#light one shot

[niki-phoria]

light yagami reaction - love languages

includes: reader is in college and drinks coffee, reader cries about being burnt out lol, maybe ooc l?? set during the few months when light gives up the death note NOT KIRA LIGHT

a/n: i'm in love with pre kira light

male reader (he/him pronouns)

⋆｡°✩ physical touch

(word count 183)

“hey,” you say, setting your backpack down on the ground as you pull out the chair beside light. “mind if i sit here?”

“of course not,” he smiles, subtly pushing his notes to the side to make room for your own. you ignore l’s glance as you pull out one of your textbooks and its corresponding notebook.

silence falls over the task force headquarters once again aside from the occasional noise of a mouse clicking or your pencil scraping against the page.

light occasionally glances down at your work, silently double checking your answers. he waits for you to finish answering the hardest questions before he shifts slightly closer to you. he moves now using his left hand to continue researching the yotsuba group. you smile softly when he reaches over, subtly resting his hand beside yours. you silently reach over to take his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers together before you turn your attention back to your notes.

you pretend not to hear matsuda’s cheering or light’s father scolding him in favour of absentmindedly rubbing small shapes against light’s skin.

⋆｡°✩ quality time

(word count 195)

light softly smiles to himself as he quietly enters your shared bedroom before closing the door behind himself. your body lays sprawled out on the bed - one of your arms haphazardly thrown across one of his pillows, keeping it closely pressed against your bare chest. 

a small sliver of moonlight just barely illuminates the room as light tugs his own shirt off. he tosses his clothes into a laundry basket hidden away in your closet. he slips into an old pair of your sweatpants before carefully slipping underneath the covers to lay beside you. 

you stir awake at the feeling, lifting your head up just enough to squint at him in the darkness. “light?” you whisper. 

“go back to sleep, y/n,” he murmurs. you shuffle even closer to him, tangling your legs together underneath the blankets. your arm lays draped over his side as you lean in to nuzzle yourself against his body. he stifles a chuckle, pulling you even closer. goosebumps raise along your waist when his hand ghosts against your skin. he leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. “i love you,” you whisper. 

“i love you too,” light murmurs.

⋆｡°✩ gift giving

(word count 184)

you stifle a small yawn as you tiredly walk back to the makeshift workstation you had set up at one of the free tables in the middle of the task force headquarters. the fluorescent lights beam down on you from above as you walk through the sea of empty desks until you find your computer. 

set delicately in the corner away from your computer is a small bouquet of flowers and a fresh cup of coffee with a small note taped to the mug. you smile softly at the sight as you approach, setting your bag down on the ground before you sit down in the chair. you push your computer aside, reaching over to grab the still-warm cup and opening the note. 

my y/n,

l asked me and the other task force members to assist him on a mission. we’ll be back soon. 

i love you, 

light

you smile as you pocket the note before you pull your phone out of your pocket to quickly send him a text before finally sitting down to start doing your work. 

i love you too

⋆｡°✩ acts of service

(word count 188)

“i don’t understand why this is necessary,” l says, reaching out to eat another chocolate-covered strawberry. the chain of their handcuffs clink as light reaches over to grab a frying pan to continue making breakfast. “you���re not even going to eat the food.”

“it’s for y/n,” light says. his attention remains focused on the stove despite the complaints of the man chained to him. “he has a few classes this morning so i’m making his lunch.”

l remains silent, instead choosing to observe light. he occasionally tugs them around the grand kitchen as he expertly moves to cook your favourite meal. the chain drags against the marble countertops with each movement, though their complaints are left unsaid.

the handcuffs clink once again as light leans over the counter, quickly writing a love note on a piece of scrap paper. “i still don’t understand,” l comments.

light simply shrugs as he slips the note and container of food into your lunchbox before returning it to your backpack. l watches over his shoulder as he sets the bag down beside the couch. “i do it because i love him.”

⋆｡°✩ words of affirmation

(word count 197)

“y/n?” light calls as he enters your shared bedroom. you flinch slightly at the sudden noise, finally pulling your attention away from your unfinished notes to look back at him. he furrows his eyebrows slightly when he steps closer, noticing your puffy eyes as he walks over to sit beside you. “is everything okay?”

“i’m fine,” you mumble, turning to look back down at your notes. “just… a little stressed.”

“you know you can tell me anything,” light frowns slightly as he reaches over to carefully grab your hand. “what’s wrong?”

you let out a small sigh as he begins to rub miscellaneous shapes against your hand. “i’m exhausted.” your voice shakes as each word leaves your mouth. “i have so much work - it all feels neverending. i don’t know what to do.”

“y/n,” light whispers. he reaches over to cup your face in his hands. “you’re incredibly smart, and handsome, and kind,” he brushes away a stray tear as it rolls down your cheek. “you don’t have to go through this alone. i’m here for you. i love you. let me take care of you.”

you nod, leaning further into light’s touch. “thank you.”

[starscream-is-my-wife]

LL Megatron gets transported to the G1 cartoon (pre movie) guns don't kill anyone, everyone is more focused on their one liners then battle, wizards are real, days dont mean anything, what a silly universe

Edit: Comic based on this idea here

[bookshelftreasures]

Jealous Shadows

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Light Angst

Summary: Azriel's shadows have always been loyal, always obeyed him without question. Until now. Until they start misbehaving whenever another man so much as looks at you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,066

Notes: This is my first fic, I hope you like it! :)

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The first time it happens, you don't think much of it.

You're at Rita's with the Inner Circle, nursing a drink at the bar while Cassian and Mor dance somewhere among the crowded space. The music thrums through the air, and the conversation hums around you when a male slides into an empty seat beside you.

"Didn't think someone like you would be sitting alone," he says, flashing a grin.

You don't even get the chance to respond before a flicker of something moves between you.

The male frowns, swiping at his hair, which has suddenly transformed from being neatly styled to sticking up in wild angles, as if an invisible force had run its hands through it... aggressively.

You blink in surprise.

He mutters a curse, trying to fix it, but the moment he smooths it down, the strands spring right back up. His frustration grows, hands swiping over his head repeatedly.

"I- what the hell?" he grumbles. "Is this air cursed or something?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh.

And then you feel it.

A cool, familiar brush against your wrist.

Slowly, you glance down—just in time to see a shadow curling around your fingers before slipping away.

Your stomach flips.

You don't even need to turn around to know exactly where Azriel is.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The second time it happens, it's harder to ignore.

You and Azriel are training in the House of Wing, and the session has drawn some attention—mainly from a visiting group of Illyrians who very clearly wanted to spar with you.

One in particular, a cocky warrior named Dain, is relentless. He lingers, circling the ring as Azriel corrects your stance, his gloved hands light against your arms.

"You sure you don't want a real sparring partner, sweetheart?" Dain calls, grinning. "I promise I'll go easy on you."

Azriel stills.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he steps back, shadows slithering at his feet. "She's training," he says evenly, but there's an obvious warning beneath the words.

Dain chuckles. "Training is nice and all, but I'd be happy to teach her a few things myself."

Something cold coils around your ankles.

Before you can react, the shadows yank. Not hard. Just enough to make you stumble backwards, right into Azriel's chest.

Your breath catches.

His hands steady you, fingers gripping your waist for a fraction of a second before he forces himself to let you.

You glance up at him, about to ask whether or not that was intentional, but his jaw is tight, hazel eyes locked on Dain.

Azriel's shadows have started to shift.

Not the lazy, fluid movements they usually have—but sharp, possessive flickers that wrap around you. One curls over your shoulder, while another drapes across your wrist, looping around like a claim.

You shiver, pulse skittering.

Dain seems to notice, too. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking between you and the swirling darkness. "Uh-"

The shadows snap toward him.

Not touching—just close. Close enough to make him step back.

You swear you hear them hiss.

Dain swallows hard. "Right. I, uh, should probably-"

Azriel doesn't blink. Doesn't move.

Dain takes the hint. He all but scrambles away, muttering under his breath.

And just like that, the shadows slip away, leaving you cold.

You whip around, crossing your arms. "What was that about?"

Azriel frowns, too casual. "What was what?"

"Oh, I don't know," you say dryly. "Maybe terrorizing a man into running for his life?"

His brow furrows, like he truly doesn't know what you're talking about. "I didn't do anything."

You narrow your eyes. Then one last shadow curls around your wrist before darting away like a child caught misbehaving.

Azriel glares at it.

Your lips part. "You have got to be kidding me."

His expression darkens as more shadows flick around you, playful now.

Azriel sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "They don't usually-"

"Get jealous?" You finish for him, holding back a smile.

Silence.

His throat bobs.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet—you hear his shadows whisper something.

A name.

Your name.

And you realize—maybe it's not just his shadows who are jealous.

Your breath hitches. Azriel's wings rustle. And he looks like he's about to bolt.

Which is just unacceptable.

You cross your arms, tilting your head back to study him. "You know, I think your shadows like me more than they like you."

Azriel exhales sharply. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" You smirk, glancing down as a shadow curl lazily around your wrist. You give it a little wiggle, and the shadow clings tighter.

Azriel scowls at it. "Traitor."

A laugh bubbles out of you. You can't help it.

The great and terrifying Shadowsinger, bested by his own shadows.

"Oh, this is too good," you say, beaming up at him. "All this time, and they've secretly been on my side."

Azriel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. His wings twitch again. His shadows flick in annoyance—except the ones still clinging to you, moving to curl around your waist like they never want to let go.

You bite back a grin. "I mean, it makes sense." You gesture vaguely at them. "They probably just think I'd be a much better master."

Azriel gives you a deadpan stare. "That's not how this works."

"I don't know," you hum, pretending to consider it. "They seem pretty happy right now."

As if to prove your point, one shadow playfully loops around your fingers.

Azriel glowers. "You're encouraging them."

You give him an innocent smile. "Would I do that?"

He sighs, but you catch it—the way the corner of his mouth twitches. The way his gaze softens, just a little.

And then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, "They have good taste, at least."

Your breath catches.

Your teasing falters for half a second before you recover. "So, you admit they like me more?"

Azriel exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

You grin. "And you love it."

He doesn't answer. But the way his shadows linger—curling, warm, content—tells you everything you need to know.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

Cassian walks in moments later, takes one look at Azriel's shadows practically cuddling you, and immediately points.

"I knew it!" He boasts.

Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose. His shadows flick toward Cassian, clearly unimpressed.

And you?

You just laugh.

Because really—Azriel might deny it all he wants, but his shadows?

They don't lie.

[shinoko-oshi]

Just Because’s - Simon Riley

It started small.

You brought him new socks.

That’s it — socks. Nothing fancy, just a twenty pack of black ones from the store because you noticed his were wearing thin.

That night, he went down on you without a word. No buildup, nor teasing, just dropped to his knees while you were brushing your teeth, pulling your shorts down like it was his next mission.

You didn’t even have time to ask.

When you tried to stop him, said something like, “Babe, you don’t have to—” he just looked up at you with that dead serious stare he got at times and said, “You got me something.”

Like that explained it.

The next time, it was a bottle of his cologne. He was running low. You ordered it before he even mentioned it, leaving it on the bathroom sink.

He kissed you that night, slow and sweet, like it was the last thing he’d ever do. And then he fucked you like it was the only way he knew how to say thank you.

But that wasn’t the part that made your chest ache.

It was later, when you sat on the couch beside him, wrapping up in a warm blanket, your head resting on his shoulder and he stiffened slightly, then turned to ask, with a almost cautious tone:

“What do you need?”

And you blinked, confused “From what?”

“Well your coming to me, what do you want me to do?”

You laughed softly at first, thought maybe he was joking.

But he wasn’t.

His shoulders were tense. Jaw locked. He looked ready to stand, like if you told him to go scrub the entire kitchen with a toothbrush, he’d already be halfway to the sink.

That’s when it hit you.

This wasn’t just gratitude. It wasn’t about being a good partner.

To him, love had a price tag.

Every nice thing came with invisible strings he thought he owed you for. If you cooked, he cleaned like it was owed. If you rubbed his shoulders, he wouldn’t rest until you were trembling from something he did to your body. You left a note in his lunchbox once, just a simple “hope you have a good day”, and when he came home, he barely let you make it to the bed before he had you gasping his name in the dark.

Not out of desire. Not always.

Sometimes it was out of obligation.

You saw it in the way he watched you afterward, waiting and tense, like he was checking to see if you were satisfied enough to let him breathe again.

One night, it broke your heart wide open.

You had made him tea. That was it. He looked tired so you put on the kettle.

And when you handed it to him, he didn’t smile. Just took it and stared into the mug like it had insulted him.

“I didn’t ask for this” he muttered

“I know,” you said gently. “You don’t have to ask.”

“I didn’t do anything to earn it.”

The words shattered your heart.

You sat beside him, slowly, and reached for his hand. He let you take it. He always did. But he didn’t relax or soften.

So you said it as plainly as you could:

“You don’t have to earn it, Simon, that’s not how this works. I’m not keeping a score. I’m not waiting for you to pay me back.”

His eyes flicked to yours.

“I love you,” you said, “and sometimes love looks like tea or clean socks or maybe a new cologne and that doesn’t mean you owe me your body, or your time, or anything.”

He was quiet for a moment, looking down at his hands.

“No one’s ever done that for me before.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his.

“Well, they should’ve”

And maybe he didn’t say anything else that night. Maybe he didn’t know how.

But he let you hold him.

And for once, he didn’t try to earn it.

Sorry for not posting, im finally back and out of the slump I was in lol

anywayyy what we thinkkk?

This idea was in my head for over three weeks now and I think I like it better now that I’ve written it, bit of angst and comfort, that I think fit Simon yk?

Master list

look at my cat

[amethystarachnid]

BET

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst and fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: not requested but taken from MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 10k (damn this surprises me too)

ᯓ★ Summary: When Bucky Barnes suddenly starts talking to you you don't think much of it and when he asks you out on a date you couldn't be happier, Bucky truly is everything you could ever want in a man, a man that really loves you...At least that's what you thought until you discovered that it was real all just a bet.

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of virginity and virginity loss, small mentions of a smut scene

ᯓ★ AU: college au

ᯓ★ Request: not requested

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests closed)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The music is loud, pulsing through the walls of the frat house as Bucky sits slouched on a couch, one arm draped lazily over the back. The night is already wearing on him, but he knows he’s going to be here until Sam and Steve call it a night, which—based on the collection of red solo cups by their feet—might be a while.

They’re all trading stories from the semester, voices buzzing with that blend of laughter and cheap beer. Sam is in the middle of recounting his latest dare when he nudges Bucky’s arm, catching his attention.

