#EDIT: GOD- DAMN IT EVERY TIME I POST I FORGET SOMETHING

[jukebox-spamton]

*Tires to insert a disc in his mouth tries to insert a disc in his mouth tries to ins*

"NOT LIKE THAT ANYWAY."

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚖𝚒𝚌’𝚍 𝚞𝚙 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which it’s just you, paige and a camera you forget is there

You’ve done this a hundred times—more, probably—but today feels different.

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of LED panels and the occasional creak of your chair as you adjust your posture for the fifth time in ten minutes. Your assistant, Em, is in the editing bay making last-minute tweaks to the intro roll, but you can still feel her watching you through the glass with that knowing grin. She’s already teased you enough this morning.

“You’re fixing your hair again,” she says into your earpiece, voice crackling through the comm. “It looks fine. You look fine. Stop.”

You roll your eyes and shoot a sarcastic thumbs-up at the one-way glass, ignoring the slight heat in your cheeks.

Fine isn’t good enough today.

Because today, your guest isn’t just a guest. She’s the guest.

Paige Bueckers.

And yeah, sure, you’ve interviewed top tier athletes before—Megan Rapinoe, Candace Parker, even Serena Williams via video call once—but something about Paige is different. Maybe it’s the way she plays like poetry in motion. Maybe it’s how she carries herself—quiet, thoughtful, deadly on the court and disarmingly soft off of it. Maybe it’s just the damn smile you’ve seen in a hundred slow motion TikToks that fans lovingly post after every Dallas Wings game.

Or maybe, more realistically, it’s that you’ve had a crush on her since UConn, and you’re two hours away from sharing a couch and a mic with her for an hour straight.

“She Scores” has always been your passion project. What started as a niche podcast in your college dorm now pulls millions of listeners every week. You’re known for being sharp, knowledgeable, casually flirty without being pushy, and for asking questions no one else thinks to ask. But beneath all the polish and prep, you’re still just a massive women’s sports nerd who gets giddy when you get to sit down with the athletes who shaped the game.

You run through your notes again—childhood, UConn, transition to the W, off-day hobbies, rapid fire—but you already know you won’t stick to them perfectly. You never do. The best conversations happen when you let things drift. You’re just hoping you don’t drift too far into Oh my god she’s so pretty, stay normal territory.

Em buzzes back in.

“Just got word—she’s on her way up.”

You freeze for a beat, then rise from your chair and take a deep breath, brushing invisible dust off your vintage Lisa Leslie hoodie. You’re wearing sneakers that cost too much and jeans that hug just right, and your hair has been sitting at an intentional degree of messy for the past hour. Cool. Collected. Professional. Mostly.

The knock at the door is soft. You turn as your producer opens it, and there she is.

Paige Bueckers.

And she’s early.

You didn’t expect that.

She’s dressed in a simple grey zip-up and black sweatpants, no makeup, hair pulled back into a loose bun. Effortlessly beautiful. A little taller than you imagined—though that might be the sneakers. Her eyes meet yours, blue and steady, and she smiles.

“Hey,” she says, voice quieter than you thought it’d be. “I’m Paige.”

As if you didn’t know.

You step forward, trying not to radiate pure gay panic. “Hey! Welcome. I’m so glad you could make it. And you’re early, which automatically makes you my favorite guest.”

She laughs, short and real. “I was scared of LA traffic. Got lucky, I guess.”

You offer her water. She takes it. Her fingers brush yours for a second too long. Or maybe not long enough.

“You good to hang out in the green room for a bit?” you ask. “We don’t record for another half hour, but I figured it might be nice to talk first. Get comfortable.”

“I’d like that,” she says, and your heart taps out a Morse code you hope doesn’t show on your face.

You lead her to the smaller side room off the main studio, a cozy space with a worn leather couch, some plants that are somehow still alive, and shelves lined with sports memorabilia—signed basketballs, framed jerseys, candid photos with former guests. She walks past the wall and pauses when she sees the signed Sue Bird jersey.

“You’ve had Sue on here?” she asks, blinking.

You grin. “Yeah. She wore that jersey the first time we talked. She signed it after I beat her in a game of HORSE.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “You beat Sue Bird in HORSE?”

“Well, technically, I distracted her by asking about her some dumbass question, but a win is a win.”

She smiles again—wider this time—and sinks into the couch, folding one leg under herself.

“So, do I get the same treatment?” she asks. “You gonna ambush me with personal questions?”

“Nope,” you reply, sitting across from her. “I already know pretty much a lot. Twitter’s been over that since the UConn days.”

She groans softly, tipping her head back. “God. Twitter knows too much.”

You watch her for a moment, just… existing. Relaxed. Present. And you realize she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys small talk for its own sake. But you also don’t want to jump right into deep questions.

“You nervous?” you ask instead. Simple. Honest.

She shrugs. “A little. I’ve seen your podcast before. You don’t really let people off the hook.”

You smirk. “That’s true. But you’re in good hands.”

She looks at you, and something flickers between you. Not full-blown tension yet, but something.

You glance down at your phone, pretending to check the time. You’re stalling, which is dumb. You never stall.

“You wanna run through the outline real quick?” you offer. “Just to know what’s coming.”

She tilts her head. “Or… we could wing it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Winging it with a podcaster is dangerous, Bueckers.”

“I like dangerous,” she says, then blinks like she didn’t mean to say it quite like that.

You catch it. You catch everything.

“Well,” you say, standing, “let’s give the people what they want.”

She follows you back into the studio, her presence magnetic even in silence. Your team starts final checks—lighting, mic levels, camera angles. You settle onto the couch next to her, not too close, not too far. You adjust your notes, but your hands aren’t shaking.

Not anymore.

She turns to you, just before you go live.

“You good?” she asks.

It’s simple, but the way she says it—grounded, like she sees you—settles something in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting her eyes. “You?”

She nods once. “Let’s do it.”

The red light is on, the music fades out, and you smile into the mic.

“Welcome back to She Scores, the podcast that unapologetically talks all things women’s sports—from buzzer beaters to backdoor cuts and everything in between. I’m your host, and today… listen. You already know. I don’t even need to hype this up but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

You turn your body slightly, just enough to face her.

“Joining me in the studio is a certified bucket. UConn royalty. NCAA Player of the Year, ESPY winner, national champion, and now… Dallas Wings rookie and all-around media mystery—Paige Bueckers. Paige, hi.”

She’s already smiling, eyes wide and slightly amused. She leans forward, adjusting the mic with practiced ease.

“Hey. Wow. That was… a lot.”

You smirk. “Too much?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “Just… you made me sound way cooler than I feel.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” you tease. “Making legends sound approachable.”

She lets out a little breath, like she’s trying not to smile harder than she should. Already, the chemistry crackles—not obvious to the untrained eye, but fans at home are going to pick up on this. Especially the ones with compilation and edit accounts.

“So how does it feel?” you ask. “The WNBA. First season. First media tour. Sitting across from me. Try not to be overwhelmed.”

She laughs again, easing into her seat. “It’s surreal. All of it. Some days I wake up and still feel like I’m on a college schedule. Like I’m supposed to be running sprints at 6AM.”

“Trauma.”

“Literal trauma,” she confirms, mock serious.

You nod. “We’ll get into UConn trauma in a second. But first, let’s take it back. Way, way back. Minnesota. Hopkins. Little Paigey. What’s your first basketball memory?”

She pauses thoughtfully. “I think I was maybe three? My dad had this mini hoop in our living room. The kind that’s too low for anyone over four feet tall.”

“Unfair advantage,” you interject.

“Exactly. But I remember shooting on that every day. He taught me how to pass. We’d play these one on one games—he’d let me score just enough to keep me hooked. And then when I finally beat him for real, I cried.”

“Wait, you cried?”

“Yeah,” she says, almost sheepish. “Like ugly cried. I didn’t know what to do with the win.”

“That’s deeply poetic,” you say. “Beating the person who taught you. The origin story of a future number one overall pick.”

She shrugs, but she’s glowing a little. “I just liked the sound of the ball going through the net. I still do.”

There’s a moment there—small, golden. You don’t rush it.

“You talk about that sound like it’s music.”

She glances at you. “It kinda is, right?”

Your smile deepens. “See, this is why I’m glad this isn’t a live podcast. People would already be tweeting unhinged things. Like we’re flirting.”

She laughs, but there’s something in her eyes—a flash of interest, maybe curiosity. “Are we?”

“Dunno,” you say, flipping a pen between your fingers. “We’ll let the comment section decide.”

She leans forward a bit more, playful. “Dangerous game.”

“I like dangerous,” you echo, and there it is again—like you’re circling something neither of you fully plan to name. You redirect, but only slightly. “So when did it get serious? Like, serious serious. When did Paige Bueckers go from ‘cute kid with a mini hoop’ to ‘national recruit and Gatorade Player of the Year’?”

Her smile fades into something more grounded, thoughtful.

“Probably middle school. I was playing up against older kids. My coaches were honest with me early—they told me I had potential, but I had to want it. Like, really want it.”

You nod, sipping from your water as you watch her speak. “And you did.”

“I did,” she says. “I still do. I don’t think that’s ever changed.”

You scribble something in your notebook, not because you need to, but because you need to look away for a second. The way she talks—low, deliberate, with that quiet confidence—makes it a little hard to keep your cool. You’ve interviewed charismatic people before. But Paige? She’s that rare mix of humble and magnetic. The kind that makes you forget you’re working.

“Talk to me about Hopkins,” you say. “You were a walking headline by, like, freshman year.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh. I was also a walking awkward phase.”

“You and every lesbian born in the early 2000s,” you reply.

She laughs, covering her mouth for a second. “I didn’t even know back then—”

“Oh, sweetie,” you say, deadpan. “We all knew.”

She tilts her head, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you outing me on my own episode?”

“Absolutely not. But girl, be so for real right now.”

“Wow,” she says, laughing, “this is targeted.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Just doing my journalistic duty.”

The banter flows, faster now. She’s open, unguarded. You ask about pressure, expectations, media narratives. She gives measured but honest responses. You don’t grill—never do—but you go deep, and she meets you there.

You click your pen like it matters, but you’re not taking notes anymore. Not really. You’re just watching her speak—fluid, honest, careful in a way that doesn’t hide anything but still keeps a part of her close to the chest.

“So, let’s talk about it,” you say, leaning back in your chair, mic close to your mouth. “The elephant in the room.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, amused. “There’s an elephant?”

“There is,” you nod seriously. “Its name is Geno Auriemma.”

She laughs—light, warm, fond.

“Oh, God.”

“No, no, we’re gonna go there,” you grin. “Because we’ve talked about Minnesota, we’ve talked about middle school, we’ve talked about how you terrorized local basketball courts by age twelve. But I want to know—why UConn? Why Geno? You had offers from literally everyone.”

She exhales slowly, as if this is a question she’s answered before but never gets tired of answering.

“I think... deep down, I always knew.”

“Why though?”

“The legacy,” she says first. “The culture. The players who came before me. It wasn’t just about playing at a top program. It was about pressure. UConn has this... weight to it. You don’t go there unless you’re willing to be great.”

You tilt your head, lips curling.

“So you just wanted to be surrounded by greatness?”

She smirks back. “Yeah. Kind of like right now.”

You cough, trying to cover the grin that breaks out too fast.

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head. “Are you flirting with your host mid answer?”

“You started it.”

“Very unprofessional. I’m literally just doing my job.”

“And doing it very well,” she says, with zero hesitation.

You blink. The room feels warmer. Or maybe it’s just you. You pull it back together, even if it takes effort.

“Okay. Back on track before I combust,” you mutter. “UConn. Talk me through it. Year one. Year two. Everything.”

She exhales again, a little softer now.

“It changed me,” she says simply.

You let the pause settle. “How?”

She looks at the ceiling, then down at her hands, fingers lightly curled in her lap. “I think there’s this myth that when you get to a place like UConn, you arrive fully formed. Like, you’re already who you’re supposed to be. But I wasn’t. Not even close.”

You nod, gently. “None of us are at eighteen.”

“I was scared,” she admits. “I was confident on the court, yeah. But everything off it? The pressure. The expectations. The comparisons. It messed with my head.”

There’s no pity in your expression—just knowing. You’ve watched too many athletes burn out under the same spotlight.

“I got hurt, too,” she continues. “Sophomore year. That knee.”

Your voice softens. “I remember.”

“Everyone remembers. It’s weird, you know? Being reduced to a timeline. ���Six weeks out. Six months. A year. Will she be back for March? Is she ever gonna be the same?’ I stopped being a person and started being... a question.”

You don’t rush in with sympathy. You just let her have the silence. She fills it naturally.

“But I had people,” she says, voice gentler now. “My teammates. The trainers. Geno.”

“What was he like through that?” you ask. “Because people love to paint him as this gruff, yelling machine.”

She grins. “He is. But also... he listens. When you let him. When I was quiet—too quiet—he noticed. And he pulled me aside one day after practice. Didn’t yell. Just said, ‘I know it sucks. But you’re still here. That matters.’”

You write that quote down before you realize you’re doing it.

You glance at her again, and she’s watching you with a kind of cautious ease, like she’s not used to people writing her words down without turning them into headlines.

You smile. “You grew up at UConn.”

She nods. “I really did.”

“Who was your rock while you were there?”

“Azzi,” she says immediately.

There’s a new kind of stillness in her voice. Familial, rooted, undeniable.

“Azzi was—she is—one of the most disciplined people I’ve ever met,” Paige continues. “Like, I’d be on the couch recovering and she’d come in from shooting for two hours and say, ‘Want to play Uno?’ Like it was nothing.”

You laugh. “What’s the Uno score between you two?”

“Oh, I stopped keeping track when I realized she cheats.”

“She what?”

“Allegedly,” Paige adds, eyes twinkling.

You grin. “I’m putting that in the episode title. ‘Paige Bueckers Accuses Azzi Fudd of Cheating at Uno.’”

“She’s gonna kill me,” Paige laughs.

“She’ll love it.” You hesitate. “It sounds like you really leaned on her.”

“I did,” she says. “But not just for the injuries or the hard stuff. For the little stuff too. Like, post-game takeout orders. Netflix recs. The stupid stuff that makes it all feel normal.”

“And what about team chemistry?” you ask. “Because from the outside, that UConn squad felt... locked in. Like you’d die for each other.”

“We would’ve,” she says softly.

You’re quiet for a beat. “That real, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, we had our fights. We had our off days. But we always knew how to come back to center. I think that’s what made it work.”

You sit in that. The weight of it. The warmth.

“What was the moment you knew,” you ask slowly, “that you weren’t just good—you were built for this?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her mouth moves around the air like she’s sifting through time.

“There was a game my junior year,” she says. “We were down at halftime. I’d missed, like, seven shots. Geno told me I looked like I forgot who I was.”

You smile at the phrasing. “Classic.”

“Yeah. But it hit me. Because he was right. I’d let doubt take over. So the second half, I didn’t think. I just played. And I think I had, like... seventeen points in the third quarter alone.”

You whistle. “That’s not just playing. That’s poetry.”

She shrugs. “That’s UConn.”

You glance down, heart still tight from the way she said all of it—like she left pieces of herself behind on that court.

“You ever miss it?” you ask gently.

She nods, quick. “All the time.”

“What do you miss most?”

There’s a pause. Then, “The routine. The locker room. The smell of old sweat and bad jokes. Running suicides and pretending not to cry. Group chats about who forgot to bring their shoes. You know—real team stuff.”

“God,” you murmur, laughing, “that’s weirdly specific and deeply nostalgic.”

She grins. “It’s the stuff no one sees that sticks.” You nod again, feeling it. You’ve never been a college athlete, but you’ve been on enough sidelines to understand how those echoes live in you long after the lights fade. “And I trusted my gut when I went there. I still do.” You lift your gaze. Her voice drops, just slightly. “It’s never let me down.”

Your breath hitches.

Something about the way she says it—low, unwavering, not for show—cracks open a tiny place in you. You mirror it without thinking.

“I know what you mean,” you say. Your voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.

There’s a beat. Neither of you look away. Neither of you speak. The silence stretches—not uncomfortable, not forced. Just... full.

If Em were in the room, she’d throw something at you. If your editor were watching live, they’d be marking timestamps for clips. You only break the stare because you have to. Not because you want to. You glance down at your notes, which might as well be written in a foreign language now. Nothing on the page matters as much as the thing still buzzing between you and her. When you look back up, Paige is watching you like she’s been doing it the whole time.

You clear your throat. “Well. That was a moment.”

She tilts her head. “Was it?”

“I think I blacked out.”

She laughs, soft and low. “You should trust your gut more.”

You smile, a little breathless. “I think I just did.”

The mics are still rolling. But it doesn’t feel like they’re there.

You ease into the next part of the conversation with practiced grace, but inside, your heart’s still caught on that last moment. The weight of her words. The look that didn’t blink. You’ve had sparks with guests before, but this… this isn’t a spark. It’s a slow burn, one you feel blooming low in your chest, rising like tidewater. Dangerous. Delicious. And entirely unprofessional. But you’re past the point of pretending you don’t enjoy it.

“So,” you say into the mic, voice steadied by muscle memory more than calm, “we’ve talked childhood. We’ve talked college. Let’s talk now. Dallas. Big city. New team. WNBA life. What’s that been like for you so far?”

Paige shifts in her seat. She’s a little more relaxed now—arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly spinning the cap of her water bottle. She smiles, slow and thoughtful.

“It’s... a lot,” she admits, almost laughing at herself. “There’s no other way to say it. It’s fast. Like, faster than I expected. Not just the game—though the speed of the league is insane—but everything. Schedules. Flights. Practices. Media. I feel like I live out of a suitcase now.”

You lean forward a little, eyes on her. “No more dorm room comfort zones.”

“Exactly. I miss knowing where everything is. My spots. The routine. But this—this is pushing me. It’s making me grow. I like that.”

“Tell me about the team,” you say, pen loosely tucked behind your ear, even though you’re not using it anymore. “Because that’s not just any locker room. You’ve got Arike. You’ve got DiJonai. That’s some serious personality to walk into.”

She laughs, head tilting back for a second. “It’s wild. In the best way. Arike’s got this energy that’s just... loud in the most joyful, chaotic way. She’ll walk into practice already roasting everyone. And DiJonai is the most stylish person I’ve ever met. She’ll show up in a full fit at 8 a.m. like it’s fashion week.”

You grin. “Do you feel like the rookie?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, smiling again. “They keep me humble. Arike made me carry her bag once just because I beat her at a shooting drill.”

“That’s hazing.”

“She called it character building.”

“Same thing.”

“She’s lucky I like her.”

“You like them both?”

“I do,” she says, with warmth that feels earned. “It’s different from college. You don’t have that built-in family right away. You’ve gotta prove yourself. Earn their trust. But they’ve been really supportive. Even when I mess up. Especially when I mess up.”

“Do you mess up a lot?”

She shrugs. “I think everyone does. But I try to learn fast.”

“And leadership?” you ask. “You were the leader at UConn. Now you’re the rookie again. How’s that shift been?”

She hesitates—just enough for you to catch it.

“It’s humbling,” she says after a beat. “At UConn, people looked to me. Now I’m learning to speak less, listen more. It’s weird, finding your voice again. In a new system. A new city.”

You nod. “For what it’s worth? You’re doing a good job here.”

Her eyes flick to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve got presence. And you don’t dodge the real stuff.”

A pause. Not long, but full. Charged.

“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve gotten all week,” she says, voice low.

“Maybe I’ll try to beat it before we’re done.”

“Now that’s dangerous,” she says, echoing the phrase from earlier, lips twitching at the edges.

The air between you pulls tighter, warmer. You push forward before it swallows you whole.

“All right,” you say, clearing your throat like that’ll clear the heat in your chest. “Walk me through a day in the life of Paige Bueckers. Not game day. Just... a random off-day in Dallas.”

She exhales like it’s a relief to shift gears.

“I wake up late,” she admits, eyes flicking to yours like she’s confessing a crime. “I’m not a morning person unless I have to be. So maybe 9:30, 10?”

“A rebel,” you murmur.

She smiles. “I stretch. Journal sometimes. Depends on the mood. Then maybe a walk. I like walking. Especially in new places.”

“City walks? Nature? What’s the vibe?”

“City. I like the noise. Headphones in. No destination.”

You hum. “You people watch?”

“Always.”

“And the music?”

She smirks. “What do you think I listen to?”

You blink, caught off guard by the pivot. “Oh, we’re flipping the interview now?”

“Just curious,” she says, but there’s a glint in her eye. “What does your gut tell you?”

You lean back, arms crossed, mock-thinking.

“You strike me as an R&B girl,” you say. “Smooth, layered, a little introverted. You’ve definitely got some SZA in rotation. Maybe Summer Walker. Some old Alicia Keys when you’re feeling dramatic.”

She raises an eyebrow, impressed.

“But,” you continue, slowly, “I also think you secretly listen to sad Taylor Swift songs on planes.”

That does it. She laughs so hard she folds in on herself, hand over her mouth.

“I—how did you—”

“I knew it,” you say, victorious. “You’re a ‘Clean’ or ‘The Archer’ type, huh?”

She’s still laughing. “You don’t miss.”

“You are the archer,” you tease. “Careful aim. Hidden feelings. Lowkey brooding.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re exposing me.”

“You exposed yourself, Bueckers.”

She grins. “You’ve been studying me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just doing my homework.”

“Dangerous,” she repeats again, softer this time.

You catch her gaze, and there it is—something wordless passing between you. Not scripted. Not planned. Just real.

Em’s voice crackles in your ear piece again, distant but amused, “Tell them to get a room.”

You cough. “Sorry, my producer says we’re flirting too hard.”

“Is she wrong?” Paige asks, still smiling.

“Isn’t that for the audience to decide?”

You both laugh. But it’s different now—layered. Knowing. You glance back down at your outline and realize, again, that you haven’t touched it in ten minutes.

“Any hobbies?” you ask, lighter now. “Other than walking with your headphones in and contemplating your entire emotional landscape through sad pop lyrics?”

She groans. “Stop.”

You grin. “Never.”

“I read,” she offers, regaining composure. “Mostly sports bios, but sometimes fiction. Stuff that lets me disappear a little.”

“And when you want to reappear?”

She looks at you, half-tilted smile, eyes softer. “I guess… I come back to things like this. Conversations. People who see me.”

You weren’t ready for that one. You blink, breath catching in your throat.

“Well,” you say, voice suddenly a little unsteady, “hi.”

She mirrors your tone. “Hi.”

And for the third time in less than an hour, you forget entirely that there are cameras on.

You lean back into your chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“All right,” you say, tone shifting into something more playful, “you’ve survived the deep dive. You’ve given us poetry, heartbreak, growth arcs. But now it’s time for the real journalism.”

Paige raises a brow, lips twitching. “Oh no.”

“Rapid fire round,” you announce, adjusting your mic dramatically. “No overthinking. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. You ready?”

She nods slowly, suspicious but smiling. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Favorite cheat meal.”

“Chick-fil-A. Spicy deluxe.”

You fake a gasp. “Problematic and spicy. Bold choice.”

She snorts. “Gotta be honest.”

“Pre-game ritual?”

“Getting lost in the music. Right sock on before the left.”

“Superstitious or just vibing?”

“Superstitious. Like, irrationally.”

You make a note. “We’ll revisit that in therapy.”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“Biggest pet peeve?”

“People chewing with their mouths open.”

“That’s fair. What are you bad at?”

There’s a pause, a beat longer than expected. She licks her lips, almost shy.

“Texting back,” she admits.

“Oh?” You lean forward, faux serious. “We’ve found the flaw.”

“Hey,” she says, defensive but laughing. “I read them! I just… don’t reply. Or I do, like, in my head. It’s a problem.”

“You know,” you muse, “that’s dangerous behavior for someone flirting on a podcast.”

She meets your gaze, eyes gleaming. “Who says I won’t reply to you?”

The silence after that is louder than anything you’ve recorded today.

You raise your brows, smirk playing at the edge of your mouth. “We’ll circle back.”

She grins. “Looking forward to it.”

You break eye contact because if you don’t, you’ll fall face-first into it again. Instead, you shuffle your notes, breathe slowly, and shift the tone with practiced ease.

“So,” you say, quieter now, “can I tell you something?”

Paige blinks, surprised by the sudden turn, but nods. “Yeah.”

You rest your elbows on your knees, fingers laced loosely. The studio feels smaller now, intimate. Like the lights have dimmed without anyone touching a switch.

“I started this podcast in my college dorm,” you begin. “Borrowed mics. Blankets tacked on the walls for soundproofing. No sponsors. No following. Just… this need to make space for women’s sports. For athletes who were always doing the most and getting the least attention.”

Paige’s expression shifts—softer, listening in a different way.

“I was mad,” you continue. “That no one was talking about it. Mad that I had to dig through forums and niche blogs to find out when a W game was airing. Mad that girls were breaking records and getting two seconds of coverage between football updates.”

You glance at her, and she’s not smiling anymore. She’s just watching you, gaze warm and unwavering.

“So I built this,” you say. “One episode at a time. And now we’re here. You’re here. And it means a lot.”

She sits with that. Doesn’t rush to respond. Just lets it breathe.

Then she says, quiet and sincere, “Thank you.”

You look up. “For what?”

“For doing it,” she replies. “For caring. For showing up. For giving people like me space to be more than stats and soundbites.”

It hits you harder than you expect. You swallow, nod.

“Sometimes it feels like yelling into the void,” you admit.

“Well,” she says, voice steady, “I hear you.”

And God, the way she says it. Like it’s not just about this podcast. Like she sees more than you’re willing to show. Like she’s been listening to you, even before she stepped into the studio.

The moment lingers. Longer than it should. Neither of you moves. Neither of you speaks. You’re the first to shift, eyes flicking down to your notes. But your voice is soft when you ask the next question.

“All right. Last one. No pressure.”

She leans back a little, sensing the shift. “Hit me.”

“What’s something people always get wrong about you?”

There’s a pause. A long one. Paige’s gaze drops to her hands, fingers twisting the cap of her water bottle again. She breathes in slowly, then out.

“That I’m always put together,” she says finally.

You don’t speak. You just let her keep going.

“I think people look at the highlights and the press and assume I’ve got it all figured out. That I’m calm. Collected. That I don’t break down. But I do. A lot. I get nervous. I overthink. I put so much pressure on myself it sometimes feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her voice doesn’t shake, but it thins a little at the edges.

“I smile through it, because that’s what people expect. But inside? I’m scared all the time. That I’m not enough. That I’ll mess up. That they’ll stop believing in me.”

You nod, slow. “That’s real.”

She exhales. “Yeah.”

You glance at her, and your tone gentles even more.

“Me too,” you say.

She turns toward you.

“I get nervous before every interview,” you admit. “Even now. Especially now.”

Her brows lift slightly. “With me?”

You nod. “Yeah. You’re… more than I expected.” That makes her smile again. Small. Honest. “You’re doing great,” you tell her.

“So are you,” she replies, and something shifts again in the air—like a curtain pulled back, or a room getting quieter when someone important walks in.

The lights haven’t changed. The mics are still on. But everything feels different. You don’t need to say anything else. You just sit in it. Together.

You’ve never wanted an interview to end less.

It’s not just that the episode’s been good—though, objectively, it’s been one of your best. The pacing, the banter, the rhythm. The intimacy that crept in somewhere around the midpoint and never left. It’s all been magnetic. Electric. Like your favorite kind of story, the one you fall into so deeply you forget you’re holding the book.

But time’s up. You feel it before Em signals it in your ear. Before the last question fades into a silence thick with things unsaid.

You tap the edge of the mic once and clear your throat, voice calm but low.

“Well… that’s gonna do it for today’s episode of She Scores.”

Paige’s eyes are still on you, softer than they were an hour ago.

You glance at her, smile twitching at the corners of your mouth.

“Paige Bueckers, thank you for coming through, for sharing your story, and for ruining all other guests for me from this point forward.”

She laughs under her breath. “High praise.”

“I mean it,” you say, more serious now. “This was special.”

