.

“luke…” you moan quietly, closing your eyes as your hips jerk into the mattress. his fingers trace your wet folds, before letting his thumb rub circles against your clit and forcing two fingers inside of you.

you whimper before pursing your lips, rolling your head around as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out. he quickens his pace, pressing down harshly against your clit while beginning to suck on the skin of your upper thigh.

luke holds down your hip with his free hand as you begin to squirm.

suddenly, he stops.

you look at him with a confused expression, your face red as he pulls his fingers out. he chuckles at your disappointed face, before taking off his pants and boxers. you stare at his length unashamedly, biting down on your bottom lip.

“so fucking needy.” he says lowly, his voice horse as he softly begins to continue massaging your clit. you moan, feeling your back arch as he positions himself in front of your legs. he forcefully spreads them open as he teases your folds with the tip of his erect member.

you let out a little whine, your voice trembling as you try to move your hips against his length.

luke rolls his eyes at your poor attempts at penetration, before slowly pushing his cock into your entrance. you let out a breathy, high pitched moan, your hands eagerly gripping your bedsheets.

he gradually pushes in the entirety his length, continuing to rub circles into your clit. luke tightly grips your waist as he begins to slowly pull out, before jamming himself back in. you let out a breathy yelp as you body moves with his thrusts.

like continues relentlessly pushing in and out of you, massaging your waist as his thumb gradually increases the speed of its attack on your clit.

you try to steady you breathing, your face flushed as lukewarm continues to deliberately overwhelm your body.

“mm… luke, i’m gonna…” you mutter, your hips jerking upwards. he smiles at you, amused by how blissed out you look taking his cock. “so soon?” he teases, rapidly moving against your body.

you let out a stammering series of whimpers as your back arches upwards, feeing yourself suddenly release. luke grins, continuing to rub circles into your clit as he rides out your orgasm.

luke slowly retracts his thumb, repositioning the hand to gently grip your hip. he begins to slow down his movements, before quickly thrusting into you repetitively. you squirm, the movements of your hips constrained by his grip.

suddenly, he pulls out, releasing onto your stomach. see? he was a gentleman.

luke gazes over at the girl he just reduced to a panting mess as he stands up and puts his clothes back on. he smiles at you as he zips up his jeans, before kneeling besides you as you turn your head to look at him.

“i wont tell anyone how fucking pathetic you are, don’t worry, princess.”

you nod, staring at him as he continues to look at your defenceless body. “such a pretty girl,” he hums, cupping your face in his hand before kissing your forehead.

he reaches over to your discarded underwear and gently pulls them up your legs, the gesture acting somewhat as a peace offering. he takes a step back, simply taking in how endearingly stupid you look.

you slowly sit yourself up, grabbing your camp t shirt and putting it on. “goodnight, luke,” you choke out, your voice hoarse and breathing shallow. he nods, smiling softly as he turns to walk away. “night, princess.”

[peachesofteal]

The House

The Crypt anthology Simon Riley / female reader

The House was a gamble.

Tucked away in a thicket of forest, boxed in on the side of a hill, it stands alone at the mouth of an uneven gravel road. The porch tips to one side, the front door to another, like the wood is weeping. White, stained paint contrasts with faded black trim, all of it peeling away.

“Not sure how old it is, to be honest. It’s been back there for years, owner let it fall into disrepair.” The realtor hesitantly dropped the keys in your hand with a grumble under his breath. “Good luck.”

The living room is habitable, barely, along with a single bedroom that has managed to fend off the rot and decay. After the floor is swept, cobwebs cleared, you rub your hands together trying to spark some heat between your palms. You didn’t think it’d get this cold, this fast, but the weather has turned in the last few days, and the furnace in the basement patiently waits for you.

Best to get it over with.

This isn’t the first house you’ve rehabbed. You’re familiar with weeping trusses, creaking stairs, raccoons curled up in kitchen cabinets, dirt floor basements and cellars. You’ve battled a furnace or two, cleaned a fireplace, nearly fallen through a rotten floorboard. It should all be old hat.

Should be.

Something about this house is different. Shadows dance in the corner of your eye, gone when you turn to look. Windows whistle without wind, and at night, you swear you can hear breathing.

It’s all in your head, of course. A house stuck out here in the woods is bound to have some quirks, some unexplainable moments, passing as quickly as they came. Pipes, foundations, doorframes, they’re all shifting things, never truly solid. There are always growing pains, even in something old.

Besides, old houses always have stories. They have bones.

So, it should be old hat, but a wisp of a feeling so unnatural gives you pause at the top of the stairs, and a shudder rockets down your spine.

Suck it up, you chastise. You’re an adult for fucks sake.

The furnace is a monster. It’s big, and ancient, and rusted, and to your delight, still operational. Old furnaces, old washers and dryers, all the things made in the seventies and before, last forever. No LED displays, no excessive electrical hookups, no songs to announce the end of a cycle. Lack of extensive wiring leads to a longer lifespan.

It kicks back on with a loud groan, hissing and rattling, and you roll back on your heels, satisfied. Easy enough, you think, tugging your tools up and turning to leave.

Something catches your eye. A black scrap of cloth, haphazardly ditched in a corner of the basement. The light casts it in shadow, and the room goes cold as your knuckles graze the fabric, turning it to reveal faded white teeth and bone.

It’s a skull mask.

You chalk it up to being something left over from the last owners, a Halloween costume, or prop as you carry it up the stairs. Just another thing left behind, like the house itself. You toss it on one of the tables, making a note to throw it away later, distracted by the thud of a fist.

Someone is knocking on the door.

“Can I help you?” He’s too big. Too tall. Shoulders too wide. Chest too broad. There’s a curve of fat around his belly under the unbuttoned jacket, and you try to look away at how hips give way to too thick thighs. You’re not a small girl, by any means but this man… this man is a monster.

“Just wanted to come by, meet my neighbor.” Your heart pounds, so loud it rattles your eardrums, and your mouth dries. “I’m Simon.” You manage to spit your name out in response.

“Your neighbor?” You squeak in disbelief, and he nods.

“I live on the next property over. Over the hill.” Over the hill? The realtor said no one lived around here, and he must read the confusion on your face, because he chuckles. “I don’t live too close, it’s still about ten miles. You’ve got a lot of land here.”

“Oh. Right.” He takes you in from head to toe. There's a tenebrific flicker in his eyes that you barely catch, gone when the front porch creaks under your feet, a sharp whine forcing you to step off the board, lest you fall right through.

“How’s it treatin’ you?” You think you’re supposed to step off the porch. Be friendly. Extend a hand, but you can’t. Something roots you to the spot you’ve chosen.

“Good. Fine. It’s uh… not my first rehab.” He nods thoughtfully.

“Well, just wanted to drop by.” He gives you a smile. It’s not warm, or welcoming, but grim. Haunted.

You watch him disappear down the road, still stuck to the porch. Wondering.

Your dreams are caked in mud.

Held down by the earth, dirt wet between your teeth, grit and gravel clogging your throat.

You scratch and claw and scream but it only grows heavier, quicksand turning to cement, burying you deeper and deeper until you’re six feet under. Listless. Resigned.

Dying.

Dreams are always the same. Just when you get to the point where you think you might die, when you’re past the point of no return, the last sliver of life slipping away-

is when you wake up.

This dream is no different. You come to screaming, gasping for air, tangled in your blankets, heart racing in a gallop. You need the sky. The sun. The moon. Anything to prove you’re not buried alive.

The window suffices.

It groans as you throw it open and shove your face outside, cool breeze soothing your stomach, the roar of panic pounding between your ears. You breathe deep again and again, the trembling in your hands tapering off, feeling of impending doom, of collapse, leeching away.

You get yourself settled when the stairs creak.

Growing pains. The house is old.

It’s a manageable explanation, until a boot steps on the landing outside your room, just beyond the door. You fumble with the flashlight on your phone. “Hello?”

Nothing.