“Bet you couldn’t last a month with someone like her,” Sam says, nodding toward the corner of the room.

Bucky glances up, following Sam’s gaze until he spots you. You’re perched near the bookshelf, alone and fidgeting with your drink as you flip through a book someone left behind. He’s seen you around campus before, usually with your nose buried in a novel or surrounded by a pile of textbooks. There’s something unassuming about you, something quiet and untouchable. His friends know he’s more the type to go for a party girl—someone loud, someone who doesn’t ask too many questions.

“What, the bookworm?” Bucky scoffs, raising an eyebrow. But his friends don’t let up, and soon Steve and Sam are egging him on.

“You’re always chasing the same type,” Steve chimes in. “What are you afraid of, that she’d actually challenge you?”

Bucky laughs, rolling his eyes. He knows he should shut it down, but their teasing digs at him, scratching at that competitive edge that’s always lurking just beneath his smirk.

“All right,” Bucky finally says, shrugging. “I’ll do it. One month.”

His friends exchange knowing grins, slapping him on the back. But as soon as the words leave his mouth, Bucky feels a strange knot settle low in his stomach—a feeling he’s not used to. He brushes it off. It’s just a game, a challenge. It’s not like he’s actually going to care.

The next day, you’re tucked into your usual corner in the library, surrounded by a fortress of books. You barely notice him when he walks up, leaning against the edge of the table with a casual confidence that doesn’t match the usual quiet of the space.

“Mind if I join you?” His voice is smooth, low enough that you almost have to lean in to hear him clearly.

You glance up, surprised to see Bucky Barnes standing there, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’ve seen him around campus—he’s hard to miss with that leather jacket and effortlessly messy hair, the type of guy who always has someone laughing beside him.

“Sure,” you murmur, unsure of what else to say as you move your books aside, offering him a seat. You’re used to people mostly ignoring you here. It’s your refuge, your sanctuary. So when he sits across from you, stretching out as if he belongs there, it feels jarringly out of place.

“You look like you’re buried in work,” he observes, nodding at the mountain of papers in front of you. “What’s got you so busy?”

You hesitate, but something in his easygoing manner convinces you to answer. “Just…assignments. Trying to keep up with everything.” You give him a small smile, your guard still up but feeling oddly curious.

“What’s your major?” he asks, and the question catches you off guard. Most people don’t bother to ask; they assume or don’t care enough to wonder. He listens as you talk about your studies, nodding, asking small questions. Before you know it, you’re telling him more than you intended, falling into an easy rhythm that surprises you.

It becomes a pattern. Over the next few weeks, he finds reasons to run into you—at the coffee shop, in the library, even in the quad between classes. Each time, he stays a little longer, asks a little more, his eyes holding yours with that subtle intensity he wears so well. At first, you’re wary, cautious of his attention. But Bucky is good, easing his way in like he has all the time in the world, his jokes and questions slowly weaving a thread of trust between you two.

And Bucky? He’s surprised at how much he finds himself drawn to you. Each time you laugh, he catches himself watching, feeling something strange and warm unfurl in his chest. There’s a gentleness in you, a quiet intelligence, that keeps him coming back even as he reminds himself this isn’t supposed to mean anything.

But the longer he spends time with you, the more he feels the weight of what he agreed to, creeping up on him every time he catches your smile, every time you look at him like he’s someone worth knowing.

He tells himself it’s just part of the bet. But deep down, he knows he’s starting to cross a line he never meant to touch.

It’s been a few weeks since Bucky started spending time with you, and against every reminder he gives himself, he’s found himself looking forward to it more than he wants to admit. He tells himself it’s harmless—he’s just getting to know you, just finding ways to pass the time. But he knows he’s lying, especially when he starts finding excuses to see you outside of the library or when he catches himself glancing at his phone, hoping for a text from you.

One night, back at the frat house, he’s lounging with Sam and Steve again, half-listening to their conversation when Sam nudges him.

“So, Barnes. How’s it going with the bookworm?” Sam asks with a knowing smirk. Bucky rolls his eyes, trying to brush it off, but Sam isn’t so easily deterred. “Don’t tell me you’re catching feelings.”

Bucky scoffs, forcing a laugh to keep the truth buried. “It’s going fine. Like I said, a month’s no problem.”

Sam exchanges a glance with Steve, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Let’s make this interesting then. If you really want to win this thing, you’ve got to take it further.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches. “Further?” He has a bad feeling about where this is going.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Come on, Buck. You’ve been hanging out with her, sure, but we’re talking about actually making her fall for you. Ask her out, and, you know—” He raises an eyebrow meaningfully.

“Sleep with her,” Sam adds bluntly, laughing. “Seal the deal, and there’s two hundred bucks in it for you.”

Bucky hesitates, that uncomfortable knot tightening in his stomach again. He tells himself it’s just a stupid bet. He’s done things like this before—gotten close to people just to prove he could, had plenty of meaningless hookups that never meant a thing. He’s Bucky Barnes, the guy who doesn’t do commitment or complications. But for some reason, picturing it with you makes him feel…off.

“Fine,” he says after a beat, his voice steady, betraying nothing of the uncertainty he’s trying to ignore. “Two hundred bucks. Done.”

The next day, he texts you, his fingers hovering over the keys a little too long before he finally sends, Hey, you free Friday? Let me take you out somewhere nice.

When you see his message, your heart skips a beat. It’s been a while since anyone has asked you on an actual date, and even longer since you’ve felt genuinely excited about someone. Bucky’s been different from the start—warm, attentive, and surprisingly easy to talk to. You’ve caught yourself looking forward to his company, replaying the moments he laughs at one of your jokes or leans in close enough for you to catch a hint of his cologne.

After a second, you type back, Yeah, I’d love to! You add a smiley face, feeling almost giddy as you press send.

The days leading up to Friday drag by, each one marked with bursts of nerves and anticipation. You spend a little more time getting ready than usual, finally deciding on a simple but pretty dress that makes you feel confident. When Bucky picks you up, his usual leather jacket replaced with a dark button-up, you feel a thrill of excitement. He looks genuinely happy to see you, his eyes scanning over you appreciatively as he gives you a lopsided grin.

“You look amazing,” he says, his gaze warm. There’s something softer in his eyes, something that makes you blush.

“Thanks,” you mumble, smiling as you walk beside him. He leads you to a small Italian place tucked away from campus, the kind of cozy, dimly lit restaurant you wouldn’t have expected him to know about. The conversation flows easily between you two, laughter spilling out as you talk about classes, hometowns, and childhood memories.

The night feels magical, almost surreal, and you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s something real here. Every time his hand brushes against yours, a spark shoots up your spine. And when he reaches across the table, fingers lightly grazing your wrist as he laughs at something you said, your heart flutters in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

After dinner, he suggests taking a walk, and soon you’re strolling through the quiet streets, the chill of the night air making you shiver just slightly. Without a word, Bucky slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. It feels so natural, like you belong there.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date this nice,” you admit, smiling up at him, your voice soft.

He chuckles, though it sounds slightly strained. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

You shrug, trying to brush it off. “I guess I’ve just never…met anyone like you before.”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced with that charming grin. He steps closer, his arm slipping from your shoulders, and you hold your breath as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low.

You feel like the world has stopped, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been dreaming of, the moment where everything finally falls into place.

But for Bucky, something sharp and painful twists inside him. He can feel the weight of what he’s doing pressing down on him, can see the way your eyes look at him with such unguarded trust, and it’s enough to make his stomach turn. He’s never felt guilty over a stupid bet before, but right now, the idea of hurting you feels unbearable.

“Hey,” he says softly, his hand still on your cheek. “You trust me, right?”

Your eyes widen, and you nod slowly, too caught up in the moment to notice the tension in his gaze. “Yeah,” you whisper, a small smile forming on your lips.

He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours as he takes a steadying breath. “Good,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. Because if he’s going to go through with this, he tells himself he has to believe that none of it matters—that he won’t let himself care. But even as he kisses you, his lips soft and warm against yours, he knows he’s lying to himself.

The days after that first date drift into a series of moments that feel surreal, almost like they’re happening to someone else. You find yourself checking your phone at odd times, waiting for his texts, smiling down at your screen whenever his name lights up. Bucky is a part of your routine now, and it feels strange, thrilling even, like there’s this magnetic force that draws you to him despite every bit of caution you try to hold onto.

Every time you’re with him, the outside world fades. He makes you laugh with stories about his friends, leaning in close, his voice warm and low as if he’s sharing some secret just for you. You catch yourself stealing glances when he’s not looking—at the way his jaw clenches when he’s lost in thought or how his eyes soften when he looks at you, a mix of curiosity and something you can’t quite name.

It’s after one of your study sessions at the library that Bucky invites you over to his dorm room for the first time. He tells you he’s got some old movies you’ve probably never seen, and, honestly, he’s right—you’d never pictured Bucky as the type to own black-and-white classics, but that’s exactly what he has, a surprisingly large collection lined up on a low shelf near his TV. He insists you pick one, and soon you’re sitting side by side on his couch, your legs tucked up beneath you, feeling almost shy in the soft glow of the screen.

The movie starts, but his arm stretches along the back of the couch, barely brushing your shoulders. The faintest touch sends electricity through you, but you stay quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment. Then, halfway through the movie, he shifts, glancing at you.

“You can get closer, you know,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with something mischievous yet gentle.

Your heart flutters as you scoot closer, until you’re tucked into his side, his arm draped around you in a way that feels possessive yet comforting. He smells faintly like cedar and something distinctly him, a scent that’s becoming familiar. Before you know it, your head is resting on his shoulder, his hand absently tracing patterns on your arm, and you feel like you could stay there forever.

Time slips by in a collection of small, perfect moments. There are more dates—little coffee shops tucked away from campus, a bookstore where he buys you a copy of a novel you mentioned in passing, a late-night diner where you both end up after laughing so hard that you can’t breathe. You never expected him to be so attentive, so eager to listen to your stories and learn every detail about your life. He even surprises you with your favorite snack on study nights, tossing it to you with a grin before leaning in close to steal a bite for himself.

One evening, after a long day of classes and a surprise text from Bucky inviting you over, you find yourself curled up on his couch once again. This time, he’s stretched out beside you, one arm tucked under his head while the other rests around your shoulders. His fingers brush against your arm absently, and you can’t help but notice how natural this feels. It’s terrifying, too, the way he seems to melt into your life so effortlessly, as if he’s always been there.

You glance up at him, catching him mid-laugh as he recounts an embarrassing story about Sam, who apparently tried to show off on a skateboard and ended up with a sprained ankle.

“You’re terrible,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder, though you’re laughing too.

“Oh, come on. It was hilarious,” he insists, grinning down at you. He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a second, and your laughter fades as something shifts between you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. “I just…can’t believe you’re real sometimes.”

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to reply. But then he leans down, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. The kiss deepens slowly, each touch feeling like a promise, and you lose yourself in the warmth of his embrace, forgetting every doubt, every insecurity that ever kept you guarded.

As the weeks pass, you find yourself falling harder than you ever expected. Bucky seems to find every crack in your armor, every scar and hidden fear, and instead of pulling away, he draws closer, listening to your stories and letting you into his own in ways that leave you breathless. He’s there to listen on your tough days, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring words of reassurance. He’s there on your good days, too, laughing with you, pressing kisses to your forehead as if he can’t believe his luck.

One night, you’re back on his couch, cuddled up under a thick blanket as a storm rages outside, the rain tapping against the windows. You’re nestled against him, his arm holding you close, and he’s quiet, his fingers tracing patterns along your shoulder absentmindedly.

“Bucky?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to yours, his eyes soft and warm in the dim light.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “For everything.”

He frowns slightly, shifting so he can look at you fully. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Being with you…it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest, and he kisses you again, slow and soft, like he’s savoring every second. It’s moments like this that make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re finally safe with someone, that this is something real.

But for Bucky, each moment with you is a double-edged sword. He’s never felt this way before—this calm, this…connected. Every time you laugh at one of his jokes or lean against him, trusting and unguarded, he feels that awful twist of guilt, the memory of that stupid bet lurking in the back of his mind.

He’s supposed to ask for more. That’s what Sam and Steve were expecting, weren’t they? They wanted him to win the bet, to seal the deal and prove he could pull this off. But every time he thinks about going further, about pushing this relationship into a place where he can’t turn back, he feels that nagging ache, that quiet, gnawing feeling that he’s crossing a line he can’t uncross.

He knows he needs to tell you. He needs to come clean, but every time he opens his mouth, the words get stuck in his throat. You look at him with those bright, trusting eyes, and he can’t bring himself to shatter the way you see him. So he holds his silence, hoping that somehow, he can bury the truth forever, that maybe you’ll never have to know.

One evening, as you’re lying together on his couch, you let out a contented sigh, resting your head on his chest as his hand traces lazy patterns along your back.

“Bucky?” you whisper, your voice soft.

He glances down at you, his fingers pausing as he meets your gaze. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, then take a steadying breath. “I…I think I’m falling for you.”

The words hang in the air, vulnerable and open, and for a second, his face goes still, his eyes widening just slightly. Then, his expression softens, and he tightens his arms around you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. But as he kisses you, the warmth of his touch hiding the flicker of guilt behind his eyes, a single thought haunts him.

She deserves the truth.

That night, Bucky barely sleeps, lying awake with the knowledge that he’s in far too deep to ever come out of this unscathed. Every soft breath you take beside him reminds him of how much he’s risking by staying silent. He knows he has to tell you, but he’s terrified—terrified that this fragile, beautiful thing you’ve built together will shatter, that you’ll look at him with betrayal instead of trust.

In the morning, he makes a decision. He’ll find a way to tell you, he promises himself, but he wants one more day, one more memory before he risks everything. Just one last perfect day where he can pretend that none of it was ever a lie.

So he takes you out, leading you down to the pier just as the sun begins to set, casting the sky in hues of pink and gold. You laugh, leaning into him, and he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, watching the waves lap against the shore.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice soft. “It is.”

But as he stands there, holding you close, he knows that the beauty of this moment is fleeting, that the truth waiting in his chest is too big to ignore. And tonight, when he finally gathers the courage to tell you, he knows there’s a chance he’ll lose you forever. But for now, he lets himself savor this last quiet moment, memorizing the feeling of you in his arms, the warmth of your laughter as it fills the air.

For now, he holds onto the hope that maybe, somehow, you’ll understand.

