#not shutting up until the music is on the paper

[dollboyism]

Thinking about...

Vessel!Reader who works too much and rests very little, slowly developing memory gaps and fainting frequently from the stress they've put on their body... Or from something else.

Vessel!Reader waking up in their bed, all tucked in, despite having fallen asleep at their desk the night before, head buried in papers.

Vessel!Reader going to the kitchen in their confused spell, only to find a freshly prepared breakfast that they definitely did not make, with juice in a glass they've left orphaned in their studio, or so they thought.

Vessel!Reader struggling during a migraine attack, only to faint and wake up on their couch, buried in the cushions. A packet of 600mg Ibuprofen near their head, one pill missing. A water bottle in their weak grasp, lights off, quiet ambient music playing in the background.

Vessel!Reader flinching awake after a failed all-nighter, with a blanket nestled upon their shoulders, arms sore from hunching over the table in their sudden napping session.

Vessel!Reader missing memories of conversations at work and in their daily life, bit by bit. Each time they open their mouth to accept more work and less socializing, their brain shuts off and they awaken, still standing, to the newfound knowledge that they have accepted a yet another karaoke night with their friends.

Vessel!Reader slowly connecting the dots after a long week of thinking they were losing their sanity - only to get shut down each time they ask why, either with distractions or a grumbled out "I'm busy"; Or a complete disappearance of the little mouth that appears to talk to them once in a while.

Vessel!Reader nagging on and on for an answer, banging on the brick walls of Ryomens' psyche until they get blessed with a response. The only reason the monster within them leaves them with, is that vessels need maintenance, and that "an overachiever who does nothing but starve and go sleepless day and night is no home fitting The King of Curses."

“Now shut up, and go eat something before I take over again.”

[matrixbearer2024]

Remember when I said these two knew how to play instruments? It was just a teeeeensy thing in a post- yeah here's both of them playing a pretty iconic melody cuz what the hell and holy shit drawing instruments is HARD LMAO

I got skill issued with this piece so bad and I know the piano keys are wrong but I do not have the energy to care about it right now-

Context of the picture is them just practicing, this was taken before they graduated senior high so it's not actually that far back but it's old enough. They don't look all that pleased considering it's like the twentieth time they've played that piece again just to get it perfectly right. Ford literally wouldn't shut up about it until they did despite Stan being slightly annoyed by it and his inability to keep up sometimes on faster pieces HAHAHAHA

ANYWAY- yes, Ford isn't wearing his gloves because it's harder for him to play when he is and Stan plays the violin because he lost a game of rock paper scissors with his brother... well it's more than that but basically they wouldn't stop fighting over the piano(classic case of siblings pissing each other off for the sake of pissing each other off) and they had a best of three with rock paper scissors to see who had to learn a second instrument and Stan lost LMAO

Good on him though for sticking to his word though, so he picked up the recorder in the meantime while trying to decide on a duet instrument. Problem being he couldn't really learn the recorder much before he found his snapped in two at some point in his room(Filbrick). So he tried something else, the violin.

That thing stuck, even until college he still knows how to play the violin and play it well. Stanley just rarely practices where people can accidentally hear him or stumble into him because he'd rather not get bombarded with music requests.

Ford actually did give up playing the piano at some point though, mostly because he's always pestered to keep his gloves on while practicing(Filbrick) and he's sadly too impatient to actually get used to such a thing when he knows he's already much better off without the gloves. He hasn't forgotten how to play though, he just refuses outright for the most bit.

It's pretty upsetting to watch him practice sometimes though because he's that piano player that slams on the keys when he's pissed enough and his perfectionist tendencies really doesn't help when he misses a note or screws up the tempo. Stan's gotten pretty good at notifying him about it though since neither would want to accidentally deal with a broken piano from Ford breaking something in the mechanisms from hitting the keys too hard.

It's actually happened once before when they first started out and the earful he got for it plus some pretty unsavory things(Filbrick) I won't specify had kind of low-key traumatized both of the twins.

Also if you do notice, Stan's shirt is the same design as the one he has in college. It's not because it's the same shirt, he bought the same design after he wore this one to shreds because it's comfy. I don't even know what to say about it cuz that's kinda it chat HAHAHAHAHHA

[biblical-chronicles]

Sober up

__________________________________________

where Liam looks after a tipsy reader at a Christmas party, only for her to accidentally confess her love while he’s helping her sober up.

__________________________________________

Gem’s house was alive with Christmas chaos—laughter ringing out, someone yelling over the music about what song should come next, and glasses clinking in a never-ending loop. You’d lost count of how many drinks you’d had, but it didn’t seem to matter when everyone else was equally far gone.

The evening was a blur of conversations and laughter, and somewhere in the haze, the drinks had caught up to you. It wasn’t until you stumbled slightly on your way back from the kitchen that you realized the room was spinning just a little too much. You gripped the counter for a moment, then straightened up, the thought flashing through your mind: Find Liam.

You weren’t sure why, but in your dizzy, slightly tipsy brain, Liam felt like the solution to everything. Reliable? Maybe not the first word you’d use to describe him, but he was steady in his own weird way. The kind of steady that came with teasing and eye rolls but always with a hand out to catch you if you stumbled.

It took you a minute to locate him. He was in the kitchen, perched on a barstool, pint in hand, holding court with Noel and Bonehead. His voice was unmistakable, cutting through the noise with some remark about how Christmas crackers were a scam because “Who wants a shite paper hat and a plastic comb, anyway?”

You shuffled over, steadying yourself on the back of his chair before leaning into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder.

“Liam,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the fabric of his parka.

He turned slightly, glancing down at you. “Oi, what’s this? You alright, love?”

“I’m so drunk,” you admitted, gripping his sleeve for dear life.

Noel barked a laugh from the other side of the counter. “And you came to him for help? What, was every other adult in the room busy?”

“Shut it, Noel,” Liam shot back, though he looked more amused than annoyed. He turned his attention back to you, tilting his head to get a better look at your face. “Jesus, look at the state of ya. Who let you near the tequila?”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face further into his shoulder. “Help me.”

Noel leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his face. “You’re asking Liam Gallagher for help. That’s like asking a fox to guard the henhouse, darlin'.”

“Go on, take the piss, Noel,” Liam shot back. “The damsel in distress clearly came to me for a reason you jealous bastard."

Noel rolled his eyes but didn’t bother with a retort. Liam, meanwhile, slipped off his barstool, steadying you with a hand on your back. “Alright, come on, let’s get you some fresh air before you start decoratin’ Gem’s floor.”

He guided you through the crowded living room, his hand firm on your back as you weaved through the throng of people. When someone called out to him, he waved them off with a quick, “Busy here. Got a rescue mission.”

Once outside, the crisp December air hit you like a slap in the face. You wobbled slightly, but Liam steadied you, pulling your coat around your shoulders.

“There,” he said, tugging it snug. “Feel better already, don’t ya?”

You nodded weakly, your grip still firm on his arm. “Me shoes,” you mumbled, glancing down at your bare feet. At some point in the night, you’d ditched them, though you couldn’t remember when.

“Bloody hell,” Liam muttered, crouching down to grab your boots from the porch. “You’re a disaster, you know that?”

He plopped down on the bench and motioned for you to sit beside him. “Right, foot up,” he ordered, tapping his knee.

You complied, giggling as he wrestled one boot onto your foot. “You’re like me fairy godmother,” you teased, your words slightly slurred.

“Yeah, except instead of a magic wand, I’ve got these grimy boots,” he shot back, holding up the other one. “Could’ve at least worn somethin’ decent, but nah, you went for these clunkers.”

“They’re vintage,” you argued, laughing.

“They’re knackered, love.”

Once your boots were on, he leaned back on the bench, shaking his head. “Proper piece of work, you are.”

You turned to him suddenly, throwing your arms around his waist in a tight hug. “Thank you, Liam,” you mumbled against his chest. “You’re the best.”

He stiffened for a moment, clearly caught off guard, before his arms came around you hesitantly. “Alright, alright,” he said gruffly, patting your back. “Don’t get all mushy on me.”

You stayed like that for a moment, your head against his chest as his fingers found their way to your hair, smoothing it down gently.

“You’re a proper handful,” he murmured, though his tone was softer now.

“I know,” you whispered, smiling slightly.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand still resting on your shoulder. “You soberin’ up, or do I need to chuck you in the snow to wake you up proper?”

“I’m okay,” you said, though you didn’t move from your spot. “Just needed some air... and you.”

His expression softened further, his teasing grin giving way to something quieter. “Yeah, well. You’ve got me, don’t ya?”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a bottle of water he’d snagged from the kitchen. “Here,” he said, handing it to you. “Drink this. Can’t have you passin’ out on me.”

You took the bottle gratefully, sipping it as Liam leaned back against the bench, his arm draped lazily across the backrest. The porch light cast a soft glow over the two of you, and for a moment, the world felt quiet and still.

“Thanks, Liam,” you said again, your voice steadier now. “I mean it.”

He shrugged, but his smirk was warm. “What can I say? I’m a proper saint.”

You laughed, feeling a little more like yourself as the fresh air and Liam’s steady presence worked their magic. He still had that teasing smirk on his face, though his arm stayed comfortably slung along the back of the bench, fingers brushing your shoulder.

“You’re a right lightweight, y’know,” he said, eyeing you with mock seriousness. “Couldn’t hack another hour in there, could ya? Party like a rockstar, my arse.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, but there wasn’t any bite to it. You leaned back, your head resting against the bench. “You’re mean to me.”

“I’m mean to everyone,” he shot back, grinning. “Don’t feel special.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he chuckled, shaking his head. But just as he opened his mouth to say something else, you suddenly sat bolt upright, panic flashing across your face.

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed, grabbing at his arm.

Liam startled, his pint nearly toppling over. “Bloody hell, what now?”

“The presents!” you gasped, clutching at his sleeve like the world was ending.

He squinted at you, clearly baffled. “Presents? What presents? It’s a party, not Santa’s grotto me little lunatic.”

You shook your head frantically, your words spilling out in a drunken flurry. “No, no, no, you don’t get it. I had a present! And it was all supposed to be perfect. Like, I had this plan, right? I was gonna give you the gift, and then I was gonna—” You cut yourself off, throwing your hands in the air. “Oh God, it’s ruined! Dead ruined!”

Liam blinked, a slow grin spreading across his face as realization dawned. “Hang on a second. You had a plan?”

“Yes!” you wailed, not noticing the way his cheeks were turning a faint shade of red. “I was gonna give you your gift, and then I was gonna—” You stopped again, waving your hands dramatically. “It doesn’t matter now. The moment’s gone!”

He leaned forward, trying and failing to hide his amusement. “What were you gonna do, then? Gimme me present and then, what? Serenade me?”

“No,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I was gonna confess me love, obviously!”

The words tumbled out so fast that you didn’t even realize what you’d said, far too focused on your lamenting. Liam, on the other hand, froze, his eyes going wide as his brain scrambled to process your drunken confession.

You, oblivious, started fumbling in your coat pocket. “I had this whole thing planned. I even wrote it down in a card, see? So it’d be all nice and festive and perfect.”

“Right,” Liam managed, his voice cracking slightly. “Festive. Perfect. Sounds... sounds good.”

You finally pulled a Christmas card from your pocket, holding it out to him with a triumphant smile. “Here it is! Merry Christmas, Liam!”