And then-

The steps move away. Down the hall. It’s certainly a person now, walking, and you fly out of bed, fumbling with your slippers, your sweater, throwing the bedroom door open and squinting the down the hallway.

There’s nothing there.

No one.

You’re losing it.

Days pass, and the nights tick by the same.

Same dream. Same footsteps. Same nothingness at the end of the pitch-dark hallway.

You start to stay up, drinking coffee late at night, sitting up at the head of the bed. Waiting.

The steps never cease. But you never see where they come from.

The neighbor, Simon, comes around again. He takes stock of you and comments on how you look exhausted, sickly.

You snap back with some smart-ass comment and a suggestion, mind his own business. The sleep deprivation builds into agitation, and then into tears. It’s embarrassing.

“Is something wrong?” He asks gently, stepping close, close enough you can smell him. Cedar. Flame. Charred wood in the bottom of a firepit, the leftover remains of a once loved campfire.

“I’m sorry, I… I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Why’s that?”

“You wouldn’t believe me. It sounds pretty crazy.”

“Try me.” He’s at your shoulder now, tilted down, trying to meet your eyes. When you refuse, he tips your chin backwards, baring your face to him. It’s too intimate. You can’t pull yourself away. “Go on.” The birch trees sway in the wind.

“It’s the house. I keep… I keep hearing things.”

“Things?”

“Footsteps, but no one is there. And I’ve been having the same dream, every single night since I got here.”

“What do you dream about?”

“Being buried alive.” His brows crease, framing fleeting caliginous shadows in his irises, mouth turning downward.

“I’m sure it’s just an animal in the house,” he glances up at it with a scolding, resolute glare, before returning his attention back to you. “As far as the dream, it’s probably just your subconscious telling you this house was probably more than you bargained for.” His mouth quirks to the side and you’re struck by it, confused. You didn’t notice earlier how handsome he is in a scarred, rough edged sort of way.

“Sure, yeah. You’re probably right.” He fishes out his phone and passes it to you.

“Put your number in there, I’ll text you. That way if you ever need anything, you can give me call.”

“Okay.”

A hand holds yours in the night. It’s warm, and heavy, and you squeeze it, curling your chin over it, a soft blanket of solace in a turbulent dream.

Old houses have bones.

When the nightmare wakes you later and you rocket out of bed, sweating and startled, you don’t hear the footsteps.

Instead, you hear your name being called. You stumble from your bedroom, frantic. The floor tilts between your feet, hallways contracting, crowding around your shoulders, ceiling weeping from the pressure.

You’re still asleep. You must be.

They breathe around you, expanding, narrowing, a dry rasp echoing from the bowels of the house.

Someone-

Something-

Calls your name.

It groans from the basement, floorboards singing under your heels as you trip down the stairs, turning the corner to crash through the door.

The light is on.

Did you leave it on?

You can’t stop yourself. Fear wraps a rope around your neck, but there’s nothing to tether you to the world above, nothing to prevent you from going down there.

But nothing prepares you for what you find.

In the dirt floor of the basement, a rectangular hole is dug. Long enough, wide enough for a body.

A grave.

Beside it, sits the skull mask you found when you fixed the furnace. The one you left upstairs.

You retch, skin prickling from a howling cry, ice cracking up your back, and turn to run. To flee, to fly back up the stairs like you did when you were a child, running from invisible monsters, trying to make it to the top before something snatches you around the ankle and drags you down into the abyss.

Instead, you collide with a wall of muscle.

You scream, pull away, only to be tugged forward.

Simon.

When he looks at you, he almost seems sad. “I told him not to do this.” He sighs, and you blink. He grips your upper arms, strength unnatural, fingers burning against frozen skin. “Told him it was too fast, y’know? You just got here.”

“Wh-what?” He’s walking you backwards, step by step, and no matter how hard you struggle, you can’t break free. It’s hard to breathe. “Simon, stop. Let go of me.”

“When I let ‘im go, freed him, I never thought he’d turn into… this. But it all worked out for the best, I think.” His mouth is moving, and you hear him, but the words string together into mush, and you can’t hold on, trying and failing to make any of it make sense. The only thing that registers is the horror blooming in your heart, the sweat slicking down your spine.

“L-let me go.”

“Can’t.” You teeter on the edge, heels suspended over the dirt pit. Simon is still holding you by your arms, balancing you above, and you cling to him.

“Stop- stop-“ He ignores you, grabbing your wrists, widening the gap between his chest and yours. His thumb finds your cheek and strokes away the tears there, the touch gentle, sympathetic.

“It won’t be too bad. You’ll be with him, and I’ll have you both.” The house groans again, and the lights flicker. You’re still suspended over the hole in the ground, flying, stomach turning over and over again, motion sick.

“With who?”

“Ghost.” He looks around, gesturing to the basement like it’s obvious. “This is where I buried him. Scratched him out of my soul and gave him peace.” Your head spins, and he holds you close for a second, cheek on your head.

“Simon-“ The protest is cut off by his lips on yours, impassioned, aggressive. He draws back, cradles your face with his free hand and then-

let’s go.

You land on your back with a scream, trying to scramble to your feet only to find yourself weighed down by some invisible force, the same cold clinging to you again, holding you like a lover. “G-get me out, get me out this isn’t funny.” He ignores you, stepping out of sight. Your chest explodes with agony, terror spilling from your eyes in rivers of salt, vision going so blurry it’s impossible to see.

Someone-

Something-

Holds your hand.

A shovel clangs, damp dirt crumbling into a blade. Simon looms with a heaping pile of earth. When he throws it down into the grave, onto your legs, you thrash. Scream. Beg.

No one can hear you.

No one can save you.

He goes about his work in silence, ignoring every plea, every bargain, every cry. The cold never leaves, only tightens its embrace. The weight of the dirt crushes you, compacts your diaphragms, your breaths growing more and more shallow with each passing second.

“Please,” you croak when it meets your chin. “Please.” The shovel pauses, shadowed over your face, small clumps and rocks falling over the edge onto your cheeks. It’s the next to be dumped, the next layer, the one that will finally hide you from view, from the world. Bury you. Alive.

Before it drops, you peer up through dusty cobwebbed lashes. There’s another man beside Simon. He wears the mask, the skull one, eyes glistening above the hem. They’re haunted, heavy with desiderium, but shining with something else, starvation, desperation. Lunacy.

Love.

He disappears in the next moment, and Simon looks down at you one last time. “This is the only way we can keep you, ‘m afraid. Have to make you a part of it, just like him.” You choke.

“A part of what?”

“The House.”

[hyunebunx]

💝 with jisung 🤭

˖˙ ᰋ ── 💝- 'a sudden kiss to catch the partner off guard'

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: manaa <33 i hope you enjoy this as much as i loved writing it <3 thank you sm for requesting!

It wasn’t a rare occurrence to drop by and find your boyfriend creating, brainstorming for another song while strumming his guitar or tapping a pen on the table to the rhythm created in his head. Inspiration struck at the oddest of times, not giving him a break no matter how spent or exhausted he was. And you had to understand – when the creative juices were flowing and he was in the zone, nothing and absolutely nobody mattered until he finished the song.

You find yourself in his room, sitting across from each other on the floor as you’re listening to your boyfriend go on and on about this new idea of his, strumming random chords on his guitar as he struggled to find a note he was satisfied with.

His fluffy brown hair bounces everywhere as he talks, glasses dropping a little too low on the bridge of his nose as he hasn’t raised his head from the instrument since you came in, half an hour ago.

“I’ve had this melody stuck in my head since yesterday but I can’t seem to get it out.” He hums, in hopes you might recognize it or help him somehow. He’s out of luck because truth be told, you stopped listening ten minutes ago.

You loved his creativity and passion but sometimes, like right now, you just needed his love and affection and Jisung has been too busy to notice.

“How about a snack?” You ask, standing up to which your joints thank you joyfully.

Jisung mumbles a quick ‘yes’, granting you his attention for a split second before he’s back to his guitar, hunched over in concentration.