The sunset fades, leaving the world painted in muted purples and blues, but neither of you seem ready to break away from each other. Bucky holds you close, feeling the steady rhythm of your breath against his chest as if it’s his own. He knows he should say something—that he needs to say something—but the words seem so impossible now, tangled up in his chest. The truth would ruin this moment, shatter whatever he’s built with you. And so, he tells himself it can wait just a little longer.

As the evening slips into night, Bucky leads you back to his dorm room, his hand intertwined with yours. You can feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers wrap around yours as if he never wants to let go. The air feels charged, every touch electric, each shared glance simmering with something that feels fragile and exhilarating. Neither of you says much, as though speaking would break the quiet spell between you.

Once you’re inside, Bucky hesitates. He turns to you, his expression vulnerable, softer than you’ve ever seen it. "You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand.

“I want to,” you say, the words escaping before you can even think. There’s no hesitation in your voice, only a gentle certainty that makes his chest tighten. The way you look at him, so open and trusting, makes his heart ache with a mix of guilt and longing.

Bucky’s eyes search yours, lingering for a moment that stretches into forever. He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before his fingers trail down to your jaw, cradling your face as if you’re something fragile and precious. Slowly, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s softer than any before. It’s unhurried, tender, as if he’s savoring every second.

The kiss deepens, and you can feel yourself melting into him, your heart pounding so hard you think it might burst. His hands move to your waist, steady and grounding, and he pulls you closer until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the strength of him, the warmth radiating through his clothes, and it makes your head spin.

Before long, you find yourselves tangled together on his bed, the world outside fading into nothingness. Each kiss is deeper than the last, each touch laced with a longing neither of you can deny. There’s a gentleness to Bucky’s movements, a quiet patience as he explores the curve of your shoulder, the softness of your waist, as if he’s memorizing every inch of you. He’s slow and careful, constantly looking at you as if to make sure this is what you want.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his voice rough with barely-contained emotion.

You nod, feeling breathless but certain. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

His eyes darken, filled with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, and then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands skimming over your skin with a reverence that leaves you feeling cherished. You lose track of time, surrendering to the way he makes you feel—safe, wanted, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

When you finally fall back against the bed, your bodies wrapped around each other, you’re exhausted yet filled with a warmth that feels all-encompassing. The reality of what just happened settles in, but instead of feeling nervous, you feel at peace, secure in the quiet intimacy that has grown between you.

Bucky shifts beside you, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The steady thump of his heartbeat lulls you into a peaceful daze, and you feel his fingers trace small circles on your back, soothing and grounding.

You’re both quiet for a long time, the silence comfortable as you bask in each other’s presence. Eventually, though, you feel a need to tell him something you’ve been holding back, something you hadn’t planned on revealing but that feels right to share in this moment.

“Bucky,” you begin softly, lifting your head to look at him. He gazes down at you, his eyes warm and attentive, as if you’re the only thing he sees. “I…I want you to know that this was my first time.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re afraid he’ll pull away, that he’ll think you were too inexperienced or that you should have told him sooner. But he doesn’t flinch or hesitate. His hand moves up to gently cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

“Your first?” he echoes, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and something that sounds almost like reverence.

You nod, feeling your cheeks heat as you look down, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah…I wanted it to be with someone who made me feel safe. Someone I trusted.”

Bucky’s chest rises and falls slowly as he takes this in, his expression softening. He seems almost humbled, like he’s just been given something rare and delicate. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against yours.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze, as if he’s holding back a hundred things he wants to say but can’t find the words for.

You smile, the last traces of your nervousness melting away. “Thank you, Bucky…for making it so special.”

He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid to let you go. “I’d do anything to make you feel special,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

You nestle into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling safe and cherished in a way you never have before. And as you lie there, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be truly, deeply in love.

But as you fall asleep in his arms, Bucky lies awake, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he’s kept from you. He knows he should be content, that he should just let himself savor this night and the closeness you’ve shared. But the memory of that stupid, careless bet gnaws at him, a dark cloud looming over everything.

He runs a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling, feeling torn between the desire to protect you from the truth and the fear that he’s already crossed a line he can’t uncross. The realization that you trusted him enough to give him something so deeply personal makes the weight of his lie even heavier, almost unbearable. He swallows hard, tightening his hold on you as he resolves to tell you the truth—soon, somehow, even if it means risking everything.

But tonight, he lets himself stay silent. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of your hair, the warmth of your body against his, and allows himself to believe, if only for a moment, that this can last.

The morning sunlight filters softly through the blinds, casting warm, golden patterns across the bed. You stir beside him, your movements gentle as you wake up, and Bucky watches you with a quiet awe, his heart racing as he takes in the peaceful expression on your face. For a moment, it feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

You blink up at him, your face lighting up with a sleepy smile that makes his chest tighten.

“Good morning,” you murmur, your voice soft and a little shy, as if the night is still too fresh, too beautiful to fully believe.

He grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Morning,” he replies, his voice low and warm. His fingers trail down to your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you squeeze back, a shared moment of silent understanding passing between you.

The morning stretches on in a gentle haze of quiet touches and soft words. Bucky makes you coffee, insisting you stay curled up under his blanket while he brings it over to you, and you laugh, watching him with a mix of affection and disbelief. This side of him—the playful, thoughtful side—is something you never expected to see, and it makes you fall for him even harder.

You’re both lounging on his bed, your legs tangled together, talking in low voices about everything and nothing. He tells you stories about his childhood, tales about him and Steve getting into trouble, and you share your own memories, laughing as he reacts with wide eyes and exaggerated shock.

It feels so real, so natural, that you almost forget about everything outside this room, about the possibility that this could be something fleeting. You feel like you’ve found a place that’s safe, a person who makes you feel more like yourself than you ever have before.

But in the quiet moments, when you catch him staring at you with that far-off look, you wonder if there’s something he’s not telling you, a hesitation lurking behind his gaze. You don’t press, not wanting to shatter the peace between you. But part of you wonders if you’re seeing a glimpse of something deeper, something you’re not yet ready to confront.

As you leave his dorm room later that morning, he kisses you softly, lingering as if he’s trying to memorize the taste of your lips, the feel of your hand in his. There’s an unspoken promise in his touch, a silent assurance that this isn’t the end.

Later that afternoon, you make your way back to the frat house, humming softly as you climb the steps to Bucky's door. You left your notebook there, a little blue book you’re pretty sure you’ll need for your upcoming assignment. You barely slept last night, too caught up in the warmth of his touch, the memory of his whispered words that lingered long after you left his dorm this morning. You’re nervous, too; you feel so much for him that it scares you.

As you approach his room, laughter drifts out into the hallway, low voices filtering through the partially open door. You recognize Bucky’s laugh, the familiar sound stirring warmth in your chest, but the laughter feels different, carefree and loud. And then you hear a familiar voice—Sam’s—cutting through, low and joking.

"Guess she fell for it pretty hard, huh?" Sam’s voice sounds amused, lighthearted, as if he’s talking about something trivial.

You freeze, your hand hovering inches from the door. Something about his tone makes you hesitate, a strange, unsettling feeling creeping into your chest.

"Come on, Bucky," Sam presses, “don’t act all innocent now. I saw you this morning, looking like you just won the lottery.” You can hear the grin in his voice, a laugh bubbling beneath it. “So? How was it?”

Bucky laughs, the sound uncomfortable, but he doesn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, his voice casual, light. “It was… good.”

You feel a stab in your chest, a faint panic that tells you to leave, to walk away before you hear any more. But your feet don’t move, and you find yourself listening, every word driving another splinter into your heart.

Steve’s voice joins in, chuckling. “Well, you earned it, man. She had no clue, huh?”

“No clue,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softer now, almost unreadable. You can picture him there, maybe rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s nervous. But the words are there, undeniable.

Sam laughs again, louder this time. “And hey, bet’s a bet,” he says, and then there’s a pause before you hear the unmistakable rustling of bills being exchanged. “Two hundred dollars, as promised. Can’t say you didn’t earn it, though—you even managed to get her into bed. Didn’t think you had it in you, but here we are!”

Your vision blurs, the words echoing in your mind, distorting into something raw and jagged. Every affectionate touch, every gentle kiss, every whispered promise from the past few weeks twists into something ugly, something unrecognizable. You feel sick, the image of Bucky’s earnest smile, his soft words about wanting to make you feel special, tainted beyond repair. Everything you felt for him, the trust you’d handed him so freely, crumbles beneath the weight of their laughter.

Slowly, you turn and leave, gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you make your way out of the frat house. You don’t let yourself cry, not yet, not when you still feel the echo of his betrayal throbbing in your chest, too raw, too painful to acknowledge fully.

Hours later, you’re back in your dorm room, your heart aching as you sit in silence, the truth settling over you in waves. Part of you wants to believe it was a misunderstanding, that maybe there’s an explanation you’re missing. But the memory of their laughter, the casual way Sam handed him that money, makes the truth impossible to ignore.

A knock on your door interrupts your thoughts, and your heart skips a beat as you hear Bucky’s voice calling your name softly from the hallway. It’s just him now, his voice hesitant, almost as if he senses that something’s wrong. You take a steadying breath, steeling yourself before you answer the door.

When you open it, Bucky’s eyes light up, and he steps forward, a soft smile on his face as he reaches for your hand. “Hey, you,” he murmurs, his voice warm. But when he sees the look on your face, he pauses, his smile fading. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to speak. You can only look at him, trying to reconcile the gentle, caring person you thought you knew with the man who took a bet to seduce you. You pull your hand away from his, ignoring the confusion in his gaze as he watches you.

“Were you even going to tell me?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, a dull ache threading through every word. “Or were you just going to take the money and pretend it never happened?”

Bucky blinks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Tell you what? I—I don’t understand.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, and you look away, wrapping your arms around yourself as if it’ll keep you from falling apart. “Don’t play dumb, Bucky. I heard you. I was at the frat house earlier, and I heard everything.”

He freezes, his face going pale, and you see the truth in his eyes, clear as day. He opens his mouth, stumbling over his words. “Y/N, I—I didn’t… I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

The admission twists the knife deeper, and you feel yourself trembling as you look back at him, tears stinging your eyes. “So, it’s true, then? All of it? This whole… this whole thing was just for some stupid bet?”

He reaches for you, his expression desperate, his hands hovering just inches from your arms. “Y/N, please. Just let me explain. It wasn’t like that, I swear. It started that way, but then… then it became real. I fell for you, okay? Everything we did, everything we shared—it was real.”

You shake your head, pulling away from him, the anger and betrayal simmering beneath the surface. “Real? You think that makes this okay? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. “I trusted you, Bucky. I thought… I thought you cared about me.”

His face crumples, and he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to wipe away the tear on your cheek. “I do care about you. More than anything, Y/N. That’s why I wanted to tell you, I just—”

“Wanted to tell me?” you interrupt, your voice shaking. “When, Bucky? After you cashed in your winnings? After I found out on my own?”

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable, and Bucky’s shoulders sag as he looks away, guilt etched deeply into his face.

“Do you even realize how humiliating this is?” you continue, your voice a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “I trusted you with something… something I’d never given anyone. And the whole time, it was just part of a game to you.”

His eyes snap back to yours, filled with anguish, his voice barely a whisper. “It was never just a game, not after the first night. I swear, Y/N, I was going to tell you everything. I just… I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You didn’t want to lose me?” you repeat, laughing bitterly. “You lost me the moment you made that bet. You had no right to… to play with me like that, to make me believe that any of it was real.”

He looks at you, his blue eyes full of desperation, his voice breaking. “Y/N, please. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, but I need you to believe me when I say I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Just stop,” you whisper, the weight of it all crashing over you. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to make me feel sorry for you when you’re the one who lied.”

Bucky’s face falls, and he drops his gaze, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But please, just… give me a chance to make it right.”

Your heart aches, torn between the memories of every gentle touch, every whispered word, and the undeniable truth of his betrayal. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to believe that somewhere in all of this, there was something real. But the pain is too deep, the wound too fresh, and you don’t know if you can ever look at him the same way again.

“I can’t do this,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t just forget what you did. You hurt me, Bucky. And right now, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

He flinches, as if your words physically hurt him, and he nods slowly, a look of resignation in his eyes. “I understand. I’ll… I’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as he takes a step back, his gaze lingering on you one last time before he turns and walks toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob as he glances back at you, his voice soft, broken.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N… I love you. I know I don’t deserve to say that, but it’s the truth.”

You don’t reply, staring at him with tear-filled eyes as he finally steps out of your dorm, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that follows is deafening, and you sink to the floor, the weight of everything crashing down as you realize that the person you thought you loved never truly existed.

The days blur together in a haze of heartbreak and emptiness. You go through the motions, attending classes, completing assignments, and showing up to study groups, but it all feels mechanical, like you’re on autopilot. It’s as if something inside you has shut down, leaving only an echo of who you were before you met him, before he became the center of your world.

It doesn’t take long for your friends to notice the change. They ask if you’re okay, if something happened, if maybe you just need a break. But you give them the same answer each time—a nod, a small smile, and an assurance that you’re just tired. It’s easier than explaining the mess of emotions tangled inside you, the hurt that seems too big to fit into words.

Late at night, lying alone in your dorm room, you can still feel the warmth of his arms around you, the softness of his voice in the quiet hours when he’d whisper promises you thought would last forever. The memory feels cruel now, tainted by the knowledge that it was all built on a lie. And yet, despite everything, you miss him. You hate yourself for it, but you miss the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel safe, special, as if you were the only person in the world who mattered.

Bucky isn’t doing any better. In fact, he’s a mess. Days have passed, but the guilt, the emptiness—it lingers, gnawing at him, refusing to let him move on. He can barely sleep, haunted by the look in your eyes, the betrayal, the hurt he put there. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you, hears the way your voice cracked when you told him you didn’t know who he was anymore. And the worst part is, he doesn’t blame you. He knows he did this, that he ruined everything, and now he has to live with the consequences.

Sam and Steve notice almost immediately. Bucky, the confident, charming guy they’d known for years, looks hollow, as if he’s carrying a weight he can’t shake. He barely speaks, keeps to himself, and they rarely see him at the frat house anymore. Instead, he spends most of his time shut up in his dorm, a shadow of the person he used to be.

One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, Sam and Steve exchange a glance, silently agreeing that they need to intervene. They knock on his door, and when he doesn’t answer, Sam pushes it open, finding him lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Hey, man,” Sam says, stepping inside. Steve follows, closing the door behind them as they both approach Bucky’s bed.

Bucky doesn’t react right away, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. But eventually, he sits up, running a hand through his hair, looking exhausted and defeated.

“What’s up, guys?” he mumbles, though his voice lacks any real curiosity.