She doesn’t speak right away. When she does, her voice is quiet.

“I had fun,” she says.

You nod once, throat tightening for some reason you don’t have time to name.

“I’m your host,” you say into the mic, still looking at her, “and if you need me, I’ll be rewatching this episode on mute just to study eye contact.”

She lets out a full laugh—quiet, disbelieving, charmed. You don’t break the stare.

“And as always,” you finish, voice slow and warm, “thanks for listening. We’ll see you next time.”

The red light clicks off.

The studio doesn’t move right away. It rarely does. Your crew’s used to your pacing, your cadence. They let the moment breathe. But eventually, lights dim to neutral, camera arms swing away, and a few muted voices pick up as people begin unplugging cables and shutting down feeds.

You lean back in your seat, drawing a slow breath.

She stretches her legs slightly, then looks over at you. “That went fast.”

You nod. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

She stands first. You do the same. Neither of you rushes.

Em walks past the set, holding a half-rolled cable over her shoulder. She catches your eye and smirks. You ignore her.

Paige lingers by the couch, hands in her pockets, looking around the studio like she wants to memorize it.

You don’t say anything. You just watch her watching everything.

After a beat, you walk over and gesture toward the door.

“I’ll walk you out.”

She nods. “Cool.”

You step into the quiet hallway side by side. The air’s cooler here, and the low hum of fluorescent lights follows you down the corridor until you reach the side exit near the green room. You stop there, under a small overhead light. It's soft. Pale. Like a halo waiting to happen.

Paige turns slightly and leans back against the wall, her shoulder brushing the cool brick, arms crossed loosely.

“You’re really good at this,” she says.

You tilt your head, amused. “The podcast?”

She shrugs. “All of it. This space. The way you talk to people. It feels... safe.”

That takes the wind out of you a little. In the best way.

You take a small step closer.

“You made it easy,” you say, voice low.

She smiles again. Not wide. Just real. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then—without a word—she pulls out her phone and holds it toward you, screen lit up on the contact page.

“In case I need help prepping for interviews,” she says. You take the phone, eyebrows raised. “Or something like that,” she adds, teasing but quiet.

You type in your number, thumb hovering for a second before you hit save. You don’t add an emoji or anything extra. Just your name. Clean. Simple. But your heart’s not moving simple. It’s skipping. Tripping.

You hand the phone back and she looks at it for a second, nods once, then locks the screen and slips it back into her pocket.

“Well,” she says.

“Well,” you echo.

The silence stretches again, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Just unfinished.

You don’t hug. You don’t say too much. You don’t have to.

She opens the door and steps out into the early evening light. You watch her walk down the path toward the lot—hair catching gold from the sunset, one headphone already in.

She doesn’t look back.

But you stay there, standing in the doorway, your hands tucked into your pockets like maybe they’ll keep you from feeling too much.

A moment later, Em walks up behind you, pausing in the doorway.

She glances at Paige’s retreating figure. Then at you. “You are so down bad.”

You exhale. Slow. A smile cracks the corner of your mouth.

“I know.”

You don’t deny it. You just watch the door swing slowly shut, and try not to already miss her.

It’s just past 8:30 p.m. when a knock comes.

You’re on your couch, bare-faced, in sweats, hair tied up in a lopsided bun. The post-interview high has settled into a quiet hum in your chest, the kind that doesn’t want to fade but also can’t be sustained. You haven’t eaten yet. A half-empty glass of wine sits on the coffee table. The remote’s resting on your stomach. You were debating rewatching the episode clips Em already sent you—Paige’s soft laugh on loop, her eyes lingering on yours like there was more she wasn’t saying.

You haven’t even touched your phone. You’ve been too afraid to find out whether she texted or didn’t.

The knock happens again.

You freeze.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Not food delivery, not friends, not—

No.

No way.

You rise slowly, heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears, and pad barefoot toward the door.

When you open it, you forget how to breathe.

Paige Bueckers is standing on your doorstep, backlit by the hallway’s overhead glow, a bunch of wildflowers in one hand and two overfilled grocery bags in the other. She’s wearing joggers and a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, hair down, glasses slightly crooked, like she threw the whole look together in a rush.

You stare.

She blinks, then offers a crooked smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you echo, dumbly.

She lifts the flowers a little. “So… I might’ve told Em I wanted to see you again and she might’ve given me your address.”

You narrow your eyes. “That little traitor.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘She’s down bad so don’t mess this up.’”

You groan into your hand.

“You’re not the only one,” Paige adds, laughing.

You step back and open the door wider. “Get in here before someone sees you and sells the story to DeuxMoi.”

She steps inside. You take the grocery bags from her hand, eyes scanning their contents—pasta, wine, garlic bread, salad mix, two pints of ice cream, and a suspiciously expensive-looking block of parmesan.

You blink. “This is… a lot of food.”

“I panicked,” she admits, cheeks pink. “I was going to ask you out for dinner tomorrow, but then I realized I didn’t want to wait.”

You look up at her.

She shrugs. “Is that weird?”

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s—God, it’s not weird. It’s really not weird.”

“Good.” She shifts the flowers in her arms. “Because I was kind of already halfway here when I realized I didn’t actually ask.”

You reach for the flowers. “Consider me asked. And saying yes.” You pause. “Like… yes, yes.”

“Yeah?” she asks, a little breathless.

You grin. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re both barefoot in your kitchen. She’s stirring the sauce while you try, and fail, to open the bottle of wine. Soft music plays from the speaker you usually reserve for sad Sunday cleaning sessions.

There’s flour on your cheek, red sauce on her hoodie sleeve, and an entire salad still untouched in a bowl because the two of you got distracted talking about pre-game pump up songs and you accidentally brought up her Rookie of the Month highlight reel with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I knew you watched that ten times,” she teases, hip bumping you lightly.

“I was doing research.”

“For what? Your dreams?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

She sets the spoon down and turns to you, leaning her hip into the counter. “This is nice.”

You nod, heart thudding against your ribs. “It is.”

You’re quiet for a second. Not uncomfortable—just full again. The kind of silence where things settle without losing spark.

Then she tilts her head.

“I didn’t want the night to end,” she says, voice lower now. “After the podcast. I kept thinking about everything I didn’t say.”

“Like what?” you ask, careful not to move too fast.

She meets your gaze. “Like how I didn’t want it to be just one interview. Or one conversation. Or one night.”

Your breath catches.

She steps a little closer, the space between you narrowing to something charged.

“I know we’re both busy,” she murmurs. “Schedules. Travel. Different States. Media stuff. But I wanted you to know that I meant it—when I said you made me feel safe. Like I could be myself.”

You swallow. “You were yourself.”

“Because of you,” she says, no hesitation.

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of her, the steadiness in her voice. Her hand brushes yours on the countertop.

“So,” she says softly, “if this is just dinner, that’s okay. But if it’s something more—if it could be more—I’d like that.”

You don’t speak. You just lean in and press your forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut, everything inside you humming.

“I’d like that too,” you whisper.

Her fingers graze yours, then hold.

Outside, the city keeps moving—cars passing, lights blinking, lives rushing past. But in your kitchen, time slows down. The sauce simmers. The wine breathes. And for the first time in a long time, so do you.

[goldfades]

Can you do a pt.2 of UConn wbb manager headcannon pleasee

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ─ UCONN WBB MANAGER

─ warnings | mentions of injuries, fluffy, nothing else?

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @uraesthete @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

there are soooo many videos of manager getting upset over dumb calls that they make on the court

and people like read her lips and it's so funny because she'll just cuss them out not knowing there's a camera on her

like she gets pissed but since she can't get involved, she'll just talk to herself as she takes pictures

they become reaction pictures

the caption would be like "when my mom pisses me off but i can't let her hear" or something like that

there are a lot of videos of manager being really sassy but there are PLENTY of her being a sweetheart

especially to fans!!!!!!

not necessarily like clips or anything but anyone who's met her LOVES HER

she will gladly take pics of you and the player she's with, and not only that but baby girl will get ALL the angles

it's adorable

i feel everyone is very protective of manager but ESPECIALLY kk and paige because they're like her guard dogs

this may be like a really niche example but kinda like kiyoko in haikyuu??? yeah...

also NIKA

paige/kk get really protective over literally anything so it's just them tryna make you laugh when they're protective, but you/nika have a different dynamic where it's like

if anyone tries to disrespect you, not only will they have to deal with paige/kk but NIKA

and she's sm scarier than them no offense...

you know you've made into manager's heart when she starts to tease you because she's like... not being too professional with you anymore

especially like the freshman, ooo she loves teasing them

in this ask, where nonnie talks about how the team brings out manager's soft side is sooo true

like she may seem like a cold-stone bitch but in reality, she's NOT !! not even a tiny bit, poor girl just has the worst case of rbf EVER

her soft side comes out when any of the girls get injures, oh my gosh

she's the first to come to their aid and help them

and she's always there for them after the fact cus she knows how hard injuries can be when you play a support

she's there emotionally and talks them through it, makes sure that they know they're still part of the team injury or not, and of course that she loves them!!

AND she's very soft with the girls when they're going through stuff outside of basketball

relationship issues, family issues, drama within your friendgroup, baby girl is there to help them through it!!!!!

but she's not just like "therapist" friend, trust the team in return knows when theres something up w her and will do everything in their power to help her

and jump whoever hurt you

when manager gets her nails done, the team gets SOOO hurt bc they can't get theirs done bc of basketball so they get super mad at her (jokingly ofc)

so she just rubs it in their faces to get them angry LMAOOO, its very funny to witness

every once in a blue mood, manager will post a thrist trap and OH MY GOD

the entire team is in her comments hyping flirting with her up!!

and especially after uconn kinda blows up on tiktok, you bet those old thirst traps will make themselves into the damn edits

you and paige will hang out during that time and just look at edits while laughing your asses off (but paige is lowkey into yours cus she favorites them)

OOOO AND SHE FORGETS THAT THE EDITORS CAN SEE WHEN SHE SAVES THEM SO SHE JUST GETS EXPOSED AND EVERYONE'S JUST LIKE PAIGEEEE PLS 😭😭

i feel like there's def an edit with the audio "milkshake instrumental" bc everyone thinks u give off like... mean girl vibes

BUT EVERYONE FALLS IN LOVE WITH U BC OF IT, IF THAT MAKES IT???

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

��� thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[xinganhao]

is this something i should've included in my 2024 wrapped? probably. but i'm still doing it to close off the year! (´◡`)

incredibly grateful to have gotten so much love in the past three months. i'm not able to respond to everything, but trust that i see every comment— whether in the replies, reblogs, or in my inbox.

if anything, let this be a reminder to support your favorite writers/creators. in an algorithm that thrives on likes, reblogs with comments in the tags/replies/asks make a world of difference. if you liked someone's work, let them know.

here are some of your words that have stuck with me. 🫶

"#i heart tumblr user xinganhao #no one is doing it like them #the amount of depth in their work #THE EFFORT IS ALMOST TANGIBLE #not to participate in idol worship but …. #a role model for the fic writing community #hashtag proud to be born in the same timeline as tumblr user xinganhao" — g4minelvr re: fake dating!seungkwan

"i always look forward to vernon's slides because I CAN HEAR HIM!!!! its wild like all the replies???? his voice is in my head. but i also realized i can imagine/hear hoshi's so easily too!!! and a lot of his are so funny and witty. anyway ive been so entertained the past few days cos of kae's writing" — maplegyu re: svt reacts to 'i used to have a little bit of a crush on you'

"#so cute !! #“to love is to be burdened; but to not think of it that way.” #HELLOOO #thats such a fire line to drop ???? #sigh these alignments are all accurate but i really need hao to take caee of me :((" — planetkiimchi-rbs re: svt reacts to your drunk texts

"I bet your uni entry essay kicked ass. Youre so creative its mind blowing😭" — bambispostsblog re: sociology major!junhui x reader

"#welcome back dramateen😭😭😭" — dcrlingyou re: svt when idol!reader releases a breakup song

"#i think someone's already said this but #the writing under the texts is like a little treat that i somehow always forget about #its so fun #i read the texts and im like “aww thats so cute i love this blog so muchhhh” #and then i scroll #AND THERES MORE #its like the best thing ever" — forever-atiny re: svt reacts to your drunk texts

"This is DEVASTATING 😭😭😭😭😭 your writing is beautiful but DAMN did it rip my heart and throw it into the ocean" — sasalalista re: svt (taylor's version), heartbreak edition

"#okay maybe I'll allow myself to be this delusional only for this smau bc it's adorable 🥹" — stay-in-district9 re: chan x fansite!reader

"#kae did u know i have a whole maladaptive dream world abt this pairing #it’s like u looked directly into my brain #but like it’s just so perfect for wonwoo #and i just love how pathetic u made him" — pochaccoups re: wonwoo x streamer!reader

"#did i ever mention i am literally your biggest fan #ALL your works i am eating them up 🙏 #and this one was just oh my god #the way you narrate is always too good #with your little details abt the screenplay and all #i aspire to write like you- it's like mixed media but in writing #i loved loved loved this exes to lovers suits gyu so muchhhh" — simpxxstan re: film major!mingyu x reader

"#user xinganhao the way you EAT EVERY SINGLE TIME #COOKED WITH GAS AND FIRE AND DEVOURED #permanently sat for ur posts i fear #can’t get up won’t get up" — ahuiahoe re: seungcheol x fanbase!reader

"the fact that you do complete research into each and every one of the topics and write them well is just pure dedication and hats off to you!!" — choco-scoups re: biology major!vernon x reader

"i'm so in love with the way you design your extra content/headcanons under the photos!! the soccer team and notes app got me down bad, but i really adore the text visually fitting the concept in all of your works!! always excited to get a notification from you. thank you for sharing your creativity with the world!!" — purple-eustoma

"I hope you know your works always hit the spot just right. not even kidding I was in class for two hours and then I see this in my notifications the way i INSTANTLY SMILED?! how do you manage to make my day better😔🫶" — cxffecoupx re: operation dispatch (chan x idol!reader)

"Honestly I know most of your svt burner account fics are meant to be open end, and I really love that. It is just that your writing makes me keep wanting to know more of the story, it is soo well written. I want to dive into the world a little more every time🌸" — anon

"#THIS IS SO CREATIVE WTF #the genius interview and the whole song… kae ur BRAINNNNNN #this is so good omfg im rooting for them so hard #living vicariously thru simp cheol tweets pretending i am the fanbase 😔 he wants me guys trust #i love love love all the little bonus stuff you do for these literally most creative and fun smau writer ur changing the game" — junhui-recs re: seungcheol x fanbase!reader

"these keep coming up on my dash and i will never skip an smau made by the greatest smau creator on this silly little tumby app" — hachireads re: dead poets society!hhu x reader

"im so srs rn. pls never stop writing" — wonuloves re: vernon dates rockstar!reader (4)

"woozi loves silently, consistently, and sincerely. these are not the adjectives anyone would typically match with the concept of love. and yet, it fits. i first felt the depth of his love with vocal unit songs. and i never looked back. thank you for writing this. thank you for understanding seventeen so well. you deserve everything good in life." — chugging-antiseptic-dye re: jihoon x poetry account!reader

how lucky am i to get to say that this is a mere fraction of all the kindness i've been afforded. again: i see all the nice words directed my way, and it motivates me to stay on this godforsaken site (lol) for at least one more day. thank you, thank you, thank you.

if i can love well, it's because i've been loved well. please let me repay all your kindness in 2025 and for however much longer that i can (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ if you got this far: happy new year! i wish you clarity, courage, and compassion at every turn. xo

— kae

[bahja-blix]

😐💀 A Dumbass Appeared (Ask Edition) A post regarding Viv Stans (Part 2)

Before we begin I want to say that I will absolutely not be censoring the person in this for valid reasons. I'll however censor the people who are just regular visitors.

What brilliance unfolds in my ask box? They put themselves out there on purpose "because reason"... I guess?

Reminder This is the Internet, you put yourself out there, your out there forever and if you do something stupid or say something stupid, your idiocy might go viral enough where you get called out so don't expect people to cover you up when YOU did this To Yourself

When I changed my bio to say "Bored ASF, Ask a Goth" I didn't mean be a god damn loser and make up shit on purpose for Bait reasons.

Yes this is real and Yes these were sent by a Viv Stan and it's OBVIOUSLY Bait but I still wanted to review it just for fun because I was literally laughing my ass off and I ain't even high!! 🤣 that And the actual person was Serious about deleting their profile along with taking the time to remove one by one every like and post from their profile which is hilarious. I didn't even make a post at the time and they disappear Anyway 😂. So I had absolutely no option to respond regardless. Lol you didn't think I'd see that but I did LMAO. You took the time to send me this but couldn't take a couple seconds to block me right after so I don't see your profile disappear but I guess you're just that stupid. What stopped you from just deleting your account without going through lengths to type this shit up?

We start with Kona, a boot lickin Viv stan living in denial over the fact that their obviously a Viv Stan. I said I wasn't going to answer this but this is HORRIBLE 😂 How could I Not share!

I love how you literally sat here and took the time to go ""Anonymous"" on the first ask you sent me showing your name and profile only to turn around and send me Another ask and Then another begging to me down on your knees basically telling me to forget I saw your ass 🤣🤣🤣

Omfgfgfggg🤣🤣🤣

I absolutely applaud how you "went out of your way to ALL these critics" like your some kinda Big Dawg white knighting for Viv telling us to "Listen up" because God Damnit "This town ain't Big Enough for the two of us" only to completely disappear off the face of the earth because you knew I saw your ass and you got scared.

I'm assuming you saw my last post where I said "Stick it" when referring to someone else that didn't agree with the helluva boss and hazbin hotel critical community...so you took it to heart and used it in the ask!? Did my post offend you 🥺🥺🥺? Omg I'm terribly sorry that I'm not a boot licking Viv Stan... I truly am (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

So... you attack Showtoonz for no reason other than *Double Checks Notes* ahh here we go "Having valid opinions" fresh off the table *chef kiss excuse* lol

LMAO they really said "Ass takes" omg no wayyy 😂

I also applaud how you basically said that the entirety of the helluva boss and hazbin hotel critical community an "embarrassment to our democracy" lol where that come from? and that the best argument you can come up with is that "*ughhh* your all "cOnSeRvAtIvEs" like did you travel across time and space through the Internet, see my page, and pretend to get triggered over the fact that I'm p***tically balanced in every direction?? Open minded if you will!? What does critiquing a show have to do with what's going on outside in the world? You do realize a lot of these people critiquing Viv Are in fact Democrats (me included in that spectrum) that Were fans of Viv and don't agree with Viv because she messes shit up on purpose 😂

Love how your one of those people that's obviously too far on the edge who are an actual embarrassment to society because this is the shit you put out there along with the

"YoUr NoT oNe Of Us" argument because what else would you pull out of your ass like legit your literally the type of person that likes to sniff your own fucking farts... Geez

I can't stop laughing 🤣

"One of Us! One of Us! Gooble gobble, Gooble gobble, One of Us! One of Us!" Like I can't. We Dems ain't gonna bow down to you and kiss your ass like your some kind of King so you might as well get over it buttercup

Regarding the last one for Bait reasons you decided to bring janky brained Joe into this... What a legend! You really showed us Dems the middle finger and went "Fuck ALL of You" 😂 Hey pal I'm NGL, but all I'm saying is that maybe you shouldn't be so into your own p***tical fart clouds so much because all that methane n shit will clog up your thinking.

"OMG I've been exposed by my own "Brilliance" in taking down these critics, please don't expose me"

W H E E Z E !!!

this last bits my favorite part

"*Clears throat* "If you disagree with me I'm going to "delete my account"

(Welp I guess I disagree with you :D, have a nice day ^^ Adios!! 🤣) Wait? You were actually Serious??? 🤣🤣🤣

"run to Twitter" with all my problems (because of course your one of those losers) and "bitch" to my two followers that "Will raise all hell" down onto those "Antis" who are so Mean and Negative where my post is sure to go viral enough to take down the entire critical community and reap their rights away from them"

Without any proof, but instead your tail tucked between your legs as you run and hide.

PA THETIC

Managed to get this on the way out. A Viv Stan in denial who's also a hypocrite. Oh but we "anti Viv Stan critics" have "ass takes" and "no valid criticism" You blindly support woomy... The same person who attacked multiple people in our communities for having valid opinions!

Fucking Cringe dude

[weirdfishy]

20 Qs for Fic Writers

thanks to @mashumaru for tagging me!! <3 i love these, and i've finally got a minute to do it!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

45! i started writing in the end of 2020, it's kina mind boggling to think that it'll have been three years in a couple months

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

76,628 :)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I've currently written for Batman, Danny Phantom, BBC's Merlin & Sherlock, Spider-Man/Verse, The Sandman, Criminal Minds, Harry Potter, Heartstopper, Sk8 the Infinity, The Witcher, and BNHA.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Unknown Caller ID - danny phantom x batman, crack treated seriously, something i will eventually continue

Tim Drake's intoduction to ✨Ghosts✨ - dpxdc, silly goofy stuff

by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache - the sandman, dreamling get-together, my first multi-chap that i finished

just slip me on, i'll be your blanket - the sandman, dreamling angst, something that i've so far put a completed, but in my heart of hearts ik it needs more

crack, hob flirts back, heart attack - the sandman, crack, past hobrinthian, pre-dreamling, pov corinthian

5. Do you respond to comments?

i very much try to, yes, but i also tend to leave comments un responded to for fics i have yet to continue/finish

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

what's interesting abt the two fics i think have the angstiest endings, is they kina have the same tone? like, i wrote two fics abt two different characters having a 'life is absolutely terrible rn, i'm grieving the loss of better times, but no matter what i will keep fucking living god damn it'

anyway it's both to be forgotten but not forget (mcu peter parker) and never to sleep, never to die (hob gadling)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

[love how i totally forgot to answer this at first; sorry if tumblr tags u again for my editing]

imma go with something recent, a geraskier blurb based on art, :3 (that's the title, i couldn't come up with anything clever, so it's just that lol)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not directly

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

currently? no. have i? yeah. respect your local smut writers

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

i never wrote crossovers prior to getting pulled into danny phantom x dc, and both of my posted ones are among my most popular

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of (if someone does steal a fic- that's shitty.)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

not in the sense that someone has asked me to translate and repost, so as far as i know, no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no, but snake n i have talked about co-writing before (we're busy as shit tho so it's yet to happen)

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

merwaine in any form

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

it's not a WIP, but the second fic i ever posted i said i would rewrite and it's yet to come- i don't doubt that i will rewrite it, but that eventually is pretty far

16. What are your writing strengths?

prose-y scene setting maybe? i don't think about this, really, i just write

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

dialogue, in the sense that it doesn't much feature in my fics

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

personally i'll only do it if i'm 200% confident in its meaning (ie i've studied the language or i've got a second reliable opinion)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

i've since lost it, but the first thing i wrote was for BTS (2018 almost-disbandment rlly had me emotional, ok?)

20. Favourite fic you've written?

i don't have a favorite, and i'm proud of every new thing bc it's a show of my progress

~

no pressure tags: @oliveofvanders @bootleg-exe & anyone else who would like to :)

[nooitsforthebetter]

hello wonderful beautiful diary.

i wanted to tell you about the music i have been listening to.

here’s my top nine songs from the last six months and a little bit about why i like them so much.

9. forget her- jeff buckley

this song is so damn pretty and breaks my heart a bit. jeff just knows how to hit me where it hurts. the whole grace album hits so hard and this song has just been up my ass and to the left.

8. crushcrushcrush- paramore

oh my god this song is so fucking good. as soon as the weather looks even a little warm, paramore comes crawling back onto my spotify like my middle school self is defrosting. it's so cathartic to blast this song while driving around or even just playing it on repeat while i'm working.

7. haunted- beyoncé

horny ass song. i used to listen to this when i would walk around campus in the middle of the night. it is a really nice song to daydream to.

6. ILUV- yeat

okay, i'm noticing that this song is VERY out of place. i think that i played this song on repeat for like two days straight when i was having a moment about someone i had a crush on. i wanted a song that i could blast in my headphones and not think about anything. if you need that, this song is for you.

5. bad religion- frank ocean

once again, i think i was having a moment about my crush and was coming to terms with the fact that it was going to go nowhere. this song truly fucks me up every time. i really could never make him love me!

4. elder goose- dance gavin dance

alright, we are getting into the thick of it. i have been having a big phase where all i have been listening to lately is dance gavin dance. I literally don't know what brought this on, as i have never listened to their music before this month, but it has gripped me by the labia and won't let go. this song specifically is so fun to listen to because the vocals are heavenly and the guitar makes me want to bust a fucking move.

3. blue dream- dance gavin dance

oh yeah, were still on the dgd shit. this song has been popping up on my tiktok, and i have truly been blessed. i know that finding this on tiktok makes me a poser but i can't give a shit. if the music is good, i'm going to listen to it! this song again has great vocals and is so fun to listen to in the car.

2. pink in the night- mitski

would it even be a nena music post without a mitski mention? no. mitski's music is so emotionally charged and soul-altering. how could i not listen to this song on repeat for four days, thinking about every relationship i have ever had? also, i saw an edit of mikasa and eren to this song that made me consider throwing my phone off of a bridge. this song hurts to listen to. if i listen to it, it ruins my day. if i saw this song walking down the street, i would cross the road to avoid it, but still look back at it longingly as it passed.

1. it's safe to say you dig the backseat- dance gavin dance

who was suprised? clap if you were shocked.

exactly. I love this song right now. like these lyrics:

I can't believe you would give up your dignity Just to take a ride with me And how does it feel to be used? Climb in the back seat, like luggage

i'm literally popping my puss to this and gasping in shock. how could misogyny sound so good? i listened to this all day today and i can't talk to anyone in real life about it so i'll throw it out here.

ANYWAY

i love music and i love talking about it. this post was fun to write. maybe i'll start making some playlists for this blog or something. im going to go to bed now because i have work at seven in the morning.

goodnight.

[echo-of-sounds]

between them

-Hound Dog x f!reader x Vlad King-

a smut one-shot of the first time you getting double-penetrated by Ryo and Sekijiro

This was supposed to be out Tuesday, so I’m sorry for the delay. And sorry for posting later than usual. And there’s no gif of both of them, sorry. That nearly sent me into tears after writing for nine and a half hours.

Edit: Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention I did write this with a chubby reader in mind, hence me mentioning the reader’s... chubbiness.

You stared at the last bites of the sandwich. All interest in it was gone. Your mind wouldn’t stop thinking about this evening, when Sekijiro, Ryo, and you agreed to try double penetration again. The first three times all ended before it got to that stage, either from you getting too tired from the multiple orgasms, you being unable to take both beyond their heads, or you chickening out. 

It was always you that ended it. Of course, they understood every time, never pushing past your limits, physical and mental. And they always took care of you afterward, making sure nothing negatively affected you. They went above and beyond what they needed to do, and you loved and appreciated both of them for it. 

But, fuck, you just wanted to get Dped. Tonight, your fourth attempt, was going to be it. You wanted it. You needed to try it at least once — to feel what those porn stars felt — to experience how stuffed and heavy it’d make you. God, it seemed so amazing, making you warm simply thinking about it. 

On their own, Seki and Ryo were sizable. Together, they were something else. It was daunting, almost scary, to fit them both inside. Your pussy was not bigger than your eyes. However, with enough preparation and care, it should happen… You hoped. You prayed. And it being Friday, you had the entire night to spend with them, not having to worry about enough rest or an early alarm.

You spent the afternoon lazing around, only getting up for snacks and a long shower, making sure you were all clean and all ready for them. You lathered jasmine lotion over yourself. It didn’t matter if it was you or Seki wearing it. The soft sweetness never failed to get Ryo handsy and intimate, needing to track the scent over your body, nosing and licking every nook and cranny. Those thoughts carried you through till the evening.

And the daydreaming finally ended when the door opened. You slammed your laptop closed and scurried to the living room, jumping into Ryo’s arms. His damn schedule kept him away from home for too long stretches of time. You feared forgetting how he felt. 

You mumbled, “I’ve missed you.”

“I was only gone for a few days.”