The house is empty except for you two, with Jisung’s roommate, Minho, away on a family trip. You’d never thought you’d miss his loud and over the top laughter but now, when your boyfriend was barely paying you any attention, its absence pains you. You never realized how lively Minho kept things around here – you need to show your appreciation when he returns.

You linger longer than necessary in the kitchen, preparing snacks and drinks for the both of you before shuffling back to Jisung’s room, thankful the door was left ajar with how full your hands have gotten.

The moment you step inside, Jisung’s head snaps up with the most endearing smile stretched across his face, glasses a little bit crooked. “Baby! I got it! Hear me out, please!”

His happiness lights up the room in such a way that almost blinds you, his smile contagious and making it hard to resist the urge to smother him with your love. Jisung has never given you a warning, for if you got one, you might’ve prepared yourself better before falling head over heels in love with him. Though, you can never prepare for these things. Love sneaks up on you the moment it finds an opening, when your guard is down and the last thing you expect is being hit by cupid’s arrow, right in the heart.

Looking back, you don’t think you ever stood a chance. You were doomed from the start, when Han Jisung walked in the room you were in, a few years ago, laughing loudly with the previously mentioned roommate. Your heart has been his ever since, the sound reeling it in and never releasing it.

He’s babbling on, excited, as you set the plates down on his dresses, making your way towards him with a newfound purpose. When you lean down to get his attention, he tilts his head up with a dazzling smile, still talking and oh so unsuspecting of your next move.

Without warning, you peck his lips, causing the words to die on his tongue as he freezes, reflexively kissing back the second time your lips meet even if his brain hasn’t caught up yet.

“Sorry,” you whisper against his lips, his mouth agape in surprise as you stare right into his hazy eyes, “you looked too adorable, I couldn’t help myself.”

The loud sound of the guitar tumbling out of his grasp startles you, and you look down in concern while Jisung doesn’t even seem to notice, too enthralled to care. Your kisses always had that effect on him, and he’s sure they’ll continue to do so no matter how many years pass. You had him wrapped around your little finger after all, the victim of the spell your love cast on him the moment he set eyes on you.

“Ji?” You shake his shoulder lightly before crouching down to return his guitar. “The song, baby?”

“What song?” Is the first thing he manages to let out, clearing his throat as he finally comes to.

You giggle, and that’s all it takes Jisung to set the guitar aside and pull you to him by your waist, cushioning your fall as you collapse onto him before his lips are on yours again, kissing you passionately.

For a moment there, he forgot his own name. How was he supposed to remember whatever song he came up with when you used your evil powers to steal all of his attention? Though, he supposes you can’t steal something that’s always been rightfully yours…

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Fifteen

Steve’s left bloody smears on the tiles, but the bleeding does seem to have turned a little more sluggish; he’s too frightened now to pull his sock away, he’s pretty sure it’s stuck to the wounds where the blood has started to crust over.

From the floor, Steve manages to reach up for the phone, it rings nearly a dozen times, but Steve persists. He knows Hopper will assume it’s an emergency.

Steve hates doing this, but he definitely can’t drive. Just the thought of making it to the car on his own makes him cringe, and the dull, thudding pain is radiating out to the rest of his foot.

“Hopper.”

“Hop. Sorry. I think I need some help.”

“On my way.”

The doctor frowns at Steve spectacularly, “a raccoon?”

“I know, wild right?”

“So that means he definitely needs a tetanus,” Hopper says unhelpfully from where he’s perched on the other side of the treatment room. He’s got a coffee in a Styrofoam cup and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Steve hisses as the doctor uses some saline to loosen the sock, peeling it away from the wound, “I’ll give you something to numb the area, and then it will need some stitches. An x-ray might-”

“Nah,” Steve interjects, “stitch me up, I need to get home.”

The doctor has that look on her face again. From the other side of the room, Hopper sighs, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Steve can hear El and Eddie from where he’s standing in the kitchen. El’s been teaching him stuff again; today she’s taught him the ABC song. They rush through when they get to the ‘LMNOP’ part, making Steve smile.

“Okay Steve, we’re ready!” El shouts for him from the next room, and Steve goes in.

The furniture's been moved out of the way, Eddie lying on his back in the middle of the room. He’s laying on a white sheet, the long point of his tale stark black against the material. Next to his hip, there’s a pair of legs. They stand perfectly fine on their own, disembodied, rounds of flat pale skin on top, where they end at the thighs.

Eddie looks over smiling, “oh good, you’ve brought it.”

Steve looks down. In his hand he’s holding a saw.

Steve wakes, flailing. He’s gasping for air, trying to orientate himself. Panicking.

He’s sitting. It takes him a few confused seconds, but it all comes flooding back. Fuck, his neck hurts, and his back.

Just a dream he thinks on repeat to himself. Just a dream just a dream just a dream.

His foot. His foot is still up on the coffee table, “Steve, come on, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“What,” he manages to croak out.

“Here, drink this,” Robin hands him a half glass of tepid water, Steve downs it, “you had a nightmare.”

There’s a towel and a bag of peas draped over Steve’s ankle; trying to cool the area. Keep the swelling down, or whatever. The peas are melted now, the bag sagging in either direction with the weight of the mush inside.

The sight of it makes a sob catch in Steve’s chest, it comes out in a huge shudder, and Steve’s only vaguely worried he’ll never be able to walk the frozen isle in the store again. That he will cry spontaneously every time someone offers him a pear.

“When did you get here?”

“Mom dropped me off, Hopper wanted someone to watch you. He’s going to go check on El.”

Steve’s head feels muzzy. Too much has happened. They didn’t get home until the early hours, and Steve’s blinking in the full light of day that’s streaming into the lounge. “Where is he now?”

“Back yard.”

That takes a second to process, “no.”

Steve pulls his foot down, wobbling as he stands, leaving the towel and peas abandoned, “Steve, hang on.”

The dressing and stitches feel like they’re pulling as Steve takes a few tentative steps, the whole end of his foot feels like it’s burning, Steve moves until he can see Hopper; he can see him from the back, he’s smoking and looking down into the pool.

“Robs, get him away from there, please. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” she says, holding her hands out like she’s dealing with a skittish animal, she goes to the door, opening it and calling, “Hopper, he’s up!”

Hopper comes back in, dropping the end of his cigarette and stamping it out with his boot on his way in, “kid, are you sure he went into the pool?”

The implication of Hopper's question has Steve’s moving before he can really think about it, Robin calling after him that he’s got nothing on his feet, that it’s cold out. Steve ignores her. He has to walk funny, keeping all his weight on his heel on the left foot, but he makes it work. He sees why Hoppers asking; the water of the pool is opaque white.

It looks like the whole thing is filled with milk.

Hopper leaves to go and check on El. Steve’s glad, he did cause Hopper to have to leave her in the middle of the night, and that’s not fair on El, she might be worried.

Steve’s had maybe a couple of hours sleep on the couch, passing out when they got back from hospital. “You don’t have to do that,” he tells Robin; she’s scrubbing at the bloody smears Steve’s left on the kitchen tile.

“It’s fine, and it’s not like you’re in any condition to do it. What the fuck Steve, Hopper said he bit off two toes??”

Steve looks down at where the dressing’s covering his foot, “yeah.” Robin sits back on her haunches, bloody rag in hand, glaring. “He said that...if he eats Demogorgon, then that’s what he becomes. And if he eats Demodog, he becomes one of those so…”

“So you let him eat some of you instead? Because that’s the sane response-”

“I love him, Robs.”

She sighs, “I figured.”

Robin spends most of the day. She talks him into eating some toast; he balks at the thought of soup. Steve takes his pain killers and his antibiotics under Robins close supervision. They have the TV on, and Steve sleeps more.

She tells him to come away when he spends too much time staring out of the window.

Robin has to go that evening; she only does because Steve swears on everything she can think of that he will be fine. He will eat some eggs. He will take his pills. He’s not a complete invalid.