“We should be asking you that,” Steve says, his tone softer than usual. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Ever since things ended with Y/N, it’s like… you’re a completely different person.”

At the sound of your name, Bucky’s face falls, and he lets out a long, shaky breath. “Yeah,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “That’s because I am.”

Sam frowns, studying Bucky’s expression, the guilt etched into every line of his face. “Look, man, we didn’t mean for things to get this serious. But if you cared about her, really cared… why didn’t you just tell her the truth from the start?”

Bucky shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. “I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I was scared, I guess. I knew I’d screwed up, and every time I tried to tell her, I just… couldn’t. I thought I could fix things, somehow, make it up to her without her ever finding out.” He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Stupid, right?”

Steve sighs, sitting beside him on the bed. “Not stupid, just… a mistake. A big one, yeah, but you’re not the first guy to mess up. You’re just… Bucky, this isn’t like you. I’ve never seen you like this over anyone before.”

Bucky looks away, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s because I’ve never felt this way before. Not like this. I love her, Steve. And I threw it all away over some stupid bet that meant nothing. I hurt her in ways I can’t even fix.”

Sam places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “So what are you gonna do about it? You can’t just sit here, wallowing. If she meant that much to you, then maybe you owe it to her—and to yourself—to try and make it right.”

Bucky laughs, but it’s empty, hollow. “And how am I supposed to do that, Sam? She told me herself she doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t trust me. I don’t deserve another chance.”

Steve exchanges a look with Sam, and then he says, “Maybe. But you can’t just give up without trying. If you really love her, Bucky, you have to prove it. Show her that you’re not just the guy who hurt her, that you’re willing to fight for her. And if she doesn’t take you back… at least you’ll know you tried.”

Bucky sighs, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares at the floor. “I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t even know if I deserve it.”

Sam crosses his arms, his expression softening. “Look, man, I get that you’re hurting. But don’t you think she’s hurting, too? She’s probably out there feeling just as broken, wondering if anything between you was ever real.”

Bucky swallows hard, his chest tightening at the thought. He knows you’re hurting, knows you trusted him with something precious, something he didn’t deserve. And knowing that he’s the reason for your pain… it’s a feeling he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Over the next few days, Bucky wrestles with himself, caught between the fear of making things worse and the desire to show you that he’s truly sorry, that he wants to be the man you thought he was. He writes and rewrites texts he never sends, shows up outside your dorm but never works up the courage to knock. He’s terrified, but he can’t ignore the way his heart aches for you, the empty, gnawing feeling that only seems to grow with each passing day.

Finally, he decides to try one last time. He doesn’t know if you’ll listen, doesn’t know if you’ll even give him a chance. But he has to try—to give you the truth, no matter how painful it might be.

And so, as the evening sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over campus, Bucky finds himself standing outside your dorm, his heart pounding as he gathers the courage to knock. He knows this is his last chance, that this is the moment that will decide everything. And he only hopes, as he takes a deep breath and raises his hand to the door, that you’ll give him the chance to show you that he’s not the man who hurt you—that he’s ready to fight for you, no matter what it takes.

The knock on your door is soft, almost hesitant, but it’s enough to pull you from your thoughts. You’ve been lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find the strength to move forward, to somehow patch yourself up after everything that happened. When you open the door, you see him standing there, his eyes filled with an uncertainty that’s almost heartbreaking. He’s gripping a small notebook in his hands—your notebook, the one you left in his room—and his gaze is fixed on you with a desperation you’ve never seen before.

“Hi,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t reply right away, the sight of him dredging up the familiar ache in your chest. Part of you wants to slam the door and hide, to keep yourself safe from any more hurt. But you don’t. Instead, you meet his gaze, forcing yourself to remain steady.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice guarded.

He shifts on his feet, glancing down at the notebook before offering it to you. “I, uh… you left this. Thought you might need it.”

You take it from him, feeling the familiar weight of it in your hands. “Thanks.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, one that neither of you seems willing to break. Bucky swallows, his face creased with an anxious, uncertain look that makes him seem vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Can we… can we talk?” he asks, his voice almost pleading. “Please. I know I don’t deserve it, but I just need to say a few things. If you don’t want to listen, I’ll understand, and I’ll leave you alone. I just… I need you to know the truth.”

You hesitate, but finally, you nod, stepping back to let him into your room. He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him, and takes a seat in the small chair by your desk while you remain standing, arms crossed protectively over your chest.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze heavy with regret. Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I know you have every right to hate me,” he starts, his voice barely steady. “I know I messed up in ways I can’t even fix. And I know… I know what I did was horrible. I just—” He swallows, his throat tight. “I just need you to know that it wasn’t all a lie. When we started this… when we first got close, I didn’t expect any of this to happen. I didn’t think I’d feel the way I did.”

You look down, his words stirring a fresh wave of pain in your chest. “But it was a bet, Bucky,” you murmur, your voice trembling. “You… you did all of that just to win some money. To you, it was just a game.”

He flinches, guilt flashing in his eyes, and he nods. “I know. I won’t make excuses for it—I was stupid, and I hurt you. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about the bet. It stopped being a game. And I started… I started caring about you, more than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you force yourself to keep your voice steady. “Then why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair again, his expression tortured. “Because I was scared. I was terrified that you’d look at me the way you’re looking at me now, that I’d lose you. I know that doesn’t make it better, but it’s the truth. I tried to find the right time, tried to find the right words, but I kept putting it off, thinking maybe… maybe I could make it up to you before you ever found out.” He looks down, his voice breaking. “But that was stupid. I should’ve just been honest with you from the start.”

You take a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of everything he’s saying. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to forgive him, but the wound he left is still fresh, still raw. “I trusted you, Bucky,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought what we had was real.”

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a desperate sincerity that takes you off guard. “It was real. For me, it was real. And I know that doesn’t change anything, but I need you to know that. I never meant to hurt you, and I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You study him for a long moment, searching his face, trying to find some indication of sincerity, something to show that he’s truly sorry. And when you see the remorse in his eyes, the sadness that mirrors your own, you feel something in your chest soften, just slightly.

“Bucky,” you begin softly, forcing yourself to stay strong, “I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend this didn’t happen. You hurt me more than anyone ever has, and it’s going to take time for me to get past that.”

He nods, his expression resigned, but he doesn’t look away. “I understand. And I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I just… I just want the chance to prove to you that I’m more than the guy who hurt you. Even if we can’t go back, I want to be there for you, even if it’s just as a friend.”

You let his words sink in, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the ache in your heart. Part of you still longs for what you had, for the closeness you shared, but you know that you can’t rush back into it. If Bucky truly wants a second chance, he’ll have to earn it, piece by piece, day by day.

“Maybe…” You hesitate, feeling vulnerable but determined. “Maybe we can start as friends. Just… friends. No promises, no expectations. If you’re willing to do that, to rebuild things from the ground up… then maybe, someday, I’ll be able to trust you again.”

Relief floods his face, and he nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll take that. Anything you’re willing to give, I’ll take it. I’ll prove to you that I can be better. I’ll prove that I’m worth your trust.”

You give him a tentative smile, and for the first time in days, you feel a flicker of hope. It’s small and fragile, but it’s enough to remind you that maybe healing is possible.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky becomes a constant but careful presence in your life. He shows up when you need help with an assignment, offers a listening ear when you need to vent about a long day, and joins you for coffee on campus, keeping the conversation light and easy. He respects your boundaries, never pushing for more, never expecting anything beyond friendship. You’re surprised at how attentive he is, how willing he is to wait, to prove that he’s serious about making things right.

Slowly, the walls around your heart begin to crack. You start to feel comfortable with him again, to let your guard down, if only a little. You catch him glancing at you sometimes, a soft, almost wistful look in his eyes, as if he’s seeing something precious he thought he’d lost forever. It’s in these moments that you remember why you fell for him in the first place, why his smile used to make your heart race, why his touch felt like home.

One day, as you’re both sitting on a bench by the campus pond, he turns to you, a hesitant smile on his face. “I know we’re just friends right now, and I’m okay with that. But I want you to know that I’m grateful for every moment I get to spend with you, even if it’s just like this.”

You feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Thank you, Bucky,” you say softly. “For not giving up. For being patient with me.”

He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before resting his hand on yours, his touch warm and steady. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll prove to you that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

And as you look into his eyes, you feel a flicker of something you thought was lost—a tentative, fragile hope that maybe things could be different this time. That he could truly be the person he’s trying to be, the person you wanted him to be all along. And though you know there’s a long road ahead, you’re finally willing to take that first step with him, trusting that maybe, this time, he won’t let you down.

The night is alive with music and laughter as you step into the crowded frat house. It’s your first time back here since everything happened, and you can’t deny the nervous flutter in your stomach as you take in the familiar scene. But tonight feels different—Bucky is by your side, watching you with a gentle smile as he guides you through the chaos of people, his hand warm and steady on your arm.

Over the past few weeks, things between you and Bucky have been slowly mending. He’s proven himself time and time again, showing up when it mattered, respecting your boundaries, and never pressuring you for more than you were willing to give. He’s become someone you can lean on, someone who’s earned back your trust bit by bit. And, to your own surprise, you feel something new blossoming between you—something deeper, stronger, and more genuine than before.

When you reach the main room, you spot Sam and Steve near the keg, both of them giving you a thumbs-up as soon as they see you with Bucky. You laugh, rolling your eyes, but Bucky just grins, shrugging as if to say, They’re harmless.

“Glad you came tonight,” he says, leaning closer so you can hear him over the noise. “I was worried you might skip.”

You shrug, glancing up at him. “Well, I figured it was about time I faced the frat house again.”

He chuckles, a warm, rich sound that sends a spark of something familiar through you. It’s the same feeling you used to get when you first met, when you were just getting to know him, before anything got complicated. Only now, it feels even better—because you’re finally on solid ground with him, without secrets or lies standing between you.

As the night goes on, you find yourself enjoying the party, laughing with friends, and even dancing a bit. Bucky stays close, his presence a comforting, steady anchor amidst the noise and chaos. He’s attentive, offering you drinks and glancing over every so often to make sure you’re comfortable. And every time you catch his gaze, you feel your heart race just a little faster.

At one point, as you’re talking with a friend, you feel Bucky’s hand gently touch your arm, and he leans in close, his voice soft and intimate against your ear. “Want to get some air?”

You nod, letting him lead you through the throngs of people until you step out onto the back porch. The cool night air is a welcome relief from the warmth inside, and you breathe deeply, taking in the quiet calm of the evening. Bucky leans against the railing, watching you with a soft, almost nervous smile, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” he begins, his voice low and steady, as if he’s thought about this moment a thousand times. “I know we’ve been rebuilding things, and I know you wanted to take it slow. But, Y/N… being with you these past few weeks, even just as friends, has been everything to me. And I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.”

Your heart stirs at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of longing that’s been building quietly since the day he asked for a second chance.

“Bucky,” you say softly, stepping a little closer. “I… I feel the same. It’s been hard, letting go of the past. But I think—no, I know—I’ve forgiven you. You’ve shown me who you really are, and… I like that person.”

His eyes brighten at your words, and he reaches out, his hand brushing your cheek as his thumb strokes gently across your skin. He leans closer, his gaze searching your face as if to make sure you’re truly ready for this.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his voice barely audible in the quiet night air.

You feel your heart skip a beat, and you give him a small, almost shy nod, your pulse racing as he leans in, closing the distance between you. The moment his lips meet yours, it’s like the world melts away, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the softness of his mouth against yours. It’s gentle at first, tentative, as if he’s afraid of breaking the spell. But as you respond, his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you a little closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet, aching intensity.

When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, sharing a smile that’s equal parts relief and joy.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice full of warmth, “I promise, I’m not going to mess this up again. I want this with you—for real, no games.”

You smile, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Good, because you’re stuck with me now.”

He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug, and you bury your face in his shoulder, feeling a happiness you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re finally ready to move forward with him, to start fresh, knowing that this time, it’s real.

maybe I should've made it more angsty? I love angst, request angst people! lol

[that-dumb-dinosaur]

look me in the eye and tell me this isn't one of the coolest shots in any star wars tv episode. and don't even get me started on when his voice overlapped with Vader's-

[r-memberme]

reverence, rewritten | k.m

⎯⎯ Niklaus is not hiding her out of shame. He is hiding her out of worship.

warnings: kinda possessive, Elijah pov.

Niklaus had always been a creature of patterns—destructive ones, typically.

Vanishing for hours to paint in violent solitude. Appearing in parlors with blood on his collar and a smile like ruin. Drowning himself in the wine of women who meant nothing to him, burning cities and loyalties alike when the emptiness caught up to him again.

But this... This was different.

Lately, there was a rhythm to him that Elijah had never seen before. A quieting. His wrath came slower, with hesitation at the edge of it. He declined the usual hunts. No bodies turned up in the river. He even let an insult slide at last week’s council gathering—something that would have cost a man his jaw not three months ago.

At first, Elijah assumed Klaus was simply plotting. That this stillness was the storm’s inhale before the tempest returned. But then came the absences.

Klaus would disappear for hours—just as he always had—but not to feed, not to destroy. And not a single soul knew where he went. Not Rebekah. Not even Kol, who took it upon himself to eavesdrop out of sheer boredom.

He stopped inviting people into his wing of the estate. Locked the door behind him without menace, without snide commentary. Just... quietly. Like a man closing a book.

And so, one evening, Elijah followed him.

It was raining—thin, silver rain that spidered across the windows and turned the gardens to watercolor. Klaus had left with no announcement, but Elijah had heard the softest creak of a door around midnight, and that was enough.

He walked without sound. He had learned stealth centuries ago, but he still felt like an intruder—not out of fear, but out of something quieter. Something reverent.

Because what he found at the end of the east wing hall was not the war god he knew.

It was Klaus—on the floor.

Not sprawled out, not brooding, not pacing like a caged animal.

He was seated cross-legged on an old rug, candlelight flickering across his face. And she—she—was curled against him, her legs draped over his lap, her cheek resting against his shoulder like she’d done it a hundred times before.

And Klaus... He was brushing her hair back with both hands. Slow. Careful. Like he was afraid to startle her with even breath.

Elijah couldn’t move. Couldn’t announce himself.

He watched his brother commit a miracle with nothing but silence and two hands gently brushing a woman’s hair behind her ear.

She laughed—soft, low, private.

And Klaus smiled. Not that feral grin he used as armor. Not the smug smirk that preceded bloodshed.

But something small. Unsteady.

Like he’d forgotten for a moment who he was supposed to be.