He stared at the card for a moment before taking it, his fingers brushing against yours. You watched expectantly as he opened it, your head tilted like you hadn’t just dropped the world’s biggest bombshell in front of him.

His eyes scanned the card, and his expression softened as he read your handwriting. It wasn’t just festive and perfect—it was heartfelt, sweet, your words spilled across the page, messy and sincere, detailing everything you loved about him.

By the time he finished, Liam was quiet, his grin replaced by something softer. He folded the card carefully and slipped it into his pocket, looking at you with an intensity that made your tipsy brain do somersaults.

“C’mere,” he said, his voice low, as he pulled you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go, and for a moment, you just melted into him, your face buried in his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he murmured against your hair.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “For what?”

“For... everything,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Then, before you could process his words, he leaned in and kissed you.

The world seemed to tilt for a moment—not from the alcohol, but from the sheer fact that he was kissing you. His lips were warm and insistent, his hands cupping your face like he couldn’t believe you were real.

When you finally broke apart, you were both a little breathless, your foreheads resting together.

“I blew it, didn’t I?” you mumbled, your cheeks heating up as the realization hit you. “The whole plan. The card. I ruined everything.”

Liam chuckled, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You blew it a bit, yeah,” he teased, his grin returning. “But I dunno... I reckon it worked out alright in the end.”

You groaned, hiding your face in his chest. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, but you’re my idiot now,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “So I reckon I can live with it.”

You laughed, your arms tightening around him. The night air was still cold, but with Liam’s arms around you, you felt warmer than you had all evening.

“Come on,” he said, standing up and offering you his hand. “Let’s get back inside before Noel starts wonderin’ if I’ve chucked you in a snowbank.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “He’s gonna give me so much shit, isn’t he?”

“Absolutely,” Liam said, his smirk widening. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll tell him you’re mine now. That’ll shut him up.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling as he laced his fingers with yours and led you back inside.

__________________________________________

Figured I’d throw a bit of Christmas sparkle on this one since Noel’s already had his festive story—can’t be leavin’ Liam out in the cold, can we?

hope whoever requested it likes it as well as all you lovely lot !! xx

[ekwalker]

gonna delete this coz cringe but they’re in my head and i can’t get them out

[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

[ozzgin]

Omg i love your Yandere serial killer with a split persona so much 😭😭, can you do more headcanon about him?? Like does he aware of his other persona seeing reader kinda scared to talk to him normally thank u

Yandere! Serial Killer Scenarios

Featuring the kind, quiet man who has no idea why you look at him with terror in your eyes. This time with an official character design!

Content: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror, dubious/non-consent

[Main Story] | [More original works]

You only attempted to escape once.

His frequent warnings had begun to wear off, and your mind dared to wander towards hope. One day, during his evening walk, you ran to your bedroom and pulled out a train ticket you'd hidden earlier inside a drawer. The small piece of paper weighed heavy in your hand. Come, now, you scolded yourself. It was weeks of careful planning: anticipating his schedule, erasing your tracks, preparing the essentials. You could already smell the worn leather seats, and hear the jarring whistle of departure. Then you'd be far away from this maniac, all but a terrible memory to be locked away.

There was no time for hesitation. You grabbed a small bag and sped towards the station, frequently looking over your shoulder, muttering silent prayers. Once you made it to your compartment, you exhaled in relief. A relief you hadn't felt in months, washing over your body and relaxing your tense muscles. You climbed the stairs, and searched for your seat. Has someone misread their ticket? You found your spot occupied by a stranger.

"What did I tell you about running away?" his deep voice echoed across the empty hall.

The walk back home was silent. You were convinced this was your end. You'd arrive at the house, and he'd cut you into pieces. Your lips curled in a horrified grimace, mind flooded with foreign feelings: your nails plucked apart with pliers, a burning sting after each detachment. The roots of your teeth grinding and screeching within the bone of your jaw, until all that's left is a fleshy, gaping wound. Plop, plop, as each little souvenir falls into the jar.

He slammed the door shut and stared you down. You looked at the floor, but all you could see were the grimy ID cards of all the women who never made it out of this damned house. You were next.

His large hand ruffled your hair, and you glanced up in disbelief.

"This stays between us. Mother better not hear that her soon-to-be daughter in law tried to run away. Especially now that she's warmed up to you. Are we clear?"

You nodded desperately. God, how pathetic of you. But being trapped was better than rotting underground like the rest of them. You just wanted to live.

You can always tell whether it's him, or him. It's the silence. Or lack of, for that matter. He likes the quietness, the muffled ticking of the clock, the busy rattling in the kitchen, your laughs, your chatter. You'll sit together and listen to the rain, or read your books across from each other. There's no need for words, you know you can be at peace.

He likes music. When you hear the record player, you know it's your cue to perform. You exit your room - it's better if he doesn't call you down himself - and descend to the main area. The stairs creak louder, the wallpaper begins to yellow. It's almost as if the house ages with the music, and you tumble back in time.

He's been waiting for you, naturally. How's a man meant to spend his evenings, if not with his adored wife? He'll reach out for your hand, and invite you to a slow dance. Those are the worst moments. The tight, suffocating hold, his deranged stare drilling into your very soul, the whispered promises: that you're forever his, and you'll never find happiness anywhere else. He knows it. It's the same for him, really. Everything he's ever needed lies within your embrace.

Some days, the charade doesn't last long. You simply won't be in the mood to be kissed, to be stripped naked and fondled by his murderous hands. So you'll just pout and gaze ahead. It angers him terribly.

"Wretched whore. Do I look like a beggar?"

He'll shove you aside and make his way out, taking his tools with him. He hates asking for your affection and would rather take his anger out somewhere else. You know he won't hurt you, or force himself on you, which means someone else will have to pay for your disrespect. And yet, it's the only freedom you have around him - the privilege of refusing him and living to see the next day. The rest aren't as lucky. You'd rather not think too deeply about it.

My honey, I know With the dawn that you will be gone But tonight, you belong to me Just to little old me.

What a bizarre thing, to harbor such hatred towards the one you love. You've never met anyone kinder. He's thoughtful, patient, caring. He knows everything about you and lives to serve you. He's your best friend and your lover. He's the one you want to marry one day. But he's also...well...him. And you can't have one without the other.

"No, Mother, it isn't tacky," he barks at the shattered mirror, adjusting your necklace. "And you know what? It's up to (Y/N) to decide if she wants to wear your wedding jewelry."

"It's nice", you respond curtly. You look into the empty reflection and nod. He likes it when you take his side in front of Mother.

"I knew you'd agree. We're a match made in Heaven, aren't we?" he smiles and zips up the old dress. You shiver: wearing a dead woman's gown was not part of your wedding plans. The corset is tightened, and you gasp. His hands are tense.

"I know he proposed to you. And what a stupid grin you had on your face when it happened! You never act like that around me."

He doesn't call me a bitch, for starters, you think to yourself. You shuffle on the bed, trying to loosen up the garment, but he swiftly pins you down onto the mattress.

"Not that it matters. Would you like to know why?" he inquires with a familiar glimmer of jealousy in his dilated pupils. "Because I'll always be your first. You know it, I know it. He never will.

At the end of the day, you belong to me."

To compete with oneself. Nonsense. Utter madness, all of it. The house; the drawer filled with gory trophies; the nightly talks with Mother dearest, whose bones have most likely turned to dust by now; the bloodied scalpels; the embrace of a man who fills you with warmth and terror.

You're part of it now.

[snowvies]

Mr. Badgley

Penn Badgley x Fem!Reader

summary: you can't stop thinking about your married piano teacher, Mr. Badgley. and one day he slides under the instrument to show you how much he's been thinking about you too.

wc: 1k

cw: age gap (reader 19, Penn late thirties), cheating, piano teacher x student, pussy eating, fingering, female masturbation

Sundays are your favorite days, especially ones like this when the clouds hang low with a murky swirl in the sky. You're nineteen, and college is kicking your ass but you promised yourself you wouldn't think about the papers due when you're here, at Mr. Badgley's house.

You found his ad on craigslist, piano lessons..fifty bucks an hour you would've scrolled past it until you saw him, and his family. You felt safer in a random man's house when his wife and newborn baby were in the same room with you. So you started going there, ever since your freshman year.

Your raggedy car rolllsss to stop and you get out to see the lonely house, picked apart to be perfect, not a single thing out of place... except yourself.

His wife answers the door a few minutes after knocking, the cold biting your bare legs as you run in for warmth, completely missing her scowl at your lack of kicking the mat with your dirty boots.

Mr. Badgley offers you a warm smile, hair combed perfectly, sweater ironed and pants straight like every weekend. His eyes always look a little empty when you come. His wife jingles her keys around her finger as she readjusts the baby on her hip

"I'm going out, be done when I'm home" the same line. Every week. You smile her way but she doesn't pay mind to it, leaving you and her husband to play. you turn to Mr. Badgley but he's already walking to the connecting living room of the tiny house, sitting on the worn bench as he slides the fallboard up.

You sit next to him as he wears an excited smile, when he's like this, playing with you, it doesn't seem orchestrated by his wife. Every move he makes is analyzed by her, except this. The only reason he's allowed to do this is because they needed the extra money.

"Let's start where we left off last week, yes?" he asked and you nodded, you inhaled the mixture of musk and old books that surrounded the pianist as he began the background cords. his eyes are on you, they shine as his spine relaxes into the music and you begin your part. fingers dancing over keys as you try to remember the pattern

Your eyes squeezed shut once you messed the keys up. He smiles softly and lets a laugh out of his nose at your reaction

"Like this," his larger palm rests on top of yours as he guides your fingers, you nod and try again.

Soon enough an hour passes and you both rise from the bench and you dig into your purse for the fifty bucks you crumpled into it this morning, but, warm hands slide on top of your shoulder and the older man shakes his head.

"No need" he grins and tries to send you off but you insist, grabbing the money but he pushes you out the door.

"I will not have you pay for something that I enjoy just as much, Y/n, have a lovely week" The door softly shuts and you're left stunned.

.

You roll around your dorm bed, restless as the man's words keep ringing in your head. Why didn't he let you pay?

Maybe you're being dramatic. But it isn't like the Badgleys are set either.

You shut your eyes in a huff, suffocating yourself in the pillow under you as you replay the keys in an attempt to lull you asleep

But it isn't just the keys you're thinking about...

It's how his hand guided yours, it's how he looked at you when it was your part to play, it's his scent, it's his being. It's driving you mad.

You arch your back slowly, fingers sliding down your body until you get to your aching core. slick-filled fingers rubbing yourself at the thought of your teacher's hands touching you, grabbing you, loving you.

You moan into the pillow, legs shaking as you cream around your fingers, the thought of him drives you wild.

So just how will you act the next time you see him?

.

Before you know it, it's Sunday and you're back at the Badgleys, with his wife announcing her departure and the formal greetings of you and your teacher, you're back at that bench, side by side.

He starts the cords, and you follow trying to calm your shaking legs as you think about what fueled you that night. You couldn't even look him in the eyes this session.

His hand softly squeezes your bare thigh and you look back at the man.

"You're completely off" he informs you and you don't think your face could get redder.

"I-I'm so sorry...let's try again" you panic but his thumb rubs loving circles on your flesh.