“I don’t care. I hate when you’re both gone for days. It gets boring.”

He snorted and set you down. When you turned, about to step away, he grabbed your waist and tugged you to his chest. It was rough but affectionate, exposing a little of the hunger he just denied. 

Awkwardly looking up at him, you asked, “How has work been?”

“Fine.” He nuzzled into your neck. You rubbed the length of his snout. Some of it was still indented from wearing his muzzle all day. Fur tickling your fingertips like always. His nose and brows twitched. The smallest, adorable rumbling sounded from his chest, almost like a purr. 

His wet nose poked you, sniffing. “This lotion is better. Get rid of that new one you bought.” 

“You dislike it that much?”

“Too sharp,” he grumbled. If any other person told you what to wear, you’d brush off, but you knew his scent wasn’t normal. If you wore one he couldn’t handle, he’d kiss you less, let alone hug and begrudgingly cuddle. So, if a calm jasmine got you all those plus more, you’d use it all the time, especially to feel his rough palms and hairy skin against yours.  

Teeth grazed you as he began licking your collar bone. Those rough hands slipped under your t-shirt, enthusiasm spreading to his squeezing, fondling fingers, clearly wanting to get right into it. 

You wiggled in the tight hold. “Where’s Sekijiro? You said you’d be home at the same time.”

“He got caught up in something or other. There’s no reason I can’t get you nice and wet right now. It’ll be my little appetizer.”

“Mmm. You don’t think we should wait? This was supposed to be all three of us, Ryo.” “I don’t want to. Do you?” “No, not really… But I feel bad.”

“Your nipples don’t seem to feel bad.” Fingers pinched them, pulling and tweaking. He grunted a laugh when you squirmed more. He cupped your breasts after, continuing his crass kneading. Breath heated your ear. “Do you really feel that bad?”

“No,” you admitted. You’ve waited four days and three nights. You didn’t touch yourself or grind on a pillow, choosing to save any arousal and all energy for tonight. “If Seki gets upset, it’s your fault.”

“I can deal with that.” Ryo hoisted you up. Your legs clenched his waist and your mouth opened for his tongue, letting it shove inside as he carried you to the bedroom with the king-sized bed. You’d need the room. 

Claws pricked your ass. Your hips slowly worked against his abdomen, finding a tiny bit of friction. The rousing lapping and humping did quick work, dribbling saliva from your mouth and slicking your fairly filthy underwear from your earlier fantasies. 

His tongue darted deep, scarcely missing your throat. You struggled to say his name with it, so engaged in its activity. 

With one last frisked, he withdrew. Spit clung to and kept your mouths connected. He licked it away and grinned, dark eyes at their prey. “Your ass is next.” 

Before you got a reply out, you were plopped down onto the bed and turned onto your back. Your shorts and underwear were yanked off. Legs were opened. Nails traced up your thighs, tickling and teasing, lingering just under your ass. 

“Ryo.” You lifted your hips, seeing if it would goad him enough to touch you. 

But they were pushed down and held firm. Weight and heat settled over you, solid thighs caging yours in. The beginning of his erection poked you. For the time being, the tight material held him down, bleeding his swelter through the pants. 

“I’ve been thinking about this all week.” He lapped your neck, then over your shoulder blades, cooling the aroused skin. Canines coasted, tempting possible pain if they so choose. They never did though, simply wanting to feel your weak, shuddering body between them.

He gripped your bottom, pressing them together and spreading them wide. Something wet touched between them. You sighed his name as it dribbled down, clenching the lower it went. His bulge pressed against it, dampening his pants that he just ground back into you, fostering a bulkier mound. 

The size, not even fully erect, registered, ebbing into your stomach, your pussy. The pleasures and pains of last time came back.

The movements stopped. Ryo asked, sounding as gentle as he could, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m, uh- I think I’m just a little nervous still.”

“You still want to try?” “Yeah, it’s just… God, Ryo, you’re both so big. It hurt last time. What if it does again?” “Then we stop.” His nose touched your cheek, tongue flicking out, kissing tenderly. “Neither of us wants to hurt you. It’s supposed to feel good for all of us. If it hurts, we do something different or stop. You’re in complete control tonight.”

Fur flushed to the side of your face. You leaned into him. “Thank you.”

“Mmhmm, we’re here for you.” A hand drifted under your stomach, grabbing at your chub. “We love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The hand slid further until two fingers brushed over your clit, surprising both of you with its swelling. “It feels like you’re reading for some love and a good fucking.”

“Please.” You softly laughed right as he rubbed your clit, turning it into a hiss. You jolted back, and your thighs opened for more access. 

Yet he gave no more, leaving his spot over you to crawl down. He clutched your hips, keeping them lifted. His hands could easily hold you up and have their thumbs pressed into each cheek, spreading your ass. The same wetness flowed over you. But this time, it was a much larger quantity, messing over your ass and trickling to the sheets. 

“Fuck, you look so cute, puckering from just my spit.”

“Ryo-”

Your hips were shoved to the bed. Slowly, lustfully, starting at your clit, his tongue flattened along you, carrying the arousal to your ass, tasting every millimeter of skin. It pulled away once at your tailbone. His growl made you grip the sheets, excited for what was next. His mutation made it so much more enjoyable: long, dexterous, performing in a way that the average human’s couldn’t. 

“You should’ve seen Seki at work. He couldn’t focus on a damn thing all day. He’ll be home soon.” Another lick, steady and heavy, came. It nearly dipped into you yet refused to give that pleasure yet. “He’ll love to come home to you like this, pussy and ass soaking and swollen.”

You bit the sheet at his teasing. You knew he was trying to goad you into a wimpy, whining state, but you held against it. It was too early for you to be a mess. That could wait till they were both inside.

Ryo hedonism carried on. Fingers pawed all over, pinching skin and circling your clit. All your efforts to hump his face were stopped, and you couldn’t fight his strength. It became impossible to tell what was his spit and what was yours. 

Not that he minded since his tongue soon focused on your ass. It’d worm in, not even a centimeter, weakening the ring of muscles with its soaking frisking, before withdrawing. And he did it over and over, testing their strength. 

His tongue eventually wiggled itself inside. His groan vibrated his entire snout, triggering one in you as well. The careful efforts went out the door when he lapped deep, not withdrawing between them, letting his tongue writhe inside your ass. He didn’t care when you tensed. It just seemed to excite him, crowding his nose and teeth snug against you, forcing himself to lick further.

With his mouth busy there, three fingers rushed inside your cunt, not bothering with precision, since their thickness was enough to send you over. Your body went rigid. Drool fell from your lips. Thighs trembled from his ongoing indulgence, not letting you get a second’s rest. 

“So fucking good.” He licked and smacked his chops. “You’re getting nice and loose for me.” 

Two fingers landed on each side of you. You moaned as they stretched you open, letting his heated breath fawn over soaking skin. On his other hand, the three fingers left you empty to focus there, rubbing, squishing, one wedging inside. 

“Ryo!” you gasped. It had slipped in surprisingly effortlessly until its second knuckle. The length and size became too much.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he hushed your whines. Thick thighs straddled yours, holding you still while he calmly thrust in and out, toying with your rim. A second finger edged in knuckle by knuckle. 

You panted in slight pain, slight pressure. They worked the muscles more, able to get them to temper, allowing for more depth and faster fingering. 

“Just like that, baby.” The compressions inside also dulled, letting you feel the pleasures of his prying. “Fuck, I love your ass. It knows how to take things well.”

You smiled at the praise, about to ask for more when he stopped moving. “What are you-”

Sekijiro called from the living room, asking where you two were.

Ryo pulled you up with him once Seki started towards the bedroom. As soon as he crossed the doorway, you hopped into his arms just like you did to Ryo, wrapping your legs around him. They got to see each other at work, leaving you home alone all week. You repeated your mumble, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” he purred, kissing your temple. “You look nice and ready. And you feel so warm.” He stroked your back, lingering just above your ass. “Did Ryo get you worked up?”

You hummed.

“How much?”

“Only once.” “It would have been twice if you hadn’t interrupted.” Ryo came up behind you, licking Seki’s cheek. 

“Ah, so it’s my fault?”

“Yes.”

“No,” you said. 

Seki looked at you with his cute frown and fangs. You kissed him, his lips a little chapped, probably from him stress-biting them. Even so, they yielded against yours, relaxing the more your legs constricted around him.

Despite your pout not to, he set you down. He slid a hand between your thighs, slicking along your clit. Kissing from your cheek to your neck, he noted, “You’re soaking wet, honey. It’s exactly how you need to be.”

“I’m ready for you- both of you.”

“Not yet. It feels like you need more stretching,” he mentioned after easing a finger inside, kindly denying your plead. You know it was too soon, but fuck, you just wanted them inside. You grabbed the back of his shirt, swaying with his hand’s motions. “I can’t wait to feel how full we’ll make you.”

“Stuffed,” Ryo rumbled. “We’re gonna fill you up. I wanna watch you struggle to keep our cum inside.” His hands came around and groped your stomach like he was imagining it. 

Sekijiro took off his shirt then kneeled with a smirk, trailing his palms down your sides and thighs as he went. Teeth bit free and plenty, sucking on any skin. He moved your leg to the side, giving him room to find and attach to your clit.

You leaned back on Ryo’s chest, sighing and rocking. His tongue brushed along your shoulder, palming your front and kneading your ass with each hand. Though the two fingers from before swiftly found their focus again, inching inside, one after the other. “She stretches so nicely. Your body certainly knows what it wants.”

“Nn-” You grit your teeth, feeling the fingers separate, nudging you open wider and wider. Slurping and smacking sounds came from both of the guys’ work.

Below you, Seki groaned, squeezing your things. His nursing turned rough, drawing your clit between his lips, nuzzling his nose into you. Your knees bent. The four hands kept you steady. The four arms kept you upright, even as your legs and hips wobbled.

“Guys, I can’t-”

“Then don’t. Just cum. There’s no need to hold back.” Your fingers knotted into gray hair. Red eyes glared up at you, highlighted by pink cheeks. It was clear they were agreeing. Careless fangs hooked thin, delicate skin. You moaned and went on your tiptoes, muscles straining amid the two solid men. 

“That’s a good girl.” A third finger plunged inside, pushing you over the top, lurching and gasping and gripping at them through your orgasm.

Your body slumped right away, but you didn’t fall. You were lifted instead. The bare torso you rested against told you it was Sekijiro. He carefully laid you on the bed, heart pumping, legs open, wondering what step was next. They appeared to have a better idea than you, and with too dense brain fog, you’d let them lead.

“Only a little more stretching left,” Seki husked, petting your thighs. Between his massive ones awaited his erection, foreskin pulled back, precum wetting the deliciously pink head. He pumped himself and let spit fall from his lips. It coated him, sleeking over his cock with his hand.

You called to him, wanting him inside. Well, you wanted both, but one was a good start. 

He drew close, settling comfortably inside your legs. Chest to warm chest, he kissed your jaw, sprawling your legs further out with his. Your head lolled to the side, seeing Ryo sitting naked, jacking himself off to you two.

Teeth snapped down on your neck, ripping your attention from him. You panted, floundering under him as he sucked and ground against you, not afraid of his bottom teeth digging a bit too far. You grappled at the sheets and his arms. “Sekiji, it’s- Fuck, it’s- Fuck.”

“Kan,” Ryo snapped.

Teeth dislodged, bathed in saliva. He looked over.

“Don’t draw blood.”

“I wasn’t going to. I know you don’t like it.” He returned to your neck, making Ryo grumble. 

“Seki, I want it,” you moaned, feeling his back. Muscles bulked and shifted. You followed the dip of his spine with your fingers, barely able to reach his ass to paw at. It clenched under your hands. His thighs did as well, adjusting to work himself inside. You fussed as he deepened, granting you no breaks.

He released your neck again, leaving it hot and swelling. “I know it’s a lot, but try to take me in one push, honey.” Nails pricked his skin. You whined and wriggled. “You can do it. I know you can.”

With a small heave, he bottomed out. Your words muddled. Lips swathed yours, swallowing your wimpy sounds. Teeth clinked and caught your top lip. You didn’t care about the twinge of pain and hugged him, ready for him to thrust. 

And his first one sunk heavily, prickling you all the way down to your toes. You huffed his name as the second came just as strong and sweeping, kissing your front wall in beautiful aches. Your eyes rolled. You scratched his back. It was only half of what you’ve desired, yet still so fucking good. “More…” 

He straightened, giving you a view of his glorious chest, and hooked your knees, lifting your lower back off the bed, rendering you immobile as he thrust. Their speed picked, withdrawing completely before bucking balls-deep, slamming thighs into your bottom. Your breasts and tummy bounced with each sink. The bed’s give aided his rutting, bearing down into you. 

You groaned and clawed. But your wrists were captured, held to the bed. Ryo’s cock prodded your mouth. You fed on it, needing something to suck on. “That’s good. Get it nice and wet for me.”

Its length couldn’t fit, struggling to push into your dry, keening throat. Like usual, it crowded itself inside, making you cough and dribbling spit into his already messy pubic hair. 

“Fuck,” Sekijiro groaned, not letting up with his thrusts. “I know. She’s so good, isn’t she?”

Teeth needled into your neck again, not caring about any drool. You lurched and choked and came without warning, spluttering around his cock, shuddering under his body through the waves of pleasure. And they both held still for you, one kissing the sweat away, sighing and complementing your job well done.

Once the high faded, your mouth was emptied. You looked around. Water coated your eyes from the nearly-too-many orgasms. Ryo’s tongue licked over your chin, cleaning the mess away. 

“Thank you.”

“Mmh.” It lapped up to your temple. “Think you’re ready for both of us?”

“She feels it.” Sekijiro kissed you, then Ryo’s snout. 

In your slight daze, your body was manhandled into a new position: you were straddling Seki and lowered onto him. The tender muscles and nerves pulsed around him, clenching and fluttering despite having just orgasmed. 

“Lay down.” Ryo moved you forward to rest on Seki’s chest. It cushioned your head and gave you a breather. Four hands massaged you, tending to your sore hips, pampering your spent body. 

You whispered their names while they did, able to gather yourself for one more climax. You still wanted both of them inside. And you were going to do it today. Fuck, you needed it. “Guys… Come on, I’m ready.”

The hairy body fiddled around behind you, getting into position by straddling Sekijiro as well. Ryo spread your ass, whistling. “Fuck, your little pussy’s gripping his cock so tight. You really think you can take me?” 

“Yes, yes, please.” You nuzzled the chest under you. “Please, don’t make me beg.”

“He won’t,” Seki promised, taking over where Ryo’s hands were. It let him fill you with three fingers, testing just how wet and ready you were. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whined, biting his pec at the fullness.

“Shh.” His chest droned. “Stay relaxed.” “I am.” “No, you’re not. Relax and breathe.”

You sucked in, attempting to loosen around him. 

“Just like that. Keep breathing, baby.”

“You’re doing great.” His fingers worked in and out, never too fast or rough, taking all the time in the world to prepare you properly. The pain did subside, leaving an awkward uncomfortableness you weren’t sure would fully disappear. They all went knuckle deep, beginning to indulge your cravings of being utterly gorged. “See? You’ve stretched out well. I think you’re ready for my cock, huh?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

Abruptly, the fingers left. His dick landed on your back, rubbing along you. “Hand me the lube.”

Seki tossed it to him from the nightstand, though you were sure it wasn’t there earlier. You flinched at a large glob covering you, getting smeared over and inside. You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths, listening to the slicks and sighs of him applying it to himself. 

For one final time, you were spread. Cold, wet hands held your hips. Ryo’s head poked you, effortlessly entering. His glans popped in and out a few times, probing the muscle’s give. At your whine, it pushed, sinking and sinking and fuck, it just kept sinking. 

You shot up, completely rigid. “Stop,” they both hissed and seized your movements.

“It’s- I-”

“Lay down,” Ryo calmed, steering you to rest on Seki’s chest. “Don’t move. You need to relax.”

“Pull out.”

He listened. The pressure immediately lessened, granting you another breather.

Sekijiro’s hand soothed your heaving back. “Did it hurt?” 

“… No, just… It was just a lot. Try it again. Slower.”

Ryo gruffed and retried, warily entering, haltingly pushing deeper. 

“Breathe, honey.”

With Seki’s cock already inside, Ryo’s felt like double the size, sweating, sweltering in the tight heat. And it was so heavy: two extra pieces inside you, throbbing and grazing together through one thin wall. 

An oversized snarl came. Hips heaved into you, jarring you forward.

“Ryo,” Seki snapped. “Slow.” “I’m trying. She’s just so- Fuck! Fuck. So fucking tight.” His nails gore into your side.

You bit his chest as Ryo shifted, trying to find a pleasant position. He leaned down, propping his hands on the bed so you weren’t squished. Thighs and hips and arms tossed around, pushing you about, causing Seki to rearrange himself, making you wince and whine more.

Air grew stuffy between the two huge, sweaty, panting bodies. It taxed your throat. The burden inside didn’t help your lungs, unable to get enough breath. You latched onto someone. “Wait- Wait.”

They froze. Solid chests and heavy breaths inflated the air, sticking skin to skin, clotting all sorts of sticky liquids. You whispered, “Hot…” 

“This isn’t working- Come here.” Ryo’s bicep circled your front, and he rose, bringing you with him. You could loll against his chest and get cool air into your lungs. It lightened the fever in your chest but left the fervor deep inside your body. 

The two cocks waited patiently for you. Their erections never wavered, stuck beside one another, playing off of the other’s growth. 

Hands took yours, smoothing to your lower tummy, and pressed hard. Ryo gnarled into your ear, “Can you feel that?”

You weren’t sure what he was asking for until Seki moved. Skin inflated at your crowded insides, one cock getting sandwiched to your front wall. You bit your lip, whimpering at actually getting to feel it. And not feel it inside, but outside. You were so fucking stuffed that their dicks could be felt on the outside.

“Don’t.” Seki’s thumb pressed into your mouth. “We want to hear this.”

“We really do.” Ryo began withdrawing, sending your nerves into a thrill at what was coming. Hands left yours to grip your shoulder, fingers anchoring hard. You didn’t mention it. Seki did the same, grabbing hold of your hips to keep you still just in time for Ryo to thrust, cramming himself balls-deep.

You gasped loud, muscles unable to work properly with the unnatural load. Both men swore at their cock’s friction. Seki, much slower than your partner, thrust up, taxing the wall between them.

As much as you wished you could prolong this, your body simply couldn’t, too hot and glutted and exalted and entranced by all twenty fingers delving into you, the four eyes and ears leeching off your arousal, and the two cocks packed deep, granting you all the pleasure you could ever ask for. 

Right as tears fell and your throat clamped, your orgasm crested, resigning you to quiver and moan in a puddle of decadence. You collapsed to Seki, driveling and mewling. The fingers and eyes remained locked on you. Blurred swears hit your ears. Their thrusts ebbed and flowed. 

Ryo finished next, damn near bellowing his groans for the neighbors to hear, being the first one to release in your ass, sunken balls-deep. His semen spread out, running soppingly inside you. And he stayed put, laying on you without crushing you.

They talked and groaned. Ryo’s tongue butted into Seki’s mouth, lapping while he humped, urging him to cum as well, which he didn’t need any help with. His chest rumbled. Hips hustling in their movements, tensing, cumming enfolded in your desperately clenching muscles. His cum was over your limits, spurting out of you embarrassingly loud. 

“Seki…” You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. They confined you between them, not letting you out no matter how much of a sweaty, drooling, wimpy mess you were. You didn’t want to imagine what their cocks looked like. Or how much of a chore cleanup would be. You just muttered their names while more of their cum rushed out from their shifting. 

“I- Ahh, I- Hnn…” you bleated. “Thank you.”

“You’re perfect.”

“You are. I wonder how many times you can take us like this a week.” “Ryo.” “What? I’m just wondering.”

“Enough,” Sekijiro hummed, stroking and comforting your back.

“Hmm, you did well. We’ll have to get you something sweet to celebrate.”

You laughed, feeling Ryo lick the tears from your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” they responded. 

[aleximustd13]

🇮🇹🤘 Italian indie rock bands masterpost 🤘🇮🇹

So I'm seeing a LOT of support toward Måneskin from people pretty much all around the globe by now and that made me so damn happy that I decided to make a post about some Italian bands from the alt-rock/metal scene I know/listen to that I think you (hopefully!!) would love as well <3

Måneskin

What's more to say about Måneskin? I've known them for ten seconds and they're already consuming my life. Peak bisexual energy. The lyrics are what I wish I could write; Damiano's voice is what I wish I sounded like; their instrumentals is what I wish my life was like; their aesthetic is how I wish I could dress like. God speed beautiful you bastards, can't wait to see you at the top of the world

IN NOME DEL PADRE ("In the name of the Father") is angry, sleazy and sinful, just like Damiano comparing himself to Jesus Christ in the lyrics for all the times he "died" (ergo the failed attempts to break through as a musician or, more generally, all the hardship he went through his life) but every time it was worth it (Son morto più di cento volte, mai morto invano trad. "I died more than one hundred times, but never in vain").

He states that he won't forget the past and all the people who doubted him, looked at him as if he was insane or didn't take him or his passion seriously because of his young age, that he'll never stop aiming for the sky (Toccare il cielo e tornare a mangiare asfalto trad. "To touch the sky and come back face down in the dirt"), that the stage isn't enough for him and he hungers for more (Ehi, fate spazio, fatene tanto /Che adesso non mi basta il mondo, non mi basta il palco trad. Hey, get out of my way/ Because the stage is not enough, the world is not enough for me). I get Mötley Crüe's Too Fast For Love era and Appetite for Destruction vibes from this, anyone else?

Go check out "Coraline" (heartbreaking ballad about a girl who grew up with huge insecurities in an unfriendly environment and great sensitivity to whom the singer offers a possibility to open up to him, pure poetry) and "Vent'anni" ("Twenty years", it's along the lines of In nome del Padre, talks about the youth who isn't taken seriously by others when they talk about their dreams, especially if that dream is to become a musician/artist, 10/10 very angry) if you haven't already! They're two of my favorite songs by them who am I kidding the whole fucking album is my favorite song by them

Afterhours

they're the spiritual fathers to Måneskin in a way (Afterhours' singer, Manuel Agnelli, was their coach when the band entered X-Factor's latest edition) and a pillar of Italy's indie scene. The singer looks a worryingly lot like Severus Snape but that adds to his decadent hero's charm

cryptic lyrics, haunting bassline, tormented voice: Male di Miele literally means "pain of honey" or "honeyache" (a juxtaposition that i find brilliant) and has been defined as "the italian Smells Like Teen Spirit" which I think is incredibly accurate

check out "Dentro Marilyn" ("Inside Marilyn") from their first album too to appreciate Manuel's vocal abilities at their fullest!

Superhorror

Previously named "Superhorrorfuck", they're the epitome of what I want the "Glam/Shock rock revival" to be like. Exhaggerated, flashy, just too much and unique in the modern scene, they resurrected what KISS, Mötley Crüe, Rob Zombie and Alice Cooper started back in the 70s and 80s: it doesn't take too long to realize where they took inspiration for their iconic makeup from! Edward's maniacal voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard (but, like, in a good way) accompained with loud, raw and hysterical guitars that make you feel like you snorted ten lines of coke. If Ed's appearance reminded you of a blond Marilyn Manson I'm pretty sure it was his intention.

Here's something from their latest album, came out in 2020, "Italians Die Better":

also little side note: THESE DUDES LITERALLY COME FROM MY OWN TOWN LMAO??? DO I NEED TO SAY MORE LIKE, I THINK THE GUITARIST WENT AT MY SAME HIGHSCHOOL AND I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THAT IT'S SO FUCKING COOL

Subsonica

Coming straight from the 90s, another important band in the alternative/electronic italian scene. They all look like they could be my uncles, I trust them

Here's probably their most famous and recognizable song from 1999, "Tutti i miei sbagli" (All my mistakes):

Verdena

another military stone in the alternative/psychedelic rock/grunge scene in Italy, for fine connoisseurs only. if i had to choose only a word to describe them, i'd say "visionaries": every album of theirs is a trip to unexplored, indefinite territories that take you to an undescribable dimension (pretty sure their music is the closest to what overdosing on xanax feels like) and their lyrics don't necessarily make sense. either that or Alberto (the dude on the left in the pic who looks both like Charles Manson and your 14yo cousin who thinks he's a man bc he smokes and has one chesthair) is an alien sent from space and is speaking the language of the gods, but we don't have the means to understand what he's trying to communicate. either way, shit slaps, dude pls make another album

Their first single from 1999, Valvonauta ("Valvenaut"???? A valve astronaut??? I think???? idk man) (don't worry about trying to understand the meaning, more than 20 years have gone by since it came out and nobody has got it yet):

Tre allegri ragazzi morti

literally "Three Happy Dead Lads". Idk man they put me in a good mood while at the same time giving me nostalgia of memories I never had and times I never lived. Great listen if you want to have an existential crisis

if "Male di Miele" is the italian Smells Like Teen Spirit, I consider "Il Mondo Prima" (The World Before) to be the corrispondent to In Bloom: sounds like a very happy-go-lucky song but has a very dark and melancholic meaning behind the lyrics:

The Bastard Sons of Dioniso

Coming from Trentino Alto Adige, the Bastard Sons of Dionysus classified second place at the second edition of italian X-Factor. Their style is very... Theatrical? It's very unique. It's like if a group of renaissance minstrels who used to entertain the Gonzagas took a ride on the time machine (probably invented by Da Vinci, wouldn't be surprised if he thought about it back then or actually made some prototypes even) and got teleported in the future, where they discovered modern instruments but still talked about court life in their lyrics using the dialect of their own time. Oh and also they could kill you, don't test them. Basically Ezio Auditore's favourite band

Yes, L'amor Carnale ("Fleshly love") is about sex, but considered what I told you about them before, you can guess they put it more... Elegantly than say, Mötley Crüe and sleaze rock bands from the 80s 😂😂😂

Umberto Emo

*inhales deeply* now, how can I describe how much I love these boys. They're the equivalent of both having a nervous breakdown and shitposting on main at the same time. Their sound say Bring Me the Horizon but their lyrics say Children of Bodom. You laugh the whole time hearing the singer talking bullshit, but then he'd just scream something that hits you so hard you need to sit down and think about life, as if you were at a party and you were having the time of your life and idk getting drunk tits and dick out and getting head by that hot guy you always had a crush on, and all of a sudden the alarm goes off and you snap out of it realizing that oh you were just dreaming and you remember that you actually don't have any friends and the dude you thirst for has a girlfriend already. These rats from Verona's sewers are one of the few reasons that make me feel proud of where I come from. The only people who know about them are me, my best friend who introduced them to me, and probably their aunts and I wish they were known by SO MANY MORE people and that they had the success they deserved before they split up after such a short timespan of activity. Gone, but never forgotten 😔✊

"Dr. Bepis and Mr. Aids" is a very, very long piece (lasts about 9 minutes) but it is, in my opinion, the one that represents what Umberto Emo is all about the most. it's more of a rage filled medley, where they put all their drabbles and a lot of throwbacks to their other songs together. some of my favorite verses (that can be translated) include:

Datemi un sogno, un sogno banale/ tagliamoci un dito e facciamoci male (trad. "Give me a dream, a mundane dream / let's cut our fingers and let's hurt ourselves"),

Questa è la storia del cavallo omofobo, trottava al galoppo con in culo un microfono / Questa è la storia di Frate Agostino, girava nei bagni e ti offriva un pompino (trad. "This is the story of the horse that was a homophobe, he'd trot and gallop with in the ass a microphone / This is the story of Brother Augustine, he'd skulk in bathrooms and offer you a blowjob"),

Scusatemi per tutto questo, scusatemi ma non ci riesco / E in fin dei conti è colpa mia, in fin dei conti è colpa tua, in fin dei conti non importa / E domani siamo sabbia. (trad. "Forgive me for all of this, forgive me but I can't help it / And in the end it's my fault, in the end it's your fault, in the end it doesn't matter / And tomorrow we'll be sand."),

Io ho mangiato sassi per anni, senza sapere che gusto avessero/ Masticavo i miei stessi denti, privandomi del desiderio / Travolto dai ricordi, come sabbia in questo tempo (trad. "I have been eating rocks for years, without knowing their taste / I've been chewing my own teeth, depriving myself from the desire / Overwhelmed by memories, like sand of this time")

or the self depreciating, passive aggressive Sono ancora triste, quindi uso parole difficili tipo sesquipedale /Che schifo la punteggiatura (trad. I'm still sad, so I use complicated words, like sesquipedal / punctuation sucks)

and the timeless chorus Mario Giordano sei un rettiliano (trad. "Mario Giordano you're a reptilian" I don't know honestly what statement they wanted to make with this other than it rhymes lmao)

which as you can see, range from being completely demented to blasphemous to become a punch in the gut to complete and utter nonsense (and it's only one song!), but the majority of their verses could be simply translated as [angry italian unintelligible screaming] (which, honestly, is a mood anyway). I urge everyone who sees this to go listen to them (especially my italian mutuals) even if you can't understand shit of what they're talking about. I'm sure their music will transcend language barriers

Btw sorry not sorry for the wall of text, they just mean so much to me and I could write a 56 pages long essay about them and their lyrics 😭😭😭 other songs I recommend are Il fumo uccide ma è parte del piano ("Smoking kills but it's part of the plan", opening with "It's raining shit"), Barbara D'Urto (a play on words on an italian talk show host's name Barbara D'Urso,"urto" means bump, clash, collision, but it's also a way to describe someone who rubs you the wrong way), Qvando Cera Lvi (don't worry, the title is nothing but a mockery of the fascist slogan and the lyrics is the epitome of the demented) and idk, everything else they have really, which can all be found on YouTube

Punkreas

i included them almost exclusively because i love the pun they made with their name. as every good punk band out there, they remind you how much society sucks and that you should go against its rules no matter what while making you bang your head to their tunes

"Total disgust" is not only a mood and a critique to politicians and society's consumerism's ways in general, but also a punk rock banger from 1992:

Furor Gallico

Probably the only people from Milan I wouldn't hate on sight, "Gaelic Fury" is a folk metal band who I can't say for sure they have true Gaelic origins, but they sure wish they were born in that time (and if you didn't know, believe me when I tell you this particular metal subgenre is very big in Italy, especially in the northern regions). Their music will take you to distant places forgotten by man, and Davide is the creature of the enchanted forest who'll whisper his land's secrets to you through his lyrics

Diluvio ("Flood") is an inspired and evoking ballad about a man who loves rain and thunderstorms (can relate) in all its forms and at the same time an ode to the marvel of Nature when it unleashes its fury (I could write another whole essay about this song but I'm gonna restrain myself)

Other bands worth checking out bc tumblr doesn't let me add more than ten pics and ten audios in one post: Negrita (I define them the Italian Red Hot Chili Peppers, very chill they put you in a good mood), Litfiba (hard rock for dads), Linea 77 (another important punk rock band from the 90s), Caparezza (a peculiar man, it's hard to describe him lmao but he's a great songwriter and always tries to evolve his style), Rhapsody of Fire (inventors of Epic Power Metal. It's like Power Metal but with more dragons and Christopher Lee)

To anyone who joined me in this journey and stuck around till the end and checked out all the artists:

✨💕Thank you💕✨

I could kiss you rn I'd love to know which one was your favorite and talk about them!!