And Elijah—who had seen this brother burn the world down a dozen times over—felt his chest ache with something like disbelief. Or awe.

"Niklaus has many obsessions," he thought, standing just beyond the candlelight. "But this isn’t that. This is devotion in disguise."

He stepped back before he was seen. He didn’t want to interrupt the quiet.

Because in all their immortal years together, Elijah had never seen Klaus Mikaelson ask for peace.

But tonight—without saying a word—he had chosen it.

And she was the reason why.

༊*·˚

It happens again.

Not by design. Elijah doesn’t seek it out. But the rain returns a few nights later, and with it, so does that strange gravity—the pull that has haunted him since the first glimpse of that room, of her, of him—transformed by nothing but love’s proximity.

This time, the door is already slightly ajar.

No enchantment. No protection spell. Just a door left open, like an offering.

Elijah hesitates.

It feels wrong to intrude, but worse to pretend he doesn’t want to understand. Because something is changing in his brother. Something that silence cannot name.

So he stays in the shadows.

Inside, the world is quiet. The fire is low. The rain tics gently at the windows like a second heartbeat.

And there they are—again.

Klaus is on the floor, back resting against the velvet of an old chair, legs stretched out around her. She’s bundled in a blanket, tucked against his chest like she belongs nowhere else. His arms encircle her completely, like a sanctuary. A shelter. Not a cage.

She’s reading aloud at first—softly, sleepily—from a worn book Elijah vaguely recognizes. French poetry, maybe. The edges are frayed with love. But at some point her words fall away, lips parted in the beginnings of sleep.

And Klaus... He takes the book from her hands. Turns the page gently. Begins reading where she left off.

His voice is low. Intimate. Not just speaking the words but offering them. Like a gift.

A love poem, Elijah realizes.

And not one Klaus wrote. But one he’s chosen. Which is somehow worse. Which is somehow better.

The girl—his girl—breathes deeper, sighs into him, and her head slips to his chest.

She is asleep.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t seem to notice the weight of time or the fire dwindling beside them. He just holds her there, arms wrapped around her body with the kind of patience Elijah never imagined Niklaus possessed.

The kind of patience reserved for temples. For prayer.

And then—

She laughs. Just once. A ghost of a sound, still half-dreaming.

And Klaus smiles like the world hasn’t been ending inside him for centuries.

That’s when it strikes Elijah hardest.

He’s seen his brother bring kingdoms to ruin. Cities leveled. Blood spilled for the pettiest of provocations.

But never this. Never peace.

Not like this.

Not with his chin resting against her hair. Not while one hand draws soft circles over the blanket at her hip. Not while he stares at the window as if the storm outside could never touch what he’s built in here.

There is no war in him. Not now. Not with her.

Only reverence.

And Elijah, standing silent in the doorway, begins to understand something he never thought possible.

Niklaus is not hiding her out of shame. He is hiding her out of worship.

Because gods do not parade what they pray to.

They protect it. Quietly. Desperately.

༊*·˚

The night is long. Rain slicks the streets outside. The city hums with its usual quiet menace, but in the Mikaelson compound, there is only firelight and the weight of something unspoken.

Elijah finds him where he always is now—in that room no one enters but her.

Klaus doesn’t look up when the door opens. He doesn’t need to.

“She’s asleep,” he murmurs, gaze locked on the flames. His fingers curl around the glass in his hand, but there’s no tension there. Just the stillness of someone entirely occupied by a different world.

Elijah steps inside anyway.

The air is thick with heat and lavender and something even heavier—truth, maybe. Or guilt.

“She always sleeps better when it rains,” Klaus adds softly. “Says it sounds like something ancient trying to come home.”

He doesn’t turn around. He knows who it is. Of course he does.

Elijah clears his throat. Keeps his voice low, careful, like he’s stepping through a cathedral. “You touch her,” he begins, “like she’s made of ash. Like she might vanish if you breathe wrong.”

Klaus is quiet. Too long.

And then—

“Because she’s the only thing I’ve ever held that didn’t bleed.”

It steals the breath from Elijah’s lungs.

He stares at the back of his brother’s head, the shape of him so familiar and suddenly so unknown.

“She’s not like the others, is she?”

Klaus chuckles at that—dry, humorless. “No, brother. She is nothing like the others. She never begged me to stay. Never feared what I was. Never tried to twist herself into a shape that might fit beside a monster.”

Elijah steps closer, voice gentler now. “Does she know what you are?”

Klaus finally turns. His face is all shadows and softness, eyes lit not by hunger or rage but something quieter. Sadder.

“She knows who I am.”

A beat of silence.

“And that’s worse, isn’t it?” Elijah says. “Because you’ve never let anyone see you. Not truly.”

Klaus takes a breath like it hurts. Like every word is pulling at something stitched shut long ago.

“She didn’t tame me.”

“No?” Elijah tilts his head.

Klaus smiles, small and broken and full of something raw. “No. She just looked at me like I didn’t need to be a monster anymore.”

And that’s the moment Elijah realizes: this isn’t just love. It’s absolution.

It’s everything his brother has carved himself open trying to earn—and never found in blood or war or power.

But somehow, she gave it to him. Not by force. Just by being there.

Just by seeing him.

༊*·˚

It happens without warning.

No announcement. No grand reveal. Just a quiet evening in the courtyard. The scent of burning wood, a fire flickering in the old hearth, wine passed between hands too used to power to speak much of it. A gathering like any other—until it isn’t.

The doors open. Klaus steps through.

And she’s with him.

Not in the way Elijah has come to expect. Not hanging off his arm, not paraded like a prize or a possession. She’s simply there—at his side.

Not ahead. Not behind. Beside.

And that, Elijah thinks, is what stops him cold.

Klaus carries himself differently tonight. Not cocky, not simmering with all that restless fury. He looks calm. Like a man who knows exactly who he is and doesn’t feel the need to say it out loud.

She walks with him, her hand resting lightly on his coat. It’s not a claim. Not a warning. There’s no performance in it. Just touch. Just closeness. Just choice.

For so long, Klaus has held onto things like they were slipping from him—clutched too tight, loved too violently. But this is different. This time, he’s not afraid of losing. He’s just there with her.

And she? She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t shrink.

When someone new arrives—a face Elijah doesn’t recognize, eyes too old, too sharp—she moves without thinking, just slightly, just enough to place herself between Klaus and the stranger. Protective, not performative. As natural as breathing.

Klaus doesn’t bristle. Doesn’t push her back. Instead, he leans in and says something low. She answers with a laugh, soft and real, then rests her hand briefly over his.

It’s easy, Elijah realizes. Effortless. Intimate in a way that no one in this room has ever been with Klaus. Not without blood. Not without fire.

And she doesn’t flinch. Not once. Not when someone calls him the Hybrid. Not when she catches whispers of stories that should make anyone run.

She looks at Klaus like she already knows the worst of him. And she’s still here.

Later, Rebekah catches the look on Elijah’s face and raises an eyebrow over her drink.

“She isn’t a secret anymore,” Elijah says quietly. “She’s his center.”

Rebekah smirks. “He let her in?”

Elijah nods once. “No,” he says. “He brought her.”

And when the guests begin to trickle out, when the fire has burned down to orange coals and the laughter has dulled into silence, Elijah finds him again. Alone now—almost.

She’s nearby, her fingers grazing the spine of a book left on the table. Like she lives here. Like she belongs.

“You brought her,” Elijah says.

Klaus doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pretend not to know what he means.

“No more hiding,” he says simply.

“She knows what that means?”

“She does.”

Elijah tilts his head, searching his brother’s face. “And she’s not afraid?”

Klaus looks past him then—at her—and the look in his eyes is something Elijah hasn’t seen since they were boys. Something soft. Something full.

“No,” Klaus says, voice barely above a breath. “She’s not the girl who tamed me, Elijah.”

“She’s the woman who saw me—and chose me anyway.”

hope you like it anon <<33 actually really liked writing it from Elijah's pov!

[cornmayor]

You know. Now that I think, maybe it's for better beheaded didn't meet others. Audio by wonderful Zach Fuller

[hopesangelsprite]

Closer

Pairing: Illumi x Wife!reader

Warnings: kissing, suggestive content, light angst

Summary: Your husband isn't really the touchy feely type... but when it comes to you that tends to change often and very quickly.

It wasn't often that your husband had days off. It was even rarer that he spent those days off relaxing rather than training or picking up small, quick missions for extra money (not that he needed it anyway). Today was different, though. Illumi had about a week of downtime before his next mission and, instead of prepping, he was sprawled across your shared bed napping.

You were worried at first, his uncharacteristic behavior causing you to wonder if he was feeling well. After the first few days of observing him and assuring yourself that he wasn't ill, you chalked it up to him finally taking some time to relieve stress. Though you wanted to relax with him, there were still a few tasks you needed to complete beforehand. You sighed inwardly from your desk and continued to work on your computer. What had started as light research quickly turned into hours of sifting through data and you were quickly becoming annoyed.

"Wife.", Illumi called out, his voice heavy with sleep. You froze and listened for any signs he was fully awake. Illumi took your silence as ignoring him and spoke again. "You know I don't like repeating myself.", he grumbled and the sound of sheets rustling met your ears. You turned in your chair to see your husband sitting up on his elbows, eyes half-lidded with sleep and light annoyance. "What is it, love?", you hummed at his tired, disturbed state.

Without another word spoken, he patted the empty side of your bed and motioned for you to come forward. Your brow quirked and a smirk crept onto your lips. "You're not being serious, are you? You usually want nothing to do with me when it's nap time.", you chuckled and his eyes narrowed even more.

"I'm not above coming to get you myself. However, for your sake, I advise you to do as asked.", he spoke lowly while brushing inky strands of hair from his face. A giggle passed your lips as you stood and made your way toward the bed and joined your grumpy husband. After taking a moment to adjust the two of you, Illumi nestled his face against the side of yours and exhaled. "That wasn't so hard, was it? You've been at that damned computer much too long for my liking.", he complained as he pulled a small blanket over the both of you.

You rolled over to face him, placing a kiss between his collarbone and Adam's apple. "Almost sounds like you missed me.", you cooed sweetly to which he huffed through his nose. "So, what if I did? A man's allowed to miss his wife, is he not?", he mused with hands gently drawing patterns onto your lower back. You opted for more silence as you looked over his features, taking mental photos in case his next mission took him away from you longer than usual.

Illumi opened his eyes, lashes fluttering as he looked over you with onyx orbs. "What's wrong?", he questioned softly while pulling you closer. You shrugged and leaned into him, indulging in the cool of his skin. "I miss you a lot when you're gone.", you finally answer, "I wonder whether or not you'll come back to me sometimes…". Illumi remained silent, allowing the weight of your words to fully settle over the room. It was often you felt this way, the long periods of waiting eating away at your resolve. His occasional battered state upon returning only deepened that fear that he'd not come home one day.

"You don't have to worry about that.", Illumi spoke after a little while, "I'll always come back to you… even if it's the last thing I do.". You looked up at him, in awe of the sudden tenderness he possessed. "Promise?", you whispered into the room's atmosphere. He nodded, taking your hand in his and intertwining his fingers with yours. "I promise.", he vowed before pulling you impossibly closer.

You smiled giddily, the tension finally rolling off your shoulders. "Besides,", Illumi spoke as he settled himself in the valley of your breasts, "How could I possibly think of leaving all of this behind?". A gasp and a cackle left you as you felt him nibble at your chest, his hands squeezing the fat of your ass. "I knew you didn't want me to nap with you!!", you laughed while trying to wriggle out of his hold, "I still have work to do!".

You managed to get a leg and an arm free before Illumi dragged you back into him. "The only thing you should be doing is me.", he muttered while attempting to hold you still. After a while of resisting, you finally let your husband pin you to the bed with a satisfied smirk. "Your research can't make you feel the way I do, can it?", he questioned proudly to which you rolled your eyes. Even though you didn't want to admit it, he was right. You stared up at him, taking in just how pretty he was with bedhead and sleep still lingering in his eyes.

"Fine. You get two rounds before I go back to work.", you offered to which he scoffed with narrowed eyes. "Four rounds.", he countered indignantly. You smirked while tucking a few strands of hair behind his ears. "Three rounds and cuddles. Take it or leave it.", you negotiated before leaning in to kiss him. "Deal.", he hummed between kisses with hands roaming across your body, "I'll give you under-desk support after.".

"What? No-".

[fangirlfuel]

Say It’s a Joke, Please

Summary: you just wanted to prank him , didn’t think his reaction will be this

------

Charles had never been an overly dramatic person. He was passionate, yes. Emotional at times, sure. But dramatic? Not really.

But right now? Right now, Charles Leclerc looked seconds away from spiraling into a full-blown crisis.

And it was all because of you.

You had expected him to be confused. Maybe a little bit frustrated. But nothing could have prepared you for the way his entire expression cracked the moment you told him, "I think we should break up."

His lips parted slightly, his breath hitching in his throat. "W-What?"

You had planned to drag this out a little longer, to tease him just enough before you told him it was a joke, but the look on his face? The way his green eyes immediately darkened, his entire body tensing as if he had just been sucker-punched?

Yeah. No. This wasn’t fun anymore.

Your stomach twisted as you forced out a nervous laugh, reaching for his hand. "Charles, I–"

He stepped back.

Your heart dropped.

"No." His voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours like he was desperately trying to find some kind of reassurance. "No, please. Don’t do this."

You panicked. "Charles–"

His breathing was uneven now. He ran a hand through his messy hair, his movements frantic, like he was trying to physically hold himself together. "Is it because of something I did?" His voice cracked, his French accent growing thicker with panic. "Did I not love you enough? Did I–"

You immediately reached forward, grabbing his face between your hands. "Stop."

His entire body stilled under your touch. His breathing was still heavy, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt.

You felt awful.

"Charles, baby, it was a joke," you whispered, your voice urgent. "I was pranking you. I didn’t mean it–I swear."

For a second, he didn’t react. Just stared at you with wide, glassy eyes, his hands hovering in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them.

Then, ever so slowly, his lips parted. "...A joke?"

You nodded frantically. "Yes, a stupid, stupid joke. I wasn’t serious. I would never leave you."

Charles blinked once. Then again.

Then, before you could say anything else, he collapsed against you.

His arms wrapped around your waist tightly, his head burying itself in the crook of your neck as he let out a deep, shuddering breath.

"You scared me," he muttered against your skin.

Your arms immediately tightened around him, guilt clawing at your chest. "I know. I’m so sorry, mon amour. I didn’t think you’d take it so seriously."

Charles let out a breathy laugh, but it was weak. "How could I not take it seriously? You are everything to me."