Robin leaves him after what is probably a ten minute hug, and a promise that she will sell Keith on Steve’s 'family emergency.'

The eggs are sitting heavy in Steve’s stomach when he hobbles outside. He managed to get a sock on over his dressing, but couldn’t bare the thought of anything else pressing on his wound, so he goes out like that. Just in socks.

He has a coat on at least, and takes the blanket, knocking snow off a pool lounger and moving it to the edge of the pool so he can sit with his feet up, wrapped in the blanket. The water still hasn’t frozen; but it is darker than it was. It’s turned a sort of pale mucky brown, like someone's mixed some dirt in.

Or chocolate milk.

Steve sits, and he waits, and he cries quietly.

Eventually the cold gets too much, and he heads back inside to try and sleep on the couch.

Steve stares blankly at the unlit Christmas tree, and considers dragging the thing outside and setting fucking fire to it.

He hasn’t cried since he woke up, which is a new current record, and he doesn’t understand where the anger has come from...but he thinks he might prefer it. It’s not fair. Nothing about this is fair, and it fills Steve with a rage he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced before.

Hopper sits opposite Steve, leaning forward, his hands dangling loose between his knees, and Steve knows that this is Hoppers ‘I’m trying to be kind, or sympathetic, or understanding face,’ Steve also knows he’s not going to like whatever is about to come out of Hopper's mouth and he’s already angry about it.

“Kid, I really think we should drain the pool.”

“No.”

Hopper takes a deep breath, “son,” and that one word fills Steve with a rage so complete he feels utterly still. Utterly calm. He’s completely empty, in that moment, except for the rage, “if we don’t, his body will rot into the water, and if you want to be able to bury him? Then-”

“Out.”

“-what?”

“Out,” Steve stands, and he speaks calmly and levelly, “get out of my house. Right now.”

Hopper doesn’t stand, he spreads his hands in a non threatening gesture, “El says she’s can’t feel him, kid, he’s gone-”

“Get the fuck out of my house!” Steve screams at him, suddenly full to brimming, his hears his pounding, breaths sharp, “I said get out!”

Hopper sighs. He looks at Steve with...pity on his face, but he gets up, and he leaves.

The water is so dark now it looks nearly black. Murky and shitty. There are black, choking vines growing up the inside of the tiles; clinging to the sides of the pool. Some of them are long enough to creep up over the edge, like The Upside Down is bleeding into Hawkins again. Steve is reminded viscerally of Barb Holland, and he hates it.

The phone is ringing. Steve ignores it until it stops.

It makes him itchy, ignoring the phone. It’s too ingrained in him that something could be wrong. It’s an emergency. The kids might need him.

It starts ringing again; Steve answers it this time, but only as a preventative measure. If he doesn’t answer it, whoever it is might show up, and Steve would really rather not right now.

“Hey, Steve.” Robs is uncharacteristically quiet. Reserved. “So...it’s Christmas tomorrow and, I know you said you didn’t want to come for the day but...what about in the evening? Just for a little bit?” She asks, hopefully. “Mom says we can save you some leftovers, you know.”

“Yeah...yeah, that’s really kind and everything Rob...” Steve trails off scrubbing at his face. He’s got a fair bit of stubble going on, and he only showered this morning because even he could pick up on the fact that he stank.

She sighs quietly, “have you been eating? Taking your meds?”

“I...yeah. Some. And finished the antibiotics.”

“Good. That’s good. You want me to come over then?”

“Uhm. No. No that’s fine you, you should have a nice Christmas with your family, okay? We can talk after.”

“Steve…”

“I know, Robs, I know, but I’ll be fine,” Steve tells her with a confidence he doesn’t feel.

“Okay, well, I’ll call tomorrow. Love you, Dingus.”

“Love you too Birdie.”

There are thick black vines growing up the legs of Steve’s pool chair; he ignores them. He climbs into position, wrapping himself in his blanket. He has a beer, his pills are finished now, so he can’t see the harm.

“I had a shower Eds, sure you’re pleased to hear that. Took the dressing off my foot, and it looks fine, you didn’t hurt me, not really.” Steve tacks on, “not ow,” out of habit.

Steve sips his beer, pulling the blanket tighter around his legs, and not thinking about Eddie's tail doing the same, “I’m supposed to have an appointment to get the stitches out, but it’s not until like the twenty seventh, or something, you know, everything being shut for Christmas. Which is tomorrow, by the way.”

Steve sighs, “anyway, I probably won’t go, it really doesn’t look so bad now, I think I could get them out with nail scissors and some tweezers, so I might just do that.”

Steve sips his beer, watching the laden pale clouds scud along overhead, “I think it might snow again, that’d be nice, right? White Christmas and all that stuff.”

Steve sighs again, and quietly admits, “I think you would have really liked Christmas. You get like, gifts and stuff-”

There’s a frantic splash in the pool, Steve’s up as quick as he can, fighting with his blanket, his beer bottle falling, forgotten, and rolling away on the tiles, getting caught on a vine.

Steve’s flooded with adrenaline, heart beating so fast, he doesn't register the chill as he scrambles up, stepping to the edge of the pool.

Eddie’s on the steps, he’s covered in so much slime and shit from the pool it's hard to see him, but Steve doesn’t care how dirty it is, he’s knee deep and helping to haul Eddie out the rest of the way.

He has no hair; but he does have legs, and he takes a stumbled step with Steve before collapsing to the ground. He can’t breathe, he’s bent over, on his hands and knees, choking. Steve’s lifeguard first aid training kicks in before he can really think about it; fueled by adrenaline, he braces Eddie with an arm about his middle, then using the palm of his hand he delivers one hard upward blow between Eddie’s shoulder blades.

Eddie splutters, but there’s nothing, so Steve does it again. Suddenly, like a seal has been broken, Eddie coughs up what might be nearly a pint of fluid, yellow and green and streaked with pink blood, it splatters loudly on the ground.

Eddie drags in a huge breath; it might be the most beautiful sound Steve’s ever heard.

They collapse down again, Eddie shivering like crazy, his teeth chattering; Steve grabs his blanket, covering Eddie. He’s naked and covered in gross shit, completely hairless, and has long gangly legs. Steve doesn’t pay attention to any of it really. Just Eddie. Eddie’s here.

He smells fucking awful, but Steve doesn’t care, Steve bundles him up and pulls him close, “Eddie, are you okay?”

Eddie blinks, his eyes crusted with gack from the pool, pink and puffy and sore looking around the lids, the whites bloodshot to fuck, his voice a raspy mess, the words broken by how violently his teeth are chattering, “Eddidie good bad.”

Steve bursts into tears.

Part Seventeen

[ventismacchiato]

O8 stuck with you — im on top (of you) !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

The day you had been dreading was finally upon you.

“Stop looking so sad,” Yoimiya sighs as she looks over to where you were slumped on the floor of the recording studio you guys were in.

“My beautiful voice…mixed in with his,” you shuddered at the mere thought of his vocals sullying the album.

“Quit being so dramatic,” Lumine chastised, reaching over to get you off the floor. 

You look over to where Scara was similarly slumped on the floor, staring into the wall as his group members conversed around him. Looks like he wasn’t too into the idea of recording with you either.

“You guys ready?” Albedo asks, walking in carrying a stack of papers as he walks past you guys to the soundbooth. The young blonde had been one of the company’s producers since you’d debuted. He reminded you a mix between Kazuha and Xiao, quiet but managed to get his artistic vision across.

“You two,” Albedo gestures to you and Scara, “I was instructed to get you both done quickly before working on the group song.”

“Jean really slotted all this time and took into consideration how much Scaramouche and Yn bicker,” Fischl muses.

“What are we singing?” Scaramouche asks, flipping through the page of lyrics Albedo handed you both.

“A love song,” Albedo answers, hooking a pair of headphones onto his head, “Let’s just try it out and see what needs to be added, go on then.”

He gently pushes you into the recording booth as you both tug on your own pair of headphones.