To anyone who read about only some of them and didn't listen to any or just some of the songs:

💖Thank you💖

I really hope you liked those you checked out!! Tell me what you think and don't be afraid to ask me about the lyrics or something!!

To anyone who couldn't handle the whole 34-pages-long essay and just scrolled past this post/couldn't be bothered to read my ramblings and just went for the songs:

💫💞Thank you💞💫

even only for your patience alone, sorry for clogging your dash with my bullshit lmao (not only with this post, just in general) and I hope you have a great day!!

@ italian mutuals feel free to add more!! Let's make the italian indie rock scene more known to the world!! Unleash the mammamia spirit ❤️❤️❤️

[giorno-plays-piano]

Vicious

Part VI

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, mention of blackmail, all characters are adults.

Words: 1567.

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

________

You spent the rest of your evening like a somnambulist, barely able to concentrate on your projects before you went to bed, barely finishing half of the things you planned for today. Even the change of locks didn't make you as happy as you thought it would. It felt like something between a dream and a nightmare.

Lying in the dark, you stared at the ceiling, thinking of what happened just a couple of hours ago. Why did he do it? Was it just out of habit and didn’t mean anything? Naturally, with his appearance and easy-going attitude, he probably dated many girls and didn’t think much before kissing someone he liked.

Remembering the way he talked to you in the morning, you thought he must have pretended to be shy around you. Thor certainly wasn’t sheepish.

Was it all a sham? Was Loki right about all of them, playing their roles to get close to you? You couldn’t forget the way Thor looked the moment he told you about being smart. It was like something switched inside him, and for a second you saw the real Thor who was far from being your simple, good-natured athlete.

Why did you keep thinking about that stupid kiss even after seeing the man could be dangerous?

Aroused and angry, you tossed and turned until you fell asleep.

____________

Waking up was especially tough, despite the fact you didn't really do much yesterday, meaning you were going to spend your weekend studying. Shoot, and that's when you planned to visit that new chocolate boutique in the city. Maybe you could still make it if you spent more time studying today?

But then again, going to the city alone might be a bad idea. Even if the guys who stole your things were beaten, it didn't mean it had always been the same people following you. The school was full of weirdos, in the end. What if somebody went after you? Steve would definitely say you had to bring one of your guards with you.

Damn. It was better staying in the dorm then.

"Good morning! Are you ready?" Peter's voice broke through the silence, and you flinched, hurriedly applying some lipstick because you didn't have enough time to put your makeup properly.

Well, at least you were fully dressed.

"Just give me a second!" Picking up your bag, you put your shoes on and opened the door, looking at a young guy who's face was lit up like a Christmas tree. "Hi!"

He definitely liked what he saw, and you felt your cheeks growing hot from embarrassment. From the very start of the semester Peter acted very sweet around you, and you thought you could be friends with him. He wouldn't do something as ugly as blackmailing, would he? Thor said it too. Clearly, Steve was exaggerating.

"Did you sleep well? I've heard you changed your lock, so now it'll be better."

"Ugh, I hope so. But I still sleep with my dresser blocking the door." Sighing, started walking, afraid to look in the faces of other students, hurrying off to school.

They must have been disgusted, watching you being friendly with one guy after being all lovey-dovey with the other just yesterday. Although you didn't see anyone in particular, you were sure somebody saw Thor kissing you. And now you were walking the corridors with Peter.

"By the way, what's your Insta?"

What? Your Instagram? Whatever for? Although you had no idea why he needed it, you let him add you, by the time leaving the dorm and walking towards the main building.

Suddenly, Peter got pretty close, his arm on your waist as he lifted up his phone and hummed, "Look here and smile!"

Before you realized what he was doing, the boy kissed your temple, and you heard the sound of a photo being taken by his front-facing camera. What the Hell?!

"Peter!" Pissed at him, you quickly break free and stepped back, but he was already looking at his phone, editing the photo and posting it almost immediately.

You heard your phone buzz when he marked you on the photo.

"That's a good one. You look very cute here."

"What are you doing?!"

"Making a proof we're dating, of course?"

You were taken aback by the sincerity in his voice, and Peter smiled from ear to ear like an excited teenager, showing you the picture: it wasn't that bad, and you looked as if you were slightly embarrassed by Peter's closeness. Oh, of course. He had to convince his friends he was dating you, but he didn't kiss you on the lips that could make other people too suspicious. Instead, friends of Barnes or, say, Thor, would still think it was all for show, and it was their friend who dated you for real.

Shit, Steve's plan was incredibly complicated, and you didn't like it at all.

"Oh, alright." You mumbled, lowering your eyes to the ground, and Peter laughed.

"We'll make a TikTok dance later. If you wanna make people talk, just use your social media." He winked at you and put the phone in the pocket of his pants, resuming walking, and you moved along, your face still hot.

God, what did these guys got you into? You felt like you were lost in the middle of a play, not even having a script to read what was your role in all this.

Before you parted your ways, going to a different classrooms, Peter talked about videogames, the upcoming Resident Evil - apparently, his favorite franchise - and some Dota tournament, but you didn't know much about it, and Peter offered to show you his favorite games "because you can't spend all your time studying!"

He was as careless and sweet as always, but you couldn't get Steve's words out of your mind. Damn, if only you could know for sure that Peter didn't blackmail anyone. Who could you talk to about it? Obviously, not Peter himself, but every time he spoke you had that nagging feeling you needed to talk to him. You barely kept your mouth shut before he went to a different room.

Ugh, why didn't you transfer anywhere else when you still had a chance? Obviously, now you could only drop out of school, and it definitely wasn't something you were going to do.

Luckily, the next couple of hours you were busy with your classes, trying your best to prepare for the upcoming exams. The academy held high standards, and even though you were a good student, it still took lots of efforts to keep up the good work. How Thor even managed to get enrolled, judging by the fact he hated studying and often skipped classes?

Ah yes, he mentioned something about getting a scholarship from the academy for his success in the sport.

By the lunch time you were drained, listening to Peter chatting with an absent-mindedly epxression on your face. Funny enough, Peter's grades were better than yours, even though he spent much less time studying. What, was he some genius like Loki? You felt a little envy.

"I gotta go take my tracksuit, I have PE next," the boy said, and you nodded, throwing away the leftovers of your lunch.

As you stood close while he grabbed his sportclothes, you heard two guys talking behind the lockers to your right.

"Have you seen her today? She's with Parker!"

You tensed immediately. Of course, they were talking about you.

"Yeah, so what?"

"She was with Thor yesterday!"

Watching you froze on the spot, Peter stilled too, listening carefully. Oh shit, you hoped no one cared about who you went with - why should they, in the end - but, apparently, you were drawing too much attention simply because you were a girl among hundreds of male students.

"So what?" The other guy asked impatiently, growing tired of this conversation.

"Are you stupid? She's going out with them! I bet she's looking for a guy." The first student said with excitement, and you cringed. No, you weren't going out with anyone, you wanted to stop the weirdos from following you and steeling your things. Was it too much to ask?

"Yeah, who cares?"

"We have three fucking girls in the whole school, and you don't care if one of them could be going out with you? Besides, this one's pretty. I'd fuck her!"

You felt like you were going to puke any moment. Why on Earth did you decide to transfer to an all-boys school? It was like the whole school were a men’s room filled with stupid-ass guys, and you were locked inside, forced to listen them talk junk.

"You'd fuck a sheep, weirdo. Go get yourself a girlfriend if you can’t stop thinking with your dick.”

Laughing, the guy left, and his friend followed him, shouting something stupid while you breathed out a sigh of relief. Of course, you knew there would be some talk, but you didn’t expect it to be so... gross. Were you really gonna spend the two remaining years here?

Watching you getting frustrated, Peter gently touched you by the arm and said softly, “Don’t worry. They won’t talk rubbish about you.”

“What do you mean?” Suddenly thinking of Steve’s words, you blurted out exactly what you were thinking of the whole day, “Are you going to blackmail them with something?”

“I... what?”

Part VII

__________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @soleil-dor @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @goodgodimaweirdperson @frontmanash @freya-heya @yandematic @mariatietacapitu @d3monslust @maybesandohnos @ibeatuptwinks @mangobangi

[imagineyouandharry]

Gypsophila (H.S)

Summary: Prince Harry has been under great pressure to find a wife, and he finds his Queen in a way far more unconventional than he could’ve imagined. 

Words: 5,730

Warnings: It’s a bit strange I guess? Idk lol.

A/N: Someone requested a Prince!Harry au forever ago, and then I didn’t really have an opportunity to write for a while, and then this idea sprung up on me and I’ve been lost in this little au for the past few days. It’s like a little twisted fairytale, taking inspiration from Snow White and Sleeping Beauty mostly. Part two is already a work in progress. If people are interested I’ll even put out a little sort of world building lore post with a map of the kingdom etc (I’ve been in DEEP). This part is a bit choppy and barely edited because I was just so eager to write it and get something out, but I would really appreciate any constructive criticism and editing notes! TYSM!! Long story short, enjoy!!!

 ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Harry Edward Styles did not believe in true love, in fact, he thought it was the most ridiculous idea ever. Harry’s certain he’s laid eyes upon every eligible young lady, from his kingdom and the ones surrounding, and he hadn’t felt a single thing when looking at any of them. He prayed every night that he would find his love the next day, and finally be able to put his parents out of their misery and ascend to the throne. At the age of 27, Harry’s the oldest person in his family to not be married, no one every waited this long in the royal family. He would’ve had an arranged marriage at 21, though when his parents suggested that he ran away on a sailing ship for two months. One thing was clear to him: though he may not have experienced love yet, he wasn’t going to ruin his chances at true by being forced into a loveless marriage. It wasn’t only Harry’s parents, but the entire kingdom that woke each day hoping to hear that their Prince had found his Queen. They referred to Harry as the Good Prince, his subjects adored him, and lived for his acts of charity and selflessness, and they only hoped he would find a Queen that would treat them the same.

Harry’s outlook on love changed however, after his most recent hunting trip. Sundays are for family and hunting, that’s what Harry was always told. No day was for Harry, he’d come to learn that. Living under a microscope meant for very little alone time, and almost no guilt-free alone time. He and his hunting party rode across the fields and out to the dense forest surrounding the kingdom, and over the two hour journey Harry found himself agitated with the topics of conversation going on around him. He wanted a break, tired of everyone only ever speaking about royal duties or politics. Harry had discovered a fresh water lake if he went off the trail, and when he realised they were edging closer to his favourite place he decided to excuse himself with the excuse of needing to fill his canteen.

The natural spring was a hidden treasure indeed. Harry’s entire kingdom was cut off from the rest of the world due to the thick forestland surrounding it. There was only one trail in, and one trail out, and even then only experienced riders were able to make the journey. The end of the trail, in the deep of the forest, was also often lined with thieves and outcasts making it not the safest journey. This spring wasn’t necessarily hard to find, however thick trees that lined the main trail hid the spring, the gorgeous wild flowers, and clearing of soft grass either side. Harry tied his horse to his usual tree, softly parting the bushes careful to not cause any permanent damage, and stepped his way through. His kingdom was full of hidden treasures like this, tucked away in places only to be found by those adventurous enough.

The sound of the running water was most prominent, however the closer he walked to the spring, the more he could hear a faint, delicate singing voice. Harry couldn’t recognise the song, but it was one he’d never forget now. It felt as though his heart dropped in his stomach, and he had to lightly scratch his arm on a branch to double check he hasn’t died and was hearing an angel of heaven sing to him. He walked closer, with quiet footsteps so not to disturb the singing. He knelt down to the edge of the spring and began to fill his canteen, looking around his eyes eventually focused on the source of his siren, standing in the clearing over the other side of the spring as she picked a bouquet of dainty flowers. Lavender, daisies, bellflowers, poppies. Her body was dressed in sage green, the simple dress showed she definitely was not from a wealthy family, but it was simple and beautiful in its own way. Perhaps she sewed it herself, it did look as if it were made for her. He could see her hair shine from here, and the features of her side profile were striking him even from a distance. She didn’t look real. The strange girl across the spring looked ethereal, like her beauty was too surreal for this planet. Had he hit his head? Was he seeing a forest fairy? He hadn’t even realised the staggering increase in his heart rate as he watched the girl, and listened.

He lost track of how long he had been watching her for, snapped out of his daydream when he heard a “Your Royal Highness! We must be getting on!” Harry heard shouting at him from a distance, most likely back where he had tied his horse. The girl had heard the faint noise and her eyes shot in Harry’s direction. His cheeks flushed with heat as their eyes met only for a brief second, before she ran away. The eye contact brought a slight curve to his lips, although she was leaving, at least he got another good look at her.

“Wait!” He called as he stood up, his hand and canteen dripping wet. His eyes softened as she simply left, looking back briefly in her stride, but he’d blown it. “God fucking damn it.” He cursed under his breath as he began to trudge back to his horse, his feet weighing heavy on the ground.

That was the most he’d ever felt, looking at the stranger across the lake singing as if it were for him, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d just lost his future Queen. Half of him wanted to wade through the water and run after her, but Harry wasn’t a often disobedient Prince, when one of his parents or advisors told him to jump, his usual response would be “how high?” It’s ironic how for someone who’s whole life depends on finding his future Queen is given so little time to actually explore a social life, or love life himself. He was always set up with suitors who his parents found best. In the rare times he’s able to sneak away he’d gotten around, and most definitely wasn’t a virgin, but he’d never found a girl who had made him feel the way he wanted to feel about his future queen. He only wanted to please his family, and his realm, but this was the one thing where he refused to compromise.

Y/N was as far away from a future queen as it could come, or at least that’s what her step-mother wanted everyone to think. The entire town hoped to marry their daughters off to the elusive Good Prince Harry, however her step-mother only wanted her biological daughters to have that chance. When Y/N’s father passed away her step-mother sent her out to live as a recluse in a tiny cottage in the woods, she had always feared that her beauty would distract future husbands away from her actual daughters, and didn’t want to ruin their chance of being married. Each Sunday she drops Y/N off the supplies she needs, but that was the only human contact she was given. It wasn’t too bad, she managed to keep herself busy with sewing, baking, or whatever other art or craft she could think of and had the materials for. It was lonely though, and she was ultimately alone.

Well, if you don’t count forest fairies. Y/N hated being outcast into the forest, and spent most of her early months in the cottage crying to whatever wild animal she could find that day that would stick around long enough. Eventually, these wild animals started bringing their fairy friends along with them. They would spend their days with Y/N tending to fruit and vegetable gardens, watering plants, having picnics, and making daisy chains. Her life was simple, and although not one she asked, it was one she was growing fond of. Male company was something she could only imagine and long for, or read about in story books. There were dozens of fairies living in the forest, but she’d become particularly close to a group of some of the female fairies.

Each Sunday before her step mother visits, Y/N will pick her step mother a bouquet of flowers in attempt to win her over, in hopes maybe one day her sweetness will earn her way back into town. Y/N had total obliviousness towards her step mother’s plan, and towards what was going on in the city. This year, any woman over the age of 21 was to present herself to the Prince. Y/N’s 21st birthday fell on the day she was scheduled to be presented to the Prince. The letter had been delivered shortly before she was sent away to the forest, Y/N never laid her eyes upon it though. The letter outlined the royal guard would be coming to collect anyone who failed to present themselves on the day, and to Y/N’s step mother that meant the only option was to make it so Y/N never turned 21, or made it to her birthday for that matter.

Seeing the Prince most definitely did spook Y/N during that day in the field, if her step mother ever found out she’d had contact with a male there was no chance she’d ever be allowed to move back home. She did all she could think to do. She ran. She ran so fast that the petals of the flowers she had picked were ruined in her haste, quickly shutting herself inside the cottage to gather herself before her routine afternoon visit from her step mother. Sure she knew of men to be dangerous and terrible, but she feared her step-mother’s wrath more than anything any man could put her through.

Like any other Sunday, she scrubbed the house and dressed herself in whatever new garment she had stitched herself this week. The fairies had been busy this week and she’d had a great deal of time to herself, embroidering colourful flowers into the soft white linen of the new dress she had made. Her step-mother would bring her fabric and thread to sew dresses for her step sisters. It was something to be proud of, but most likely would be over looked. Little was said upon her step-mother’s arrival, but her character seemed off. Her step-mother’s eyes darted around, checking windows as she insisted on making the two of them tea. Y/N sat down at the small dining table, recounting tales of her week, ensuring to leave out anything about fairies or a boy. She watched a small bunny outside the window, forgetting to speak as awe overwhelmed her whilst she watched its tiny nose twitch. Her daydream came to an end when the sound of the ceramic mug hit the hard wood of the coffee table. “Drink while it’s warm, my love.” Her step-mother told her, sitting down in the seat at the head of the table beside Y/N. It wasn’t long after that that Y/N hit the floor, and her step-mother was shrouding herself in a hooded coat and sneaking out of the tiny cabin.

Elsie, a fairy most close to Y/N, who specialises in healing, came to the conclusion that she was only out for about six hours before the fairies found her. They did all they could over the following weeks to bring her back to life, trying as many possible rituals, potions, and spells to give life to her body once more. Nothing was of use though, and instead they decided to preserve her in a glass case in the clearing amongst the wildflowers. She had professed to them that the clearing by the spring had been her favourite place, so they saw this fit. Preserving her in the glass case was simply because the idea of her beauty decaying away made any of the fairies shriek. Fairies never communicated with humans, however Y/N was different. Elsie had always theorised that Y/N had magic in her blood. Amongst the many spells and rituals they tried to bring Y/N back, they threw in a spell that would hopefully bring her back with true love’s kiss. It was like a safety net, or a ‘what if?’ But they eventually tired and wore out, preserving her was well enough for now. They kept her dressed in the new dress she had crafted for herself, it was so beautiful after all. They had placed tiny baby’s breath flowers throughout her hair, and made sure everything was perfect. They even went as far to adorn her in delicate gold jewellery, with beautiful crystals of all colours. Her body rested upon a large rectangular slab of rose quartz.

****

Harry was dreading sitting in the throne room, while all the eligible females from the town were presented to him like livestock. It made him sick, and left a terrible taste in his mouth. All he could think of was the girl from the clearing. Is she a sign? Is he his ticket out of here? Was seeing her fate? Questions like that simmered over his mind and kept him awake at night, he had been sleeping little and finding it hard to focus on his duties. His best friend Niall was he closest confidant, the only one he had told about the beautiful girl in the clearing that day. Niall cared more for Harry than anyone, really. He didn’t just care about his fame or power or wealth, Harry was his best friend and he hated seeing his best mate so down about his love life and the pressure to marry a woman he doesn’t love. He made it his mission to find the woman, and his detective work lead him down a path he didn’t expect at all. First he went to the clearing where Harry filled his water in the spring, that was where he first noticed something over the other side of the spring that he couldn’t quite make out. He followed the spring and found an area narrow enough to cross, making his way to the structure he’d seen earlier. He didn’t know what to make of this discover, a dead girl in a glass coffin. ‘Forever at rest, only to be woken by true love’s kiss’ read an inscription on a gold plaque. He really didn’t know what to make of this. He didn’t know what to tell Harry.

Sweat lingered Niall’s brow as he made his way back to the castle to find Harry, to tell him of his discovery. “Look… I just need you to come with me and tell me what you think when we’re there.” Niall tells him, his voice somewhat breathless. Niall himself was still in disbelief, shock, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “I just- I don’t know what to tell you. You need to see it for yourself.” He adds.

Harry nods. “I’ll come immediately.” Harry tells him, his trust for Niall outweighing anything else going on in his head. Together they rode to the forest, crossed the narrow part of the spring, and towards where Niall had discovered Y/N.

“Is this the girl you were talking about?” Niall asks, however when he looks from the girl to Harry, he knows the answer. Harry couldn’t help but fall to his knees, pressing his palms against the glass as he looked inside. He noticed how long her eyelashes looked, and the freckles on her nose. His nose was almost touching the glass as he leant here on his knees at the side of her, taking her in up close.

“What happened to you?” He whispers, his eyebrows knitting together. Niall gives him a moment before he decides to mention the plaque at the foot of the structure.

“It uh, says something weird about being awoken by true love’s kiss. I don’t know if it’s true, and it’s revolting to think you would kiss a dead body for nothing, but someone has put her here. Someone made this. My grandmother in her old age would mutter stories about forest fairies and their magic… It just makes you wonder, you know?” He ponders, his eyes wandering away. It felt silly to bring up magic, it was something very commonly dismissed.

“Help me get this off.” Harry said as he brought himself from the ground, the soft grass had left green stains on his tan riding pants. He pushed the sleeves of his white linen button down up past his elbows, and the two men carefully lift the heavy glass case up off of the rose quartz Y/N had been resting on. It wasn’t easy, and the glass at the bottom dug into Harry’s fingers before they set the glass piece of the structure down on to the grass. “Alright. Here we go.” Harry said, in attempt to psych himself up for kissing a dead girl. She didn’t look dead though, just sleeping, you could only tell she was dead due to the missing rising and fall in her chest with her breath. “I might start walking back to the horses, give you some privacy.” Niall said, giving him a slight smile. He also didn’t really want to witness someone kiss a dead person, if she didn’t end up waking up.

“Good luck. Take your time.” He adds, part of him had no doubt it was going to work though. The stories his grandmother would tell him of the forest fairies were something he’d always held on to, those stories were amongst his most treasured memories. He’d always had some hope.

Harry waited until he could no longer hear Niall’s footsteps before he leant down close to Y/N, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. He took a moment, if this never worked it was going to be the last time he’d ever see her. He couldn’t fathom coming back to this spot if this didn’t work. His heart began to ache at the thought, it made his chest feel tight, and gave him the urge to rub at the spot.

“I really hope you’re who I think you are.” He whispers as he looks down at her. “This might seem like absolute madness. I don’t even know your name, but if you wake up for me, I swear to you I will be yours forever.” He began, to Harry this almost did feel like a ritual, it felt special, and the words he was speaking were amongst the most genuine he’d ever given life to. “I promise, I will protect you. I will provide for you. I will love you. I will never, ever harm you. I will love you until my very last breath, I just need you to do this one thing for me.” His voice was barely a whisper now, and breaking as hot tears welled in his eyes. He very carefully leant down, pressing his warm, puffy lips against her cold, smooth ones. He didn’t know how long to wait, but it didn’t feel wrong. It was a sweet, tender kiss. His eyes closed, and he felt at peace. It felt more than at peace. The long grass, wildflowers, and tree branches that surrounded them began to stir with wind, petals floating up into the gusts that took them. This girl had a tendency to make him feel like he’s dead and in heaven. Her lips slowly began to warm, and skin began to glow with heat. It felt like they were floating, as if the universe was made up of just the two of them. The flowers beneath him began to grow taller and more dense, and it began to feel like his heart was pulling towards hers. It felt like a tether had been formed, connecting their energy, he could feel as her heart began to pump blood again, and her energy radiate from her skin. It felt too surreal.

Slowly, Harry removed his lips to allow Y/N to breathe. He let a hand lay gently resting on her cheek as he watched her gasp for her first new breath, eyes shooting open as she looked up at him. It wasn’t shock she was met with when her eyes met Harry’s, but peace. The luminous green eyes that were gazing down upon her were like lighthouses, guiding her towards safety. So many questions began to race her mind as she came to reality, unable to decide which one to ask first. As if based on intuition, Harry decided to speak. “I uh- I’m not too sure what happened to you but my friend found you here today and brought me to you. I believe I saw you a few weeks ago, in the same spot. I’m not sure how long you’ve been out here, but there was this little plaque at the end of this thing here, that said something about a kiss to wake you up… I’m sorry for kissing you without your consent, but I couldn’t risk not taking this chance.” He didn’t mean to ramble or to overwhelm her with his spiel, but he was overwhelmed himself with everything that had just gone on. True love’s kiss. His queen. His true love. The other half of his soul, in human form. Y/N’s lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. She closed them once more as she sat up and looked around, swinging her legs off the side of the marble before looking back up to Harry. Her movement had disconnected his hand from her face, and they both longed for each other’s touch once more already. Her eyes began to well with tears as she began to think about how she got here, her last memories.

“I can only assume how overwhelming this must all be for you… We can stay here as long as you need, it’s just us. When you feel ready for it, I can take you back to my home and we can get you showered and fed. I don’t mean you any harm.” Harry doesn’t even need to add that last sentence though, because she can feel it. She can feel his love for her, she could almost hear it if she listened closely enough, as if his heart was now beating a song for her.

Harry stood back, as if to give the doe eyed girl some space. She looked at him as if he was the most precious treasure on Earth, he’d never felt so overwhelmed with love. This was followed by her delicate hands reaching out, taking ahold of his as she brought herself to stand in front of him. “Is it alright if you hold me for a second?” She asked softly, needing time to process things.