Your heart broke at his words.

You pulled back just enough to cup his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. "I love you, Charles. I love you so much, and I am never going to leave you. I promise."

He searched your face for a long moment, his lips twitching slightly before he exhaled, finally allowing his body to relax. "...If you ever prank me like that again, I’m proposing on the spot so you can’t leave."

You burst out laughing, your forehead falling against his. "That is the most Charles thing I’ve ever heard."

He smirked. "And yet, you still love me."

"Of course I do," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Forever."

And just like that, the tension melted away. But deep down, you knew one thing, you were never, ever pranking Charles like that again.

.

[ovulationation]

Big Girl

Pairing: bfd!Joel x reader

Summary: Joel Miller gets called to pick you and his drunken daughter up from a party. With a week left before you leave for college, Joel doesn’t think you’re ready for it.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p-in-v (wrap it up, folks), daddy kink, praise, kitchen, creampie, best friend’s dad, age gap (reader is 19, Joel is around 40)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Sarah had been inseparable since kindergarten. You did everything together. Every all nighter, every time you needed a new dress for a school dance, every new trend you did together. Sarah’s parents worked a lot so she spent almost all her extra time at your house.

When high school came around things started changing. Sarah’s mom left and her dad threw himself into his work. Sarah started going wild and you went right along with her. You started sneaking out, hooking up with boys, and partying every weekend. You both graduated high school (barely) and somehow made it into the same college. With only a week left until you moved into your dorm. Everyone was throwing the last parties of the summer, eager to get last memories with their high school friends.

That’s how you got where you are now, the loud blaring of the speakers as you danced in the random basement of the night. Sarah was beyond tipsy, dancing on the beer pong table while the guys all ogled her body in her short skirt and tight top. You were, unfortunately, the designated driver of the evening. Leaving you with the slightest buzz that had all but faded away.

You pulled out your phone, cursing when you saw the time.

“We gotta go, babe,” you yelled to Sarah over the thumping bass of the speakers.

Sarah look down at you with a pout as you grabbed her arm and helped her onto the dirt floor. Her white sneakers landed in a puddle of something spilled and you winced.

“Don’t wanna,” she whined, throwing her head back for dramatic effect.

You patted her back as you pushed her through the crowd in front of you.

“I know but your dad is gonna be getting home soon and we gotta get back before he realizes we’re gone.”

Sarah groaned as you push her up the stairs of the basement and into the backyard. You led her to the car as you fished around in your handbag.

“Fuck,” you groan and lean your forehead against the window.

Sarah didn’t hear you, too busy flirting with some grimy Super Senior™ to realize you had somehow lost the keys to her shiny new graduation gift.

You pull her away from the walking STD, and pull her back to the car.

“I lost the keys, I need you to keep your hand right here and Don’t. Move.” You spoke slowly, pushing her hand against the hood of the car. She nodded slowly with drooping eyelids then giggled.

“You look soooo funny when you’re serious.” She laughed and stumbled. You shoot her a half serious glare and head back into the basement to search for the keys.

After fifteen minutes of searching the dirty floor with your phone flashlight and trying to shout at people through the loud music, you come back up victoriously holding the keys in your hand. Your victory doesn’t last long when you see Sarah standing next to the car, and her dad next to her.

“Oh shit,” you groan as you walk up to them.

“Oh shit is right,” Joel glares down at you, Sarah draped against his shoulder.

“I called my dad to help,” Sarah giggled.

“I can explain-“

“In. Now.” Joel growls, pointing to his truck.

You just nod and walk over to the car. Joel drags Sarah into the back seat where she promptly passes out. You jump into the front seat and Joel gets into the driver seat, grumpily buckling up and peeling out of the driveway.

The drive back is tense. Only the sounds of Sarah snoring and the low grumble of the road. Joel occasionally glances at you then back at the road, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. You pull down your tight fitting dress. Maybe he’ll go easier on you if you don’t look like you belong on a street corner.

The car pulls into the driveway and Joel pulls Sarah out. You walk behind him as he carries her into her bedroom. Every glare he throws your way makes you duck your head more.

You can’t remember a time when you saw him this mad, but you were usually sneakier than this. You guys had never gotten caught, you always got home on time and made sure any evidence was gone before a parent could find it. Usually you would be back at your house with your sweet, but unfortunately super gullible parents who didn’t think you and Sarah could ever do anything wrong.

You helped Sarah into some pajamas and hoped to sneak out of the front door. You carefully walked through the living room, trying your hardest not to make any noise. The sound of a cupboard slamming shut behind you has you almost jumping out of your skin. You jump around, looking straight at Joel.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Miller.” You immediately start.

“Look, I understand. You’re 19, you think it’s cool to go to parties,” Joel starts, his expression hard. He leans back against the counter, gesturing to the stool across from him. You scurry over and sit, pulling the hem of your dress down. “But this shit is dangerous. Y’all getting drunk and being around all those hormonal boys or God forbid getting behind a wheel.”

“I’m not drunk,” You argue, but one look from Joel has you shrinking back in your seat.

“You’re leaving in a week and you have no idea the shit that college boys think,” he crosses his arms across his chest. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up to his elbows showing off his muscular forearms.

“I’m a big girl I can handle it.” You shoot back with a bite.

His eyebrows raise at your tone and he pushes off the counter to stand at his full height. Looking down at your smaller frame on the stool.

You can feel a wave of rebellion coarse through you as you look up at him. Sarah spent most of her time over the years at your house so you never really got to know Joel. You would see him in passing or at big life events for Sarah, but you rarely had to deal with him one on one. The fact that he could just stand there and scold you like a child when he didn’t even know you made anger bubble up inside you.

“You’re a big girl?” He steps closer to you.

You nod, suddenly feeling like prey being hunted

“Y-yes,” you stumble.

“You don’t sound too sure, Darlin,” he smirks down at you.

His eyes travel down, down to the hem of your too-tight dress that had made its way dangerously close to the top of your thighs. You cross your legs and squeeze your thighs together, hoping to shield yourself from his sight and hoping to stop the dull ache that had started to form.

“These aren’t the boys you’re used to dealing with, these are men. Can you handle a man?”

You bite your lip at his words. Maybe you were drunk. There’s no way q your best friend’s dad was standing less than a foot in front of you, undressing you with those brown eyes. There’s no way he was flirting with you after chastising you not even a minute ago. There’s no way you were enjoying it.

You nod up at him. “I can handle a man.”

He grins down at you, “prove it.”

Those two words set something ablaze in you. In a flash you’re snaking your arms around his neck and bringing his mouth to yours greedily. He returns it hungrily, wrapping his arms around your back.

You stumble off the stool and his hands are immediately on your ass. You let out a little yelp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You gasp into the kiss, breathing him in as he explores every inch of your tongue.

His hands grip your ass, supporting you as you jump back onto the counter, leaving him stand in in between your spread legs. The hard bulge in the front of his pants rubs again you and he lets out a low groan against your lips.

He detaches his lips from yours, dragging them down your neck. He ruts softly against your clothed core, making you whimper and close your eyes. He growls against your neck, continuing his assault. You reach down to the front of his pants, sloppily undoing his belt.

Your hand slithers into his pants, wrapping around his impressive length. Your thumb grazes over his silky tip and he hisses, pulling back. He grabs your wrist

“Not yet, baby,” he mutters, starting to slowly kiss his way down your neck.

“Need it,” You whine, trying to pull him back to you with your legs.

His hands move to your thighs, pushing them apart to stop them from pulling him in. He pulls back and looks down at you, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen. He pushes the hem of your dress up to your waist, revealing the black lacy panties that you wore for the party.

He drops to his knees, staring at the little pretty pink bow sitting on the front. His eyes never leave yours as he takes the bow between his teeth, pulling it back and then letting go. Letting it snap back to your skin. You feel yourself clench around nothing beneath the fabric and bite your swollen bottom lip.

“Look at that bow,” he groans, pushing his face forward again. His nose rubs against the bow as he presses a kiss directly to your clothed clit. “You’re like a present, wrapped up for me.”

“Mr. Miler please,” you gasp, not sure how much more you can take.

“Please what, baby,” He presses another kiss to the same spot.

“Please just do something,” Your lips parting in a needy whine. You try to move your hips forward, desperate for more, but his hold on your thighs tightens, stilling your movements. You groan in frustration.

Joel slips his fingers into the side of your panties, stretching them and pulling them aside. He lets out a groan as he sees you finally. Your swollen pink folds slick with your own arousal. He presses another kiss, this time to your bare clit. You gasp and tug in his hair, he lets out a growl.

“You taste so sweet, darlin,”

His tongue darts out to tease around your bundle of nerves, licking circles around it but never hitting it where you want. You pant above him, letting out little whimpers as he teases you.

His hand moves travels from your thigh to your stomach. His fingers splay out against your skin and pushes you back until your back hits the cold granite.

Your fingers tug hard when his lips latch around your clit, suckling against it as his tongue massages the bud.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, bringing a hand up to your mouth to muffle your noises.

His hand that isn’t pinning you down into the countertop makes its way down. You feel a finger prod at your entrance and you gasp.

His finger slips in easily to your soaked hole. You bite down on your hand, trying to keep yourself from being too loud. You lift your head up, looking down at where he’s connected to you and find him looking directly at you. Your walls clench around him at the sight.

He slips another finger in, slowly thrusting them into you. Those brown pupils are blown wide in desire as he watched you whine, trying to grind down on him. He scissors those thick fingers inside of you and you moan, squeezing them.

He groans against your clit, sending vibrations up through your body like the best vibrator money could buy. You feel that ball starting to tighten deep in your abdomen.

“C-close, Joel, so close,” you gasp, groaning when that hand stops you from grinding against his face.

“Gonna cum on my fingers?” He asks, mouth still attached to your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Yes, yes, please,” you moan.

His fingers curl inside you, hitting that sensitive, spongey spot. That quickly sends you over the edge, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his fingers. You bite your hand, a few moans still coming through.

He continues to massage that spot inside you and suck on your sensitive clit, far past the last aftershock of your orgasm. You let out whimpers about him, your hands that were pulling on his scalp now trying to push him away as he licks up the last of your arousal. You pull him up and away from your sensitive core.

He brings the back of his hand up to his mouth, wiping away the slick left behind. His eyes never leave yours for a second.

You sit back up, your hands flying back to the front of his jeans. You push them down, his thick length popping out. You bite your lip at the sight.

“Like what you see?”

You look back up at Joel, a smirk on his face. You didn’t want to play, you just felt hot need pulsing through your veins.

You look directly into his eyes as you wrap your hand around him, pumping slowly. His smirk wavers at your light touch. You sweep your thumb across the tip, collecting the bead of pre-cum.

His breath hitches as he watches you bring your thumb to your mouth, licking the droplet. He groans deep in his throat at the sight. You grin up at him.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he growls, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and resting it against your puffy folds. The underside of him rubs against your sensitive clit.

“Please fuck me,” you pout up at him. His face goes back to your throat, kissing and suckling the soft flesh.

“You want my cock, baby?” He groans at the base of your throat.

“Yes, please give it to me,” you whine. He slides through your slick folds, lubricating himself with your arousal. His tip hitches against your clit and you moan into his ear, clutching at his shoulders.

“Please, Joel, please,” you beg desperately.

He pulls back and grins at your flushed face, “love hearing you beg for me, sweetheart.”

He hands massage your thighs, pushing them apart. You grab the base of his dick, guiding the fat head towards where you need it most. You’re both panting, watching as he notches himself against your entrance.

He slowly starts to ease himself in, stretching you inch by delicious inch. You can’t remember the last time, if ever, you were stretched like this. He was right, you were dealing with men now. And you loved it.

You bite your lip to stifle your moan as he bottoms out inside you. He stills, panting but never taking his eyes off where you’re connected. His lips swollen in a pant as he throbs inside of you. You place slow kisses along his chest, urging him to move.

He groans as he pulls back, then snaps his hips forward. You whimper at the feeling.

“Taking me like a fucking champ, baby.” He praises and you clench around him, whining pitifully. “Taking it like such a big girl.”

You whine as he uses your earlier words against you. His hand pushes you back onto the countertop as he lazily thrusts into you. His hand wrapping around your dress bunched up at your waist. His other hand wraps around your ankle, bringing it up and over his shoulder, then the other one.

The new angle causes him to push his tip into that sensitive spot inside you. You let out a louder moan at the feeling.

“F-fuck,” you gasp, clenching around him. You feel that ball inside you start to tighten again.

“I’m not gonna last much,” you stop to moan again, as he kisses your calf. “Not gonna last much longer.”

The hand wrapped around your dress pulls you forward, making him reach deeper into you.

“Gonna cum all over my cock?” He groans down at you, using your dress as a handle to pull you back onto him over and over again as his pace picks up.

You nod and whimper.

His free hand snakes down to rub your clit in tight little circles, making you squirm under him and moan.

“Come on, baby, cum all over daddy’s cock.” He groans, his thrusts becoming sloppy and you know that he’s holding back on his own impending release.

His hand comes up to cover your mouth, his other hands still rubbing furiously against your sensitive nub. Something deep inside you snaps and send you tumbling over the edge, your vision going white as you clench around him hard. His thick cock still pistoning deep inside you.

His hand does little to muffle your moans and instead he pushes his thumb into your mouth. Your tongue wraps around him and you suckle greedily on the digit.

He groans at the sight, his hips snapping harder against yours.

“Not gonna last much longer, darlin,” his voice hitches when you graze your teeth along his thumb. “Where d’you want it?”

You let his thumb slip out of your mouth with a ‘pop’ and bite your lip. “Want it inside me, daddy.” You say, giving him a fucked out look.

His hips stumble as he looks at your pouty, swollen lips and wide eyes. “Want me to fill you up?”

You nod, his thumb still resting on your bottom lip, “please.” You beg.

He leans down, capturing your lips in his as he gives a few more sloppy, fast strokes. Then groaning into your mouth as he stills deep inside you, spilling his release into you.

You gasp as you feel the warmth spread through you, reaching deeper and deeper inside you. You swallow his moans, letting him rut inside you lazily as he comes down from his high.

He raises back up, pulling out of you. You’re so sensitive that you let out a quiet whimper at the feeling. He grabs a rag warm rag and starts slowly cleaning you.

Silence hangs in the air around you. You’re suddenly aware of everything that just happened. You just fucked your best friend’s dad. Your best friend’s dad just fucked you. Your best friend’s dad just made you cum twice on their kitchen counter.