You eye the lyrics as you tug the microphone closer to you, wincing at the implications behind the words.

The first few attempts were disastrous to say the least. Scaramouche kept criticizing your timing and you kept pointing out how he was overpowering the track. Albedo’s patience, which was unbelievably high if he worked with the likes of you, was wearing thin as you both argued over every line.

After a take that finally sounded decent Albedo gestures for you two to come out of the booth.

“Are we finally done?” Scara asks.

“That sounded pretty good to me,” Childe pipes up.

“If you guys had collaborated earlier we would be drowning in so much money right now,” Venti sighs dejectedly. 

“Almost,” Albedo answers, fingers flying over his keyboard, "I just need you both to moan,” Albedo deadpanned.

“What?” Scara slowly says, like he’s on the verge of strangling Albedo by the neck.

“Before you say anything just listen to this clip.”

You couldn’t even process anything before Albedo was hitting play and your gentle voice mixed with Scara’s came out of the speakers, followed by some harmonies by Aether and then Xiao that he’d added in later. It all sounded good as they all harmonized together, but even you could feel that something was missing.

“So, you need us to do what ?”

“Moan, so I can use it as backup vocals,” Albedo hummed, twirling a pen with his fingers, seeming nonchalant about what he was asking of them.

“Fuck no,” Scara says, jutting a finger at you, “Why do I have to moan on the same song as them.”

“I don’t want to either,” you huff as your members erupt into a fit of laughter behind you. The traitors.

“It’s just my suggestion,” Albedo says, putting his hands up, “Just try it out.”

“I don’t get paid enough for this, how am I supposed to moan with Yn next to me?”

“I get dried up just looking at you.”

“The world gets dry from looking at you.”  

“You should have no trouble faking a moan, since it’s probably what everyone you’ve ever slept with has done.”

Albedo snaps his fingers in front of you both.

“I don’t care how you do it, just harmonize a moan or two for me,” Albedo says, pushing you both back into the booth, “I would like to go home early for once.”

“We won’t be able to see you,” Albedo adds, “So feel free to do whatever helps you get out the best moans.”

“Gross,” Scara called out as Albedo shut the door behind him.

“I’m going to kill myself,” you mumble as you tug the microphone towards you once again.

Scara glares at you as you both stand in the booth, the microphone between you two a symbol of your forced cooperation. You can feel the tension radiating off him, and it's not helping your own nerves. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"Let's just get this over with," you mutter, avoiding Scara's eyes.

"Fine," he snaps, crossing his arms. "But don't think for a second that I'm happy about this."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, well, neither am I."

There's a long, uncomfortable silence as you both stare at the microphone. Outside the booth, Albedo is watching, his expression expectant. You glance at Scara, trying to gauge his mood. He's scowling, but there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something like hesitation.

"Look," you say, trying to sound reasonable in an attempt to get this over with. "Let's just do one take and see how it goes. If it sounds terrible, we can convince Albedo to scrap the idea."

Scara raises an eyebrow, but after a moment, he nods. "Fine. One take."

You both lean towards the microphone, your faces inches apart. You can feel Scara's breath on your skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You close your eyes, trying to block out the awkwardness, and focus on the task at hand.

Taking a deep breath, you let out a soft, hesitant moan. It feels strange and embarrassing, but you push through, hoping it will be over soon. Beside you, Scara does the same, his moan blending with yours. 

Scaramouche’s moans would usually sound like a sexually-transmitted disease: gross and something that you’d never touch with a fifteen-foot pole, but for a moment, it created an unexpected harmony.

Albedo's voice crackles through the intercom. "That was... actually not bad. Let's try it one more time, but with a bit more feeling. Scara, go a bit lower.”

You both go through the motions again, and you try to ignore how Scara’s moans sound so resonant through your headphones and the heat on your cheeks from making such an intimate sound beside him. 

Albedo’s voice comes through the intercom again. “Perfect. That’s exactly what we needed.”

You sigh with relief, tugging off the headphones as fast as you could and slipping out the booth.

As you and Scara step out of the booth, you're immediately met with the smirking faces of the other members. They're lounging on the studio couch, looking far too amused for your liking.

Childe is the first to speak, a stupid grin plastered across his face. "Well, well, look at you two. Didn't know you two were that freaky."

Lumine snickers, giving you both a mock round of applause. "That was hot. It felt like I was interrupting.”

“I hope you all die,” Scara says from beside you before turning to Albedo, “And you’re a freak for suggesting that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Albedo hums, already tuning them out as he has his headphones back on.

"Alright, alright," you say, trying to change the subject. "Can we please focus on something else now?"

Venti stands up, stretching. "Fine, fine. But you know we’re never going to let you live this down, right?"

“I’m personally going to buy several copies of this album,” Yoimiya giggles.

“I hope Albedo makes you guys do something embarrassing,” you huff.

"No wonder you're still a virgin if you sound like that when moaning,” Scaramouche says, smirking as he slips past you to sit on the couch. 

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Can’t even defend yourself,” Scara taunts.

“Lot of talk for someone who also hasn’t gotten laid in a while,” Aether whistles.

“Whose side are you on, Aether?!”

//

Later that day

“Let’s just get this over with,” you sigh as you follow your members towards the studio.

“I’m excited,” Venti hums, skipping ahead of you.

“I’m surprised at how quickly they pulled this together,” Xiao comments, opening the door for you, “It’s like they’ve been waiting for you two to fuck up.”

“Which you have, several times,” Lumine unhelpfully pipes up from behind you.

“I’m so sick of you guys,” you grumble, accepting your fate.

As you walked into the studio, you could only stare in disbelief at the high ceiling, the windows that took the length of the walls letting in the evening light, poppy color mottled across the sky as the sun quietly set behind you. Wealth practically drips from the room as you look around. You never even used this space for your album photoshoots, since you guys never needed such a big space for just you six.

In one of the corners you spotted a large camera standing tall in front of a white backdrop, the ground adorned with roses and petals. The white-pink petals fluttered in the wind as the fans in the corner caused them to float throughout the studio. The reds and pinks jump out against the white. It was sickeningly romantic. You wanted to throw up at the implication.

You spotted Jean talking to Scaramouche, who looked like she was giving the other a pep talk before she spotted you and waved you over.

“Yn! We were just discussing the photoshoot, Lisa will instruct you two after she’s done talking to the crew. I need to go chat with them, you two stay here and get ready,” Jean rushed out, calling over some stylists to fix you guys up, already out of breath as she dashed over to Lisa. 

“You’re late,” Scara says as his greeting as a group of women start fussing over your guys’ hair and outfits.

“You’re early, tryhard.”

“Not your best comeback,” Yoimiya whistles from a few feet away.

“Alright you guys,” Lisa calls out, walking over to where your groups were gathered getting touched up, “We’re going to get the group shots over with, then some solo ones, and we’ll separate to do some pairing shots.”

//

They all stood together awkwardly as they waited for the staff to finish setting up the cameras, once they finally did they led the group and positioned them. For group pictures they had all the girls stand to one side and the guys on the other, so you guys were in a crescent moon shape. Right after you all separate, the girls in another set and the males in a different one. 

The cameraman moved and adjusted everyone for what felt like a hundred dozen times before he finally clapped and positioned you guys to take the picture. He had you hold a pose where you were sitting on a bench and leaning on your side for what felt like forever, you would surely gain some sort of back pain from this. 

The most awkward part was the solo photoshoots. Even after becoming an idol you still felt awfully awkward when doing them, but when it was just your members you could manage. But being in front of Scara made you feel extra self conscious. 

People like Aether and Childe had a blast, and all the girls seemed to be enjoying it. But you felt quite embarrassed as you were told to pose seductively and show more skin. You weren't alone in this predicament, since Xiao and Kazuha seemed to be having a tough time as well when they were forced to manspread on some seats. Scaramouche became complacent and let the cameraman adjust him accordingly, he even went along with the whorish poses Lisa was having too much fun making them all do.