It had been so long since she had been touched affectionately, she couldn’t really remember it. Her father was never affectionate, nor her step mother or step sisters or anyone else she’d met. She felt comfortable with the stranger in front of her though, and didn’t have the energy to resist the magnet like force pulling her towards him.

“Of course.” He responds, his voice soft as he wraps his arms gently around her frame, pulling her into his warm figure. Harry was like the perfect, giant teddy bear… but he wasn’t really that soft. Pressed against him she could feel how chiseled his features are. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she relaxed into him, cheek against the skin of his chest kindly revealed by the first few buttons of his shirt being undone. “What’s your name?” He asks, tangling his fingers in her hair to lightly rub his fingertips against the tender skin at the back of her neck.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Yours?” She asks, looking up to the tall, broad man.

“Harry.” He decides on leaving out his royal title or last name.

“Just Harry?” She asks, her eyebrows raising.

“For now. We have plenty of time to talk about me later.” He notes, removing the same rogue strand of hair as before from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. It was almost as if her hair had a life of its own, breathing, like the other flora growing in the forest. He had noticed the baby’s breath in her hair, though her hair moved, they remained in the same places, as if growing out of their place on the strand of hair. “What do you last remember?” He asks, needing to know if whatever put her in eternal sleep had been by accident, or as an act of malice. She looks back away from his face, resting her cheek once more against his chest.

“My step-mother, Styephania came over, she made me tea. That’s all I can really remember.” She said, unable to stop the disappointed sigh from escaping her lips. Maybe she’d had a freak health accident, like a stroke. Just because she’d been mistreated by her step mother her whole life, didn’t mean she was capable of murder. She knew her step mother didn’t put her out here though, this was the work of fairies. They were looking on, hiding in the bushes as they stood witness to young love blossom in front of them, not wanting to disturb the two of them. “I look crazy, and it sounds crazier saying this, but I’m certain the forest fairies are responsible for looking after me and putting me here. The day she came over was the day I think you saw me here, and I’m not sure how I’m meant to feel but I don’t feel like I’ve been a dead body since then. I feel like no time has passed at all.” Harry avidly listened to her speak, her voice like caramel, seeping in his ears and warming his whole body. Harry wasn’t phased by her mentioning fairies, Niall had suspecting this being their work earlier. It was the only explanation Harry could think of. He couldn’t understand why her step mother would leave her here, why she wouldn’t find her help.

He didn’t want to worry his sweet girl now, he wanted to make sure she felt alright, safe, and cared for. His grip on her wasn’t too tight, but firm in a comforting way. “The plaque… It mentioned how you’d only be woken by true love’s kiss.” He figured the longer he waited to tell her the stranger it would be. His cheeks were red, as if embarrassed or ashamed to tell her about the plaque, how strange it all was. Her eyes met his, and the connection gave him whiplash. He couldn’t peel his eyes away, getting lost in the little pools. He wanted to know everything about her, what she liked, disliked, what she ate for breakfast, her favourite songs, flowers, secrets. Everything.

“I don’t know if I know what love feels like. The only men I’ve spoken to are all twice my age. I wasn’t really allowed to see boys. You’re definitely much, much more beautiful than I would’ve imagined a man to be, and I’m certain that my heart is literally beating for you now, since you woke me.” She tells him, the descriptions of heroes in stories she would read, or how she would imagine the older men to look when they were younger, were incomparable to Harry. The compliment made his cheeks flush. With each beat of her heart, it was as if it was pulling her closer to Harry, calling out for him, begging for him to love on her and soothe the ache in her chest.

“How has God made something so sweet?” He mumbles, he hadn’t even realised he’d said it out loud at first. “You’re breath taking. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, and trust me when I say I’ve seen a lot of them. Even from far away, the first time I saw you… You make me nervous. You make my heart race, and my palms sweat, and I get butterflies in my stomach and nervous when I think about saying the wrong thing or not having you like me. It’s as if you’ve been carved by God himself, like he was showing off when he made you so beautiful. I wish I’d met you sooner.” Those last words burn his throat, how easier the last few years would have been if he had just been able to find her sooner.

*****

Harry sent Niall back to the castle first, having him instruct everyone to clear out the path that the Prince and his soon to be queen would take to his suite, he didn’t want to spook her with people around. The guards had to stay though, non-negotiable. He also had Niall ensure the doctor was on standby, just to check on Y/N and stay in the castle over the upcoming weeks in case anything else happened. Security was going to be increased, and tightened, and a warrant put out for her step mother.

The two hour horseback ride to the castle would give them well enough time to get to know each other, Harry and Niall had also switched horses, Niall’s being the slower of the two. “I don’t want to startle you when we get there. I also don’t know how to really tell you this. I’m in the royal family, so the guards and whatnot are something to just be ignored. They’re for your protection. I don’t know if you heard much of what I was telling Niall earlier, but you’re going to be very safe here, and we’ll find out what happened. I’ll look after you, I promise.” His eyes are ahead as he speaks, looking over the vast green fields ahead of them once they eventually emerged from the forest.

“Still just Harry, to me.” She reassured, sensing his nerves about revealing this information to her. His shoulders relaxed at her reaction, and a smile formed on his lips when his mind began to wander into what their future may be like. His queen.

“Hey, one day that’ll be King Harry to you.” He joked, thankful that it was received with a laugh. Her laughter was almost as sweet as her songs, and for the rest of the journey he made it his mission to mine as many possible laughs out of her as he could, like little nuggets of treasure. After making their way through the fields that lined the forest, they went down a long road that served as a divide between two of the castle’s towns, and at the end of that road just past a small valley of mountains was a sight far more glorious than Y/N had imagined. Her village was a small village that contained mostly candlemakers and dressmakers, and it sat further to the east, people only ever going out there to purchase fine candles and clothing. It was niche though, and not many could afford the fineries the master crafters in her village would create. Y/N hadn’t even really seen a home larger than a cottage, Harry’s castle looked large enough as if it could contain its own little world, a complete wilderness of towers surrounded by fine gardens, protected by a large moat with a standalone drawbridge. Harry didn’t even need to announce himself, the drawbridge was already in the process of being lowered for him.

“I had Niall clear our path, I don’t want to overwhelm you. I’ll introduce you to everyone when you’re ready.” Harry reassures her, she hadn’t even thought of anyone else though, too in awe of the sights around her. Flowers she’d never seen before laced these gardens, with fine marble sculptures and fountains protruding from them.

“I can’t believe this is your home.” Y/N whispers, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Your home too, if you’d like.” Harry replies, though his words immediately shrouded him with nerves about rushing Y/N into anything. It was stupid, they were each other’s true love’s, but it felt wrong being strangers, so Harry tried his best to conceal things. He’d never been in a conventional relationship before, never mind whatever this arrangement is or was going to be. He just knew he wasn’t meant to rush things, so he tried to refrain from expressing his feelings as best as he could. Her arms around his waist tightened, Y/N needing to feel as close to Harry as possible. He held the reins in one hand, the other arm resting over hers around his stomach, holding on to her arm to make sure she couldn’t let go.

“I’d like that.” Y/N reassures, gently rubbing his side to soothe him. Harry was too caught up in his own feelings to pay attention to how calm Y/N was. She could feel his anxiety though, and continued to try to soothe him as best she could. Y/N knew very little about Harry so far, but what she did know was that he was kind, caring, and had a lot of worries. She’d never been a worrisome person, and if anything would even refer to herself as naive, it was something she’d always been almost ashamed of but in this moment felt like maybe she’d been made to be by Harry’s side. Y/N liked the idea of spending her days being Harry’s rock, a voice of reason. She’d rather a man like this than one who had no emotions, that was for sure. It could’ve been whatever was now eternally bonding them, but she swears she was feeling his emotions, able to see his aura if she really studied hard enough. She sunk into him some more, her arms around his waist, cheek resting against his back. Harry made sure to take it extra slow, giving his love enough time to appreciate the flowers. She seemed to like flowers, and his mother took pride in this being the most beautiful garden amongst all of the kingdoms. He couldn’t wait to show her all the fineries that came with his life.

[roger-that-cap]

doubt comes in

orpheus!bucky barnes x fem!eurydice!reader

summary: a retelling of orpheus and eurydice for an extremely late entry for a mythology challenge!!

warnings: uh- yeah i was not playing with this myth lol… fluffy beginning, uh, that’s all imma say about that and ALSO i haven’t edited this so haha, i am running on fumes but had to post this jeez 

word count: 11.3k good god

There were gods that were unexplainably strong. There were some that could bend fire and metal to their will, some that could string up love and cast it upon others, and others that knew more of war and how to win more than they even knew themselves. Others were the faces of glory, like Zeus and Hera and the sun god Apollo and so many others. There were many that were worshipped by humans every day of every week, and others that were forgotten until they were desperately needed. There were some that lived immortal lives and demanded respect from humans and gods alike, and then there were the ones invested in their art, in themselves, in the beauty of life itself.

That was Bucky. He was so immersed in song, in the gift that he had inherited from his mother, Calliope, that it was all he could think about. It was what made him different, it was what made him stand out from the boys that he grew up with that were just plain old strong. He had a talent, he had a mother that was a myth and a legend alike, and he had a lyre. He had a lyre, a lute, his voice, and a bit of speed, and that was all that he would ever need in life. That, and a pretty landscape to look at while he strummed his golden strings. But that was all he ever thought he would need- which was why he was knocked right off of his planted feet when he saw you walk by.

You were a human. You were a beautiful girl, probably the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his entire life. He had met goddesses and nymphs and princesses alike, but never had he met someone who had such a sweet face, such a gentle aura, and even more, a beautiful voice. You had only said a few words to someone else that were delivered with a gentle smile, but he could have sworn that your words were a melody. Before he knew it, your entire being was stamped into his mind, and he knew that he would never be able to forget you.

It was by complete chance that the next day, he decided to wallow in his sadness by a fountain in public, strumming his lyre too quietly for anyone else to hear. Anyone who knew him knew that he was devastatingly off. And coincidentally, the only ones who truly did know Bucky were Steve and Sam, two forest nymphs that had been his best friends since he taught them the ways of the lute years and years ago. They were sitting by him in silence on the marbled fountain, waiting next to him for the second shoe that they doubted would ever drop. But then, like Bucky was a sunflower following the sun itself, his back straightened, his head perked up, and his mouth dropped, his eyes wide and swirling with admiration as he watched you- the same human woman he was enamoured with- walk through the square again, a woven basket full of fresh fruits on your arm and your lilac dress swishing in the wind.

“No way,” he heard Sam mutter, and Steve poked his side.

“You were always such a doubter,” Steve mumbled, but the smile on his face was audible through his tone. “There she is, in the flesh.”

Bucky could hardly hear anything but the soft melody stirring up in his mind, louder than his racing heart, and just as tender as the feelings swirling inside of him. He saw you wave to the older woman you were talking to and then start to walk away, and he knew that he couldn’t let you go, not when the Fates so obviously gave him a second chance. Without a second thought, he slid off of the fountain, leaving his friends and his lyre, striding towards you with the brightest smile, trying to cover the fact that he was nervous.

His clumsy feet were carrying him a little too quickly, and he could hear the snickers of Steve and Sam from behind him. He craned his head backwards to look at them and laugh too, but he tripped over his own left foot, barreling right into you and knocking you flat onto the ground. His half immortal heart beat heavy and hard in his chest as he watched you wince under him. He scrambled up, cheeks flushed and hand shaking as he watched you sit up and brush the dirt off of your dress. He was looking down at you with a look that he prayed wasn’t as desperate as he felt. But he had to know you.

“I’m Orpheus,” he started, and when you turned your bright eyes to him with your brows furrowed, he shook his head like he was trying to get water from his hair. “No, I meant that I was sorry- I’m so sorry. For knocking you over, miss.” He extended his hand to you again, and he swore that he saw your lips quirk up a bit at him. You took his hand and stood up, brushing the fabric of your dress once again. He caught a trail of your scent, and he was immediately overtaken by the scent of fresh flowers and lavender.

That was when he really got a good look at you for the first time. The first time he saw you had been brief. You weren’t even looking anywhere near his way, and he only caught a look at your stunning side profile before you walked away. His vision had been practically blurred from excitement while he walked up to you, and he was so embarrassed about crashing into you that he was subtly trying not to look in your eyes. But… damn, he had been missing out.

He swore that time stopped. His own heart stopped beating, even the sluggish beat leaving for a few moments. The noises from the town square were so dull that they seemed muted. The stares of Steve and Sam felt so far off that he didn’t even notice them. All he knew was that he was utterly entranced by you, and for a second, he could have sworn that by the look in your eyes, you felt the same way. But like the blaring of an alarm, something knocked you both out of it, putting you in the present, with present problems.

“Oh, the fruits,” you muttered, looking at the peaches and apples that tumbled right out of your basket, bending over quickly to collect them despite the fact that they had gotten bruised. Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat with guilt when he realized he had ruined the fruit you had either picked or paid for, and then he was rushing to get them even faster, praying to the gods that you didn’t automatically hate him.

After looking into your eyes, he doubted he could live with himself if you even so much as disliked him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t have the best footing,” he apologized again, gently placing the fruits back into your basket.

“It’s okay,” you said, and your eyes trailed behind him to look at his friends that were howling with laughter, holding onto each other. He saw your displeasure, and his heart dropped when he understood that you probably thought they had sent him over just to mess with you. Your eyes whipped back to Bucky, and he blushed something fierce. He felt his cheeks warm up under your scrutiny, and then there was a smile creeping back onto your face. “I'm Eurydice.”

Oh, Gods. Eurydice. He swore that he had never heard something so beautiful in his life. He had grown up with the Muses, even had a mother as one, and was surrounded by music and poetry and epics every second of his childhood. Music was imprinted in his mind, every note embedded in his everyday life, yet still it was the most beautiful- “But I go by Y/N.” No. Eurydice was now second. But your name, the one he knew you had chosen for yourself, was the most beautiful thing that life had ever offered him to hear.

His brain was going many miles a minute, as quick as Hermes on a mission, but all he could do in the end was blink and offer his true name first, like politeness called for. “I’m Orpheus,” he extended his arm again to you, and you shook it twice. Your hand was soft, so soft that he didn’t want to let go of it. He would never forget the feeling of your hand in his, and the way he swore that the nerves under his skin were alight with the gentlest and sweetest of fires. “You can call me Eurydic- I mean, Bucky. I’m Bucky.”

You could both hear the laughter coming from Bucky’s friends, and while you were cracking a small smile, Bucky was dying on the inside. “You like to be called by other people's names?”

“I wouldn't mind being called by yours,” he blurted softly, his words coming out as a quick and uncalculated slur. He blinked abruptly when he realized that he was truly having the worst first introduction he had ever had in his life, and it was the one that somehow meant the most to him. “I- only because Eurydice is such a pretty- so is Y/N- I… I’m sorry.” He shook his head, knowing that he was so close to just having to walk away. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just gave you a short smile and waved, turning on his heel.

“I’m Orpheus, then. Maybe Bucky, too.” He slowly turned back around, a shocked look on his face. Had you really spoken to him again with your own free will?

Bucky knew that he wasn’t ugly. No god or demigod was ever ugly, other than poor Hephaestus. He knew that he had his own sort of charm and that he could bring the roughest of people to tears and the saddest of people to joy with his music, but he didn’t know anything else. He had three redeeming qualities that swirled in his head constantly- he was pretty, he had music, and he had a famous mother.

“Are you a singer?”

“Huh?” So much for eloquence.

You bit your lip. “You speak… you speak like you have a song in your heart. Are you a singer?”

He was stumped. Most knew at least of his music if nothing else. He was the most famed god or man to ever strum a lute besides maybe Apollo. Most knew nothing of his personality and nothing about him other than the fact that he was born to play and sing, and you didn’t? Where had you been living? “Well, I’m Orpheus.”

There was a grin on your face, and Bucky knew that he never wanted to see anything other than that for the rest of his life. “And that makes you a singer?”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk about who he was born from and where he learned to play and who taught him, but when he looked deeper and saw the spark of mischief in your eyes, he leaned back and held back a small smile of his own. His heart fluttered and grew two sizes. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, obvious teasing in your voice, and somehow it still stayed kind. “Maybe I do, and just wanted a free song out of you.”

She knows me, he thought, and his heart may as well have let out a lovesick sigh from within the confines of his chest. She has never heard me sing before, but she will. I’ll sing her a thousand songs.

“I’ll sing you all the songs you desire if you marry me,” he blurted, and while his mind was scolding him for uttering those words so quickly, his heart was steady on beating and so sure of itself that he told his mind off.

To his subtle surprise, you didn’t look shocked. You weren’t disgusted by his rather bold approach and most importantly, you weren’t laughing at him. He held onto your silence in limbo, waiting for you to say something that would either crush him to bits or send his soul rising so high that he reached the cloudy gates of Olympus.

“If you can make me a song that can make the skies open up and weep without singing a word, then I’ll marry you.”

His heart soared. His hands shook. He could have sworn that even his toes clenched. But all you could see were his wide, boyish eyes, and the hopeful look that dawned across his face. He nodded quickly. “I’ll do anything.”

He saw your lips pull up into a smile, genuine and even a little shy, and he couldn’t help but want to step closer. But he knew he had already been up front and abrupt, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

“Okay,” you said, nodding your own head slowly. “I’ll see you soon, then, Bucky.” You took a step back, eyes still connected to his blue ones until you finally turned around and walked away with the same basket on your arm, same dress swaying with the tuneless song of the wind.

The three of them stood in silence, watching you walk away, taking pieces of Bucky’s heart with you in your cradled arms. The bustling of the town was loud, moving about like nothing of significance had happened right where they were all standing, and Bucky found it nothing short of insane. Did no one else just see how the world stopped turning for that one girl? How the Fates put a pause on the clock just so that they could meet?

Steve’s voice brought him out of it. “Did you just ask for her hand in marriage?”

He didn’t even have the energy to shrug. All the swirled in his mind was love, passion, music, and you. You, you, you. “I had to.”

“How will you even find her again?” Steve asked, his logic once again being the only thing that held Bucky down to the ground.

“I know the work of Eros when I see it,” Sam said to Steve, shaking his head somewhat fondly at the pale boy with brunette hair who was still staring off in the direction you left in, like you would miraculously appear again. “They’ll find each other again soon enough.”

The hours went by and then the daylight turned into night and back to day again, and Sam’s words couldn’t have been truer. Your spirit and your face and your voice found Bucky with every few seconds that passed by. He couldn’t blink without seeing you. He couldn’t listen to anyone without hearing you. He couldn’t breathe without smelling your beautiful scent. Everything tasted bland, looked plain, and sounded like white noise after he met you. He knew that until his last (and unlikely) breath, his heart would ache for nothing more than to be yours. He wanted his ring to be on your finger, and yours to be on his.

So he began to make a song.

§§§

He worked tirelessly. The hours below the sun that used to be spent laughing and playing with Steve and Sam were exchanged for hours of composing. His normally perfect posture was hunched over as he tried to find the melody that had stirred in his heart when he first saw you- because he knew that was it.

By the end of twelve days of pure struggling, most of the song was finished. He was a fast worker, so fast that it made everyone else’s heads spin, but he felt it was going too slowly. But then again, he was fast at everything. The melody was as stuck with him as his skin was to his body. He was sure that it would never leave him, even if he wrote a thousand more songs. And part of him never wanted it to go, because it was so you.

He had only held one conversation with you, and it wasn’t long enough, but he felt like he had known you for years. He felt like he had sung to you hundreds of times and danced with you a hundred times more. Your soul felt so familiar yet so foreign that he had to chase after you, and had to discover anything that he could have missed. He knew that you were his destiny, and he had a feeling that you knew he was yours.

The song he was writing wasn’t sad, but it brought tears to his eyes all the same. It wasn’t about longing or loss or chasing after something that would never come to you, but it made Steve and Sam wipe their eyes all the same. It was about your beauty, your inherent wit and kindness, and the way that you set his soul free from chains he didn’t even know of. It was about a love he had never dreamed of finding or even thought to be true, and that was enough to make the three of them weep.

“I think it’s finished, Buck.” This came from Steve after he wiped his eyes again, sitting through the full song again even though his heart aches for a love he had never felt before. “Sam thought it was done days ago.”

Sam had left the two of them alone days ago, claiming that he couldn’t stand to hear the melody and cry each time, claiming that it was beautiful but too much. It made sense. Even Bucky himself was starting to feel the effects of it. But Steve was a stubborn thing, and he would sit through it for as long as Bucky would play it.

“You think it’s enough to make the skies open and cry?” Bucky breathed out, loosely quoting the words he had heard from you not too long ago.

“Even if it’s not, it will surely win her over,” Steve said. “She was already wooed by you, you’re a fool not to see it. She was excited enough that you even agreed to make the song in the first place, anyway.”

Bucky sat there for a few minutes as his fingers tingled, expecting to be used again to pluck the magnificent strings. But he set his instrument down on the log he sat on, sighing and placing a hand under his chin, his thoughts trailing over to you for the thousandth time. “I hope she accepts it.”

Steve just looked at him. “I think that if you came empty handed and told her half of the words you tell me and Sam, she’d follow you anywhere.”

Steve was right. Steve had to have been right, or he was going to wilt right in front of you. He had to be. The brunet nodded, biting his pink lip before opening his mouth again. “Where do you think I’ll find her?”

§§§

It didn’t take long to find you at all. Bucky went to find you alone, finding you because something inside of him told him to search the flowering fields nearby, and there you were. There was a hat made of straw over your head to cover your eyes and face from the sun, and you had the same basket on your arm that you had the other days. It was empty this time, and he had no doubt that you were looking at the flowers for fun before going to look for fruit. He couldn't help but smile fondly at you from across the field, and then he was gripping his lyre and taking a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice full of emotion instead of being the strong sound he wanted it to be. Nonetheless, it caught your attention, and then your pretty eyes were wide on him. Immediately, your feet turned in his direction and you made your way across the meadow, and he followed suit. He met you in the middle, so nervous that the grin that was deep inside of him wasn’t coming out at all.

You were both at a loss for words as you stood close to each other. His hands shook at his sides, aching to hold your hands in his. He wondered if they were as soft as your voice, or as smooth as the petals flowers you admired. “You came?”

He blinked. Of course he did. It was all he could think of doing. “My only regret is not coming sooner,” he admitted, and he watched you angle your eyes downwards, and he smiled at your shyness. “Would you like to hear it?”

Your eyes were connecting with his again, and he could have sworn that your smile could have put him in an early grave. He was momentarily stunned by you and your brightness, so stunned that he hardly even heard what you said. “Of course I would.”

“So then you’ll hear it,” he said softly, his heart and mind completely taken over by you in your presence. He fixed his lyre into position, his fingers already fixed into the correct spots as he began to play your song.

His eyes were shut as he strummed just as he had practiced thousands of times, but he knew it felt different. His body was buzzing with excitement and something else he couldn’t identify, but he loved it. It made him play stronger. His eyes shut even more as he felt the music, swaying side to side a bit as he felt his heart open up to you, finally content with you hearing the song.

He didn’t even realize that he was done until all he could hear was quiet sniffles. He pried his left eye open, almost too scared to look for your reaction, but when he saw that you were just looking up at him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile, he opened his other eye, ready to spring into action.

The only thought going through his mind was that it was impossible that you liked it. The way you were looking at him reminded him of the way people looked at sculptures of ancient monsters— a muted type of awe, but also a sense of discomfort. He brought you to tears, and not in the way he wanted to. He ruined it.

“I- was it bad?” He blurted out, and he cursed himself at ruining his own chance. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t like it-”

“How long have you been playing that song?”

You were too beautiful. Too gentle. You were melting his brain into mush, and he doubted that he would be able to pick up his lyre for another round even if you begged him. “I… I just made it. For you, I made it with you in mind.”

Your facial expression didn’t change. “Where’s the ring?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The rings we’re going to wear when we wed,” you said, almost teasing. “Do you have them?”

His eyes widened. “You want to marry me?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in shock. “The sky didn’t- the rain never came.”

“I cried,” you said, a small smile on your face. You still hadn’t wiped your tears, and he watched them frozen on your face, stuck in time. “I didn’t expect the work of the gods. I just wanted you to play for me.”

He was bewildered. He had half of the mind to ask you if you truly meant it again, but he took his excitement and ran with it. “And you… you feel this too?”

You took his right hand into yours, and he swore that his souls ascended to the gates of Olympus and waltzed right in. “I felt it the second I saw you, Bucky.”

He blushed something fierce before looking down at the ground, shame overtaking his sheer admiration for you. “There’s something I should tell you before you say you want to be with me.”

“Tell me anything,” you encouraged softly, one of your hands coming up to brush his warm cheek.

“I don’t have much.”

And he didn’t. He had Sam and Steve and a nomadic lifestyle. He never stayed in the same place for long, and he didn’t have a roof over his head. He didn’t need one. Rain and wind and fire didn’t bother him. He preferred to live under the canopy of trees and the protection of nature. But he knew humans didn’t. He knew humans— especially women— liked when their partners brought things to the table, and he had nothing but strings and whistles. He had nothing materialistic. He had no gems, no coins, no house, and fancy clothes— nothing money could buy. But he looked at you and saw that you deserved it all, and even more he saw that he had no way to even provide it for you.

“I live in many different places, I don’t have a home. I don’t have money. I don’t have… I can’t buy you dresses or shoes or any of the stuff you would probably like… and I’m sorry. I know that will probably change everything, but I just wanted you to know.”

You took a step forward, strong and secure, and then your chin was tilted upwards. “Like I said, where are the rings?”

Bucky grinned.

§§§

The day of your wedding was blessed by the gods, whether they admitted it or not. You married each other in the meadow Bucky found you in with a small crowd of people, and when you kissed as man and wife, peace washed over the both of you, and it felt like your marriage had been approved by all far and wide. The kiss that you shared to make the wedding official was short and sweet and full of the most innocent of passion, and he felt so adored by the soft touch of your lips that he felt a singular tear cross the terrain of his pale face for the first time in years.

He didn’t even deny it.

He didn’t deny the way that you danced together was perfect. He had never guided you, had hardly even danced with another woman, but it was perfect. It was like he had practiced with you before a hundred times, and the feel of your hands in his was what kept him sane. He was convinced that you could do anything new with him and it would feel like you had done it before, just because you were so familiar to him as a whole.

He had known you for what felt like seconds in the grand scheme of things, but you knew him inside out and he knew you better than he knew himself. He could find you in the dark, you could identify him with just a whisper of his voice, and he could fall in love with you over and over without even touching you. He would perform the Sisyphean task of falling in love with you over and over again if it meant that he could be next to you.

And luckily, it turned out that you didn’t need the things that Bucky was sure you were going to. He got you a small house just for the two of you to come back to, and he still roamed around in the area. Steve and Sam would walk off and come back weeks later, just like they used to when it was the three of them together. And there would Bucky be, at the house he made possible for you, and happier than ever.

Bucky lived an extremely modest life with you, and he liked it. Farming and getting water from wells and working for the food that was on your tables, cutting wood to feed the flames in the pit in the middle of your main room. Life was somewhat repetitive, so repetitive that he was scared he would lose you to your wild imagination and beautiful, adventurous heart. But it had never been as fulfilling as it was with you.

The little things were what made his day. It was waking up with you at his side, tucked into his arms and still sleeping soundly while he made songs up in his head dedicated to you that made him smile. It was listening to you hum to yourself while you washed corn and peaches and squash in the buckets of water you had carried down the hill that served as your property. It was the way you would pull him out of a funk by taking his hand and leading him out of his chair, dancing to music that didn’t exist, or the way you would coax him to sing to the moon because you wanted a longer night. A longer night meant more time spent with each other.

When you woke up after your long nights, sometimes you would coax him out of bed for some daily challenge, a challenge that usually he would end up beating you at. Part of him believed that you just wanted him to show off, but you always said otherwise. You would challenge him in singing only to have him go first and not even sing, claiming you had already lost. You would tell him you wanted to race him to the stream and back, knowing that you would lose by a long shot. He could run circles around you if he hardly tried, and that was just in his godly blood. But there was never any jealousy, never any animosity, never any bitterness. It was all just sweet, it felt.