And they were the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t say anything, just shoves himself back into his pants and fixes his clothes. You pull your panties back into place and shove your dress back down as far as you can while still seated on the counter.

“I’m on the pill.” You say, finally breaking the silence.

“Oh,” he grunts. “That’s good.”

“So we don’t need to worry about that,” you trail off.

The sound of a door squeaking open down the hall causes you to jump off of the counter. Fully pulling your dress back into place, you practically jump away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the island he just defiled you on.

Sarah stumbles into the kitchen, swaying back and forth. Running into one wall and pushing off of it just to run into another one. She stops when she sees both of you.

“I’m not drunk,” she slurs, pointing a finger at Joel. She pulls the handle of the fridge open far harder than needed, grabbing a bottle of water, and slams it closed again.

She turns around on wobbly legs, then stops and glares at him again.

“You weren’t being mean to her were you?” She points a shaky finger towards you.

He smirks and darts his eyes over to yours, his eyes raking back down your body. “No, I was very nice to her.”

You shudder under his gaze.

“Good,” Sarah stumbles over to you, grabbing you in a too-tight hug and starts to drag you down the hall to her room. Her drunken, tear-filled voice travels back to the kitchen “Cause she’s my best friend and no one is allowed to be mean to her or I’LL FUCK THEM UP.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: this is literally the first thing I have ever written, if you’ve made it this far thank you so much!! (I’m usually not this freakay I promise)

[simswoon]

theo met the twins <3

previous // next // beginning

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Shoto Asks For a Blowjob | One Shot

"What do you want?" You breathe, the air around you feels thick and flammable. If your face were to flush any harder, you fear you might catch on fire.

Shoto bites his lip, looking up at you with wide mismatched eyes.

He's not sure if he's allowed to say it out loud. Maybe you're teasing him. Maybe you don't want to hear what's really on his mind, what he really wants from you. Not after months of dancing around your true feelings for each other.

But here you are - straddling him. Topless. In his bed. All evidence points to you being interested in him, right?

You lean down to kiss along the smooth curve of his jaw. He's zoned out, face screwed up in that look he gets when he's lost in his own head.

"Shoto." You whisper before laying a deliberate kiss on the spot where his cheek dimples. "What do you want?" You drag out the last word, making it clear that you won't stop until you get an answer.

He blinks, pulling himself back to the present. Your lips are soft when they press against his collarbone next. He shivers under the gentle attention.

"I want you to blow me." He finally says in a soft voice, unsure if that's too dirty a request. He's never been in this position before - he's unsure if he's being too bold.

But you asked him what he wanted, and he feels it would be dishonest if he didn't answer truthfully.

You grin down at him, internally rejoicing. You reach for the waistband of his boxers and tug at it gently. He watches as you play with the thick elastic band with skilled fingers.

Shoto looks as if he can't believe his luck.

"For you, Sho? I'd be happy to."

[chleem]

Casual /extra III

One shot; college students drew x reader

Warnings: explicit language + content (read at own caution)

⋆.˚ official one shot | more

♡⸝⸝ "bragging to your friends i get off when you hit it, i hate to tell the truth..."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Stop traumatizing the kid, geez,”

Drew shouts over the table at his friend, Pete, who’s deep into the ‘climaxing’ part of his story.

Drew’s already five bottles down, his words slurring just a little as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. 

This was just another normal hangout with his small friend group at the sports bar, except this time, they invited a first-year. 

Why? Well, Drew didn’t really care. He was just here to get wasted, not to babysit a freshman.

“No- it gets good,” Pete ignores Drew’s comment, equally as drunk. He flings an arm around the first year, pulling him in with a sloppy grin, “I snuck…a lollipop up her ass.”

He bursts into laughter, and Drew shakes his head in disbelief. But the smile tugging at his lips betrays him, revealing he’s more entertained than he’s willing to admit. 

Besides, this might be the most sane story Pete ever shares about his sex life. 

The freshman’s uncomfortable expression goes unnoticed by the others, as the friend group spirals into fits of giggles. 

“Oh wait-wait,” Pete signals them to tone it down, for him to add on, “I then popped it back in my mouth.”

Mixed reactions throughout the table; only Pete was consistently laughing.

“Dude, it probably has dew-dew on it,” one of the friends chimes in, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

“Not the grossest thing that’s been in here,” he points to his mouth, before chuckling. 

Drew reaches across the table, intent on pouring himself another cup of beer—but then, thinking better of it, he grabs the entire bottle instead, twisting the cap off.

“Enough about me,” Pete starts again, before locking eyes with Drew as he takes a sip. “Get a load of that guy.”

The table shifts their attention to Drew, who raises an eyebrow, clearly aware of the sudden focus. His lips curl into an half-assed grin, his tongue grazing over his lower lip, “my stories aren’t interesting.”

“Bullshit!” Pete slams his hand on the table, grinning wide. He leans over at the freshman, asking him, “y’know y/n?”

Even in Drew’s wasted state, the mention of your name sends a jolt through him, his chest tightening for a moment. He straightens up slightly, a flicker of awareness cutting through the haze of alcohol. 

He watches the freshman’s reaction as his lips curl into a shy grin. The guy fidgets, scratching his head, “Y-yeah,” he stammers.

“Isn’t she hot?” Pete asks with a mischievous edge.

Drew’s jaw tightens, his grip on the bottle going white-knuckled. The grin on his lips drop, replaced with a tight frown. 

Even in the dim light of the bar, it’s clear the freshman’s face has gone red. He hesitates for a moment, but a quick scan of the eager faces around the table pushes him to respond, “Crazily hot.”

“You’re in luck! She’s single!” Pete exclaims, but as if sensing the sudden shift in Drew’s mood, the friend group holds back their laughter.

The last time anyone even hinted at something that bold… well, it never really went that far. Usually, their banter stays light—just teasing jabs about each other’s sexual experiences or partners. But this? This feels … different.

“Aw c’mon, I’m not wrong,” Pete leans over to the freshman again, poking his chest. “Drew knows what it’s like. Got him pussy-whipped.”

The freshman, whose name the group has long since forgotten, shifts uncomfortably. His eyes widen under the intensity of Drew’s glare, probably enough to set the whole bar on fire.

“Too far, man,” someone murmurs from the table, their voice quieter than before. “This—her— is a sensitive topic for him.”

Mumbled laughter follows, but it only makes Drew furrow his brow deeper. What was he doing?

His friends were right— you are single. It's only casual with you. If he felt good, he’d hang out with you, maybe get a little closer, but nothing more. 

Him getting all worked up would mean something more—and that? That’s a whole other kind of messed up.

Drew’s features soften, and he shakes his head, a faint smile creeping back onto his lips. He takes another sip—a deep one—letting the coolness of the beer settle him.

“Alright, fuck, you wanna know?” Drew chuckles, the sound low and playful, and it sets off a round of cheers and laughter around the table.

He licks his lips, his wasted mind trying to piece together memories of you. But everything blurs together. He tries to focus, but his thoughts spin, and before he knows it, random faces of other girls begin to creep in.

Shit. Was it you who he fucked in the dark theater? Or was it you that sucked him off at the back of the bus? 

Drew’s eyes briefly dart to the freshman, who’s looking at him with anticipation.

In that moment, the urge to bolster his own ego swells up inside him, almost overwhelming. 

It’s like a switch, and suddenly he wants to show off, to remind everyone in the room that he’s the one in control, not you. 

Pussy-whipped? No, no. 

“Compliment her eyes... and her pants come right off,”

The words roll off Drew’s tongue so easily, like he’s said them a thousand times before.

And for whatever reason, it’s the funniest thing anyone’s heard all night.

The freshman, wide-eyed and unsure whether to laugh along or stay quiet, looks around, clearly caught off guard by the sudden intensity of Drew’s statement.

Drew leans back, a cocky grin playing on his lips, “it gets boring sometimes- but fuck, the way she whimpers when she’s stuffed full…” he lets his sentence hang in the air, the memory of you overstimulated with his cock replaying in his mind. 

His wasted state shows no sign of guilt, and he continues to blurt out whatever pops into his mind about you. The others listen, some with smirks, others with raised eyebrows, but Drew doesn’t care. 

He’s lost in his own confidence, his ego inflated with every word.

And as the night goes on, the stories the group shares just get more unfiltered, fueled by the alcohol in their veins. 

——

The sunglasses Drew wears isn’t enough to hide how hungover he is. 

Moreover, he recalls nothing of last night, specifically after his third bottle. 

As he stumbles down the endless rows of bookshelves, he struggles to keep his eyes open, scanning the aisles in search of you.

Drew brushes off the attention he draws, too overwhelmed by the noise of the quiet library to care.

Finally, deep into the library and at the very end of the last row of shelves, he spots you. It isn’t entirely surprising; given your odd habits when it comes to reading. 

Plus, five-month casualness means knowing everything about each other, right? 

Oh, and it wasn’t just you. 

…Since when did you get a reading buddy? 

“Hey baby,” the nickname rolls of Drew’s lips effortlessly, walking over to you. 

He cuts into the conversation you’re having with the guy next to you, his presence shifting the dynamic instantly. 

Drew watches as you shift uncomfortably on your feet, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Hey you,” you force out, hands fidgeting with the book in your hands. 

Drew’s lips twitch into a smile, one that feels natural compared to the awkward one you're trying to force. He leans against the bookshelf, and nods down at your book, “what you got there?” 

He could’ve sworn it’s either his sunglasses or own brain- but he definitely saw you glare up at him.

“Drew, um, this is Mike,” you start, and that’s enough to snap Drew’s attention back to the guy beside you. “Mike, Drew.”

Unintentionally, he’s ignored the guy beside you. He just assumed the guy would leave right as Drew entered- plus, he couldn’t care less. 

Through his sunglasses, he takes in the guy- ‘Mike’. Messy hair, baggy jeans that hang too low, a sweater, and he’s got those thick black glasses. And he’s…the same height as you. 

Drew can tell right away—nothing special, and definitely not your type. 

But as he gets a closer look at Mike’s baby face, something in Drew’s mind clicks. 

“y’know y/n?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Isn’t she hot?”

“Crazily hot.”

Drew’s eyes narrow just slightly, landing at how close Mike is next to you, and then on the outfit you’re wearing, a lot more exposed than usual. 

Okay. I see what’s going on. 

It’s petty, but there’s a flicker of something possessive in him, a sudden tension he can't shake.

“You’re- Mike?” Drew asks, his voice flat as he removes his sunglasses, like it might somehow sharpen his perception.

Mike nervously scratches the back of his neck, and Drew sees the same shy grin curling up on his lips- the memories of last night slowly flooding into him.

“Yeah- um, last night was fun, thanks man.”

Drew furrows his eyebrows, and he straightens his posture again. Okay. So this definitely is the first-year from last night. 

He lets out a dry chuckle, finding it amusing all the sudden. 

Tapping the frame of his sunglasses to his chin, he then says, “does he, uh, like your eyes or something?”

The sudden statement catches both you and Mike off-guard. You glance at Mike, who's looking down at the floor, biting on his bottom lip. 

“What- what are you talking about?” Your giggle was laced with awkwardness. 

“Nothing- nothing,” Drew smirks, his voice dripping with mischief. 

He can’t help but size Mike up- his blue eyes scanning all traces of flaw on the first-year.

“I think- this is my cue to leave,” Mike mutters suddenly, clearly feeling the weight of the moment. His voice is barely above a whisper, and he looks anywhere but at Drew. 

Before you can say anything, Drew cuts in.

“Awww, don’t go,” he coos, the smirk on his face widening. 

He reaches his arm out to drape them over your shoulders, but as soon as you feel the weight of his arm, you pull away sharply. 

Drew scoffs under his breath, a quiet sound mixed with surprise and amusement. 

“I’ll see you around, Mike,” you chirp, which is a contrast to the cold attitude you give to Drew. 

"Yeah, see you, y/n," he mumbles, his legs clumsy as he scurries away. 

Oblivious to the sour presence beside you, you giggle at the cute first-years’ flustered state. Drew, however, watches your reaction, his jaw tight with frustration. 

Why are you so focused on that kid?

He leans in, planting quick kisses along your jaw, pulling your attention away from the kid. The distraction works, because you immediately drop your book, hands attempting to push him away. 

“Drew- this is a library-“

“Just missed you a lot,” he murmurs against your skin, as if this reason is enough to justify being freaky in a library. 

He gently presses you against the bookshelf, his presence enveloping you, leaving no space between your bodies. Your hands instinctively rest on his chest, rising and falling steadily. 

You look up at him, a flicker of uncertainty flashes in your eyes, but it's overtaken by the hunger, the way your gaze lingers on his lips, daring him to close the gap.

It’s that look—the perfect mix of need and invitation—that drives him wild.

And as if it was too much, Drew takes his sunglasses and places them on your face. It comes off as a playful gesture, and seeing your confused smile, he can’t help but chuckle lowly. 

You then purposely tilt the sunglasses, wearing them sideways, and the sight of it makes Drew laugh—a loud sound that ripples through the air, completely unrestrained.

Before you can react, he’s there, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You let out a series of soft punches on his chest, your body shaking as you try to stifle your own laughter, sending him mumbled ‘shhh’s. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, his lips brushing against your skin. His laughter dies down, and he pulls away to get another look at you. 

His hand comes up and fixes your sunglasses, before giving you a quick kiss. 

But he decides that it isn’t enough- and holds the back of your neck to perform a deeper, more intimate kiss. 

You fight back at first, but the warmth of his mouth melts you right in, your body relaxing against his.��

It’s when a soft moan leaves your mouth when you harshly push him away, Drew pulling back with a sharp breath.

His expression shifts—a mix of either surprise, need, jealousy, or something else entirely. Whatever was going on in his mind, it was loud and thundering, yet all consumed with you.

“Not here, Drew,” you say softly. 

There’s something about the way you’re staring up at him that makes his heart race. 

“Don’t push me away,” he mutters, his voice low, almost like a growl. 

“I wasn’t-“

His hand goes to wrap around your waist, which you push off too. 

“Look, you’re doing it now-“ 

“Drew-“

He closes the distance again, bracing one arm against the bookshelf you lean on. Caging you in, his face is only a few inches apart from yours. 

“God-y’know what you’re doing to me, right?” Drew asks, his words laced with impatience. 

His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to the sunglasses, and in the silence that follows, the world seems to hold its breath.

You look straight ahead of you- as if afraid to look up. 

Drew knows. He knows there’s something on your mind—something you're not saying.

And you wouldn’t be pulling away from his touch.

“C’mon, y/n,” he starts, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. 

His other hand goes up, his fingertips brushing against your exposed collarbones. The way you catch your breath, a noticeable hitch in your chest, sends his mind spinning.