"You usually think the world ends when you mess up, but you kept playing this time, you're mind is somewhere else Ms. Y/n."

"Sorry Mr. Badgley" you murmur

"Talk to me, get it off your chest so we can get back to playing" he smiles and you nod slowly

"...Why didn't you let me pay last time?" you ask, he stops for a moment as the hand on your thigh now rests on his face as he thinks for a moment.

"I just feel like, something so pleasurable shouldn't be bought," he says above a whisper and you feel your entire face glow, and he must have noticed with how he laughs.

"Not those pleasures, Ms. Y/n" he smiles and you don't think you've ever been so embarrassed. But when his laughter stops, his eyes swirl softly into something darker, in that moment you feel exposed to every thought as he eyes you.

He stands, hands finding your shoulders

"Keep playing"

You take a shaky breath as your thighs begin to shake once more, fingers finding the keys as you start the song

"Good," he whispers, his scents overwhelming you now as you feel almost dizzy while playing, you barely notice how he slips under the piano.

"Mr. Badgley, what are you doing?" you gasp as his dark brown eyes gaze up at you

"Keep.playing" he says sternly, and with a swallow, you keep going

He kisses your knees and you feel yourself sticking to your panties as he spreads them apart.

He has a wife. He has a kid. What are you doing?

"You're doing great" he huffs, kissing your thighs, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as his fingers dance up to your panties.

He pulls them down slowly, your wetness sticking to the fabric before they are lost in his pockets

Your bare pussy is in front of your teacher's face as he rubs up and down your thighs taking a shaky breath in

You slam the keys as his tongue licks up your pussy, he moans into you before forcing you to scoot closer into his face, his hands wrapping around your ass as he slurps and moans at your cunt.

"Mr.- fuck" you cry, hands climbing to try and stop your moans as your hips buck up to hump his face

"You taste so so good" he groans, making out with your pussy as he sucks at your clit just to tongue fuck your hole

Hot tears flow down your face as he stares up at you, watching you come undone for him.

You shake around him, orgasm approaching closer with every lick, he sucks on your slit before adding a long finger to your hole. You throw your head back as he fingers you, flicking his tongue relentlessly as his finger curls inside you.

You feel him whine and moan against your pussy, and when you look down you see him gripping and grabbing at his hard-on as he eats you out. You cry as that sends you over and you cum around his finger

You're panting as he curls his fingers a few more times before shoving it into his mouth and licking you clean, you're shaking and wide-eyed as hair sticks to your face and he crawls out from under the piano

Right, weren't you two supposed to be playing right now? Isn't his wife about to be home and he's sucking his fingers because they still taste like you?

He helps you off the bench and you stare into the stained cushion but he turns your chin to him before kissing you deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue before breaking it off with a simple

"My wife is on her way...see you in our next session Ms. Y/n"

And you can't wait for next Sunday.

an: lmk how obvious it is idk anything about pianos. This is based on a dream I had last night 😵‍💫🖤 I hope you liked it <333

[thinkinonsense]

like living in an apartment complex with him hearing the neighbours hit it and logan proves that we can be louder- 🤭🎀

this is soooo worst!logan coded 😵‍💫

the two of you only moved into this apartment complex a few weeks ago and long story short, you've got some loud neighbors. normally, you can pretend not to hear it or drown it out with music but now it's starting to become quite bother some to both of you.

"are they actual rabbits??" you ask rhetorically while prepping dinner. "it's been three fuckin' hours! doesn't it bother you??"

its already been a shitty day and this was your final straw. logan knew it before you did; watching you slowly bend until you snapped.

"we aren't this bad, right? like, we're considerate at least? it's only the polite thing to do." you rant angrily as another obnoxious and pornographic moan comes out of the woman next door.

logan almost wants to interrupt you with words but instead he figures that actions might be better.

fast forward thirty minutes and logan's got you pressed up against the bedroom wall while slamming his hips into yours. face pressed against the cool beige and paper thin wall that separates yours and the neighbors bedrooms.

to be honest, you weren't even sure if they were still going at it at this point nor did you care.

"c'mon, baby." logan purrs next to your ear. "you can be louder than this."

his rough palm smacks down on your ass before he wraps his hand around your hair, giving a small tug. your whimpers slowly increase with every rock of logan's hips.

"right there, lo." you moan, head falling back as he hits that spongy spot that makes you fall apart.

"louder." he growls, marking up your neck a pretty shade of plum.

"f-fuck! feels so good." your voice echos, bouncing off of the walls and beyond.

without thinking, you back your hips into his and fuck yourself on him. logan feels his climax approaching as he moves his fingers to your clit, drawing circles and listening to your pretty moans.

"please, please, please." you babble, head tipped back and mouth fallen open. "i'm so close!"

all at once your high hits, almost making you lose balance if it wasn't for logan holding you steady. seconds after, a familiar warmth coats your insides and spills down your thighs; leaving you panting against the wall.

"feel better?" logan asks, kissing your jaw.

"mhm." you nod then notice the silence that followed. "plus, they finally stopped."

before logan could respond, there's a loud pound on the other side of the wall telling you to shut up.

"i swear to fuckin'–" you mumble, ready to hit the wall and yell but logan catches your hand to stop you.

"wanna go again?" he raises a brow with a sly smirk.

"definitely."

[juneberrie]

MONSTER HIGH CHARACTERS WITH A PARTNER WHO SLEEPS IN CLASS

requested || monster high masterlist

───featuring: frankie stein, cleo de nile, draculaura, clawd wolf, clawdeen wolf, deuce gorgon, heath burns, jackson jekyll, holt hyde, lagoona blue

FRANKIE STEIN

would look over and be like 😟

pokes ur arm like "are u asleep?"

and then she realizes you are asleep and she laughs quietly

would probably write ur notes for you??? or like she'd move ur pen/pencil so there aren't random scribbles on your paper

"did u sleep well 😊" when u wake up

CLEO DE NILE

tbh she probably wouldn't notice for a good while

she'd go to ask you a question

and there you are with your head down, obviously asleep

she'd be like "oh 😒" and then just ask you her question later

if anyone near you is like making a ton of noise she'd glare at them and tell them to shut the fuck up

DRACULAURA

"oh!" when she realizes

she'd like giggle bc she thinks ur so cutie

and she'd probably just leave u be for a while until a few minutes until class ends and she'd be like "if u want i can ask frankie if you can borrow her notes" bc lets be honest she probably doesn't take notes

CLAWD WOLF

would probably let you use his jacket as a pillow or a blanket or something

don't expect him to let you copy his notes (he doesn't take any)

would try to explain what the teacher was yapping about but he's rlly bad at explaining so it sounds like "so this and ummm i think that and probably this too.... i think he said something about this?"

CLAWDEEN WOLF

would tap u bc she noticed ur head down and she's like "are u okay"

"oh they're asleep!"

if the teacher asks why ur head is down she'd be like "they have a headache" or smth

will let u copy her notes

glares at anyone breathing slightly too loud

"shut up can't u see theyre trying to sleep?? yeah thats what i thought"

DEUCE GORGON

okay so this bitch is kinda stupid

and he sees u asleep right

so he like pulls out an extra pair of sunglasses from his bag

and he sits you up and puts the glasses on you

bro is so proud of himself!!!

its so obvious you're asleep and then u get woken up bc the teacher is like "wtf"

HEATH BURNS

he'd be like "y/n! y/n!" and then realize ur asleep

and then very loudly go "OHHHHHHH YOU'RE ASLEEP"

so you probably get woken up tbh

he'd be like " 😨 sorry 😜"

either that or he'd notice and very loudly shush people

JACKSON JEKYLL

bro is in shock

how??? are you sleeping???? in class?????

he'd be really nervous for you

cause he doesn't want you to get in trouble for sleeping in class

when u wake up he tells you to get more sleep at night or something

HOLT HYDE

straight up would NOT care

bro was listening to his music and he like looks over and sees u asleep and he's like "okay!"

he'd probably draw on ur hand tbh or like ur paper

when u wake up he's like "omg hey" and would give u one of his airpods as yall walk to class

LAGOONA BLUE

she'd let you sleep

she wouldn't really notice but when she does she's like "awww" and moves ur notebook out of the way so she can write notes for u <3

[act-nat-ural]

Gifts (And Feelings) Exchanged

When the Karasuno boys’ volleyball team decided to organize a Secret Santa, you were initially excited. You love the players and your fellow managers, and you were looking forward to picking something out for them. That was, until you picked Tsukishima’s name out of the hat.

You gulp and give a nervous smile before walking back and sitting down next to Yachi. She gives you a sheepish smile.

“Do you already have an idea of what you’re going to get him?” she asks.

You groan internally. “Zero clue.”

She raises her brows in surprise. “Really? I would’ve thought otherwise, considering you’ve been on the team longer than me. N-Not that I meant that in a bad way!” She starts to apologize, but you cut her off.

“It’s okay—it’s just…” You groan. “I don’t even know what he likes.” She hums thoughtfully. “Wanna see who I got?”

“You don’t have to show me—” she starts, but you hand over the slip of paper.

She lets out a quiet “Ohhh.”

“Yeah, I see the dilemma.”

You and Kei had a… certain relationship, to say the least. You provide him with minor feedback; he calls you rude names. It’s all very pleasant. The worst part of it all is, you love the banter. At first, you dreaded practice, but over time, you started looking forward to seeing his stupid, gorgeous face. You think Tadashi might be onto you, too, because last week, when he and Kei started to walk off, he turned and gave you a thumbs-up for some reason. Weird.

You sigh again and stare at Kei’s name on the paper. “What to get you?” you mutter.

Kei hated buying gifts for people. It felt much too personal—especially when it was for people he hardly knew. He could stomach buying a birthday present for his family or maybe Tadashi, but his teammates? No thanks. When he drew your name out of the cheaply made Santa hat, he frowned. He crumpled the paper and immediately walked back to sit next to Tadashi.

“Who’d you get, Tsukki?” Tadashi asked.

“That would defeat the whole purpose of the ‘secret’ in Secret Santa, Tadashi,” Kei replied snarkily.

As Tadashi starts rambling on about what he’s thinking of getting Hinata, Kei’s mind begins to drift—specifically, to his favorite manager. While he would rather die than admit it, he truly enjoyed the banter between the two of you. At first, you were a bit shy and didn’t want to talk back to him, but over time, you started giving him hell. And he loved every second of it.

“Tsukki? Are you thinking about—”

A quick smack shuts Tadashi up.

“Shush,” Kei mutters.

As the days go by, both you and Kei find yourselves with a bit of a problem. Trying to find the perfect gift for each other is harder than either of you expected, especially since you’re both determined not to go the predictable route. You’d die before giving him something as generic as a water bottle or some volleyball gear—Kei deserves something personal, even if he’d never admit to liking it.

Finally, after a lot of thought (and some input from Yachi and Tadashi), you settle on a gift: a small, framed photo of the team celebrating their last win, with Kei in the background, a hint of a smile on his face. You remember catching that rare moment and thinking how nice it would be to remind him of it. You also throw in a mini potted cactus, with a tiny note that says, “Even prickly plants can grow if you give them some light.” You can’t help but laugh at the idea, knowing he’ll probably roll his eyes at the cheesy note, but maybe… just maybe, he’ll like it.