You were just so magical. It was so simple, the things that made him happy, but he knew that just one call from your soul to his was more than just communication. He craved it. He knew from the moment that he met you that his soul would always seek yours, even into the afterlife. He knew that every day with you would be as beautiful as you were on your wedding day, shining brighter than any gem or any star in the night sky. And none of it would ever change.

§§

Things changed. Just as the sun rose and set, so did time. It cranked on without a single hint of Bucky aging, and you were still as youthful as you were the three years prior. Life was still beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

You had traveled around the world with him, kissed in so many different cities with different kings and different cultures and different music. You had met so many different people, lived so many different lives, just to go back home and settle there. It was wonderful. He loved you, and you loved him. It was the kind of love that was never at risk of fading or thawing away. It was the kind of love that was only spurned on as the years crawled by, the days acting as twigs added to an already strong fire. It was such a beautiful thing that he had with you, and every day with you felt like one that was blessed by the gods themselves.

Until it didn’t.

Bucky had never felt fear in his heart like he did when he heard your scream travel across the meadow. He didn’t even put on his shoes before tearing off to find you, torn between begging you to make another sound so that he could hear you or pleading the gods to make the sound of your distress stop and never happen again. His chest rose and fell with the exertion, and he knew that he had never been so afraid in his life.

The scream was all that echoed in his mind when he ran through the woods, and as he stumbled upon fallen fruits and flowers that he just knew were yours. He realized he was at the end of a ravine almost too late, and when he looked down, following the steep curve of the slope with wary and partially-knowing eyes, he immediately doubled over.

There you were in all your fallen glory, legs bent unnaturally and neck twisted even worse. The light yellow of your dress was stained with brown and dark green, and in some places a deep red that made him sick to his stomach. Your eyes were looking up at the sky, staring right into the sun as it shone down on your figure, taunting him just like the breeze that began to make your dress look so lively.

Bucky fell to his knees right on the edge of the ravine, his heart not even lurching when he lost his balance. An arm reached out to you, like it was stuck in the moment before you fell and he could reach you. Tears were coming down his face slowly, steadily as he fought to get breaths in. He called your name.

He didn’t know how many times he called your name, or how far the sadness in it traveled. It must have been loud and long enough, because before he knew it, there were hands on his shoulders. They were warm and familiar and even the smallest bit comforting in that moment, but not enough. He wanted your hands.

“Let’s get away from the edge, Buck.” It was Steve’s voice, strong and gentle and the backbone of the situation. Bucky’s eyes pried open at the feeling of Steve’s sturdy hands pulling him backwards, and he retched in his mouth at the sight of your broken, soulless body at the bottom. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten so close to it himself.

“I’ll go down to…” Sam started, trailing off with a soft and distraught look on his face when he caught sight of Bucky again, and Steve nodded at him.

“Let’s get you up, Buck. Up and Washed off.” He hadn't even realized he was dirty at all. His hands were covered in dirt and under his fingernails were the same earthy brown he was used to. He had been pulling up grass from where he grieved without even noticing.

His sobs were so loud that they hurt Steve’s ears. His dragging steps were causing such a disturbance to the land around him that animals seemed to crane their necks at him and cast their glances his way, as if wondering how on earth a person could be that distressed. His mouth was moving, but it looked and sounded more like babbling and trembling as waterfalls came down the canvas of his pale skin.

“Buck, you have to calm down. You’re about to have an attack.”

He didn’t know if he meant heart attack or a panic attack, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were dead, all twisted up at the bottom of a ravine. Your soul had left the earth, left your body, and you were just laying there like you had never been alive. Like you had never held his hand, or kissed his cheek, or wore his ring or laughed or sang or read fine poetry while eating the fruits you had picked. Seeing you down there with your open and dim eyes felt like you had never lived at all.

“Keep walking with me, buddy. You’re going to be just fine.”

But he wasn’t. Every step he took away from you made bile come up in his throat. He wanted to be as far away from your lifeless body as possible, but he didn’t want to ever let you go. He wanted to hold you close to him until it felt like you were alive again. But as his heart beat seemed to freeze up but race like a horse all the same, he realized that you would never be alive again. You were only as alive as your last few moments, whether they were filled with the joy and freedom of having the wind on your face or the fear of falling. He could do nothing to change it.

But he would try to do everything.

§§

He spoke to everything and nothing. Steve and Sam would take turns coming to him after they celebrated your life. It reminded Bucky of the way that his mothers friends used to come watch him while his mother was off and away somewhere, and how it felt like they thought of him as a cute little burden. He knew deep down that his friends cared for him more than anything and that he cared about them just as much, but he couldn’t think about anything but you. He wouldn’t.

It was a service that made the skies open just like you said they would for his voice. The day lilies that surrounded you and Bucky seemed to be weeping with him. The wind came from east to west and west to east, spinning around and throwing in the scent of the flower with the smell of oncoming rain, reflecting the turmoil he was feeling on the inside. He could have sworn that the earth had trembled just like his hands that held your cold and still ones. But if the world had caved down under him at that moment, he wouldn’t have moved. He wouldn’t have opened his mouth to scream, or even say a word. He would have only held your hand tighter.

He spoke to the moon more often than he did Steve and Sam. They hovered, but it was the kind of hovering that Bucky felt he would appreciate sooner or later. He would sit every night and talk to the moon with his legs pulled into his chest, small and in such a vulnerable position that it would have made him feel uncomfortable at any other time. But he was vulnerable. He had been knocked off of his feet and winded. The world kicked him while he was down more times than he could count, and they had opened his chest and peeked right into his heart before seeing it was unworthy and walking away from him. It left him bleeding out in the forest while he listened to the birds eventually go on back to chirping, and watched the flowers push through and grow, and people laugh and smile and talk like nothing changed.

He was doing just that. He was lying in the flowering fields that he would always swear belonged to you, the both of you, when he heard soft footsteps. He didn’t care to look up. He knew it wasn’t Steve or Sam, but why would he care? He had nothing to be scared of now that you were gone.

“You’re Orpheus.” It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t even blink, but an annoyance he couldn’t shake bubbled up inside of him at hearing the name his mother granted him coming from a stranger. As much as he wanted complete silence, he couldn’t help but say- “Bu- sure. I’m Orpheus.”

“Everyone heard, you know.” The voice was of an old, frail woman. Bucky knew that without even looking, He ignored the fact that pity was strong in her voice, and that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He ignored the way he knew that she thought that she had the right to talk about his wife, about the way he had lost you far too soon. She knew nothing. But he let her speak. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say a word. He didn't even recognize words as an option. He would stay silent and wait until she left. Maybe if he was quiet enough or stared up at the sky in such a still manner that it scared her, she would leave him. If he pretended to be as dead as he felt, he was sure she would leave.

“There hasn’t been a good song since you’ve stopped playing.” He heard rustling, and then he dared to look off to the side to see the old woman struggling to sit, cane wobbling in her hand as she finally plopped her frail bones onto the ground near him. He sighed heavily and looked back up to the sky. “You know, you’ve gotta be the most moving musician to ever walk the earth, from both god and man.”

It was a compliment that would have had him blushing years ago. It would have had his young mind fumbling for his lute or lyre and clearing his godly voice, asking if she wanted to sing with him or just listen. Now, it incited nothing. It meant nothing. “I doubt I’ll ever play again.”

“You pleased god and man,” the old woman carried on, almost like she had never heard him open to speak with that raspy voice of his that was so uncharacteristic of him that it hurt to hear. “Anyone would have done anything to hear your music.”

He finally turned to the side to look the old woman in her face, and he blinked at her. “I’m grieving.”

“You could persuade anyone with seven strings and five notes, don’t you understand that?” Her voice was almost angry. It was hard and nearly pleading, so different from her previous tone that Bucky snapped his head her way. “If I were you, I would have been at Death’s gates.”

They were staring at each other. Bucky was looking at the decrepit woman with curly gray hair that looked like she had dodged a visit to the Gates of Death herself more than once with shocked eyes. His heart started to beat again, like her words were arousing some kind of vicious hope that he never even knew could exist.

“The gods blessed your union. They won’t ever say, but they did bless your marriage. What makes you think that if you beg, you won’t get a blessed reunion as well?”

She disappeared within seconds of her final words, leaving a revelation swirling around in his mind and haunting his every thought.

§§

His feet ached. His hands were beginning to blister from stroking the strings of his tired lyre, and his throat was even beginning to strain. He had been singing for hours, pouring his heart out at the hidden gates of the Underworld, begging for an audience. But above all the physical pain ranked the ache in his heart, the unbearable feeling of your death sitting on his shoulders and ripping him apart from the inside. His grief was destroying him.

Hades might as well have had ears plugged up with the same wax that was used by Odysseus and his men. Usually he went undisputed, because just as life was certain, so was death. There was no questioning the decision of it, or the Fates, or the rule of Hades and his acceptance of his dear Eurydice into his kingdom. Everyone was allowed to plead and beg, but no one ever went down to the gates of the Underworld to ask for the release of a loved one, whether they were man or god. But there he was, standing in dirtied pants with fingertips plucked pink, and tears running down his face.

He didn’t know if he would ever gain the strength to leave. He didn’t know what he would do if someone even bothered to humor him. He wasn’t going to be able to have you back. He was never going to be able to bring you back up above, have you under the sun and shining beautifully like you were born to do. What would he beg of them? For them to let him see that your soul ended up in the Asphodel Meadows? For them to let him hold you one last time before you drank from the Lethe and forgot everything that happened? What if you had already drank from it? Each thought made his stomach lurch more, and his music grew louder and more desperate, like the final battle cry of a warrior.

His back was up against a tree as he sang out again in the night, praying for someone to hear him and take pity on his poor soul. Strike me down and send me with her, if you cannot give me the gift of seeing her again. The same tears that had been steadily pouring down his face were gathered in a puddle at his unmoving feet, yet he didn’t mind. He couldn’t.

“You have woken my wife.”

Bucky’s playing stopped immediately. “What?”

The man before him was dark. He was tall and seemed to take up almost the entire space even though he was only a bit wider than Bucky. His shoulders were broad and his chin was strong, and his eyes were sharp even under the gloomy look they had to them. His cheekbones were sunken in and his eyes had a ring of black around them, like he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. His lips were set in a hard line, but he didn’t look displeased. Most notably, he had a dark aura surrounding him, even black most coming from behind him and nearly encasing him.

“I don’t repeat myself, and luckily, it looks like you heard me the first time.” His voice was deep, enthralling, like a song that Bucky would never dare write himself.

What was a man this terrifying, this powerful, doing in the forest? How had Bucky woken a soul when he was in soulless territory? He hadn’t seen houses for leagues.

Something inside of Bucky begged him to apologize. It begged him to get into his knees and look downwards towards the growing grass and hope to be spared. If this was before he lost you, maybe he would have listened to it. But what did he have to truly live for now that his darling was gone?

“I’m sorry to have brought you out of your dwellings because of my grieving.”

There was a certain kind of silence that would have made Bucky’s skin crawl if he even dared to look the being’s way. “Grieving?”

“My wife.” He breathed out, finally letting his arms loose as he let his trust lyre fall down to his side. “She… has fallen prey to death.”

“Ah,” the man said, his voice nearly a scoff. “I see. The circle of life.”

“And now my life shall go in circles, on and on and down the same miserable path without the woman I love,” Bucky stated, resting his head back against the tree. “I wish I knew a man that grieved. Me… I live amongst gods. We don’t grieve. We don’t die. I have never met a man who had an inch of grief in his heart. I feel like the first to ever feel it.”

“We can lose people in other ways than death,” the man said. “Death is the most absolute, but it seems to hurt a lot less than voluntary abandonment.”

“This is my first brush with death, and I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan.” What an understatement.

“That’s a shame. My wife is quite the fan of you and your… grief. She says it’s the most moving thing she’s ever heard.” Bucky just nodded, eyes far off. “She wants to meet you.”

“I don’t really want to meet anyone.”

“You don’t want to see my wife? You don’t want a two way ticket to the world you’ve been singing about taking passage to for days now, Orpheus?”

His head turned slowly, eyes widening as he tried to piece thoughts and facts together with his sluggish mind. “What?” But he knew. He knew with another glance at this man that he was no man at all, but one of the original gods. He was Hades, in the divine flesh, standing right before him with a glint in his eyes that meant he was satisfied by Bucky’s shock. He went to his knees, kneeling as a sob piled up into his throat.

“Your Excellency,” he began to plead, recalling back to the times he was a young god, listening to his mother explaining the way that he should speak to all the gods who came before him- especially one as powerful as Hades. “I apologize. My mind is not set right— the loss of my wife has taken a toll on me. Please forgive me.”

“Your grief blinds you.”

There was no point in lying. “It does.”

“I, too, was blinded by grief. In fact, it happens every other six months, though I suppose you young gods and humans call it winter and fall. My wife would leave, gone with a stroke of wind and then come back only to wilt again. But she, just like your own wife, will learn that there is nothing we can do about the situations we are in. Destiny will have us where she has us, and your Eurydice’s path above has ended.”

Bucky wanted to scream at him. He wanted to refuse him and tell him that Destiny and the Fates would have to bend to his will, because there was no other way. He couldn’t last another day without you, let alone a lifetime. But the god he was speaking to was Hades, and Bucky was just Orpheus, a low level demigod.

“However, my wife still wants to meet you. She wants to hear your song clearly, where it’s not muffled by distance.” His heart began to race. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wide as he tried to take in a deep breath, waiting for the gloomy god’s next words. “If you agree to see her and play her that song of yours, I’ll let you see this wife you speak of. Does that sound fair?”

Nodding was all Bucky could do to stay awake.

§§

The Underworld was just as gloomy as it was in the stories. Black and grey ran together to create a shadowy world, dismal and dark. It was full of strange sounds, like the whistling of thick wind that almost sounded like wailing humans. The air was so heavy that Bucky was finding it hard to breathe, and there was a mist so hard to cut through that Bucky could hardly see more than three feet in front of him at a time. Hades led him, and the only reason he could see him was because of his true height showing, and the fact that his dark smoke was even darker than the mist.

His hands shook. Both of them held onto his lyre for dear life. It was close to his chest, strings facing away from him, but still it felt like he could feel the vibrations of it, like the air was mocking him back by playing a song of its own. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and fall to his knees, the environment putting him in near shock.

But he had to find you.

Hades stopped in his tracks, turning his sunken face towards Bucky, who had to fight to not flinch. “If you play for my wife and she likes it, I’ll take you to see yours.” He nodded his head quickly, putting his lyre into position, his arms trembling with anxiety. The double doors opened without the old god even touching them, and then Bucky was faced with an ancient throne room, elegant and dark all the same.

The first thing he did once he got near the sitting Queen of the Underworld was kneel. Tears were already swirling in his eyes, and his throat was lurching. If he were a human, he was sure that he would have been throwing up. He prayed silently to his mother, calling upon the strength of the Muses and their talents into his blood once more.

It was silent until the queen finally spoke. “So you’re the musician?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I expected you to be much older,” she said, her soft voice a plain contrast from her husband’s, and the dark setting of the Underworld. And then, Bucky understood that the stories weren’t embellished. At first thought, she didn’t seem to belong down there, least of all with Hades. He didn’t dare look up at either of them. “Your grief seems to be centuries old.” It felt like it was. The hole in his heart felt older than he was.

“This is Orpheus, son of Calliope,” Hades explained. “He can’t be more than a few thousand years, if I remember correctly.”

“Young, very young.” Persephone mused, the tone of her voice almost curious. “And what causes you to play this song?”

He explained it. He explained all of it. Your death, his need to see you, his stupid hope of bringing you back home where you belonged. He left it all on the table for them both to hear, even though he knew that the odds were unlikely for him. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he got ridiculed or thrown back out of the gate, all that mattered to him was that he tried his hardest to get you. And that you knew, deep down in your forgotten mind, that he tried.

“Your music has moved me so, truly.” Persephone said, and then Bucky looked up. She was beautiful, flowers all over her body. She was the brightest thing down there, no doubt, and she still had that godly glow that all the other gods had, a golden rim around her body. She turned her face toward her husband without taking her eyes off of Bucky. “And I want to give you a chance.”

Bucky’s heart stopped. “Your Excellency?”

She was facing Hades now. “Give him a condition.” She muttered, her hands gripping the arms of the throne she sat on. “But let him try.”

Hades frowned. “If I let her go, how many humans do you think will hear of this tale and try to do the same?”

“None.” The goddess answered quickly. “They’re afraid of you. This boy is not. And unlike gods, humans accept death. They know that it is a part of the cycle, and they wouldn’t dare dispute it. This is just a confused young god. He hasn’t seen death before. This will be the only time anyone will ever ask this of you, Hades.”

It was pure silence. It seemed to stretch on for eons as Hades contemplated his wife’s words. The lyre had fallen to the ground minutes before, and Bucky felt himself reaching for it. Tears were streaming down his face now. “I’ll play for you again. I’ll play for you for a decade straight if you let me take her home at the end, if you let her remember me.” He added desperately, body trembling with anticipation.

Hades had dark eyes, and those dark eyes were full of uncertainty and something close to anger while he stared at Bucky, with a look on his face that was so blank that it frightened him. His wife’s hand was on his chest as she pleaded with him on Bucky’s behalf, yet he only stared Bucky down.

“If you can walk your way out of my domain without turning back to look at her, you can take her with you above ground.” Bucky sobbed. “If you look back, boy, she stays in the Asphodel Meadows.”

Bucky sobbed again.

§§

His back faced everything. He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of his own heart, the heartbeat that seemed to extend all the way down to the fingertips that gripped the infamous lyre in his hand. He shook with every breath, and every blink was harsh on his eyes as he tried not to cry.

He wished he could hear you. He wished he could hear your soft voice reassure him, tell him that you remembered everything, that you were right behind him and that you would follow him everywhere, just like he would follow you. Just like he had followed you. He wished he could hear you.

He wished he could feel you. If your warm hands could just ghost over his shoulders and push him forward without quite letting go, he would have made the trek a thousand times. If he could feel your hands brushing away the hair out of his line of sight, he would have been walking before Hades even gave permission. He wished he could feel you.

He couldn’t. But he would walk anyway.

He hardly heard Hades give permission, his ominous tone echoing through the otherwise empty cavernous area, or the sound of Persephone’s whispers. But he could feel it in the air, suffocating and burying him.

Every lift of his foot was agonizing, every step far heavier than he ever imagined he could bear. But he would do it for you. He would push. Every whisper of doubt that crossed his mind, he would throw away.

It didn’t matter that at times, he wasn’t sure if you got what you needed from him. It didn’t matter that he felt like you weren’t fulfilled by the life you had with him. He had faith. It dwindled with every step, but he had faith. He would keep it and nurture it with every breath he had inside of him on the long journey back home.

Seconds started to feel like minutes, and minutes started to feel like hours. He hated it. His throat was closing in on itself like his voice was his enemy, like the voice everyone thought was so golden was the voice that would be the final nail in his coffin.

His feet were still aching, but the ache had become dull. Louder and more painful was the feeling of the cold biting his skin, like it was a reminder to stay conscious, to stay alert and thinking. Thinking was his vice and virtue. The silence was too loud. His mind was in pain, his heart even worse as he started to feel like the cold was his antagonizer. It was cold up above. It was in the cold where you suffered the most, where you struggled to stay positive. It was in the cold where he could hardly provide for you. It was in the cold where he had to hold you so close to him that air didn’t stand a chance between the two of you because every other man had already chopped the good wood.

But at the same time, he began to feel warm. It felt so warm to his skin that it felt like he was about to step into Tartarus. And it was in the warmth that you dressed in that pretty, short dress that got you harassed by men without humanity. It was in the summer that he found he couldn’t defend you. It was in the summer that he had a flash of realization that he wasn’t strong enough. It was in the summer that he got an even more fleeting flash of the thought that he wasn’t enough at all.

It was in the spring, in the months where there was sun and soft breezes, that he realized again that he was of no help. He had gotten a job one spring that was honest work, but brought in a lot less for the household than you did. He was working with the hands that were already calloused over to help men far more experienced than him craft things to sell to the town. He worked hard to come home tired just to know deep down that for all his work, he had not much more than chump change and a positive outlook to his name.

It was one autumn that he realized how much he had failed you, and he swept it under the rug like he did every other season. One autumn, he walked in on you crying in the arms of your friend- the local plum vendor that Bucky always used to buy from- about how you were terrified of being pregnant. As he walked through the Underworld, he asked himself how he could have ever forgotten that moment. Because what you said had shaken his heart to the core.

“There’s no way I would be able to take care of it.”

It wasn’t the certain doubt that was plants in your mind. It wasn’t the fact that neither of you had noticed Bucky hovering in the door because you were sobbing so hard. It wasn’t the way the woman comforted you better than he thought he was ever able to- because with him, you just never addressed the bad. It was as swept under the rug as dirt was. It was the way you said “I”. Alone. By yourself. Him and his contributions weren’t even in the picture. Were they even contributions?

It was never his voice that was his greatest feature and his worst. It was his mind. His mind was his killer. His mind was a killer, his poison and his weapon, and he was turning it right onto himself. His legs trembled as he fought the urge to look, to crane his neck and get his disappointment over with. Were you following him? Did you even remember him- or had you already drank from the river that would steal all of the life that you had before? Had Hades tricked him into leaving quietly?

And if you did remember him, why on earth would you follow him? You would be following him back to a land that was full of struggle and making it through day by day. You would be trudging after him this time only for him to bring up the rear in everything else. He would be the one smiling at you after you came from working to the bone, providing for him and yourself. That was all he ever had to offer, a smile and a song. What could he truly trade for a smile and a song? What could he get you?

Nothing.

What could he do if you got hurt again?

Nothing.

What could he do with his life when he surfaced and found you not there, far behind in the Underworld?

Nothing.

The doubt piled up. It replaced the faith like the faith was a forest and doubt was a wildfire. Every footstep added to it. He was convinced. He was sure that the result of him turning around at that one moment could be no worse than him turning around when he got to be above ground and away from the suffocating death. You weren’t going to be there. Whether he turned right then or in a hundred years, you weren’t going to be there. If you were in your right, beautiful mind, you would have seen him begging and turned your eyes from him and pretended like you hadn't known him.

He couldn’t tell where he was. His breathing was too shaky for him to think about anything else but breathing and thinking about you. It was too dark. His feet hadn’t touched grass yet and he knew he had to try to keep pushing, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He was bursting at the seams to confirm something that he already knew was coming for him.

His feet dragged. His steps sped up but it felt like he was fighting quicksand. He was struggling to walk through it, fighting to take breaths in it. The shallow breaths were somehow pitched high, bouncing off of the rocky, cavernous walls he began to hate. The only thing on his mind was doubt, doubt, doubt. It was a fever he couldn’t sweat out. A tremor he couldn’t shake away. A dark color he couldn’t paint over. A shadow he couldn’t run from. And just when he couldn’t fight it anymore, he saw light.

He never ran so fast in his entire life. He wanted to escape the feeling clawing at his throat and chest, the dread and preparation for pure disappointment. He wanted to step into the light, step into something he knew, before he allowed himself to collapse in grief again. It felt like the light was getting closer, and then it would fade again and come back lighter. He didn’t register the sound of sobbing until the sound faded out and stopped echoing, and then he was aware that his feet were touching the grass.

His feet were touching grass.

His hands shook as he raised them to his face, cupping his cheeks as he came to the realization that he was out of the nightmare that was the Underworld. Emotions were rushing into him faster than he could understand what they were, and then his mind stopped. His face was dry. His head whipped around.

Your eyes were wide and watery. Your dress was torn and bloody, just like it was when you had died. Your hair was a mess, and you were shaking from crying so hard. You stood there like a ghost, transparent and out of place, but crying real tears all the same. The sobs he had been hearing weren’t his own. They were yours. And you were still encased by the shadows of the Underworld.

You had been trying to catch up to him.

“Oh!” His exclamation was more of a dying moan than anything else. His trembling hands cupped his mouth again as he watched you cry again, crying even harder than that one time where the leaves were falling. He uttered your name once, and then once turned into four times, and as your cries got louder, his muttering turned into a shout, your name the one word he was calling out over and over again.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby.” He watched as you opened and shut your mouth over and over, shaking your head as silence was all you could produce. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He was drawing blood from how his fists were clenched. “Baby, my sweet love, my darling,” the names were dripping from his tongue like honey, like it was a balm that could soothe the both of you. His apologies were just as tender, as quiet and disbelieving as the language his eyes were speaking. He couldn’t help but reach out to you with a dying apology on his lips, his foot crossing the barrier you would be stuck behind forever, and just before he touched what must have been your cold skin, there was nothing but air.

Nothing but your lingering presence and his poisonous mind.

§§

He never thought that life could be so meaningless. Even before he met you, he felt like he had a purpose. He was an entertainer, a traveling man, a man who brought joy and music with him effortlessly wherever he went. Not anymore.

He was empty, and he felt like an empty glass jar. He wasn’t even an empty box— he was something anyone that had eyes could see right through. Everyone saw him and knew he was the one who had lost a wife and in turn given up all his divine talent. They looked at him through lenses that were wet with pity. He hated it.

He hated himself for doing the same to the humans who had lost loved ones. He felt horrible for giving them those looks, for telling Steve and Sam their stories without really knowing it. Now he was going through the unimaginable.

Nothing mattered, he learned. He thought that thought over and over again every time he woke up and every time he was going to sleep. He thought it while he sat in the cold on one winter night with no fire in the fireplace. It was something that would have made him worry a bit, or made him irritated at himself. Nothing really caused him to get angry or sad anymore. He was just there. It was like he was living yet another death by extension. The world gave him his cards and he played them in the worst way possible. But that’s what he did. He couldn’t change it.

He couldn’t change anything. All he could do was pray that you forgot the way that he failed you time and time again, and then where it was most important.

He would remember enough for the both of you.

****

hi guys! i feel like i literally have come back from the dead with all the time i’ve been in and out of here. it’s been so hectic and busy that i’m proud i got this out so soon lmao- i worked hard on this, so if you were feeling it please like and reblog!!

[hyliasblade]

OOC/Rules

mun is kris. 24. they/them, anxious bastard lol

updated 7/3/23: the wrath month edition

the roulxs:

18+ only

minors and personals will be soft blocked. upon following again: hard block.

if you are a personal with an rp sideblog please make it clear on your blog or just tell me because otherwise you might get blocked.

minor MUSES are fine though

i read rules pages for every blog i follow that has one but i have a shit memory so if i accidentally breach one of your rules please let me know. or block me if it’s that egregious but please for the love of god do not publicly @ me who the fuck does that. do not make a callout post for me being forgetful like a fucking weirdo. if i breach a rule that is not on your rules page then i’m sorry, i’m not a mind reader.

on the “q slur:” i’ll do my best to tag is as “#q //” that’s q, two slashes. keep in mind i identify with that word, strongly. if it angers you that i would dare use a “"slur”“ to label myself or whatever, remember “gay” has seen just as much use as a slur. i grew up in the american south, i’ve heard both words used for the same harmful reasons. sorry if this comes off as angry or petty, but if you were continually told that “gay” is a slur and you shouldn’t use it for yourself, you’d be tired and angry too, wouldn’t you? i’ll do my best to tag for it, but i will die on this hill.

please tag spiders/scorpions/arachnids, hanging/nooses, and also maybe trypo/holes thanks

semi-selective i will roleplay with most fandoms, ocs, and muses also not moots exclusive.

please don’t like. involve me in drama or callouts or shit. i’m just here trying to play fucking online dolls

with the above said i do reserve the right to block/cease interacting with ppl who make me uncomfortable, just like you reserve the right to block/cease interacting with me if i make u uncomfortable. i prefer to try to come to some kind of understanding first, but sometimes it doesn’t work out that way

please note that i, the mun, am mentally ill and neurodivergent. in a lot of cases, my muses will share some of my own personal struggles to sort of like. explore these things myself and shit. link in particular shares a lot of my neurodivergencies and chronic pain. shit gets frustrating and sometimes roleplaying a tiny elf twink going thru the same shit helps a bit. u know how it is.

though link may act a bit naive and sometimes even childish, he is still very much an adult. not a “rule” exactly just something to keep in mind.

sorry if some of these seem overly detailed or serious. i’ve been around the block when it comes to rp tumblr i’m just trying to cover all my bases in at least a semi concise manner.

also sorry if any of this comes off as passive aggressive or rude. i can’t parse or regulate tone for shit like in an actual verbal conversation, trying to convey it thru text is damn near impossible for me lmao

i’m really just a tired nerd who is trying to have fun on this hellsite.

um that’s all i can think of for now may add or change more later thanks for reading have a great time

[lord-explosion-baku]

Disconnect

Yandere!Shinsou x reader

Warnings: yandere, adult themes, bordering Stockholm syndrome, hints of dubious consent

A/N: here’s another fic I posted and deleted a bit ago, but I edited it and revamped it a bit. I was in a weird place when I wrote this, but it’s content! Gonna stop impulsively deleting shit😂

“Are you in love with me?”