He likes the effect he has on you. Controlling you- holding you right on the edge between resistance and surrender.

It’s a power that excites him, the way you can’t seem to stop yourself from reacting, no matter how hard you try to keep your cool.

“What’s going on?” Drew asks, fingertips continuing the drawing against your skin. 

When you finally tilt your head up at him, a small smile spreads on his face. 

“Nothing- nothing,” you reply softly. 

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. 

But then you take his hand away from your collarbones, and drag them down the line of your stomach. 

Drew’s eyes follow the movement, his lips parted in curiosity as you guide his hand lower.

Just as you reach the top of your miniskirt, Drew lays his palm flat down against the fabric, feeling- or stopping, right there. 

You’re doing it again- distracting, seducing him to avoid the topic. 

But… why would he even care? 

His smirk says it all- he’s into it, and he’s not going to pull away. His thoughts slither away, now replaced with the lust building inside him. 

“You freaky bitch,”

He mutters, his tone teasing, not at all insulting. 

You chuckle lightly, as Drew’s hand drops lower, vanishing under your skirt. Your breath hitches when you feel him cupping your warmth over the underwear, his knee buckling to force your legs apart. 

He looks over his shoulder- as if expecting someone to walk by. 

No one does—just the quiet back of the library, tucked away from prying eyes.

“Babe,” he leans into you again, lips brushing your ear, “gotta keep it down, ‘kay?”

He nibbles down on the skin just below, his tongue moving in sloppy patterns. 

At the same time, the hand under your skirt yanks your underwear to the side, fingertips coming in contact with your clit. 

You bite down harshly on your lower lip, suppressing the moan that threatens to ripple out. He rubs soft circles on your pussy, playing with the wetness that pools. 

“Fuck,” he whimpers quietly, moving onto kissing the skin on your neck.

On purpose, he sucks harder on your sweet spots, and you immediately arch your back, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him closer. 

And then you feel it; two fingers entering you. 

“Oh god-“ you let out, your breaths becoming uneven. 

He starts moving at an agonizingly slow pace, each shift dragging your orgasm further away. 

Slightly frustrated, you lean back onto the bookshelf, eyes narrowing at Drew whose focused with dragging his lips further down your cleavage. 

But just as his mouth slips beneath the fabric, a sharp tug on his hair pulls him back.

The lazy gaze in his eyes meets yours- and behind the sunglasses, you’ve got a desperate plea in them. 

A smile creeps onto his lips as he can sense how impatient you are, and it builds to the dent in his own pants. 

“Faster,” you breathe out, almost like an order. 

Listening, he slips another digit into you, and thrusts in a much faster pace. 

It nearly knocks the wind out of you, your hands dropping back to his shoulders. Your nails dig into the muscles there, the grip instinctive, as your body tenses from the unexpected surge of sensation.

“Fuck,” you moan out, a bit louder than intended. 

Drew immediately lets out a throaty chuckle, his eyes glinting with amusement. He leans back beside your ear, ”tryna get us caught?”

You bite down on your lip again, trying to stifle the sounds that threaten to escape. 

With each push to your pussy, you could feel the tension boil up. 

The bookshelf behind trembles as well, the books rattling gently along with the muffled groans you and Drew both produce. 

Drew works hard with his digits, curling them inward to the irresistible spot he’s become familiar with, one that’s bound to send you over the edge. 

He knows he’s got it when another moan escapes you, grinning devilishly against the side of your neck. 

“You like that, baby?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. 

And when you clench around him, both of you know you’re close, the pleasure in your lower stomach ready to burst out. 

“Drew,” you quietly call out, your hands moving up to thread through his hair. 

No matter how many times he’s heard you moan his name, it’ll always get him going, fueling him in ways you wouldn't expect.

And he tells you just that- how much he likes your voice, body, manners, everything- through his mouth to yours. 

His tongue fights with yours as it enters, a raw, passionate kiss that only Drew performs when he’s with you. 

It sends him into further frenzy when your hips buckle, the string in your stomach snapping. His pumps slow down as your cum coats his hand, the warmth of it not as strong as the one radiating from your lips. 

Drew’s got you whimpering, breath shaky as you struggle to keep up with his kiss.

He smiles against your lips, amused by how hard you’re trying. 

Then, he pulls away, along with the digits in you, the pop sound practically echoing through the quiet halls of the library. 

With Drew’s other hand that was caging you in, he reaches for your sunglasses, pushing them up, away from your eyes.

Shit. He could’ve easily nutted right there, staring at your ‘fucked-up’ gaze. 

It’s silent for a moment, both of you calming down, eyes locked, flickering with unspoken energy.

Aw, shit. You really have the most beautiful eyes. 

You let out a giggle between shallow breaths, one that pulls Drew’s focus back to who and where he is.

“These books are grilling my back,”

Your honest comment causes laughter to ripple through Drew, his chest vibrating against yours. 

“Ugh, poor thing,” he coos gently, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, which earns a light push on his shoulder. His smile only grows wider, "bring a pillow next time.”

The way your cheeks redden up makes it even more fun for Drew. 

“No- no, Starkey,” you stammer. 

He didn’t even realize his hand was still resting underneath your skirt until you brushed it off, quickly fixing your clothes. 

He watches as your eyes land on his soaked hand, the one that drips with your juice. It’s the same flustered and embarrassed look again- and he smiles cutely at your reaction. 

“Shit- I don’t have a tissue-“

Drew didn’t know why he did it- but he sticks it into his mouth, lips wrapping around his digits. 

Your eyes widen at the action, lips slightly parted. 

Oh- yeah, that’s why he did it, to get another reaction out of you. 

“Ew- Drew-“

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” he mumbles against his fingers, sucking gently. 

It’s sweet- a weird way to describe someone’s orgasm but to Drew, he likes the way you taste. 

He pulls it out, a thin string of saliva clinging to his fingers. He brings it closer to your face, and you instinctively cock your head away. “Drew! That’s disgusting-“

He laughs again, dropping his hand and wiping it against the bottom of his shirt. 

“Why would you do that?” you ask, giggling lightly. 

However, before Drew could respond, you take the sunglasses off, thrusting it into his chest. 

He catches it, his hand brushing against yours. 

“Here, your stupid sunglasses,” you insult, which sounds flirtier than intended. 

“They look better on you,” he replies, his tone softer now, a compliment that slips easily out of his mouth. 

Drew watches as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes darting away. It’s either you’re flustered, or not buying it—he can’t quite tell, but the uncertainty only seems to make him more intrigued.

“I wanna get out of here,” you say instead. 

“Sure,” he immediately agrees, stepping away from the bookshelf. Assuming you’re heading back to his room, he adds, “my roommate’s out.”

“Oh,” your shoulders slump, “I’ve got class though.”

“No you don’t,” he retorts instantly, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes, the gesture making it clear that, yes, it was an obvious lie.

But c’mon, give Drew some credit—casually together for more than five months, he knows everything about you, including when you’re full of it.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, hugging you close as you two walk out the library. 

It’s always a sweet moment for Drew, blissfully unaware of the weight you carry inside, forever scarred by this so-called ‘casual’ thing.

——

Moments before 

“Y/n?”

You look up from your book, towards the source. 

It’s Mike, the first-year. The one you were assigned to give a campus tour to, and also the guy from your class.

“Hey,” you greet, a polite smile on your lips. 

There’s no doubt you’re wondering how he found you, especially since this is the library, and you're tucked away in the furthest section.

He quickly explains, “um, you mentioned yesterday you liked reading, so I just assumed…”

His words trail off awkwardly, and you nod, “I do like a quiet corner,” you reply, trying to ease the tension.

“Yeah, yeah, um, that’s cool,” he mumbles, the corner of his lips curling up, “but actually, there’s something I need to tell you.”

At that, your brow furrows slightly, a flicker of curiosity in your eyes. 

“Y’know Drew? The tall guy- with the blue eyes.”

You wonder where this is going, and your face reflects that uncertainty.

“I was at the bar with him last night,” Mike’s voice almost drops to a whisper, “um, he-he’s not the nicest dude, y/n.”

Oh?

Oh. 

This isn't the first time you've heard something like this. Drew's tendency to talk behind your back, to show a side of him that doesn't match what you see in private... it stings, but it also feels strangely familiar. 

A flash of disappointment crosses your face before you can mask it, and you quickly look away from him. 

“You wanna tell me something new?” you say, a teasing grin forming as you nudge him lightly with your elbow. 

It’s a lame attempt to keep things light, and it catches Mike off-guard. 

He blinks for a moment, “sorry, I didn’t mean to—uh, I just thought you should know." He scratches the back of his neck, "I didn’t mean to come off rude.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, with a casual shrug, “not like I’m dating him or anything.”

The words feel weird leaving your mouth, even though it’s clearly understood with Drew that it’s purely casual.

“Really? You’re single?”

Your eyes narrow as you study Mike’s facial expressions- “yeah.”

“Then, actually,” you watch the blush creep up on his face, “there’s something else I need to tell you- something new, that you don’t know.”

You stay quiet, your gaze steady as you wait for him to continue. 

His nervous fidgeting fills the brief silence before he finally blurts out, “I was wondering if… you want to go out sometime? Like, on a date?”

You can’t say you’re surprised- all this nervous energy Mike has around you has to be because of something, right?

You want to say yes, but in the back of your mind, Drew appears. 

The thought of him makes your chest tighten, the casual thing you’ve got with him flashing in your mind. It feels wrong, somehow, to be dating other people. 

But with his pleading eyes staring into yours, you couldn’t help it. 

You nod, a tight smile on your lips, “okay, sure, I would love to, Mike.”

His hand comes up in an attempt to wipe the smile off his lips, but it's no use; the grin only grows brighter. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to say yes. 

He stares into your eyes for a moment, his gaze softening, almost mesmerized. 

“Your eyes,” he says quietly, a genuine smile spreading across his face, “they’re incredible. Like, really beautiful.”

There’s a warmth in his voice, something more than just admiration, as if he’s truly captivated by the way they shine.

The sudden compliment feels almost too much, especially coming from him. You quickly mask the surprise with a soft giggle, shrugging it off as if it’s no big deal.

“Thanks,” you say, your voice light, though the warmth in your cheeks betrays you.

Just as Mike parts his lips to say something, a distraction occurs. 

“Hey, baby.”

Shit. 

The familiar voice makes your stomach drop, and you turn to see Drew standing beside you. He’s got sunglasses on, the kind he only wears when he's nursing a hangover.

“Hey you,” you force out, feeling uncomfortable with Mike standing right there, the weight of your promise hanging in the air.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, fidgeting on your feet. 

You hate it- hate this situation, Drew, and mostly yourself. 

Casual, casual, casual, you repeat like a mantra in your mind, trying to push the feelings aside.

But the more you repeat it, the less it feels like the truth. You can’t help but wonder where this is going—or if it’s already gone too far.

-------------------------------

word count: 4.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: drew's pov....what do u think? is he in love? also, y they kinda have public sex kink...

anyway, another gut-wrenching chapter into the 'casual' situationship! aw god, words can't describe how much i love this 'series', and i love this song, so you'll probably see me writing a hundred parts to this.

hope you love it as much as i do <3

elevator | other | more casual!drew

everyone that wanted more (ily sm: @maybankslover @drewnationalgf @rafeyswifey @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @amb3rsaurus @rafecamerons-national-anthem @milky321 @iraslore

[bookshelftreasures]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You've been sick for days, feverish and freezing, but you didn't want to bother Azriel. When he finds out, he's less than pleased—and determined to keep you warm, shadows and all.

Word Count: 504

Warnings: Fever/illness, physical illness, slight angst but mostly fluff

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The fever had settled into your bones, sinking deep, turning every breath into a struggle. Your body burned like fire, yet a bone-deep chill wrapped around you, making you shiver uncontrollably.

The blankets weren't enough. Nothing was.

You weren't sure how long you'd been curled up in bed, caught in a feverish haze, but the room was dark, save for the flickering candlelight on your bedside table. The sound of the wind rattling against the windows sent another shudder through you, your body too weak to do anything but endure it.

You barely registered the door opening and soft footsteps padding across the floor. Then—warm fingers, cool against your burning skin, brushing damp strands of hair from your face.

Azriel.

Your eyes fluttered open, blurry at first, before focusing on the shadowsinger kneeling beside your bed. His brows were drawn together, golden-brown eyes scanning you with a sharp intensity that made your stomach flip.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was quiet but edged with something firm.

You swallowed, throat dry and raw. "Didn't... want to bother you," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You are never a bother."

Another violent shiver wracked your body, making your teeth chatter. You curled in on yourself, gripping the blankets tighter, but it did little to stop the cold that seeped into your bones.

Azriel was moving before you could register what was happening. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Then, without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as if you were made of glass. His wings shifted slightly, curling inward, shielding you from the cold air of the room.

The warmth of him seeped into your skin, into your very bones, like a fire thawing out ice. His scent—night-chilled wind, cedar, and something inherently Azriel—wrapped around you, soothing, grounding.

"You're freezing," he muttered, voice laced with something rough, almost angry—but not at you. At himself, maybe. At the face that you had suffered alone.

His shadows stirred, curling around you like an extra layer of warmth, slipping beneath the blankets and ghosting over your skin with their soothing touch. They moved like sentient things, pressing against you wherever the cold had burrowed in too deep, and you sighed, finally relaxing into his embrace.

"I've got you," Azriel whispered, his hand smoothing up and down your back in slow, gentle strokes. "Just sleep, I'll keep you warm."

The fever still clung to you, but for the first time that night, you weren't shivering.

Your head rested against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Strong. Certain. Warm.

Azriel—deadly, cold, unshakably Azriel—had the warmest heart of anyone you'd ever known.

And as you drifted into sleep, safe in his arms, you realized something.

That heart beat for you.

[atlaculture]

What's in a Name: Fake Name Edition

I thought it'd be be fun to cover the silly pseudonyms that the characters have used in the show.

Bonzu Pippinpaddleopsicopolis - Buddhist Monk (房主) in Medieval Japanese... Pippinpaddleopsicopolis. Very subtle, Aang. ;)

Hua Mei - Beautiful flower (花美) in Mandarin Chinese. The name becomes hilarious when you consider that Katara chose the word Dung for Toph's pseudonym right afterwards.

Wang Fire - Literally the most common surname in China (王)... Fire.

Lee - Literally the second most common surname in China (李).

Mushi - Bug in Japanese (虫). Poor Iroh.

All in all, Katara and Zuko are both terrible at naming people on the spot.