Meanwhile, Kei is just as stuck. He considers a sarcastic, borderline rude gift but somehow can’t bring himself to go through with it. Instead, he finds himself at a music store, almost embarrassed as he searches for something you’d like. Finally, he picks out a simple pair of high-quality earbuds, with a note that says, “For when you need to block out annoying people.” He cringes at his own softness but tells himself it’s fine. It’s practical, he reasons. Nothing more.

The day of the Secret Santa gift exchange arrives, and you’re doing your best to act casual as you hand Kei his present. He takes it with an unreadable look on his face, his usual cool and indifferent expression firmly in place.

As he opens it, you see his lips twitch upward for just a second at the sight of the cactus and the note. But he quickly clears his throat, trying to play it off as uninteresting. “Very… thoughtful,” he says, not meeting your gaze. His eyes linger on the photo frame for a moment, and you’re almost sure he’s touched, even if he won’t say it.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, crossing your arms and looking away to hide your own embarrassment. “Don’t get too sentimental on me, Tsukishima.”

“Please. I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, though you both know he’s trying not to smile.

Then, it’s your turn. Kei hands you a small box, and you open it to find the earbuds. At first, you blink in surprise, then read his note and can’t help laughing. It’s such a Tsukishima thing to say, and somehow, that makes it all the more endearing.

“Thanks, Kei,” you say, softening a bit as you look up at him. “I’ll make sure to use them when you’re being especially irritating.”

He smirks. “That’s probably wise.”

There’s a beat of silence, and both of you look away, unsure of what to say next. Practice is wrapping up, and everyone else is getting ready to leave. You clear your throat and try to act nonchalant.

“So, uh… do you want to grab something to eat after this?” you ask, trying to sound as casual as possible. “I mean, since we’re… already here and all.”

Kei’s eyebrows raise, and for a split second, he looks genuinely surprised. But he quickly regains his composure, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Sure,” he says with a shrug. “I guess I could tolerate your company a little longer.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “How generous of you.”

As you both head out together, walking a little closer than usual, you feel a warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with the winter cold. You both can’t help but be happy with what your secret santa got you- somebody to be with.

note: i know it’s early november but i want it to be christmas already 😭

[babydollmarauders]

SWEETEST GIFT — LUKE HUGHES

luke hughes x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which Luke gives y/n the sweetest gift, resulting in an eventful christmas night

warnings: anxiety, NSFW CONTENT, praise, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v (protected). (5k words)

notes: merry christmas and welcome to the final day of kinkmas! i hope you’ve all enjoyed these past 12 days and that everyone has a wonderful holiday! this is the longest fic of them all because apparently i’m actually incapable of writing a short luke smut…

i’m late.

it’s arguably the most important date so far in my relationship, and i’m late.

i don’t mean to be, obviously; the last thing i wanna do is make a bad first impression on my boyfriend’s teammates, but under the circumstances, it was completely out of my control.

i told my family several times that i needed to be out the door by four o’clock, and i thought they understood that. but then christmas breakfast turned into christmas brunch and gifts were opened late and then my mother insisted i stayed until my little cousins arrived and i still had to get changed and it was a chaotic mess all the way until i got out the door.

at five o’clock.

an entire hour later than i was supposed to leave.

so now here i am, having driven barefoot to my boyfriends apartment and only just now pulling my boots on, messy bun unreasonably… messy, and his gift having fallen onto the floor of my car after some definite traffic law violations in order to arrive as quick as possible.

once my boots are zipped securely on my feet, i’m leaning almost entirely over the center console, my hand patting at the passengers side floor until i finally grasp the present; a box wrapped in shiny red paper.

i quickly stumble out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me before i take off into the apartment complex. the wait for the elevator feels infinite, and the ride up even longer, but i finally reach the apartment door.

faint music drifts through the cracked open door, the sounds of multiple men talking each other overpowering the melodies that play, and i knock lightly upon the wood. after one more knock and two minutes of nobody answering, i push the door open, peeking my head in to find nobody in the entry way.

tip-toeing in, i close the door behind me, the short heels of my boots clicking against the hardwood floor as i shrug my coat off, hanging it on the overcrowded coat rack by the door before i wander further into the apartment.

i determine the source of the voices as the kitchen, but opt to veer off and drop Luke’s present off in his bedroom before i join them, as i know we won’t be exchanging gifts until after dinner. i set the gift on his bed, leaving his bedroom door open on my way out, but rather than walking into the empty hallway, i find myself colliding with a hard chest as someone leaves the restroom.

“oh shit, sorry!” i squeak, looking up to find a confused face staring back at me.

the unfamiliar man is tall, at least a couple inches taller than my boyfriend, with blue-green eyes and brown buzzed hair. he stares down at me a frown and threaded brows.

“excuse me, are you supposed to be here?” he questions, and i nod quickly, swallowing harshly as i try to push down the anxiety of meeting this new person.

i glance down the hallway in hopes that Luke will miraculously appear, but i can still hear him laughing in the kitchen, “yes, yeah! i am!”

the man narrows his eyes at me, “yeah, ‘cause that didn’t sound suspicious.”

he stalks down the hallway quickly towards the kitchen, my shorter legs following behind him.

“guys, there’s a girl over here! never seen her before!” the man calls out, his voice carrying over the sound of all the others and gaining the guys attention.

one by one i see heads peeking out from the kitchen, making me stop in my tracks. my hands shake with anxiety as they all peer back at me, some faces looking frustrated or annoyed, until finally my boyfriend emerges from the kitchen.

a small smile is painted across his lips, but it drops as he sees my nervous body languages. picking my steps back up, i walk slowly into his arms, incredibly perceptive of the amount of eyes that watch me.

“hi, angel.” Luke’s arms enclose around my waist, pulling me tight against him as he speaks.

“hi, Lukey. sorry, i’m late.” his body shakes as he chuckles, brushing off my apologies.

“it’s okay,” he assures me as i pull away, “i see you met Bass.”

i turn, my back pressing against Luke’s chest as his arm winds around to hug around my stomach, facing his teammates, who all seem a lot less menacing now that they know i’m not a crazy fangirl who found her way in.

“Bass,” i repeat, staring at the man whom i ran into. i rack my brain for a moment, trying to remember who Luke has said this man is in the past, “ah, yes, Nathan!”

Nathan nods with a smile, “you can just call me Nate or Bass, all the guys do. sorry about scaring you, didn’t realize you were Rusty’s girl.”

i bite back a laugh at my boyfriend’s hockey nickname. i’ve heard it before, but it’ll take some getting used to.

“it’s okay.”

Luke points out each friend, introducing them one by one until i’ve met all five; Nico, Dawson, John, Timo, and Nathan.

“and then you know Jack.” Luke waves his brother off, making me chuckle.

“yeah, hi, Jack.”

Jack smiles, “hi, y/n. there’s some wine in the kitchen, if you want some.”

the guys retreat to living room after Luke promises to check on the ham in the oven, guiding me into the kitchen. grabbing a wine glass from a cupboard, he fills it with a red wine before turning and leaning against the counter, handing the glass off to me.

“you look like you could use it.” he laughs, making me slap his chest in playful annoyance.

“i could! my family is batshit crazy,” i sigh, taking a big gulp of the wine before i set the glass down on the counter, “i was supposed to be here an hour ago but apparently my mother can’t tell time and lord knows i’m not allowed to leave until she deems christmas over.”

i walk myself between his slightly spread legs, dropping my forehead on his chest as i groan, “i just need food and cuddles.”

“well, i can check one thing off that list, but i can’t promise the ham will be edible, after all, Jack made it so…”

a giggle falls from my lips as i peer up into his eyes, shrugging my shoulders, “yeah, maybe i’ll stick to the mashed potatoes.”

the rest of the evening goes about as smoothly as i figured it would; i had to end up finishing the ham because i had absolutely no faith in Jack to not overcook it, the guys playfully teased Luke and told me funny stories of things he’s done on roadies or in the locker room, and we all sat around the living room and ate christmas dinner as Jack and Dawson heavily debated what the best christmas movie is.

finally, about three hours later, the guys took off to a local bar for some drinks and darts, Luke and i staying back in order to spend some alone time together.

“c’mon, i wanna give you your gift.” Luke smiles, hand slipping into mine as we rise from the couch, walking down the hallways and into his room.

he shuts the door behind us, grabbing a small, poorly wrapped present off of his dresser before we both sit on his bed.

“okay, wait, you first.” i tell him, picking the red present up off the mattress and pushing it into his hands.

my boyfriend was a bit difficult to shop for, seeing ad when he wants something, he usually just buys it. but i figured i could never go wrong by combining something he loves with one of his favorite hobbies.

he hands me my present, but i wait to unwrap it until he wraps his, rather enjoying watching him shed the paper from the box. a smile spreads across his face as he looks up at me.

“it’s a lego model of the UMich football stadium! i figured it was something for you to do over the next couple free days, or just whenever you want, but i thought it was perfect because you love building lego sets and you love michigan and-”

my ramble is cut off gently by his lips, his hand cupping my cheek as he kisses me slowly.

“i love it,” he says as he pulls away, eyes gazing straight into mine as he smiles, “it’s extremely thoughtful. maybe you can help me build it?”

i nod, leaning in to press my lips against his once more, “if you want me to, i’ll happily do so. or i’ll just keep you company as you build it.”

“that sounds great, angel. alright, you’re turn!”

i giggle at his enthusiasm, looking down at the small gift in my hands. i slowly peel the wrapping paper off, making a mental note to teach him how to wrap in the new year, until i finally unveil a velvet jewelry box.

my eyes widen, flickering up to my boyfriend in surprise, but he just gives me a small, encouraging nod.

flipping open the top, a simple yet beautiful necklace comes into view; a dainty silver chain with a tiny, minimalistic ‘L’ in the middle.

“oh my god,” i breathe out, my hand rising to my lips in shock, “Luke, this is beautiful.”

“i thought maybe you could wear it when you come to watch me play.” his cheeks blush a rosy pink as i look back up at him, obviously a bit more self-conscious now than he was merely minutes ago.

“can you put it on me?” i ask him, and he nods, taking the box from my hands in order to pull the necklace from the velvet interior.

i twist around, holding my hair up and allowing him to gently clasp the necklace around my neck. his fingers graze the back of my neck, sending shockwaves throughout my body as he makes sure the necklace is secure before he lets go, his hands smoothing over my shoulders and down my arms when he finishes.

i turn again, facing him once more as my hand reaches up to my collarbone, my fingertips running over the cool metal as i grin.

“it’s so beautiful, Lukey. i love it.” i cup his cheeks, pulling his face forward to press an excited kiss against his lips.

i kiss him breathlessly, our lips locking as i crawl into his lap, one leg on each side of his body, “i love you.”

i tense after the three monumental words leave my mouth, a heat of the moment confession that i wasn’t sure he was ready to hear; but, i know i’ve been ready to say.

“shit, you- uh- you don’t have to say it back. please, don’t feel like you have to say it if you aren’t ready. i mean, i know i was ready, but that doesn’t mean you have to be. you can take your ti-”

for the second time tonight, my words are shortened by my boyfriend’s lips against mine, a smile fighting against his facial muscles as he kisses me.

“i love you too.” he whispers.

my heart races, beating so strongly it feels as though it’s about to escape my chest, but my body relaxes, my eyes gazing into his as i sigh.