“Doesn’t Scara look good manspreading half naked like that?” Venti whispers in your ear.

You jump, startled as you stare back at him in disdain.

“No,” you scoff, “Stop ogling him.”

You’re still still stuck on the fact that Scaramouche is shirtless and actually has a decent build. Yes, it's objectively hot—something that you’d admit under the pain of getting an arm hacked off—but it's also quite insane.

With the group photoshoot finished, they all bid farewell as they separated off into their own corners to do their paired shots. 

“Alright, Scara and Yn you guys are going to be in Set B,” Jean stated, gently pushing the two of them in that direction. You look and spot the dreaded set where it looked like cupid himself threw up.

You both trailed behind the cameramen over to it, trying your best to not step and wilt any of the flowers artistically placed on the ground. 

“Okay, I’m in charge of you guys!” Lisa grinned as you guys approached her, “I’m going to have so much fun with you two.”

“Not too much fun,” Scaramouche grumbles as you both go to stand before the camera.

“Scara, don’t be a prude and unbutton your shirt. Yn, I need you to lay down,” Lisa instructs, walking over and pushing you down until you’re laying down on the petals. You were still reluctant at the fact you would have to do a paired photoshoot with Scara, so your reaction time was still quite slow. Lisa eventually just adjusted your body as needed and bent down next to you, spreading out your hair and laid some petals on it, standing up to admire her work. 

“Scaramouche, you’re gonna hover over them and hold that position for a while, and when I say next you lean in as if you’re going to kiss them. Is that alright?” Lisa asked, already heading back to the camera and having the cameramen adjust it lower to capture them in the frame. 

“If I say no, does that do anything?” Scara asks.

“No! Now get to it!”

Scara mutters a curse under his breath as he begins to unbutton his button up. You catch a glimpse of his bare skin before he’s kneeling down to knees and crawling over you, placing both palms on either side of your head and leaning forward. Since he couldn’t just hold a plank over you forever, Scara placed one knee in between your legs and another one beside your left leg for stability. 

Your breath was hitched in your throat at the proximity, you could see every detail of Scara’s stupid face and makeup from underneath him. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to how intimate you both were being right now, you’d never been underneath someone like this before. Unless you were being pinned down by Lumine during a fistfight of some sort when you accidentally ate her food. 

“Yn! Put your arms around his neck!”

You flinched at Lisa’s yell but did as you were told and wrapped your arms around Scara’s neck, bringing him closer as you did so. There wasn't anywhere to look but at Scara’s eyes, which felt awkward and weird in itself, so you opted for your eyes to wander. But they landed on his lips instead, which wasn’t any better.

Scara’s dark eyes bore into yours, his gaze not wavering as you looked everywhere but at him. That was before you realized this was a literal photoshoot and adjusted your eyes back to him. 

“Both of you, stop glaring!”

Scaramouche sighed above you, before forcing himself to soften his gaze towards you. It felt odd to be looked at like an equal by him.

You study Scaramouche closely, now that you’re forced to. He has these lips that are plush pink and they meet just barely like the slightest touch would coax them open. His eyelashes are long and there’s a beauty mark just shy of his eye coated over with concealer. His ears are small and there’s an assortment of earrings hanging off of them, ones he never wears during practice. He’s stupidly pretty. It makes you want to punch him.

“Alright, hold for ten then move to the next position.” 

Ten seconds? That felt like hours due to the way Scara was looking down at you, a fabricated gentle gaze in his eyes as he eyed you up and down. 

“Next!” 

“The faster we comply the faster I can get out of this stupid position with you,” Scara huffs, his voice barely above a whisper before he leans forwards and hovers his lips right above your jaw. Your body instinctively moves its hands to run through his hair, as if you both were actually going to kiss. God forbid.

“Cut!” 

The lights dimmed and Scara immediately pushed himself off of you. You slowly sat up, dizzy from the stress of being that close to someone you disliked.

“I’m the one who had to hover over you and you’re tired? Pathetic,” Scara huffs, reaching down to roughly tug your arm so you’re standing and almost immediately letting go of you after.

“Don’t you think this is a little too much?” Scara asks, walking ahead of you towards where Lisa was looking through the photos

“We made everyone do paired shoots, see!” Lisa says, turning the screen to show you. 

You and Scara scroll through to see all your members in pairs like you both, but none of them are quite like yours. 

“So Venti and Aether got to pose in a car and we had to fake a kiss?” Scara scoffs, “Where’s the delete button–?"

Lisa yanks the camera from him before he has the chance and shoos them off.

“I’ve got enough from you guys, go get your makeup undone.”

“This is so dumb,” you grumble as you follow behind Scara. All of this work because you both couldn’t keep your mouth shut during an awards show and now you had to fake being in love with the idiot.

You pray to Buddha, God, and whatever other deity out there that was most certainly laughing at you, that you can manage to get along with Scaramouche before anyone does notice it’s all fake.

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

when i say moans i mean like the song Mmmh by KAI like do u see the vision

also the album cover can be you or one of the other members depending on what ur comf with 😇

pls ignore how is it fake is listed twice 😔 also the lyrics are from taylor i can see you

yk the drill comment on the masterlist if i can use ur user and make u a fan

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes sorry guys for the long wait i was lowk goin thru it but im back 🗣️

taglist closed — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @jangyung @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @kazuhasbabe

[honeydewblogforwriting]

The Wolff Pack (Mr. and Mrs. Wolff pt.2)

Warnings: innuendos, cursing, bad grammar, poorly translated German

Pt.1

Sunday (race day) :

Monday night:

Two weeks later

Y/N: Hello GQ. I'm Y/N YM/N Wolff

Toto: and I'm Toto Wolff

Y/N: you mean Torger Christian Wolff. We're using our government names today, babe. No nicknames.

Toto: y/n, please.

Y/N (giggling) : okay, okay. I'm sorry, you guys can cut that part out.

Y/N and Toto: and today we'll be doing the GQ's couple quiz to see how well we know each other.

Producer: who's going first?

Toto: Y/N is always first in my life so her.

Y/N: awww, he's trying to butter me up incase he gets anything wrong!

[Toto shakes his head]

Y/N: Okay first question. When did we first meet?

Toto: At the 2018 Austin GP

Y/N: ehhh wrong answer forehead!

Toto: schatz, I'm right. You were invited by Ferrari and you had on their merchandise and a beautiful red jacket and your hair was down. You were passing by Mercedes Hospitality and we smiled at each other and you gave me a tiny wave.

Y/N: babe... what? I- wait, its coming back to me now. What how did you remember that?

Toto: How could I forget? You looked absolutely radiant in that hideous ferrari red, a hard feat to pull off.

Y/N: (giggling) awww. Give him two points for this one. Okay, next question: what is my favourite look on you?

Toto: mein Geburtstagsanzug

[Subtitle: my birthday suit]

Y/N: benehmen

[Subtitle: behave]

Toto: okay, serious answer now. You love me in a good button down, pleated pants and my glasses.

Y/N: yes, I could literally eat you up when you wear that.

Toto: and you're telling me to behave?

Y/N: babe, you're worse than me but anyways! Next question, what is my go to soda order?

Toto: this has to be a trick question because you don't drink soda. You only indulge in green juices and smoothies. Your favourite is a kale, spinach and beet smoothie with almond milk and peanut butter.

Y/N: you're correct once again! He knows me so well guys. I know this was a few years ago but what was the song that i constantly sang after we got engaged? (laughing)

Toto: (shakes head while chuckling) It was so awful and unexpected that it's stuck with me and sometimes (unfortunately) plays in my head. It went something like, "put it on him make him wanna marry me." And you'd sing it while flaunting your ring and body rolling.

Y/N: yes, right on the nose! Okay, so what is my ideal type of man?

Toto: derjenige, der dich zur Mutter gemacht hat, meine Liebe

[Subtitle: the one who made you a mom, my love.]