What a pathetic question. You know it is, but it’s been on your mind all damn day. That, amongst other things. Insecurities have been bombarding your brain and consuming your thoughts. They’re the kind that you’ve managed to repress for years, but today, while bored of all the nothing you had to do while Shinsou was away, they came at you full force, as if they were paying you back for forgetting about them.

Before Shinsou took you, happiness had been perpetually evasive. Some days you could pretend like it had been there, but that had just been a trick of the mind—a phantom emotion that muzzled how you’d actually been feeling.

The truth is, your friends—your family—everyone you know has always simply tolerated you. You could go to them when you were feeling down, but they never really wanted to hear your qualms. They’d always tell you anything you needed to hear to get you to stop whining. There’d been an art to ignoring how they grimaced at your attempted humor and hope for you to stop trying. They never wanted to hear about your interests or aspirations, either—most of them were too big for you anyways—but they would smile and wait for you to finish prattling on, then exhale with relief when it was over.

So, it hadn’t been like you could tell them how you felt, lest you wanted to risk being a ceaseless nuisance.

Some days you’d wondered if they wouldn’t mind if you just disappeared. Now you find yourself wondering what they think now that you have.

It’s fine. Rather, it had been fine when you were around them. However, the more time you’re forced to spend with Shinsou, the more you realize how unhappy you used to be.

You can’t say you’re happy now, either. With the reality of your situation, you’d actually have to be insane to say that you’re happy. A caged bird could never thrive if he couldn't fly. But Shinsou has been the first person that wanted to hear you talk about anything and everything. He wants to know you—to be there for you. He actually asks about your likes and dislikes, how you’re feeling, what he can do to make things better, while you’ve always been reluctant to answer him.

Still, you want to know. You want to be sure. You can assume that he does love you. Afterall, he’s taking care of you right now.

Earlier, he sensed that you were stressed and offered to give you a massage. Normally you would slink away from his touch, but you were feeling weak, so you said yes. You have to admit that having him touch you is... nice.

A deep groan escapes your chest when he presses on a particularly tense spot in your back, so he rubs the area more, making sure to massage all of your anxieties away. He leans down low to press his lips against the shell of your ear. You can feel the curl of his mouth when he says, “that’s a stupid question.”

I know. You want to tell him that, but you won’t. You won’t open up to him. You know he’d like that too much. It’s ironic, really. The one person who wants you to open up to them and it’s the last person on earth you’d want to tell anything too personal to.

“I wouldn’t have asked it if I didn’t need to hear the answer.”

“You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t in love with you,” he counters.

Touché, asshole.

“So the moment you fall out of love with me, you’re going to let me go.”

You very nearly say ‘you’re going to kick me out,’ but it’s not like you’re simply visiting with him. You’re there against your will. He's your captor, you’re his prisoner.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“But if it does-“

“It won’t.” Shinsou begins kissing down your spine. “Getting you here was a drag, but I won’t be letting you go under any circumstances.”

“Why?”

Darks skepticism envelopes his timbre when he asks, “why, what?”

You can't blame him. There’s been plenty of one-sided conversation where you’ve practically begged to be released, only to have Shinsou give you the cold shoulder. This won’t be another one of those discussions. You couldn’t bear it.

“Why do you like me?”

“Why do I like you, or why am I in love with you?”

You think about it for a second and decide to hell with it. You threw your dignity out the window the second you asked your first question. You hide your face in the pillow and mutter, “both.”

Shinsou hums against your back, pretending to consider the question while he squeezes your hips, pressing his thumbs into either side of your tailbone.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, pushing your ass up so he presses deeper on you, “that feels so good.”

“Reason one as to why I like you-“ Shinsou moves his hands down to your ass. He kneads your muscles, partly because he knows you want it, but mostly because he loves handling your ass- “you sound like that when you moan.”

“Be serious!” You bark back half-heartedly, because he seriously knows how to give a good massage, and you can’t stay annoyed when he’s touching you like that.

“I’m being plenty serious. It’s hot.” He squeezes your bottom, adding just the right amount of pressure to get you to moan again. He chuckles and thumbs the side of your underwear, letting it snap back to your skin pap! “So hot.”

“So, you like me because I’m hot?” You exhale when he squeezes more lotion onto your back, the cool sensation making goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Well-“ there’s a shrug in his voice when he makes his way back up to your spine-“it’s one of the reasons.”

Shinsou begins listing things he likes about you: the curl of your hair, the dip in your hips, the curve of your ass, the way your nose scrunches up when you smell something you think is going to be nice, but is actually unappealing, and that “cute little mole in that one place,” he suggests, “you know, the one I like to kiss…”

It’s all almost nice to hear, except they all have one thing in common: they’re all physical. You won’t always look like what you do now. You don’t think that Shinsou is so superficial that he only judges you on your appearance, but you can’t stop the swelling in your chest.

“And I especially like your neck,” he whispers at the column of your throat, right before licking a stripe up to your earlobe. You shudder when he smiles against you. “So sensitive…”

“So that’s it?”

You’re being negative, demanding even, and you shouldn’t feel bad about it because it’s with Shinsou, but you do. You need to hear more. You need to feel like you matter.

“There’s loads more, but this is what I’m focusing on right now. My partner’s half naked in front of me and I’m only human.”

You turn to face him, maneuvering the pillow your head was on to the front of you, hiding Shinsou’s eyes both from your chest, and from the tears you’ve left behind.

“What about when I change?” You ask, squeezing your fluffy shield against your stomach.

“What do you mean?”

“Like-“ you bow your head, fiddling with the fringes on the pillow- “I don’t know. If I’m gonna be stuck here forever, then obviously I’m gonna age.”

Shinsou frowns. “So?”

“So...I won’t always be-“ you make a flippant gesture at him-“your version of hot!”

He snorts. “My version of hot? What’s that?”

“You tell me!”

He shakes his head, laughing as he brings his hand to the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “You’re my version of hot...it won’t matter if your hair turns silver, your skin wrinkles, you get all saggy and crinkly-“ he chuckles- “same thing’s gonna happen to me, only with my job, I might end up losing an arm or—heaven forbid—I get a scar over an eye.”

You dismiss that. “Scars can be hot.”

“Duly noted.” He smirks. “I might have to be extra reckless on my next mission. See how you react to my battle wounds.”

“Please don’t,” you say immediately. You gaze up at him to see that his usual sleep-ridden eyes have softened. Geez, he’s acting as if you said something nice to him.

“What’s going on with you?” Shinsou asks as his hand falls over your pillow shield. He tugs on it to move, but you keep it clawed to your chest. “C’mon...let me in.”

It’s hard because you want to. You want to let him in, and you’re stupid for it. At least you have the mind to shake your head at him.

“Alright then,” he says, “what do you like about me? Or should I say, do you like me?”

“No.” That part is easy enough to say. Even if it's a lie, which you aren’t sure if it is or not, you know it’s what you should say every time. Regardless of what he makes you feel, what he does for you, how he takes care of you, you’re still there against your will.

You don’t get a moment to feel guilty about saying it either, because as soon as the answer rolls off of your tongue, you freeze, unable to move or speak. Immediately you want to rebuke, tell him off, scream at him, but your body disobeys every single one of your furious demands. Shinsou hasn’t used his mind control on you too much lately, and you let yourself forget that he has it. You’re absolutely seething.

Bastard.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m a slave to my own whims.” Shinsou takes the pillow away from your body. His eyes scan over your torso appreciatively before finding the dark dots stained from your tears on the fabric of your pillow. He flexes his jaw, then places the pillow back behind you.

“Lay back,” he commands, and you’re helpless to oblige.

For a moment, the two of you are still. Shinsou’s staring at you, but not in a way that’s weird...er than normal. He’s seen you naked plenty of times, so he’s not being entirely a pervert. It’s only when he rolls down to level his face with yours, you see that there’s mist in his eyes.

“You’re intelligent,” he says, placing a hand over your navel, “and not in a way that’s annoying. You can hold stimulating conversations, and you think...differently, but you’re also interested in listening to divergent viewpoints.”

Shinsou starts moving his hand in circles, using his fingertips to draw intricate designs across your skin.

“You don’t know how to make a proper playlist, so when you listen to music, the weirdest shit comes on, and you sing along to all of it. And you’re so bad at singing, but you belt that shit out like you don’t even care.”

You kinda wanna hit him. You kinda wanna laugh. You kinda don’t wanna accept that you've gotten comfortable enough around Shinsou to actually sing around him, even if it’s in the goofy voice that you use.

“You’re kind to animals, you laugh in your sleep, you yell at inanimate objects, and you always read the last page of a novel once you’re halfway through it, which is infuriating, but it’s because you get so excited that you can’t stand not knowing what’s going to happen.”

Shinsou brings his hand up to cup your face. “You piss me off. You challenge me. You’re stubborn and defiant and abrasive and I-“ he pauses, sighing- “and I love it. I love every part of you—vexing vices and valorous virtues.”

He leans down so that his lips are a hair away from yours. His voice is tight, raspy from something he’s holding back, but still, he speaks. “I know I’m fucked up for this. I know you hate it here, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever let anyone else have you. You’re so fucking weird, and beautiful, and angry. You’re precious to me, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ll always be in love with you. And that means damning you to me. I would say that I’m sorry, but I’m not. At least, not for keeping you. You’re the only thing I've ever wanted—the only sin I don’t regret.”

Your brain is ocean fog when his lips meet yours. He kisses you softly, because he doesn’t want to bring you out of your stupor just yet. His fingers travel down your sides, resting at the waistband of your panties. He pulls back and eyes you deviously.

“And if you don’t like me yet, I guess I’ll have to deal, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna keep gunning for your affection.” He smirks, hooking his thumbs around the sides of your briefs. Your entire body flushes in direct reaction to him, anticipating what comes next. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

With a devilish glint in his indigo eyes, he smirks up at you and says, “at least I know some things you love about me”

[kurokoros]

thicc | kuroo

Rated: M

Words: 9.2K

Pairing: kuroo x fem!reader

Summary: Kuroo has nice thighs. Unfortunately, you aren’t the only one who notices.

AN: A belated birthday gift for @whats-her-quirk​. Happy (late) birthday, June <3 Have some smut! I’m sorry it’s stupidly long! Also, I’m sorry for any glaring mistakes, I didn’t edit this asdfghjkl

Warnings: smut, jealousy thigh riding, spanking, mild choking, dirty talk (praise and degradation), wall sex, unprotected sex

If you had to pick your favorite thing about volleyball it would be the players. Well, one player in particular. It’s always hard for you to keep your eyes of Kuroo when he plays, your gaze always drifting back to him even when you should be following the ball. More specifically, it’s always hard for you to keep your eyes off his thighs in those sinfully short shorts.

And the practice match tonight is no different, your eyes glued to Kuroo’s legs as he jumps to block a spike, his muscles tensing as he moves, sweat dripping down his skin.

Thank god you let Akaashi drag you with him to the match tonight. Your plan was originally to stay home and study, but Bokuto had whined and begged until Akaashi agreed to watch the match, and somehow you were roped into coming as well. Earlier, you were a little irritated about being dragged out on your one night off, but now you definitely aren’t complaining.

“You’re drooling,” Akaashi tells you. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s smirking.

Reluctant to take your eyes off Kuroo, you jab him with your elbow. “Shut up, Keiji,” you snap, blatantly staring at Kuroo as he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. Chancing a glance at your friend, you see him doing the same to Bokuto. “Like you’re any better.”

Akaashi has the decency to pretend like he wasn’t just ogling his boyfriend’s glistening abs, but you have zero shame in staring.

Like he can feel your eyes on him, Kuroo looks up at you in the stands. His expression brightens, and he smirks, sending you a wink before turning back to the game. And fuck if that’s not the sexiest thing you’ve seen all day. You can’t wait to wipe that stupid smirk off his face tonight when you—

A loud whine drags you from your daydream, your gaze snapping away from Kuroo only to land on a pouting Yukie. With another whine, she drops her head onto your shoulder, the sound muffled by the too large jacket wrapped around you. Raising an eyebrow, you glance at Kaori over Yukie’s head, but the other girl only sighs. On your other side, Akaashi leans forward enough to look at Yukie as well.

Before you can ask her what’s wrong, Yukie’s arms slide around your waist. She pulls her face from your arm and props her chin against your shoulder, a heavy, dramatic sigh falling from her mouth. “Ugh,” she groans, looking at you and Akaashi, who only blinks back at her, “you two are so lucky to have such hot boyfriends.”

You almost choke on your spit when her words register. Behind her, Kaori looks absolutely scandalized, her eyes wide with horror. You’re barely able to smother your laughter when you catch a glimpse of Akaashi’s bewildered expression.

He blinks at Yukie again, mouth opening and then closing just as quickly before he finally settles on a confused, “Thank you.”

Yukie nods, her gaze sliding back to the volleyball game going on below. She hums in thought as she watches the ball move, eyes latching onto a familiar player. “Bokuto is thick,” she continues suddenly, rambling to herself. “Thick. With two Cs. Like, damn, look at him next to Oikawa’s pancake ass and tell me that that—what do the kids say, cake?—isn’t the nicest thing you’ve ever seen. Not that Oikawa isn’t hot too, but you know how I like a nice ass.”

You’re trying not to wheeze at this point, your shoulders shaking with barely muffled giggles as Yukie’s attention shifts to Oikawa’s flat ass. Next to you, Akaashi looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else, and you knock your shoulder against his. His exasperated expression only makes you laugh harder.

Of course, that’s when Yukie turns her attention to your boyfriend.

“Oooh, and don’t get me started on Kuroo. Those are some pretty damn delicious arms. And his thighs! God, he could crush me with those and I’d say thanks.” Your laughter cuts off abruptly, your shoulder stiff beneath Yukie’s chin as her eyes wander over Kuroo slowly, watching as he jumps to successfully block a spike. She hums appreciatively, and you bristle immediately, a sick feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach the longer she looks at him. “They aren’t as beefy as Daichi’s, but Kuroo can—”

Kaori slaps a hand over Yukie’s mouth before she can continue. “Okay, that’s enough out of you,” she says, trying to pull your whining friend off of you while sharing a look with Akaashi.

Yukie only clings to you tighter, arms squeezing around your torso. “What, I’m single! I can look at anyone I want. I just can’t touch, pinch, or lick. It’s not my fault every guy we know is stupidly hot and taken.” Yukie stops suddenly, patting your thigh almost comfortingly. “Congratulations on scoring a hot piece of ass by the way.”

The possessiveness that flares in your chest is shoved back down as you remind yourself that this is Yukie. Your friend. She’s just being ridiculously thirsty as usual. It’s not a big deal. Nope. Not at all.

“Don’t you have a thing with Konoha?” you ask, desperate to change the subject from the aforementioned hot piece of ass that you’re dating. From what you remember from your last girl’s night, Yukie had gone on a handful of dates with the former Fukurodani player and things were going pretty well.

The question only makes Yukie’s expression darken. Her lazy grin disappears, replaced with narrowed eyes and a pout. “He doesn’t seem to think so,” she says, tone dripping with venom that makes your eyes widen. Before you can ask what she means, her mood shifts again. Yukie’s eyes brighten. She throws her arms up, yelling in excitement as the team scores a point.

You lean around her to look at Kaori, bemusement slowly turning to realization. “Is she drunk?”

A tired nod is all the response you need. “Very. She got into the wine while I was in class this afternoon. Apparently Konoha went out with another girl the other night? I’m not sure.”

Yeah, that’ll do it. “Of course, she did.” You settle back in your seat and allow Yukie to lean against your shoulder once more, only half listening to her rambling on about the game and the hot players on both teams. Now that you’re aware of it, you can hear the slight slur in the way she’s talking. That makes you feel a little bit better about her talking so openly about Kuroo. Just a little.

Jealousy is a bitch.

You almost forget about what Yukie said by the time the game is done. Almost. The players are just finishing cleaning up and gathering their things, and you, Akaashi, Kaori, and an intoxicated Yukie are waiting just outside the gym, chatting quietly as you wait for your friends to come out.

It isn’t long before the door to the locker room slams open, cutting Kaori off mid-sentence as the boys leave the gym. Footsteps pound against the floor. You look up just in time to watch Bokuto launch himself through the air and nearly tackle Akaashi to the floor, three inches taller and nearly thirty pounds heavier. Akaashi grunts in surprise, barely able to hold himself up as Bokuto’s arms and legs wrap around him. A noisy kiss is pressed against Akaashi’s cheek, but your attention is already somewhere else.

There’s a stupid grin spreading across your face as soon as you see Kuroo coming down the hallway flanked by Oikawa and Daichi, the three deep in conversation. Even from here you can see Kuroo’s eyes rolling, and you figure they’re talking about Bokuto’s frankly exhausting amount of energy post-game.

You consider calling out to him, but decide to take another second to stare at him instead. It’s unfair how good he looks after a workout, and you might as well enjoy it before he gets the chance to tease you for ogling him.

Yukie isn’t nearly as tactful. “Kuroo!” she calls across the room, waving her arms to get his attention. She nearly smacks you across the face with her flailing, giggling when you nearly drop her in surprise. Kaori hurriedly grabs Yukie as the drunk girl starts to slip from your grasp, and behind you Akaashi is still being smothered in Bokuto’s affections despite his complaints about sweat and PDA.

Kuroo’s head snaps up at the sound of his name, attention turning from Oikawa to Yukie, then to you. A grin immediately makes its way onto his face, his expression lighting up when he sees you. Oikawa says something that makes Kuroo shove him, and one of their other teammates laughs. Waving them off, Kuroo shrugs his bag higher on his shoulder, quickly making his way over to you. A mischievous smile tugs at his lips, and you know he’s just waiting to wrap you up in a bear hug and soak in some much-needed attention.

He’s halfway across the room when Yukie stops giggling long enough to shout, “Nice thighs!”

Kuroo’s steps falter, his eyes wide.

This time, you do drop Yukie. Kaori yelps at the extra weight, not expecting you to let go so suddenly and leave her as the only thing keeping Yukie from falling on her face. Yukie only starts giggling even harder, and you can hear Bokuto snickering as well from where he’s still wrapped around Akaashi.

It takes Kuroo a second to regain his bearings, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as Oikawa laughs obnoxiously. Daichi at least has the decency to pretend he isn’t laughing as Kuroo calls back a confused “Thanks?” Shaking his head, Kuroo’s gaze returns to you, but you’re busy staring at Yukie.

Like before, there’s a sick feeling swirling around in your stomach. You know exactly what it is and force down the bitter, jealous, possessiveness that rises in your throat. It’s a feeling that you hate, but sometimes it’s hard to brush aside, no matter how much you trust Kuroo and no matter how obvious it is that Yukie is just being herself, albeit significantly more intoxicated.

By the time your attention snaps away from Yukie, the boys are closer. Oikawa is still snickering at your boyfriend’s expense, much to Kuroo’s annoyance. The two are exchanging quips, but Kuroo only has eyes for you.

Unfortunately, Yukie is still giggling and swaying next to you, you’re still more jealous than you’d ever admit out loud, and Daichi just happens to be the closest.

It’s almost an unspoken rule that Kuroo is always the first player you congratulate on a game. Usually, he has you wrapped up in a tight embrace as soon as he sees you, strong arms lifting you straight off the ground in his excitement. Just like Bokuto with Akaashi.

So, when Daichi goes to slip around you and help Kaori with Yukie, it comes as a surprise to everyone when you stop him with a light touch on the bare part of his upper arm. “Good game!” is all that you say to him, sending him a smile before letting go just as quickly once he nods, grateful, albeit confused.

You don’t notice the look that Bokuto and Akaashi share behind you.

Kuroo doesn’t look bothered at all by your brief interaction with Daichi, and somehow that makes you feel even worse. Lean arms wrap around your waist and tug you against a firm chest. Warm, slightly chapped lips press a gentle kiss to your temple. “You ready to go home, baby?” he murmurs against your ear.

One of his hands traces the length of your spine until he’s cupping the back of your neck, thumb sweeping across your skin.

Leaning into him, you tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “Yeah.” You wrap your own arms around him, holding on just as tight. “Good game.”

You’ve only been at Kuroo’s apartment for thirty minutes and you’re already about two seconds away from throwing something at Akaashi. With your volleyball player boyfriends wanting to clean up post-game, you’ve been alone with your best friend since Kuroo pressed a sloppy kiss to your forehead before racing Bokuto to the bathroom, only narrowly beating the other man—who sat outside the door sulking until Kuroo was done.

Normally, you wouldn’t mind the situation, but you can already tell that Akaashi has something he wants to say, and it’s a conversation that you really don’t want to have tonight.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you don’t dare look at him, all but feeling his stare burning into the side of your face as you stir a spoonful of honey into your tea and watch it dissolve. It’s too quiet in the kitchen. The clinking of your spoon against the side of your mug is too loud, and even Bokuto’s muffled, tone-deaf singing coming from the bathroom down the hall doesn’t lighten the mood. Nose wrinkling, you stop stirring your tea. An irritated sigh slips from your mouth.

He’s still staring, leaning against the counter across from you. Ignoring Akaashi is proving to be more difficult than you initially anticipated. You’re painfully aware of his presence. He’s scrutinizing you, brows furrowed in thought, and you know as soon as you look at him, he’ll know exactly what you’re thinking.

“So,” he starts casually—too casually—eyeing you over the rim of his mug, “are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

You consider flat out ignoring him, but decide that’s too mean. “Isn’t it too late for you to be interrogating me, Keiji?” you ask, propping your chin against one hand as you finally look at him.

He raises an eyebrow at your word choice. “Who said anything about interrogating you?”

“I’m not upset,” you tell him, you know, like a liar. “I’m just tired. It’s getting late.” Another lie. It’s barely ten. Usually on nights when you stay over, you and Kuroo are up late watching movies or fooling around in his room.

“Okay,” he says, dropping it immediately, much to your surprise. He doesn’t look at you as he grabs his tea off the counter. The mug makes it halfway to his mouth before Akaashi sets it back down with a sigh. “Actually, no. I’m not humoring you tonight.” The look he sends you is stern. “It’s okay for you to be upset about what Yukie said, but it’s not fair to—”

Before he can really start to lecture you, he’s cut off by an enthusiastic blur of blue and gray nearly lunging over the counter to tackle him in a hug. “Keiji!” Bokuto croons, face buried in his boyfriend’s neck.

Akaashi grunts as the wind is knocked out of him, Bokuto giving him a tight squeeze around the middle. “Kou, don’t be so loud,” he chastises, but doesn’t shove Bokuto away. With a sigh, he allows himself to be kissed on the cheek and cuddled, casual indifference broken by a secretive, fond smile.

You consider teasing him, but decide against it, content to let them be.

A moment later, long arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you against a firm chest as lips press against your temple, then your cheek. “Hey, kitten,” Kuroo murmurs, voice muffled as he leans down to kiss the side of your neck. His messy hair tickles your cheek, still damp from his shower, and you automatically relax as the familiar scent of his shampoo tickles your nose. Another kiss is placed just below your jaw, where he can feel your pulse jump under his touch. His lips curl into a smile that you know only means trouble, and you shudder as Kuroo’s fingers inch beneath the hem of your shirt.

Akaashi rolls his eyes at Kuroo’s PDA, and Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows. They’re both used to your boyfriend being a sexual menace by now. He’s like this more often than not after a game. The adrenalin makes him grabby.

Your breath hitches as Kuroo’s hands get a little bolder, “Behave,” you tell him, but don’t try to stop him. He won’t get too handsy with Bokuto and Akaashi right across the counter. And, honestly, after what happened earlier, you’re just as needy as he is right now.

His smirk widens. “You like me better when I don’t.” A sneaky hand snakes around your hips to pinch your ass and you squeal.

You reach around to smack his shoulder as he cackles. “Tetsurou!”

He backs off but doesn’t let you go completely, arms moving back to your waist and wrapping around you tightly. His lips press against the side of your head apologetically, coaxing you to lean back against him, and you roll your eyes as you feel him shake with barely muffled laughter. Abandoning your tea on the counter, you place your hands on his arms.

That seems to placate him for the time being. At least, enough for him to turn his attention to your friends across the counter. Kuroo makes himself comfortable behind you, subtly resting more of his weight against your back as he and Bokuto begin to bicker about another practice match they have later this week.

With his boyfriend momentarily distracted, Akaashi goes back to observing you from across the counter, which you purposely ignore, instead focusing on Bokuto’s animated expressions and the gentle rumble of Kuroo’s chest vibrating against your back every time he speaks. Undeterred by your refusal to look at him, Akaashi crosses his arms, staring at you even harder, like somehow he’ll be able to see right through you.

“Do we really have to go to the gym tomorrow?” Kuroo whines. “It’s Saturday, bro, we can take one day off.”

Bokuto gasps, scandalized. “Never skip leg day, Kuroo!” Huffing, he jabs a finger in your boyfriend’s direction. “You want to be dummy thick like Daichi, don’t you?” he asks, much to your amusement. Akaashi looks like he’s in physical pain, and it’s all you can do to keep from cackling right then.

Kuroo’s grip on you tightens just a fraction. The arms that are wrapped around your waist tense, but when you try to look at him, Kuroo tucks you under his chin. His cheek presses against the top of your head. “I think my thighs are thick enough, thanks,” he tells Bokuto dryly. He squeezes your hip when your fingers brush against his forearm, and his tone turns teasing as his attention returns to you. “What do you think, baby?”

The mention of his thighs makes you tense, too. Yukie’s gushing compliments from the game punching straight through your chest and make your stomach twist into knots. And your good mood plummets. There’s a sour taste in the back of your mouth, and you aren’t quick enough to stop a sarcastic quip from slipping out.

“Why don’t you go ask Yukie? I’m sure she’ll tell you how thick they are.” Your tone is clipped, sharp, and you only realize you’ve said it out loud when you feel Kuroo stiffen behind you again, but by then it’s too late.

The tight grip he has on your waist loosens in surprise, Kuroo’s hands falling limply to his sides as he stares down at you in utter bewilderment. “What?” He sounds as hurt as he does confused. The softness of his tone strikes you between your ribs and makes you wince.

Horrified, all you can do is stare at the pair across the counter. Bokuto looks at you, then Kuroo, his eyes wide. Beside him, Akaashi just sighs, sending you a look that’s a clear cross between “you fucked up” and “I tried to tell you”, and for once you can’t even argue with that.

Unsure how to respond to the mess you’ve made, you send Akaashi a pleading look. If anyone can diffuse a situation before it starts, it’s Akaashi. He meets your gaze across the counter, his eyebrows furrowing just the slightest as he looks from you, to Kuroo, and back to you.

“Kou,” Akaashi says suddenly, breaking the tense silence by turning to his boyfriend, “why don’t we go see Konoha tonight? It’s been awhile since we saw him.”