“you do?”

he nods, hands rubbing gently up my sides in comforting movements, “i do. i love you so much.”

i’m overwhelmed with relief and joy, the corners of my lips quirking up in a wide grin; absolutely bewitched by the beautiful boy in front of me.

i’m not sure what i’ve done in life to have deserved someone as kind, humorous, and caring as Luke; someone who gets me sweet, thoughtful gifts; who does anything to ease my anxiety the moment he spots the signs; who loves me for exactly who i am, and who reminds me every day that i’m gorgeous and perfect in my own way. but, i know that i’m incredibly grateful to have him in my life, and i want to share all of life’s beautiful moments with him.

my lips descend upon his, a breathy sigh blowing from my nose as my eyes flutter closed, pulling him deeper into the kiss with my grip on the back of his neck. his hands still on my waist, fingers gripping a little tighter as i begin to rock my hips slowly against his.

he groans into my lips, hands stilling my hips as he pulls away, our faces still close enough that i can feel his breath against my lips, and i whine at the loss of the delicious feeling that had begun rolling through my body.

“you gotta stop, angel.” he gulps, voice tight and shaky, “if you don’t, i’m gonna have a… situation, and i don’t wanna make you feel like you have to do anything yet.”

my skin feels hot, uncomfortable even, and i register it quickly as want.

despite the fact that Luke and i haven’t actually done anything yet, it’s not like i’m unfamiliar with being horny, or even having had sex. i just wanted to take things slow him; wanted to take time to enjoy our relationship without the physicality that’s made my past relationships messy.

i heave in a breath, my chest brushing against his, and the feeling of my peaked nipples skimming against his hard body makes me all the more aroused.

“i’m ready, Lukey.” i tell him in a breathy whine.

his eyes flicker in size, swallowing harshly before he speaks, “are you sure?”

“yes.” i nod, placing a short kiss on his lips, “i’m ready, and now is the perfect time; the apartment is empty, it’s just us two, and i love you so much.”

“if you don’t want to, i’m not pushing! i’m okay with just watching a movie or cuddling, we don’t have to do anything.” i add.

Luke’s hand cradles my face, pulling me into another kiss, “of course, i want to. you’re the most stunning, most thoughtful and sweetest girl i’ve ever met; i’d be a damn fool not to want this.”

i bite back a giggle, blood rushing to my cheeks from his affectionate words.

“but i don’t want you to feel rushed. i’ll wait as long as you want, because i don’t want you to feel like you have to sleep with me just because i said i love you.”

“i don’t feel like that.” i shake my head, the back of my hand ghosting over his cheek, “i really want this, Luke. i mean it. i feel safe with you, i trust you.”

he smiles, a divine smile that makes my heart do flips, overwhelmed with love for the pure soul that has entangled with mine in the absolute best ways.

“you trust me?” he echoes, hands sliding down to cup my ass, making me shiver in anticipation.

“mhm.”

with my hum of a response, i’m suddenly flipped over, my back bouncing onto the mattress, my hair sprawling over the pillows as my boyfriend hovers over top of me. his hot breath fans over my neck, lips pressing against my heated skin and making me sigh in contentment.

he paves a path with his lips, soft and slow, down to the collar of my sweater, the only sound in the room being my heavy pants and his wet kisses.

“Luke.” i sigh as his hands travel up my sides, sliding underneath my top. he hums against my collarbone, his thumbs grazing over my ribs until his hands cup underneath my breasts, my sweater bunched up.

chilled air hits against my stomach, my abdomen tightening in response, and i desire nothing more than to rid the layers between us.

“take it off me, please.”

he pulls away at my plea, hands shimmying my sweater up and over my head, pulling my arms free before he flings the fabric to the floor.

his eyes rake my body in silence for several moments, and i begin to feel self-consciousness creep up on me, my arms wrapping over my stomach. but he’s not having it, fingers enclosing around my wrists and pulling them away.

“uh-uh, none of that.” he whispers breathlessly, “you’re beautiful, angel. so fucking perfect.”

my cheeks flush, confidence filling me from the inside out as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, his eyes blown out and darkened with lust.

“thank you.” he shakes his head at my response.

“don’t thank me.” he says, “if you knew the things i’m thinking of doing to you right now, you wouldn’t be thanking me.”

his words light a fire deep in my core, my panties dampening with every word that drops from his perfect lips.

“no, i think i would.” i rasp, voice low and dripping with lust, “i think i would want to thank you a million times over.”

“i need you so bad.” i confess.

my hands lock around his neck, pulling him back down to me. he kisses me in earnest, hips rolling down into mine, his quickly hardening erection pressing against my jean clad core.

i moan against him, a low guttural sound that pours out when his hands come up to massage my breasts over my padless red bra. he dips down, embedding open mouthed kisses upon my skin, leading down to my cleavage.

“can i?” he asks, fingers edging the cups of my bra, and i nod in approval.

he rolls his hips into mine again, my back arching, and he slips his hand underneath me, unhooking my bra with fumbling fingers. he pulls it off my body, once again discarding the clothing to the floor.

his thumbs circle my nipples and he watches me as my eyes fly shut, my lips parting as i let out a shaky breath in response to his actions.

“i’m the luckiest guy in the damn world.” he huffs, so quietly that i’m not sure he was even talking to me, more so whispering to himself.

“Luke, please,” i whine, “less talking, more touching.”

my words earn a melodious chuckle from his lips before he lowers his head to my chest, continuing to play with one nipple as the other gets extra attention. his tongue drags around the stiffed peak before its caught between his lips, softly sucked and grazed extra lightly by his teeth, making my body tremble.

after a few moments he switches, giving proper love to the other side. my leg hooks around his waist, hips bucking up to rub my clothes cunt against his now fully hardened erection.

my hands fist his shirt at his shoulder blades, tugging lightly.

“off,” i breathe, “i want this off. i wanna feel you.”

Luke pulls away from my breast, my nipple dropping from his mouth with a pop, and within seconds he’s leaning back, tugging the shirt over his head. suddenly it’s my turn to gape and stare.

obviously, i’ve seen him shirtless, but his body is one i’ll never tire of; the sight will forever and always make my heart beat faster, my core get wetter, and my soul sigh.

“take a picture, angel,” he winks, “it’ll last longer.”

he’s joking, but if i had my phone on me, i would.

“kiss me, please?”

i don’t have to say any more, those words enough to bring his lips back to mine, our bare chests pressing against one another. we take our time, tossing and turning in the bed, our lips rarely straying from each other’s, until i finally rid myself of my jeans, entirely too ready to move on.

“look at me,” he says, his lips dragging on my stomach as he speaks, “you trust me, yeah?”

“yes,” i nod, breath shaky, “i do.”

“i want you to relax. keep your eyes on me, angel.”

i nod again, eyes trained on his unruly mess of curls as his thumbs tuck into the waistband of my panties, his eyes lifting back to mine in await of approval. when i give him the go ahead, he’s pulling the last fabric that adorns my body down my thighs, past my calves, and throwing them onto the floor.

i lay stripped down in front of him, in a state of complete and utter vulnerability, yet too needy and love drunk to bring myself to care about the way i look.

he lays down on his stomach between my legs, making my breath hitch as his warm breath hits my wet pussy. but when i feel his tongue glide through my folds, tensing when he reaches my clit to provide pressure, that breath is released in a heavy yet quivering sigh.

my hands reach out to tangle in his curls as he slowly drags his tongue around my achingly wet cunt, flexing and flattening the oral muscle depending on where it is on my body.

“Lukey,” i pant, body shaking as his lips enclose around my puffy clit, rolling it between them lightly before letting it go.

he pulls back with a smile, juices glistening around his mouth and chin, “you think you can take my fingers, angel?”

“mhm,” i nod, “yes, please!”

he dives back in, this time picking up his pace; and not a moment later, i’m squirming, a cry of contentment echoing through the room as he pushes two fingers in, curling them up with every thrust he makes.

i’ve given up on words, relying on the sounds that fall from my lips to let him know how surreal his movements feel.

his fingers begin to scissor, adding a pleasurably painful stretch in order to help me ready for him, and at the same time, he flicks his tongue against my clit, successfully drawing my mind away from the pain and towards the immense pleasure he’s bringing me.

my stomach feels tight, pressure building with every movement of his tongue and every thrust of his fingers.

“i’m so close.” i tell him in a breathless whimper, my hips grinding down upon his face and hand.

he moans against me in response, vibrations reverberating through me, and my walls begin to tighten around his fingers, the familiar feeling of balancing on the edge of orgasm spreading through my body.

my thighs close around his head, but he just hums against me again, making my toes curl against the sheets.

“Luke, i’m gonna cum.” i warn him, voice tightly strained, my breath catching in my throat.

my body is hot and sticky, the air moist as his hand begins smoothing up and down my thigh, and i take that as the sign to let go, my legs shaking as i finally reach my release.

Luke continues to lap at my clit, while his fingers work me through my orgasm until i can’t take anymore. breath heavy and body trembling, i push his head away, his face finally emerging with wet, swollen lips and a soft smirk.

“did so good for me.” he praises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he hovers back over me, pressing his lips against mine.

his tongue tangles with mine, tasting salty yet a little sweet, and i moan against his lips, my hands trail down his abs to hook into the waistband of his jeans.

“you gotta wait a second, angel,” he mumbles against my lips, “don’t wanna overwork you.”

i groan, turning my head, and his lips press against my neck.

“fuck that,” i tell him, fingers fumbling with the button of his pants, “i want you now.”

“if you’re sure?” i nod quickly at his words, making him sit back.

he hastily unbuckles his belt, not bothering to take it off before he’s unzipping his jeans, kicking them off and onto the floor before he rids himself of his boxers.

his cock springs free, his tip a harsh red and precum beads at the slit, glistening in the low light of the bedroom.

leaning over to his nightstand, he digs around in the drawer for a moment before his hand emerges with a shiny foil packet. he tears the packet open, pulling the condom out and carefully sliding it onto himself, and i watch with desperate eyes as he gives himself a few tugs before turning back to me.

he hovers above me, bent on one forearm as his other hand grasps his shaft. he spreads my wetness around with his tip, sliding through my folds easily, and when he taps against my clit, my whole body aches with need.

“please.” i beg, and that’s all it takes for him to line up with my entrance, his lips connecting with mine as he slowly pushes in.

i whimper against his lips, his cock stretching me with a stinging sensation with every inch that he pushes in, and he stills, opening his eyes to peer down at me.

“are you okay?” he asks softly, petting hair out of my face gently as he speaks.

“mhm,” i nod, hands grasping at his back, “keep going.”

he does as i say, this time giving shallow thrusts in order to work himself in slowly, only taking what my body allows him until he can finally sink into me entirely. by the time he’s completely in, the stinging pain has subsided, making way for blissful pleasure, but he still stops to check again.

after my reassurance, he picks up again, thrusting properly, but still slowly. his lips press back against mine, kissing me with raw passion and love.

“faster.” i whisper against his lips.

his hips speed up into fast, deep strokes, a hand snaking down to grip my waist. my moans carry through the room, conjoining with the sounds of sex and his hips slapping against mine as my leg hooks around his waist.

gripping his back, my nails scratch into his skin, earning a groaned whine from my boyfriend as his face buries into my neck, his thrusts gaining a harshness that they hadn’t held before.

“say you love me.” he gruffs against my skin, so low that i almost didn’t hear him.