Y/N: correct again! Babe, you're on fire! And every correct answer makes you hotter and hotter...Baby Nummer zwei könnte früher kommen als geplant

[Subtitle: baby number 2 might come sooner than we planned].

Toto: schatz, do not make jokes like that, you know what I want.

Y/N: I'm not joking.

[silence on set as the camera switches between y/n and Toto who are locked in intense eye contact]

[Producer behind the scene]: um guys

Y/N: oh sorry, um, next question- what was the first foreign language I learned in high school?

Toto: Spanish and then you did French and finally Portuguese but you're more inclined to Portuguese. You're currently learning German.

Y/N: correct, the perks of attending a private school. And,  to those of you viewing at home, I'm learning German because Torger refuses to speak to baby girl in English! He swears that she has to know German just as fluently as English and I don't want to be left out so I'm indulging in it.

Y/N: Okay, final question- what is my favourite thing to do?

Toto: well, it's definitely trying new things. You love to try different hobbies, crafts, sports, business ventures, careers and it's admirable, you just go after what you want even if it's something you know nothing about. Also you love spending time with die Prinzessin .

Y/N: correct again, Torger Christian Wolff, you got everything right, now that is stinking cute.

[TOTO WOLFF QUIZZES Y/N WOLFF]

Toto: Okay, schatz, first question- when is my birthday?

Y/N: is this a trick question? Your birthday is January 12. You were born in 1972 in Vienna, Austria to a Middle class family and your education was focused towards finance and economics because of the family you grew up in.

Toto: (laughing) schatz, you might as well let the people know my blood type, that was a lot of details but all true. I'll give you 4 points for this. Okay, next question. What is my favourite snack?

Y/N: me of course!

Toto: you'd be my favourite meal, schatz

Y/N: oop, okay! Let me get serious though, your favourite snack is Kumpir with Sauerkraut Filling and Pumpernickel Crumble. You ate so much of it on our honeymoon that it made you sick. I'm surprised you still like it (giggling).

Toto: Where is my favourite place to be?

Y/N: okay I'm giving two answers for this one-  first, it's anywhere that Prinzessin and I are and second, at home it used to be in our room but now it's Prinzessin's room. Torger would spend all day there if he could.

Toto: mhmm, I'm actually surprised that your answer was PG but correct again beautiful. Next question, what is my biggest priority?

Y/N: family, I know this might seem like a surprise to the viewers but you have never missed an anniversary, hospital visit, birthing class, date night, family reunion, birthday celebration or anything of the sort. I don't know how you do it but that it's so clear to see that your loved ones are your number priority .

Toto: How would I describe myself ? Like how do I view myself ?

Y/N: mhm this is tough, I think you consider yourself as someone who is constantly evolving whether that's in your personal life or your career. You're driven and goal oriented. You've got that aggressive streak that the Internet loves to make memes of but uh, yeah. How'd I do?

Toto: pretty spot on. It's like you know me better than I know myself. Okay, final question, what is the name of our sweet little angel ?

Y/N: yup, you heard that right, for the first time ever we will be revealing the name of our baby girl. We thought it would be perfect to announce it during something so fun and sweet. Anyways enough of the chit chat.

Y/N and Toto: (turns to look at each other, grabs each other hands) we'd like to formally introduce the world to Myah Sunshine Wolff!

Y/N: it was so nice being here and I'd like to thank GQ for inviting us onto their wonderful platform.

Toto: I hope you guys enjoy watching this as much as we enjoyed making this. Bye!

(Both of them wave until the screen goes black)

A few hours after the video is released :

[krkiiz]

mastermind . luke castellan x reader

maybe the things that led luke to you were never accidental at all

luke castellan x f!reader . reader is the daughter of demeter . tooth rotting fluff , established relationship , nicknames

note : this is inspired by mother tay tay’s song “mastermind” (one of my fav songs in midnights frr) not edited! sorry for some mistakes. Hope you enjoy <3

The camp was never silent. Songs of birds echoed all across the painted skies, gallops of pegasus clapping through the fields, chatters of the half-bloods, sounds of clashing swords, shots of arrows. The camp was never silent.

Yet the two of you sat on the edge of a cliff, the camp’s background noises fully muted, too engrossed with each other’s presence as your hands interlaced as one.

From the top, you could see the overview of the camp. As the sun sets on the west, you get the best view of the skies painted in an orange hue, with hints of blue as the moon begins to rise.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Eyes still on the canvas of clouds, you asked your boyfriend beside you.

“Of course I do, flower.” A small chuckle blew from his lips. “How could I ever forget.” The boy smiled, recalling his encounter with you a few months back.

You tore your gaze from the orange hues to the boy by your side, raising an eyebrow of amusement.

“No, literally. I tripped and got stuck on a vine, and you helped me. It was so embarrassing, I swear, sunshine.” You tilt your head back, erupting in laughter as your boyfriend covered his face that was now as red as strawberries that grew in the camp’s garden.

“That was hell of a first impression, though.” You pointed out. “What were you even doing in the woods alone, by the way?” You asked the boy, curiosity grew in your heart akin to sprouting apples on a tree.

“I don’t know, I guess I felt drawn.” He shrugged sheepishly.

“Drawn? To the forest?”

“To you, flower.” He winked and you rolled your eyes playfully. “Ew Luke, get away or I’ll push you off this cliff right now.”

Luke glowed as he dove into the epiphany of laughters and you joined soon after. “I’m just kidding.” He pinched your cheek softly triggering a frown from you.

“Do you remember the next time that we met?” You tore your gaze from your boyfriend, eyes now settling on the deep blue that was slowly taking over the horizon as the orange tinge melts in the west. The setting sun was truly a sight to behold. But to Luke, no creations of the gods or even titans could ever compare to the beauty of the demigod by his side

Not hearing an answer, you turned your head towards the curly haired boy, the view of his pupils dilating as your e/c hues melted into his own clear as daylight. “Love? Is everything alright?”

Luke now understood how Hades had fall for Persephone as he had found himself entranced by the beauty of another one of Demeter’s daughter before him. The light breeze flushed against your cheeks, how you would always look beautiful even when your hair becomes a mess after training. How your skin glowed in sunlight rivaling Apollo’s children themselves. To Luke, you are his epitome of beauty. Like a single rose that stood amidst thorn bushes. But he has to be careful. One prick is all it takes to let his heart bleed out in his hands.

“Hm? Oh yeah everything’s fine. Don’t worry, darling.” He shifted closer, his fingers grazing yours. “Anyways as you were asking, yes I remember our second meeting. And our meetings after that and after that.” He smiled, recalling the memories.

“We keep meeting up by accident after that first meeting.” He chuckled softly.

You hummed. “Don’t you think it’s weird though? How we keep meeting accidentally after that?” You tilt your head slightly.

“Maybe fate brought us together. Who knows?”

“Yes…” You trailed off. “Or maybe it’s something else.” You started playing with his fingers that was laced with yours, but your eyes remained on him as you observed the slightest shift in his visage.

“What are you saying, flower?”

“What if I told you that…none of it was ever accidental at all?”

Silence engulfed you in the shape of a cold, harsh breeze. The sun was long gone by now. From here, you could see the luminescent glow of Artemis’ vacant cabin, as well as the campfire that brew from the other campers.

Your heart ached at the gap between you as Luke as he slowly untangle your fingers. From outside, you look the same as ever, waiting patiently for his response. Inside however, your head was screaming in every corner, anxious thoughts clouding your thought bubbles as you think of every worst possible scenarios that might happen.

Great job! He probably think you’re a stalker now and wants to break up with you.

Break up? You didn’t want to break up with him! Of course not, you love him and he loves you! … Right?

The storm that was raining all over your thoughts were soon crushed by the slight upturn that formed on one of the corners of your boyfriend’s lip.

He noticed your slightly stiff stance, he took your departed hands once more, knowing it will ease your nerves. “I know, Yn.”

You always loved how your name rolled off his tongue. So effortlessly as it calls your given name with such love, such adoration. Yet it was his answer that got you off guard.