“i love you,” i breathe out, “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

his lips connect with my collarbone, each kiss broken up by a single confession of love muttered from his tongue.

i can feel the knots forming in my stomach again, like a ball of yarn tangling and tangling, further tying together with each thrust of his hips. the tip of his cock smacks against my g-spot, my back arching from the mattress as i make a particularly loud cry.

“right there!” i tell him in a broken sob.

he smirks against my skin, angling his hips just right before thrusting back in to hit the spot again. now with each stroke, my orgasm builds even quicker, my nails scratching down his back.

my walls clench around him, making him grunt into my neck, and he picks his head up to kiss my lips, his thrusts becoming quicker and slowly losing rhythm.

“i’m close,” he mumbles, “so close.”

i nod in agreement, “me too.”

his hand slides between us, his thumb finding its way to my swollen clit, and he begins rubbing harsh circles into it, making my hips jolt, my breath catching i’m my throat.

“cum for me, angel,” he whispers, “let go.”

i nod, for what i’m not sure, but my body tenses up underneath him, walls tightening around his cock as he continues to thrust, and my eyes roll back, legs shaking as i come undone around him.

he fucks me through my orgasm, kissing me through my heavy breathing as his thrusts speed up, becoming sloppier and sloppier as he chases his high until he finally stills. his hips stutter as he grunts, releasing into the condom.

his body collapses on mine, the grounding weight bringing me back down to earth as we both pant in uneven breaths, our chests rising and falling rapidly.

we lay in silence for several minutes, enjoying the serenity of the quiet until he rolls off of me, slipping out from inside me.

“that was…” he trails off and i giggle, nodding my head.

“why did i wanna wait again?” he laughs at my response, shaking his head.

“i’m glad we did,” his fingers trail over my stomach, drawing shapes in my skin. “it was worth the wait, and i think knowing we love each other just made it more special.”

i hum in agreement, wrapping my hand around his before lifting it to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

he presses a kiss to my cheek before getting up to dispose of the condom. pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he assures me that he’ll be right back before leaving the room, reappearing a few minutes later with a granola bar and a water, along with a damp washcloth.

“head up,” he coos holding the water to my lips, and i let him help me take a few sips before he hands me the granola bar.

he cleans me up, my body shaking as he runs the cloth through my sensitive core, as i eat the snack, resting the wrapper on his nightstand.

he rifles through his dresser, coming back to the bed with a pair of of boxers and a t-shirt, and he helps me into them before climbing into the bed beside me. he pulls me back into him, his nose burying into the side of my neck as he kisses the back of it.

“i love you.” he tells me, arm winding around my stomach as he spoons me, my back to his chest.

my eyes feel as heavy as lead, but my heart races at his words, my entire world shifting into a golden state.

“i love you too.” i repeat, immediately followed by a heavy yawn.

“go to sleep, angel,” he hums and i can feel his eyelids flutter closed against my skin, “i’m right here.”

and with his reassurance and the feeling of his body pressed to mine, i allow by body to shut down, my breathing evening out as i fall asleep.

[fandomonetwo]

ain't no sunshine — steve harrington

▸summary: steve just wants cuddles. and he'll play the song on repeat until he gets them.

▸characters: steve harrington x gn!reader

▸tw: tooth. rotting. FLUFF

▸a/n: i did not die. have some happy words.

HE MUST'VE HAD the song downloaded four-hundred times on his cassette tape, because you were just about ready to bash your head in when the beginning notes played from Steve's bedroom. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, it's not warm when she's away.

You were in the living room, finishing up some writings that you had due for your classes when you gazed unamused at the ceiling. He'd been playing the song on repeat, singing along badly in order to coax you into giving him some love and affection as you always did on a Tuesday afternoon. Unfortunately, this deadline was currently taking priority, and Steve was being a drama queen about it. 

You still had about four pages to write, as well as some questions to answer before anything else took over your mind, so you had to suffer. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and she's always gone too long, anytime she goes away.

You'd practically memorised the words and melody to this song, mouthing them with good ol' Bill Withers as he provided sustenance to feed Steve's dramatics. You could hear Steve's faux grieving voice as he sang along, making the song a whole heap more dramatic than the original recording. 

Wonder this time where she's gone, wonder if she's gonna stay.

Trying to persevere through the loud stereo blasting muffled music above your head is a lot more difficult than you might imagine. Ever since you had gone to his place in a tizzy that you had things to do before a deadline and couldn't afford any distractions, you had banished him to his room, and for about an hour, had some quiet. 

That changed when the second hour became the third, and the music started when the sun began to go down, reeling on loop as though it was a broken record. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

You smiled slightly, though. For all of Steve's dramatics and ridiculous behaviours, he loved you, and you loved him. All of his quirks made him special to you, and you loved to be with him no matter what was happening around the world, especially when the whole Upside Down thing began catching up to him, mentally and physically. Now, he was a cuddly baby that loved hugging you. He always said that he felt safer to sleep in your arms. 

And I know, I know, I know, I know...

He must've given up on singing, because Steve's voice could no longer be heard. Probably ran out of oxygen. Good. He needed to rest after the whole Russian situation. You only had one page left to write and a few more questions to do before you could give your Steve what he needed so desperately. 

A hug. And a fat nap.

You sighed as the tape continued playing the bridge, scrawling your pencil over the paper. You had started with gorgeous cursive, and had evolved into writing chicken scratch to speed up the time. Two questions down, half a page to go...

Hey, I ought to leave the young thing alone, but ain't no sunshine when she's gone.

Three lines, two sentences, aaaaand...

Done.

Throwing the pencil down and thudding the book shut, you pushed yourself to a standing position, practically bounding up the stairs, dragging yourself up by the handrails. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, only darkness everyday.

You came to the first floor landing, stepping onto the carpeted floor with your socked feet and beelined for Steve's room. The door was shut, but Bill's soothing voice carried through the wood, almost getting impossibly loud as you inched closer. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

Stepping into the room as you swing open the door, the final outro of the song is echoing through, fading away. You smile to find Steve on his back, staring at the ceiling as he waits for the next loop to begin. 

You are silent as you halt the tape, crawling onto the bed and giving him a big ol' smooch. He looks at you with innocent and wide eyes, a big fat smile settling on his face. 

"All done?" he asks. 

You nod, confirming. "All done."

You yelp as he flings himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tumbling over the other side of the bed. He's quick to bring the covers over you both, leaving the bed side light on. A new habit, but it didn't bother you. 

You tussled for a little, finding a comfortable position that agreed with all parties and bones. You settled on bear hugging him as he tangled your legs together and kept his nose near your hair. 

You giggled, running your nails down his back. "You big baby." 

He grumbled. "Ain't no sunshine when you're not here."

[diamonddaze01]

Could you do 81 “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” with Woozi please?

to you

pairing: jihoon x reader | wc: 1.1k prompt: "you weren't supposed to hear that." a/n: 10 points to anyone who can guess my fav svt song lol

A faint melody drifted down the hallway, tender and unguarded. It wasn’t unusual for Jihoon to work late in his studio, but tonight felt different—like the music itself was reaching out, calling you closer, a thread pulling gently at your chest.

The door was slightly ajar, spilling a sliver of golden light onto the hardwood floor. You paused outside, your fingertips brushing the frame as if crossing that threshold might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment. Jihoon rarely sang aloud when he was writing—his process was usually silent, deliberate, private. This felt like stumbling into something sacred.

Peering inside, you saw him perched at his desk, completely immersed. The faint hum of his keyboard filled the air, a soft counterpoint to the rich timbre of his voice. His headphones hung around his neck, one hand resting lightly on the keys while the other scribbled furiously in his notebook, the paper already riddled with lines and corrections.

“Today I'll go to your arms too, I'm grateful to you, who greets me whenever I open the door…”

Each word carried a quiet intimacy, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You stood frozen in the doorway, heart catching in your throat. His voice wasn’t as polished as it was during performances; it was raw, vulnerable, like he was singing just for himself—or maybe, you realized with a quiet ache, for you.

Jihoon leaned closer to the keys, his lips moving faintly as he sang, his hair falling forward to shadow his face. The golden light softened the angles of his features, making him look impossibly gentle, almost unrecognizable from the focused, sharp-edged Jihoon you were used to seeing when he worked.

The creak of the floorboard betrayed you.

His fingers stilled mid-chord, his head snapping up. Wide eyes met yours, and you saw the flush rise immediately, creeping up his neck and settling high on his cheekbones. “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he blurted, the notebook snapping shut under his hand as if to shield its contents from view.

You stepped inside slowly, your heart twisting at how flustered he looked. His shoulders were stiff, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk like he was bracing himself for impact. “Why not?” you asked gently, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jihoon, that was beautiful.”

“It’s not done,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze flicked anywhere but to you, darting from the keys to the notebook to the wall behind you.

“Done or not, it’s incredible.” You took a careful step closer, your eyes searching his face. “Is it for a new project?”

Jihoon hesitated, his jaw tightening. His fingers drummed against the closed notebook before he let out a quiet sigh. “No,” he admitted, his voice low. “It’s for you.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was blink. “For me?”

He groaned, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. “Yes, for you,” he mumbled, his voice muffled. “I was… I was going to use it to propose.”

The admission stole the breath from your lungs. You stepped closer, the edges of his words still sinking in. “Propose?”

Jihoon nodded, lowering his hands just enough to peek at you, his ears burning red. “I wanted to finish it first,” he said, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. “I wanted it to be perfect, and then I’d play it for you. But you just—” He gestured vaguely toward you with a mixture of exasperation and affection. “You ruined the surprise.”

Your heart swelled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Jihoon,” you whispered, stepping into his space until you were standing between his legs. Your hands found his shoulders, feeling the tension still coiled in them. “You could’ve sung me the alphabet, and I’d still cry. This? This is everything.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, his head dropping forward. His bangs brushed your collarbone, and for a moment, he stayed there, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

You smiled, your hands sliding up to cup his face, coaxing him to look at you again. His cheeks were still pink, his eyes wide and uncertain. “Sing me the rest,” you said softly, your thumbs brushing against the sharp curve of his jaw.

He hesitated, his lips parting as if to protest, but the words never came. Instead, he let out a resigned sigh, his hands resting lightly on your waist as he steadied himself. His voice was quieter now, but still full of that same tenderness that had stopped you in your tracks.

“You've given me a piece of happiness, You've placed all of the smiles in the world in my hands.”

His voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t stop.

“In a swirling wind, If there's an eternal love, Then you're that person.”

Tears blurred your vision by the time he finished. Without thinking, you slid into his lap, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Jihoon,” you murmured, your voice trembling against his skin. “I already know the answer. You didn’t need a song to convince me.”

His breath hitched as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms locking around your waist like he was afraid to let go. “I wanted to say it the way I know best,” he whispered, his voice raw and thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, your hands cradling his cheeks. “Say it, then,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears. “No music, no lyrics. Just you.”

Jihoon swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, the world seemed to pause, every detail sharpening—the warmth of his hands on your waist, the golden light framing his face, the faint hum of the keyboard beneath you.

“Marry me,” he said at last, the words tumbling from his lips like a confession, raw and unfiltered.

Your heart swelled, and a tear slipped down your cheek as you leaned your forehead against his. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Yes, a million times yes.”

Relief washed over his features, and he let out a soft, breathless laugh. “Good,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around you. “Because I don’t think I could rewrite those lyrics again.”

You laughed too, brushing your lips against his. “Don’t change a single word,” you said, your voice thick with love. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[kpop---scenarios]

Reckless (1)

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader

Genre: Brothers best friend

Warning: Language, a little violence etc, smut later on

Word Count: 3k

“Jisung!” You yell from your room, covering your ears with your pillow. If he didn't shut the fuck up, you were going to lose it. “Jisung!” You scream again. Angrily, you crawl out of your bed, stomping your way across the hallway to his room. You try to open the door but the door is locked. You pound on the door, anger flowing through you.

“Open the door!” You yell, pounding even harder. Finally the door swings open, your brother looking annoyed.

“The fuck do you want?” He asks, rubbing his face.

“I have an exam tomorrow. I can't sleep with the fucking music coming from your room.” You yell. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Wear some headphones then.” Jisung scoffs.

“I swear to fucking..” you pause, as Jisungs best friends comes to the door.

“Feeling feisty tonight, are we?” Minho chuckles, moving past your brother and out of his room.

“Yeah I am, watch out.” You snap, stomping back to your room, slamming the door behind you.

Your parents had been gone for months for work, and unfortunately for you Jisung had decided to slack off at school despite school only being in for 3 months. He was partying constantly and having his degenerate friends over at the house all the time. Lee Know, or Minho was the worst of them all and he never fucking left.

He was an arrogant, annoying, selfish, violent, short tempered man who you disliked the most out of all Jisung’s friends. The two of them were a few years older than you, both supposed to be in University but the way things were currently going, you didn't know how much longer either of them were going to be enrolled. You however were in your first year at the same University and you were not going to take your opportunity for granted. You wanted to get out of this town and move away onto bigger and better things.

As the volume of the music is finally lowered, you get comfortable in your bed, easily falling asleep, finally.

The next morning you're up early, deciding payback was much needed for keeping you up half the night. As you're hopping around your room, singing along to your loud music, getting ready for class, you faintly hear a pounding on your door. You laugh to yourself as you make your way, ripping the door open, seeing an annoyed Minho standing there, shirtless with a pair of sweats on.

“It's 7am.” He deadpans.

“And?” You ask.

“I've been sleeping for 2 hours.” He groans. “Turn it down.”

“That sounds like a you problem.” you begin. “Also, last I checked, this isn't your house.” You smile, closing the door in his face before he can say anything. You head to your stereo, turning the music down, for a few minutes until you felt like he was comfortable in bed again, starting to doze off and you turned it up again. Not long after you turned it off completely, heading to the kitchen to grab a banana before you headed to the bus stop. You wanted to get to school a little earlier than usual, taking time to go over your psychology notes for your exam, one last time.

“Y/N.” You hear from behind you in the library. You turn around, seeing your best friend, Hyunjin, standing there with bags under his eyes, holding a mass amount of papers, and looking extremely uneasy.

“Hyunjin.. what happened?” You ask, trying not to laugh at the poor man looking so defeated.

“it's literally the 3rd month of school, and I'm going to fucking flunk out.” He gasps, sitting next to you.

“No you're not.” You chuckle, flipping over your notes to look at the backside.

“I tried to study all night but I kept falling asleep. Why did I come here? I hate it.” He pouts. You shake your head at the man, focusing on your notes.

“Well.” You sigh. “At this rate, I'll be failing with you. Minho was at my house again last night. He and Jisung were blasting music until all hours.” You say, rolling your eyes.

“Minho was at your house?” Your other friend, Jisoo gasps, pulling up a chair beside you. “You're so lucky.”

“He's so fucking annoying.” You retort.

“But he's so hot.” Jisoo grins.

You ignored her last comment, you didn't want to vocally agree with her, because the last thing you needed was for your words to get back to him and inflate his head more than it already was.

“And to be honest, so is your brother. Is he single?” She asks.

“He's single. But I'm going to tell you not to go there because I don't want you to stop being my friend.” You laugh. “He's a terrible human being.”

“But he's hot.” Jisoo swoons, batting her eyes at you.

“Gross.” You sigh, looking at your phone. You gather your things off the table, dragging Hyunjin behind you to your psychology classroom.

“Please, Y/N.” He begs from behind you. You turn your head to look at him, giggling at the pitiful man who is usually so confident. This exam really has him fucked up. You turn your head again to look where you're going, and bump into someone, knocking your papers and bag to the floor.

“Ugh, I'm so sorry.” You sigh, bending down to pick up your things. You look up, seeing Minho glare down at you. You roll your eyes instantly, scoffing. “Actually I'm not sorry.” You say, finishing picking everything up. You stand up, Minho still staring at you but now smiling. Hyunjin comes up beside you, swinging his arm around your shoulders.

“Come on.” He says, pulling you away from Minho, who still hadn't said a word to you, but the smile never left his face.

“You got this.” You say to Hyunjin, your hands on his shoulders as you both take deep breaths outside your classroom door.

“So do you.” He breathes. “Drinks after?” He asks. You glance at your watch, 12:58pm. You should be done by 4pm..

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” You grin as the two of you make your way into the class.

3 hours later, you both emerge from the room, disheveled hair, sweat and tear stains present on both of you.

“How did..” Hyunjin starts. You put your hand up to stop him.

“Not yet. Shots..lots of shots.” You whimper. The two of you link arms, heading for the pub down the street from campus.

Hours later, you stumble home. As you stand in your yard you see lights flashing inside, and you can hear the bass thumping from the street. Jisung would throw a party on a random Thursday. That's just what he does. You quickly text Hyunjin and Jisoo to come over and party with you, both of them replying that they'll be there soon. You head inside, your brother spots you immediately.

“Y/N.. it's only just started. Don't shut me down.” He fake cries. You glare at him, seeing Minho walk up behind him. A few of his other friends were standing around, a lot of other people you didn't know also staring at you.

“Let's do some fucking shots!” You yell, making your way to the kitchen, hearing the cheers from the party goers. You walk past a chuckling Minho on your way to the kitchen. You glare at him before grabbing his sleeve, pulling him in there with you and a few others to take some shots. As you're about to do your second one, Hyunjin and Jisoo walk in. You were already drunk from your after exam drunks with Hyunjin, and now you were feeling it even more.

“Jinnie.” You squeal, putting your arms out for a hug. He grins as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly. Instantly you hear Jisoo’s flirty voice come to play, you break the hug to turn around and see Jisoo and Jisung tucked in a corner talking.

That made you want to vomit. You turn back towards the group taking shots, quickly pouring one for Hyunjin before you all take it. “Let's dance!” You yell, walking past Minho with Hyunjin in tow. You're dancing, laughing and just all around having a good time but you can't help but notice Minho standing against the wall with his arms crossed, eyes trained on you. They roamed up and down your body as he watched you dance, and you hated that the way he was looking at you, that the way he was biting his lip was turning you on so much.

“I'm gonna get a drink.” You tell Hyunjin, making your way to the kitchen. You feel a hand on your wrist, pulling you down the hallway instead.

“You looked really hot out there.” a guy tells you. You have no clue who this dude was, and frankly you were not interested.

“Thanks.” You respond, turning back towards the kitchen.

He grabs you again. “I wasn't done talking to you.” He half laughs.

You can feel the annoyance building up inside of you. “But I'm done.” You say, trying to walk away again. His grip tightens, pushing you against the wall.

“I'm trying to get to know you better.” He scoffs. “Don't be so rude.”

“I'm not interested.” You tell him, as if your current lack of interest wasn't enough.

He stares at you, refusing to move, not saying a word. You can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to figure out what to say to you next. Before he can get his words out, he's shoved away from you, sliding down the floor of the hallway. Your mouth hangs open as you turn to look and see who your savior was.

Minho stands there, his eyes practically shooting daggers into the man.

“Are you fucking dumb, Changbin?” Minho asks.

“What the fuck, dude?” Changbin scoffs, scrambling up off the floor.

“That's Jisung's little sister you fucking moron.��� Minho snaps, pointing at you.

“Oh shit.. I'm sorry! I didn't know!” He panics. Your eyes bounce between the two men, not sure why Changbin sounded so scared of your idiot brother.

“I'll let you off this time.” Minho starts. “If I catch you near her again, I will beat the fucking shit out of you.” He finishes. Changbin nods his head before running off into the crowd.

“You okay?” Minho asks as you rub your wrist. You nod your head.

“Yeah.. thanks.” You smile, returning to the party. The rest of the night, wherever you went, Minho was there, off in the distance watching you. You weren't uncomfortable from it but you did wish that he would go and enjoy himself. He didn't need to keep an eye on you, and as you got drunker, you decided to let him know.

“You.. keep staring.” You hiccup, placing your hand on the wall by his head. He smirks as he looks at you, barely able to stand up straight, eyes fluttering open and closed. You were a goddamn mess.

“Let's get you to bed, mhm?” He says, wrapping his arm around your waist to help you up the stairs. As you're walking up, you unfortunately see Jisung and Jisoo locking lips, making all the drinks you had all night threaten to come up.

“Get a room you sick fucks.” You slur, walking past them. Jisoo comes up for air looking embarrassed but only for a second before Jisung steals her attention back. Minho helps you to your room, you stand in the middle, your arms up high. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, wondering what the fuck you were waiting for.

“I can't sleep in my clothes.” You whine. “but I'll fall if I undress myself.” You pout.

Minho reluctantly walks towards you, grabbing the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, leaving you in a bra and your pants. He moves his hands down towards the button of your jeans. You hop back a little, almost losing your balance as you laugh, hysterically.

“Funny.” He fake chuckles, moving towards you again. You grab onto his arm, spinning yourself around to his back, sliding your hands up and down his body. You reach around to his stomach, moving your hands under his shirt, running them over his abs.

“Ugh.” You groan at the feeling.

He quickly turns around facing you once again, a smile spread across his face. You knew he wanted to be mad at you but he couldn't.

“Take your pants off or I'm gonna throw you down onto the bed and take them off for you.” He threatens. You blush, hard.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” You ask, cocking your head to the side. Minho reaches out for you, grabbing you by the waist of your jeans, pulling you towards him. “It's a little of both.” He tells you as he tries to undo your button. You were having too much fun in the moment, you didn't want it to end just yet. You grab his hands, pushing him away from you, laughing as he runs his hands through his hair. He has never seen this giggling playful side of you before, and he was enjoying the fuck out of it.

“Y/N.” He says sternly, his hands on his hips.

“Minho.” You say, putting your hands on your hips, pushing your hip out, pursing your lips. He's trying to remain serious but he can't. He starts laughing as he rubs his face, groaning in frustration.

“Take off your pants!” He yells.

“Yes sir!” You giggle as you take off your pants, leaving you in your bra and panties. Minho hands you a pair of pj shorts that he grabbed from your dresser. You semi quickly put them on before turning around, facing away from him to unhook your bra. It slides down your body, onto the floor. You smile to yourself.

“I bet you're upset, huh?” You giggle, turning your head to look at him.

“Why would I be upset?” He asks.

“Cause you can't see my boobies.” You laugh, turning slightly to show him a little side boob. “I think you'd like them.” You say, looking at him. His eyes are focused down, looking at what you're showing him. “Tsk tsk, naughty boy.” You scold, slipping your shirt on, turning around to face him.