“Really?? You knew, after all this time?”

“You really think you can trick the son of the god of tricks?” He pointed out, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“This is so embarrassing.” You bury your blood-rushed cheeks into your palms and Luke smiled at the sight, admiring the red hue that settled on your ears and face.

“Hey don’t be! Truth be told, I only found out from the nymphs.” Your eyes lit up at his confession. Maybe your plan wasn’t that horrible after all. “Well I mean that only confirmed it. I had my suspicions about your little master plan after our third time of meeting accidentally.”

Your groan in your hands. “What did the nymphs tell you?”

“That you had a crush on me.” He paused looking at your tomato face. “And that you were too shy to make the first move.” He peeled your fingers from your cheeks, revealing the scarlet hues on your facial epidermis.

“It was impressive though, you little mastermind. It worked didn’t it?” He placed his palms on your cheeks, caressing it like a fragile vase.

You brought him closer, leaning your forehead against his as you brushes your lips on the tip of his nose. “Yeah. I guess it did.”

The demigod frowned as he missed the presence of your lips on his skin. He leant more forward, your noses grazed each other and he finally sealed the distance of your lips with a soft kiss.

The moon shone with a glow more ethereal than usual, the stars map out the skies like seas of glitter. You both dove head first into the epiphany of love. Lips press against another as nature becomes the witness of two demigods’ form of adoration.

©️ sirena | krkiiz 2023

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ here’s to hoping (cause i can’t stop calling) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.1k

summary: gojo calls, and you spend it half-wishing you weren’t broken up. 

contains: gn!reader, exes to ???, alcohol, mentions of going to the club, gojo is bad at being an ex, complicated feelings, ambiguous ending, kind of hurt/comfort. 

a/n: writing this as my copium, i haven’t written gojo outside of col in so long so this was challenging, but equally as exciting! some songs that inspired this are: better than this - lauv & oh, gemini - role model.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: calling your ex drunk at two a.m. with feelings still stuck in your throat

“Well, well, well… miss me already?”

The clock on your kitchen wall reads some time between 2:05 and 2:10. Even when you squint, the little lines remain a drunken blur. 

You blame it on the alcohol. 

“Don’t be shy now.” the voice on your phone continues, shaking you out of focus. 

Had you been any more sober, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. 

Had you been any more sober, the throbbing in your head wouldn’t have persisted from the sound of—

“Gojo–” you sigh. 

“Satoru.” he interrupts, a full pause before he continues, softer, “It’s Satoru, remember?” 

Had you been any more sober, you wouldn’t have even answered his call. 

You haul your bag up sluggishly, the chains of the strap clacking against your countertop. Patience is a ticking time bomb when you’re this inebriated, the heavy bass from earlier tonight still thumping its way within your brain. 

You can’t think straight. 

“Satoru,” a name now foreign but still so close to home; it burns on your tongue, trickles bittersweet down your throat, “you called. What do you need?” 

It’s stupid of you to ask, you know, because Gojo’s been calling you like this since the day you broke up months ago. You’d picked up the first few times, but quickly realized that it wasn’t good for the both of you—you’d never move on, and Gojo would never let you go. 

Except—

“You picked up.” 

—liquor makes for poor company when it only serves to soften the anger you’ve built up as protection. It really is all the alcohol’s fault. 

Your eyes burn as you squeeze them shut, sighing, a twisted exhale, “You have to stop, Satoru.” 

“Stop what?” he feigns, the lilt at the end a sure sign of the most insufferable smirk. 

The thought of it makes you sick, makes you ache with memories of pinching his nose at the sight of it. He used to giggle then; now, he chuckles on the other end. 

That’s the question, isn’t it? Stop what?

Since the break-up, Gojo’s been acting like nothing’s changed. He still calls you just as much, still texts you with undertones that tread the fine line between flirty and ‘just Gojo’. Your toiletries are still at his apartment, and his clothes are still in your closet. 

You’d find humor in it if not for the fact that all of it has been so goddamn confusing.

He started it; he broke up with you. 

Shouldn’t he be pushing you away? 

To this day, you have no full closure, no other reason other than an ‘it’s better this way’ followed by a continuous stream of mixed signals because how he treats you is still the same. 

“Stop calling,” a lump forms in your throat, an admission you’ve had to remind yourself again and again, “we’re not together anymore.”

“I can’t call a friend?” 

You snort, fiddling with the metal links of your bag strap, “Is that what we are?” 

A pause. Slippers shifting on floorboards. They sound just like the sleepless nights he’d shuffle out of bed. 

You can picture him on the other end, head tilted and leant back on the plush leather of his couch. He hums but doesn’t answer you—he never does when it can mean something. 

“You still sound the same.” 

And you don’t expect it at this moment, to get so choked up over how he sounds over radio waves, but he says the words a little too fondly for you not to notice. Gojo’s always teased that he can pinpoint your voice from the moment you speak the first word.

You don’t mean to give him any more authority over your feelings than he already has, but the words slip out before you can catch yourself, “You’re being unfair.”  

Another hum. His tone shifts to something lighter, more teasing, “Like you aren’t. Always typing, never sending…”

The huff that punctuates his sentences paints itself vividly with a small pout. 

“Stop staring at my chat box then.” is all you can muster, the ache spreading throughout your chest. 

“Afraid I can’t.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You’re impossible.” your eyes begin to feel wet, your sniffle concealing itself as you clear your throat. 

The silence that follows is uncharacteristic of your relationship with Gojo, even more of the man you know, but you find it filled to the brim with all the possibilities of what went wrong—of things you know he’ll never say out loud.

You know Gojo has issues; they presented themselves well enough in the year you were together. Being with him is accepting that you’ll be reading between the lines your entire life. 

He is simultaneously touchy but distant, vocal but elusive in his affections; he drapes himself over you every chance he gets, but when you touch him in places no one else has, you think a storm swirls cyan in his irises. Gojo gives compliments like candies on Halloween, but he keeps his feelings close to his chest, locked away like presents tightly wrapped under a Christmas tree. 

This is why you never saw it coming. 

This is why there was no hint, no sign of him ever wanting to break things off when he did.

‘Let’s stop dating’ with no warning. 

“Had fun tonight?” he asks so casually, like it doesn’t tell you a million things—how he still has your location on his phone, how he’s still checking on you, Six Eyes or not. 

Tonight was okay, all things considered. You don’t go to clubs often, but your friends kept you company; the music boomed just a tad bit louder than you’re used to, and the drinks were good, but—

“You would have hated it.” 

If Gojo were there, you would have stayed 10 minutes tops. He’d whine about being bored but you’d be able to tell, from the slight furrow of his brows and the clenching of his jaw that it’s because one of his migraines is forming. 

“Good thing I’d have you, then.” 

There are half-truths in jokes like this, a dangerous thing to say when you both know he could still have you if he wanted.

“Stop flirting, it’s annoying.” you try to steel your voice, pushing down the false hope rising in your chest. 

“You love it, though.”

The pain sears you, hurts when he says the word so lightly, as if he isn’t aware that you know love is the reason he had to break things off prematurely. As if he doesn’t know that you’re still in love with him, that you’re still putting faith in a tragedy. 

“Do you even know what loving something feels like?” 

The line remains silent, save for the softest sound of his breath hitching. 

You must have hit a nerve. 

He hums, an expected answer, but then he mumbles, words spoken so faintly, so quietly, you’re surprised they even came through. 

“Yeah, I do.”

a/n: wanted to use this as dialogue practice because i think gojo’s dialogue is one of the trickiest to nail! i also found it so fun exploring this kind of dynamic with him!! i subtly hint on some of gojo’s personal issues but don’t explicitly state it to leave room for interpretation! the ending is ambiguous for that same reason.

thank you notes: @stellamancer for helping me out so much with this 🥺 practically beta-ing it, really 🥺 ily niku 🥺 in my head, gojo does not exist without you 🥺 & @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @scarabrat @soumies for being my lil cheerleaders always 🥺 ily all 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