He stares at you, and you stare back. You examine his face, his large veiny arms and hands, his roughly tousled hair.

“Jisoo was right.” You whisper.

“About?” He asks.

“You.” You hiccup. “She said you were hot.”

“And what did you say?” He asks.

“I didn't say. Cause I don't need my words going to your thick ass head.” You giggle.

“If they wouldn't go to my head, what would you say?” He asks.

“That you're really fucking hot. But you're a little violent and hot headed.” You sigh. “Buuut you're not allowed to know that so shhh.. cause Jisung said you're off limits.”

“Since when do you do what your brother tells you?” He laughs.

“I listen to him!” you say. No you didn't. “Actually, never.” You hiccup.

He doesn't reply. He stands there, staring at you. You can feel your breath hitch as he moves closer towards you, the palm of his hand gently laying on your cheek as his face moves closer to yours. You close your eyes, the world is spinning as you feel his lips press against yours. You feel like you're melting into the kiss as your lips move against his, his tongue slowly sliding into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

You could have sworn this was a dream, like his lips were perfectly made for your own. He slowly pulls away, turning to look at the door, and that's when you hear it.

“Minho!”

It's your brother's voice. “Lee fucking Know!” He yells.

“Go to sleep.” He says to you, turning and walking out of your room. You lay down in your bed, closing your eyes. The world only spins for a moment before you pass out.

**

“I'm never drinking again.” You gasp as you crawl out of your bed, desperately trying to make your way to the bathroom to get some water. Your throat was the driest it had ever been and you felt like you might actually die. Once you reach the sink, you shove your head underneath, drinking all the cold water you could get into your mouth. Fuck it tastes good. When you're finally satisfied, you drag your feet to change into some comfier clothes before heading downstairs. Luckily you didn't have class until the afternoon today, so you could try to recover this morning. You grab some food from the fridge, eating it cold, ignoring the passed out people scattered around your house.

“Morning.” You hear. You turn to look, seeing Minho walk into the kitchen, heading for the fridge.

“Morning.” You sigh.

“Hungover?” He asks you, grabbing some juice. You whimper as you nod your head. He laughs. You turn to glare at him, when suddenly you remembered. You think you remembered at least.

“Did..” you pause. “We.. um.. actually nevermind.” You say, turning away from him.

“Did we, what?” He asks, grinning.

“Kiss?” You whisper, looking around, making sure Jisung wasn't around.

“Me and you?” He asks, shocked. “Did you have a sex dream about me?” He gasps, placing his hand over his chest.

“What!? No! I just had a flash.. of something.. and we were kissing.” You try to explain.

“I feel so violated.” He fake cries. “I wasn't aware you thought of me like that.”

“Who's thinking of you like what?” You hear. Jisung walks into the kitchen, grabbing your food off the counter.

“Y/N.” Minho says. “I think she's into me.” He laughs.

“Yeah right.” Jisung chuckles. “Neither of you are dumb enough to do that.”

You look at Minho as he looks at you. Neither of you were dumb enough.. right?

[space-cowgirllll]

Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call

saw someone asking where the angst was and what is a sad girl like me to do but deliver.

It's late. Far too late for the phone to be ringing. 

You lie on the couch still fully dressed in an itchy sweater, plaid skirt twisted uncomfortably, and an annoying run in your tights. The pins holding your hair up feel like they're ripping strands out with every shift of your head against the throw pillow. A headache has begun to form behind your eyes and you regret being so heavy handed while making that last cocktail.

The room around you is in disarray. Empty bottles litter every flat surface in the space, half drunk glasses line the kitchen counter, and crumbled wrapping paper is strewn about the floor. Soft music plays from the stereo in the corner, your favorite Christmas CD skips a little before the  song resumes. 

You breathe a sigh a relief when the shrill noise finally stops, the person hanging up before they got your answering machine. 

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who's calling. 

Laughter bleeds through the thin walls you share with your neighbors and loud footsteps sound from the unit above yours. Music you don't normally mind worsens the intense pressure building in your skull. Your eyes screw shut, regretting not taking up your friends on their offer to spend the night at their place. It hadn't occurred to you just how hard the memories would hit finding yourself alone in the same place you'd watched your life fall apart.

Maybe it was time to look into new apartments.

Hards to believe that just last year you'd hosted friends for the first time in your new place for Christmas dinner. Running back and forth the entire night, ever the perfect hostess, making sure everyone had enough to eat and their glasses stayed full. Shooing your girlfriend away whenever she tried to help. 

It wasn't until the gift exchange at the end of the night that she pulled you into the empty spot next to her. Both of you content to watch as your friends ripped into the presents underneath the tree. Drunk and wanting nothing more than the comfort your girlfriend provided, you moved closer, cheek nuzzling into the soft material of her sweater.

You were used to the way she tensed up any time you got too close in front of other people, but it didn't make it hurt any less. There was nothing subtle about the way she pulled away, scooting further down the couch. Your teeth dug harshly into the inside of your cheek, piercing the delicate skin. The side eye she'd given you left you speechless. You fought tears all the way to the guest bathroom.

And at the end of the night, after everyone had left, the two of you sat on the couch. Neither of you made a move to start cleaning up. Abby sat at the end of the couch, her thumbs pushing into the soles of your feet, the heeled boots you'd worn tossed atop a pile of empty gift boxes. You hadn't spoken a word to her, eyes glued to the twinkling lights of your Christmas tree. The tension had quickly become too much for her to handle.

"You're mad at me." She sighed. 

"I'm not." You kicked her hands away and rolled off the couch.

"You are. I didn't mean to move away like that." Abby scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest. "And you didn't have to be so dramatic about it."

"No, you did." She watched you angrily toss things into a trash bag. Tears clouded your vision. "God forbid our closest friends think we're too close to be just roommates."

She paced the small space. "Carly works with my mom. She saw the whole thing, what if she says something? You know how she is!"

"Would that be so bad Abigail?" You kicked an empty box out of the way. Your voice small. "That people knew - that your parents knew their adult daughter is dating a woman?" 

"Yes! Just drop it!" You watched in shock as she moved to grab her jacket. "This isn't worth losing my family over."

She'd rushed out of the apartment after that. The rest of her things gone before the New Year.

The phone rings again.

Your aching muscles groan in protest as you clumsily crawl over the worn couch cushions. A trembling had reaches for the phone. For a second you wonder if it's better to just let it keep ringing. It wasn't often that you answered these calls. You bring the receiver up to your ear, lips pulling down in a frown at Abby's loud voice. She shouts into the phone, slurring your name over the loud music and laughter. 

The heavy oak table shakes with the force of you slamming the receiver back into its cradle disconnecting the call. You chuckle humorlessly into the dimly lit room. Of course she was out partying while you were still stuck digging yourself out of the mess Abigail Anderson had made of your life. The loneliness all consuming. 

Though looking back on it now, you'd been alone even when you had the blonde warming your bed every night. You'd spent three long years waiting for Abby. Accepting that your relationship would only exist within the walls of your apartment. 

And when it was over, no one was the wiser. A mutual friend mentioned she'd moved back in with her parents and was dating the son of one of her father's colleagues. Told everyone she wanted a shorter commute to the hospital. 

None of your friends knew that the girl sitting across the table from you in the bar had ripped your heart out. The two of you making awkward small talk on the odd chance either of you were dragged into conversation. Abby pretending not to notice the silent rage in your eyes anytime you caught her staring. 

You let out a frustrated groan when the phone rings for the third time. Angry tears run down your face listening to your voice on the prerecorded outgoing message, and then the loud sniffling that follows the tone. 

"I know you're home." Her voice is thick with tears. "Answer the phone again. Please."

One after the other, half assed apologies flow from her mouth. There's drunken threats of showing up at your door. The regret heavy in her voice as she wishes things had been different. It was the same as every other time she's called. You had an answering machine full of them to prove it. 

Abby hears the unmistakable click of the phone and then a quiet shuffling indicating you picked up and the cellphone almost slips from her hands. Words fail Abby as she stands on the sidewalk across from the only place that had ever felt like home. A shadow moving in the window catches her eye.

"Hi." Her lips part, an apology on the tip of her tongue when your gravelly voice fills the silence.

"Stop calling." 

Without even thinking, you rip the cord from the wall, effectively silencing her protests. Wiping at your dampened cheeks, you move towards the bedroom. 

You had come to realize that Abby deserved time to come to terms with who she was without any added pressure, but you deserved things too. You deserved more than hands dropped when you accidentally reached for hers in public. More than having no choice but to sit back and watch men flirt with her and having to bite your tongue time and time again when introduced you as just her roommate. It was time to move on.

Maybe this time you'll finally change your number.

[itaipava]

— soft moments in the car with f1 boys.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

sunset drives where you flee the city and drive to the countryside; windows down, your favorite songs blaring, him holding your hand and pressing a lingering kiss on your palm and not quite letting go the whole drive. he glances at you a few too many times; you looking so carefree, wind blowing in your hair, the hazy orange glow of the golden hour falling on you beautifully; he thinks he couldn’t be more in love. you having to playfully scold him to keep his eyes on the road and him obeying with a bashful smile. and the drive goes on and on as you both bask in the sun.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

it is calming yet lively at the same time. endless chatter about whatever comes to your minds. or sometimes you’re just sharing a blissful moment of quietness, music very softly playing, when suddenly he loudly sings along which startles you and he hurriedly apologises before you both burst out laughing in amusement, and as laughter dies down and fades into lingering smiles, his hand finds yours, holding it gently and tracing your knuckles as he drives.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

bickering about which song to play in the car and ultimately using rock-paper-scissor to decide, except even when you lose, he begrudgingly chooses to play the song you wanted anyway. once, you’re both heartily singing along to the song and he gradually stops and simply listens to you sing your heart out with a smitten smile on his face, trying to keep his eyes on the road. and you don’t even realize that he has stopped singing along because you’re too immersed in the song; too immersed to notice the little, amused, affectionate glances at you as he falls in love all over again.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

when you’re sad or down, he takes you on late-night drives; no destination in mind, windows rolled down, this feeling of peace and contentment as the wind messes your hair and brushes you skin. “where to?” you would drive aimlessly around the city. this is how you discover some of the best places to get food or to buy cool, random things at souvenir shops. there is always amazing conversation going on or you’re lost around the area and blaming each other, which only ends in pure laughter, whatever troubles on your mind forgotten.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

he already said that he doesn’t really like driving because of the traffic, but he would love to see you driving; he thinks you look even more beautiful and he can’t stop looking at you. you playfully ask him why he’s looking so much and he just smiles at you - that smile that always makes you weak. he takes photos of you - or makes aesthetic videos to post in stories later - and he always plays your favorite songs. he holds one of your hands and brings it to his lips every now and then; stroking it with his thumb. it’s subtle and small gesture, but enough to show how much he loves you.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

he does this thing where he slightly leans forward on the steering wheel and watches you get on the car with that adoring half-smile of his. on long drives, he always moves his hand from the car’s stick shift to your thigh and when you place your hand on top of his, he shoots you a brief glance then happily sighs as he looks back on the road.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

playfully bickering, talking over each other and over the sound of the music until he grabs your face and shuts you up with a kiss when he reaches the stop light; remembering where you are only when someone honks, the traffic lights having turned again, and you both giving each other the ‘oh shit’ look before you drive away in a fit of giggles and laughter.