“What?” Bokuto replies, confused, still staring at you and Kuroo owlishly. “Keiji, we just saw him yesterday—oh!” It takes him a second, but then he’s grabbing Akaashi’s hand and all but dragging the other man towards the door. “Right! Let’s go!” Bokuto glances at you and Kuroo over his shoulder, grinning. “You two have fun tonight! But not too much fun, or we won’t get the deposit back on—ouch!” He pouts, rubbing his shoulder where Akaashi smacked him.

“We’ll be back in an hour,” Akaashi says to you. Then, to Kuroo, “Not on the counter, please.”

The insinuation makes your eyes widen, and you shoot Akaashi a nasty look, which he ignores. Talk it out or fuck, is what he doesn’t say out loud, and you tense in anticipation despite the concoction of other emotions swirling in your stomach.

Kuroo makes a low sound in the back of his throat and leans forward again, caging you in as his palms press against the countertop on either side of you. With his chest flush against your back, you can feel how tense he is. “No promises.”

Rolling his eyes, Akaashi grabs his keys out of the bowl by the door and allows Bokuto to pull him out of the apartment. The door closes with more force than necessary, loud slam giving way to silence as soon as you and Kuroo are alone.

Pinned between him and the counter like this, you can feel the heat of his breath puffing against the side of your neck. His fingers flex against the counter top, and your gaze is drawn to the lean muscles of his arms on either side of you.

Yukie’s comments claw at you again, and you grimace. It’s a stupid thing to fixate on. You feel ridiculous for letting it bother you in the first place, and you’re sure Kuroo is confused. Maybe upset. You aren’t usually snappy with him. And Akaashi was right. It’s not fair for you to take your jealousy out on Kuroo.

Sighing, you ready yourself to apologize.

“Are you going to keep acting like a little brat, or are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” His lips brush against your skin as he speaks, touch soft compared to his tone. Your eyes widen as he presses himself up against your back. There isn’t an inch of space left between you. An open-mouthed kiss is placed just below your ear, and you shudder as his teeth graze the side of your neck. When you don’t respond, Kuroo sighs. “I’m not going to ask you again,” he warns you.

Kuroo leans forward, keeping you pinned to the counter as one of his hands drifts back to your waist. The pad of his thumb grazes your hip where your shirt has ridden up, teasing you. Your breath catches. His weight against your back is equal parts comforting and arousing. And Kuroo knows exactly how to touch you, how to turn you into a shivering mess until you’re practically begging for him.

It’s hard not to do exactly that when his breath is fanning over the side of your neck and his fingers are slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. Hot and wet, his lips graze a sensitive spot below your jaw. He doesn’t kiss you, but he’s close, and you feel the slightest twitch of his mouth. You can’t tell if it’s a smile or if your silence is pissing him off. The latter makes your pulse jump, your heart racing.

“Yukie was talking about you at the game,” you finally tell him. It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud. Petty jealousy. But you can’t help it sometimes. Not when he’s all tousled hair and sly smirks that could drive anyone crazy.

Kuroo pauses. “Oh?” Warm lips place a soft kiss on your neck, and your head falls back against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut. An appreciative sound slips from his throat. Another kiss is pressed to your throat, hot and open-mouthed. Shivers run down your spine as his hips rock forward against your ass. “And what was she saying about me?”

His teeth scrape over your skin, just enough for you to feel it, and you jolt. A breathy whine escapes you before you can stop it. Kuroo chuckles, voice deeper than usual, and you try not to squirm as he nips at you, voice a low murmur as he speaks. “Don’t get shy on me now, kitten,” he taunts, “you were so mouthy a minute ago.”

When you take too long to answer, Kuroo’s fingers sneak beneath your shirt to pinch your hip. You yelp, squirming away from his fingers, but that only drives you further back against him. Grunting, Kuroo pins your hips against the counter. Already half-hard, he grinds against your ass lazily. The thin fabric of his sweats does nothing to hide his growing arousal, and warmth rushes through you, liquid heat pooling in your belly.

“Your arms,” you manage to tell him. He acknowledges you with a hum, sound muffled by his teeth and tongue as he continues to tease your neck. “And your thighs.” Your next admission is softer and a little bitter. “She wouldn’t stop staring at you.” A lot of girls stare at him. They always have. It shouldn’t still get to you, not when you’re the one he’s touching like this, hands wandering over your skin and his mouth sucking a bruise onto your neck.

There’s nothing to be jealous of when he’s already yours, and he seems intent on proving that to you.

“Yeah?” Kuroo asks. “Is that why you were trying to make me jealous after the game?” Smugness practically rolls from him in waves. His lips curl into a smirk. “Hmm? Trying to get me all riled up?”

You barely choke out a, “Yes.”

It surprises you when Kuroo’s mouth rips away from your neck. His touch is gone for an agonizing moment before reappearing on your cheek. The kiss he places there is softer this time, sweeter, and it makes your heart swell in your chest as he shifts to whisper in your ear. “You know I’m yours, right?” His hand is pressed against your abdomen now, fingers spread out to cover as much of you as possible. He waits until you nod and sighs. “Good.” He kisses your cheek again, then your jaw, his lips wandering back to your neck.

And just like that a switch seems to flip in him again. “And you’re mine,” Kuroo continues, voice lower than before. “Or do I have to remind you who you belong to?” His hand slides up your stomach, inching towards your chest.

“Tetsu,” you gasp, arching into his clever hand.

“What do you call me, kitten?” It’s more of a demand than a question, and you keen as his fingers slip beneath your bra. His calloused thumb brushes against your nipple before he pinches it between his fingers just to watch you squirm.

Breath catching, you wet your bottom lip. “Sir,” you correct yourself, letting him tilt your head to the side, positioning you just the way he wants you. Your easy compliance makes him grin. Kuroo grinds against your ass again, harder this time, and you squeeze your thighs together as heat licks across your spine.

“Good girl.”

His lips meet your jaw in a chaste kiss, and he squeezes your breast once, palming you before letting go. As his hand snakes out from beneath your shirt, you expect him to yank you around, force your head back and dominate you with a rough kiss, so you’re surprised when his touch leaves you entirely. Like before, his palms press against the top of the counter. Even his weight leaves your back, an inch of space between you that feels too wide and painfully close all at once. The heat of his breath tickles the back of your neck, and you shudder at his proximity, desperate for his touch.

There’s a whiny tone to your voice when you call out his name. “Tetsu,” you whimper, torn between begging for him and holding onto your stubborn pride. Anything to get him to touch you again. Already, there’s an ache forming in the pit of your stomach, and he’s hardly done anything yet.

When he ignores you, you huff. Taking matters into your own hands, you press your palms to the counter top and grind yourself back against his crotch. Satisfaction bursts in your chest as he makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat, but your pleased grin at catching him off-guard disappears as his hand comes down on your ass with a sharp slap.

This time, you yelp, mouth dropping open in a silent cry as his big hand squeezes your ass over your shorts. “So impatient,” Kuroo muses, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Are you gonna behave for me, or are you gonna keep acting like a brat?” There’s a condescending edge to his tone, and you wish it didn’t turn you on as much as it did. And he knows it too.

As he waits for you to respond, Kuroo places his hands on your hips. His thumbs trace slow circles on your sides, slowly inching your shirt upwards as he fights the urge to rip the thin fabric over your head and take in every inch of your skin under his greedy touch.

And fuck if that’s not exactly what you want right now. It’s a miracle that you aren’t already trembling for him, hyper-aware of his every move. His heated touch. “I’ll behave,” you tell him. The chilled edge of the counter presses against your abdomen as he drags your top higher, but the cold is chased away by his palms ghosting over your sides.

“What was that, kitten?” You don’t have to look at him to know that he’s smirking, pleased with himself for making you such a mess already.

You wet your lips again. “I’ll behave, sir,” you repeat yourself, louder this time.

You’re rewarded with another pleased sound rumbling in his chest. “That’s my good girl,” Kuroo says again. His hands are on your ribs now, his thumbs tracing the underside of your lacy bra. Your shirt is carefully tugged off over your head before he carelessly tosses it to the floor, hands going right back to your painfully soft skin. Both of you revel in the contact.

Kuroo’s mouth is back on your neck immediately, lip wandering over every inch of newly bared skin available to him, all teeth and tongue as he peppers your skin with faint hickeys and love-bites. His teeth graze a sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder. His hands are everywhere. Palming your breasts. Drawing circles and shapes across your sides. Slipping between your legs to stroke your thighs and flirt with the hem of your shorts, teasingly close to where you really want him.

And then his hand wraps around your throat. He doesn’t choke you, grip loose enough for you to breathe, but the slightest pressure has goosebumps erupting across your skin. Your legs tremble as he squeezes just the slightest.

He nips at your exposed neck, and your breath hitches as two long fingers trace your slit over your shorts, applying just enough pressure to your clit for your hips to jump into his touch. Your head falls back against his shoulder again, your eyes squeezing shut as your mouth drops open.

A frustrated whine builds in your throat as he pulls away, but he’s quick to hush you, his hand slipping under the waist of your shorts to tug them down your hips. Left in just your panties, you rub your thighs together, flushing when you feel just how wet you are already. Your panties stick to your skin in a way that’s almost embarrassing, and you know it’ll only stroke Kuroo’s ego even harder.

“Fuck,” Kuroo murmurs as your panties slide down to your ankles. “I’ve been wanting to take these off you all damn day.” He leans back to get a good look at you, half-naked and dripping for him, and the sight goes right to his cock. “Such a cute little ass.” A hard spank to your right cheek makes you gasp, the sharp sting of pain making your eyes water. He’s quick to soothe the tender spot, chuckling, low and throaty, a deep baritone that hits you right between the legs.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was not to bend you over right in front of Bokuto and Akaashi?” he continues. “I bet you would have liked that, huh? Dirty little slut.” Kuroo’s hand is back between your legs, teasing your wet slit and sliding over your clit until you’re panting.

His grip shifts around your throat. “Fuck,” you mewl. “Tetsu—Tetsu, please.” You can’t finish the plea, a loud squeal cutting you off as he pinches your clit harshly between his fingers before letting go, pain mixed with the pleasure. “Oh, god.”

“Bend over, kitten,” he tells you, lips against your ear. A hand on your lower back guides you down to the counter, and you comply willingly, stretching up on your toes as your torso is pressed against the smooth surface. Kuroo strokes your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lower lip teasingly. “Don’t move.”

You stay perfectly still even as he backs away, legs quivering from the angle and the stretch, precariously balanced on your toes with the counter digging into your hips. None of that matters though. Not the mild discomfort or the cold seeping into your torso. All you can feel is Kuroo behind you, his gaze burning into your back as he trails the tips of his fingers over the curve of your ass, admiring you.

There’s something a bit like awe in his tone as he murmurs, “Fuck, look at you.” His hands ghost over your hips and thighs, like he isn’t sure where he wants to touch you. “So fucking pretty. Such a good slut for me.”

Kuroo’s hand slides up your back, his fingers tracing the dip of your spine until he reaches the base of your neck, where his long fingers wrap around you, forcing you down harder against the counter top. A low hum slips from his mouth as he looks down at you, sharp eyes drinking in the sight of you, how pretty you look underneath him as you try not to squirm. Leaning over you, he grinds his cock against the back of your thigh teasingly. “Is this what you want, kitten?” he asks you, breath hot against your ear. “You want me to bend you over the counter and fuck you senseless? Make you beg me to let you come all over my cock?”

He squeezes the back of your neck as a breathy sound escapes your mouth. Kuroo kisses your cheek. His lips brush against you as he murmurs, “Well that’s too fucking bad.”

You yelp as you’re suddenly yanked off the counter. Hands latch onto your hips as soon as your feet are on the ground, and you’re ripped around so that you’re facing Kuroo for the first time since he came up behind you earlier. His hazel eyes are almost golden in the kitchen light, and there’s a feral glint in his gaze as he looks at you. “You wanna be naughty? Tease me?” he asks, leaning in until his lips are hovering just above yours. “Come on, kitten, you should know better than that.”

His hand wraps around your throat again, tighter this time, and you’re forced to follow him as he steps away from the counter. Kuroo doesn’t kiss you as he guides you through his apartment, making you walk backwards so you can’t see where he’s taking you.

“What was it that Yukie was saying about my thighs earlier?” he asks you. “What did she say that made you so damn mad?”

“Tetsu,” you whimper.

“You know you aren’t very subtle, kitten.” Belatedly, you realize he’s taken you to his room. Kuroo throws the door shut behind you, but doesn’t bother to lock it. Your cunt clenches at the thought of Bokuto or Akaashi walking in, but Kuroo is quick to drag your attention back to him. “You think I didn’t see you staring at me the entire game? You couldn’t take your damn eyes off me.”

Kuroo lets go of your neck, his hand trailing up to your jaw as he drags his thumb across your bottom lip. He watches you as his hand falls back to his side, and his lips curve upwards as he fists the back of his shirt, yanking the plain t-shirt off in one smooth motion. You can’t help the way your gaze drops to his bare chest and stomach, greedy eyes taking in each defined muscle from years of playing volleyball.

Your gaze only slides lower as his sweatpants drop to the floor as well, leaving him in only a pair of boxers that leave his thick thighs on display. Fuck, if you weren’t dripping before, you definitely are now.

So busy staring at his legs, you don’t notice that his smile is all teeth.

Kuroo drops down onto the edge of the bed, and you gasp as he grabs your hips. Yanking you forward, you’re pulled down to him. Chest to chest. Not an inch of space left between you as he situates you over his leg, forcing you to straddle his thigh. “What were you thinking about, hmm?” he asks as you steady yourself on his broad shoulders, feet barely finding purchase on the floor. Heat sinks into you as his thumbs tease the lacy edge of your underwear. As if to taunt you, he leans in close, breath fanning over your lips. “Was it this?”

With that mocking tone, he shifts beneath you, his hands tight on your hips as he grinds you down against his thigh. The rough drag against your clit makes your eyes flutter shut. Your head drops forward against his shoulder, a shuddering breath falling from your parted lips.

“You wanna fuck yourself on my thigh, kitten?” To emphasize his question, his flexes beneath you, pressing harder against your wet cunt. The angle is just right to have him applying pressure perfectly to your clit. When you try to grind against him, Kuroo grabs your hips, holding you in place. And, when you try it again, he lets go of one of your hips long enough give you a warning smack on the outside of your thigh. The sting makes you shudder. “Dirty girl,” he coos, reaching around to squeeze your ass.

“Please,” you whimper as he mouths at the curve of your jaw. Kuroo kisses across your neck, nipping at you as he works his way down to your shoulder. One of his hands slides between your spread thighs to feel how wet you are, and you have to bite your lip to keep from whimpering as he laughs. You jerk, arching into his teasing touch.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he notes as his fingers slip beneath the damp, flimsy fabric of your panties. Kuroo hums, pleased at the way your arousal coats his fingers.

He circles your clit slowly, each touch sending little pleasurable shocks through you. The knot in your stomach only coils tighter. “Asshole,” you bite out, choking on a moan as he pulls his hand away, leaving you more frustrated than you were a minute ago.

Your tone only gets another laugh from him, deeper and darker than before. “Ouch,” he says, brushing your hair away from your neck, “kitty’s got claws tonight.” His hand wraps around your throat again, long fingers curling around your fragile neck. You still, inhaling sharply, and Kuroo groans as he feels your pulse start to race beneath his hand.

He pulls you further against his chest, naked skin pressed flush against yours. “I thought you said you were going to behave for me,” he reminds you, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. As his lips trail across your cheek, he shifts his thigh underneath you, dragging himself against your pussy slowly. Kuroo stops when he reaches your ear; his grip on your throat tightens, squeezing enough to steal your breath. “You that jealous? Or do you want me to punish you?”

The question is almost a low growl, and you shiver, thighs squeezing around his muscular one. “Tetsu,” you gasp around the intoxicating grip he has on your throat. “Please, I can’t—I need you,” if what you finally manage to spit out, thoughts muddled and head heavy with arousal.

“Well, you better get to it then,” he tells you, adjusting his grip on your throat. His other hand squeezes tightly around your hip, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. When you don’t move, he bounces his leg. It tears a moan from your chest. “Come on, you know what to do. Why don’t you give me a little show?”

It’s hard to breathe, let alone move. His presence is suffocating in the best way. The hand around your throat. His thigh between yours. The feel of his skin beneath your fingers and the steady beat of his heart where his chest is pressed to yours. All of it has you on edge.

The need swirling in your stomach forces you to move. A slow rhythm picks up as you slide over his thigh, grinding down on him. The tight grip you have on his shoulders is the only thing holding you up, and you shudder at the friction against your swollen clit. A sound of approval leaves Kuroo, and he hums against the side of your jaw, grip tightening just the slightest around your neck.

The grip he has on your hip loosens suddenly. His fingers slides along your side teasingly, his touch so soft that it makes your heart squeeze. You press your chest into his touch as he palms your breast. Deft fingers make quick work of the flimsy fabric, his hand slipping underneath to pinch and roll your nipple just like before. It isn’t long before he’s turned you into a quivering, moaning mess.

The ache between your legs only worsens with each slow roll of your hips against his thigh. The friction is intoxicating, but it isn’t enough. It isn’t what you need. Right now, you want to feel him surrounding you, holding you down as he whispers filthy things in your ear, making you moan for him. You want the pressure of his cock inside you, stretching you, the roughness of his fingers circling your clit until you’re so sensitive you have to beg him to stop.

“That’s it,” he mumbles. “Be a good girl for me and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

Little garbled pleas of his name fall from your lips as he pinches your nipple again, the sharp sting making you lurch forward against his chest.

Releasing your breast, he reaches around your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra for a second before the fabric comes undone, straps sliding down your arms. You’re barely aware of him prying your fingers from his shoulder and tossing the fabric aside, but when he crushes you against his broad chest, the heat that surrounds you is overwhelming.

Kuroo draws you into a kiss, hot and heavy enough to make your head spin. Letting go of your throat, both of his hands make their way back to your hips, helping you grind down against him harder, faster, your rhythm picking up speed as your legs start to twitch and tremble.

He smacks your ass, gripping tightly and kneading your cheek. The sting distracts you as his other hand disappears beneath your soaked panties. Teasingly, he drags his fingers against your cunt, slick fluid clinging to his skin. “Look at you making a sloppy mess of my leg already.” He chuckles, rubbing two fingers against your clit to make you gasp. “And I’ve barely fucking touched you yet.”

The pace he sets up is hard and fast, determined to send you hurtling towards the edge. Your thighs clench around his, your fingers digging into his shoulders so tightly you swear you might break the skin. By now, your eyes are squeezed shut, your mouth open as you pant and gasp his name. You press yourself tighter to his chest. Sweat-slicked skin makes it easy to slide over his thigh as he plays with your clit.

By now, you’re so turned on that it almost hurts. Each harsh pinch of his fingers on your clit sends shocks of pleasure ripping through you, the coil in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter with every roll of your hips. He slaps your ass suddenly, still thumbing your clit, and the combined sensations make you choke on a moan. Between his fingers and the steady rocking of your hips, you’re going to cum. And you’re going to cum hard.

Kuroo forces you right to the edge; and then he takes it away.

You almost sob as he pulls his fingers out of your panties, Kuroo quick to grab your hips and hold you still, keep you from chasing his touch.

“No,” you gasp, trying to grind down on his thigh despite his iron grip. The lack of stimulation makes you whine, tears welling in your eyes. “No. Tetsu. Oh god, sir, please.”

He releases one of your hips to brush his fingers against your cheek, though the gentleness doesn’t last. Kuroo grips your chin between his fingers, tilting your chin to make you look at him. “I did say I’d have to punish you, kitten,” he reminds you. There’s an apology in his tone, but his wicked smile says he’s anything but. His thumb traces your bottom lip. “Don’t pout. You did so well.” You’re drawn into a sultry kiss that ends too soon. His words are muffled against your lips. “You’re gonna take me so fucking well. Just like a good girl. My good girl.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he says, but it sounds like a taunt.

It’s the only warning you get before his hands are on your ass, gravity shifting beneath you. Kuroo lurches off the bed, hauling you against his chest with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist reflexively, hands desperately grasping at his shoulders to hold yourself up. The bite of your fingernails on his skin makes him groan,

He squeezes your ass appreciatively before slamming you up against the nearest wall.

It knocks the air out of your lungs, and you wince, but Kuroo doesn’t you a moment to breathe before he devours you. His lips are feverish against yours, his tongue in your mouth and his teeth nipping at you until you’re whining and grinding against his cock. Spread open like this, you can only moan into his mouth as the tip brushes against your clit through your underwear.

For once, he doesn’t waste time teasing you, both of you too riled up to wait as he shoves his underwear down. You’re squirming by now, trying to pull him closer with your legs around his hips. A low groan tears from his throat as he shoves your panties aside, his thick cock rubbing against your dripping pussy.

Kuroo’s cock shoves inside of you easily, you’re so wet for him. The stretch burns in the best way, pure ecstasy ripping through you. You whimper as you struggle to take all of him, and your cunt clenches around him so tightly that he tears his mouth from yours to hiss and curse.

“You like that, kitten?” he asks you, groaning as he slaps one hand against the wall to steady himself. The other digs into your thigh. “You like it when it hurts? So fucking naughty.” He presses a sloppy kiss against the side of your neck.

He fucks you roughly. The wall scrapes against your back when he moves, and the little sounds you make only feed his fast pace. He’s perfect inside of you, hard and hot and thick enough to pound against your sweet spot with every harsh thrust of his hips. The wet slap of his cock filling you and your breathy panting and moaning are the only sounds in the apartment, so loud that your neighbors are sure to hear.

You tremble as Kuroo fucks you, only able to cling to him as pleasure makes you dizzy. You’re so close. You’re so, so close, and he must know it with the way you’re tightening around him with every roll of your hips.

His teeth dig into the curve of your neck and shoulder, and you yelp, fisting at his hair. He moans as you pull on the messy strands clenched in your fist, and his cock shoves inside of you even harder. “You wanna act like a little slut?” he pants against your ear, hand coming down on the outside of your thigh. “I’ll treat you like one. You think Daichi could make you feel this good?”

You moan, barely able to shake your head. You don’t want Daichi. You’ve never wanted Daichi. “Just you,” you choke out.

“Good girl.” And then his fingers are on your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles onto your swollen nerves.

Pleasure rips through you as you cum, white-hot and electric. The knot in your stomach snaps as your orgasm hits you, slamming the breath from your lungs. Your hips jerk between him and the wall. Your limbs tremble, heavy, and you shudder as you drop your head against his shoulder, biting down to keep yourself from shouting. The grip you have on his back slips, and your fingernails rake down his back, marking him up.

“Shit,” he sneers. Kuroo fucks you through it, grinding against you harder as your pussy clenches around his cock with every thrust, each rougher than the last. Calloused fingers continue to roll over your clit, though not as frantic as before. His thumb draws lazy circles against your sensitive nerves, swirling and playing with your clit until you’re shaking again.

Whimpering, you try to squirm away from his hand as the pleasure becomes overwhelming, stimulation bordering on too much, too fast until it hurts. “Tetsu,” you gasp, choking out his name. “I can’t—”

He slaps your thigh once. Twice. Then grabs your ass and grinds you against his cock, reaching so deep inside you. “No, no, no,” he mumbles nonsensically. “Not yet. We’re not done yet. Not until you give me one more.” Your walls flutter around him, slick walls sucking him in. “Fuck, that’s it, kitten. Just like that.” He wets his lips, mouth on your neck. “Cum for me again. Such, a good girl.”

Kuroo’s hand wraps around your throat again, squeezing hard. You choke, unable to breathe, and your eyes squeeze shut. You pull his hair. Rake your fingernails down his back. Desperate for anything to hold onto as your muscles twitch and tense. You’re so close. You’re so fucking close.

Squealing, you flinch as his clever fingers sneak back to your clit, determined to make you cum one more time.

And you do, clenching around him beautifully, pussy gripping him tight. All you can do is shake and gasp as another orgasm tears through you, the coil in your gut snapping for the second time tonight. Dark spots float across your vision as you cum on his cock, Kuroo moaning against your ear as he follows you. Hot, thick fluid fills you up as he continues to thrust inside of you, drawing out your release.

You gasp as his hand leaves your throat, panting and dizzy.

Kuroo cradles you against his chest, careful not to drop you as he presses his lips against your temple, murmuring words too low for you to hear. He pulls out slowly, his cum dripping down your thighs as he carries you to his bed.

It’s a few minutes later, when you’re curled up beside him and drowsy, that you remember everything from earlier.

“I’m sorry for trying to use Daichi to make you jealous,” you murmur against the crook of his neck, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers lazily caress your skin, drawing mindless patterns across your back as you cuddle against his side. “I don’t…” you bite your lip as you trail off, and Kuroo’s arm tightens around your waist almost protectively. “I don’t want you to feel like that. I don’t want you to think you can’t trust me. And I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you.”

Your voice is barely a whisper by the end, words breathed against his chest and swallowed up by the stillness of the room.

Kuroo tilts his chin to rest his head against yours. His fingers still against your side as he glances at you, focusing on the curve of your jaw in the half-light. “It’s okay,” he tells you just as softly. Gently, he pulls you a little closer, heaving a loud, obnoxious sigh. “I get it, he’s just so dummy thick. How could anyone resist that?”

Trying not to laugh, you weakly slap at his bare chest, but Kuroo just grabs your hand and smoothly laces his fingers with yours. “Stop,” you whine, tucking your flushed face against his shoulder. Warm lips press against your knuckles, and you can feel him trying not to laugh underneath you.

“Am I not thick enough for you, kitten?” he continues, voice dripping with faux hurt. You roll your eyes, peeking up at him only to find a pout on his lips. At your silence, Kuroo props himself up on his elbow so that he can look at you. “Damn, maybe Bokuto’s right, I shouldn’t skip leg day tomorrow. Shit, maybe I should go right now—”

He moves to get off the bed and you groan, unamused. “Tetsu.” You catch his hand before he can go far, and he lets you pull him down on top of you. “Stop teasing me.”

“You love it,” he murmurs, pressing a sloppy kiss against your cheek. “You know, maybe Yukie should compliment my thighs more. You’re pretty hot when you’re jealous.” His lips move to your neck, and you try not to roll your eyes again. As if he didn’t just fuck the hell out of you because he was jealous. Before you get the chance, Kuroo leans back to look at you. His knuckles slide against your cheek. “You okay? Need anything.” You shake your head and he kisses your cheek. “That’s my good girl.” He’s quiet for a minute. “You know I’m yours, right?”

Heart clenching in your chest, you murmur an affirmative.

“Good.”

As he settles back down, you let him cover you like a clingy, weighted blanket, his touch comforting as he wraps himself around you.

The sweet moment ends abruptly. The apartment door opens and closes loudly, a warning that your roommates are home. It’s quiet for a moment, but then Akaashi’s loud “son of a bitch!” when he sees your clothes on the floor makes your eyes fly open.

Kuroo buries his face against your hair and cackles.

[tsukiihime]

Heartbreak (Bakugou x Reader), (Shinsou x Reader) Part 2

The second part to the fic I wrote, this will probably be my last post for another week since I have school to catch up on. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Angst, a bit more fluff on Shinsou’s end, drinking

Taglist: @sugarandsoft

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s three in the morning, and Bakugou can’t sleep.

He’s beyond pissed at himself for staying up this late, but he can’t help it - he’s been in bed since nine and he can’t get you out of his mind. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you stormed out of the apartment. He regrets not chasing after you, he loathes himself for being such a dick and he hates himself for even letting his stupid agency dictate his personal life. He wants to tell you so bad that you’re wrong, that beating Deku doesn’t mean a damn thing to him if it means he has to lose you. He wants to hear your voice so bad it hurts. He knows you’ll be going to Shinsou - you always do when you have a bad fight. He knows you’ll be safe there, but he feels like such a fool. He let you walk out in the rain on your own. What a hero he turned out to be. 

Bakugou spends the night alternating between flipping through the endless channels on the living room TV and staring at the ceiling. Every time he closes his eyes he sees your face - anger boiling your blood, disbelief painting your features as he fights with you, tears staining your cheeks. He feels sick to his stomach imagining you walking in the cold as you leave the apartment, sniffling as you make your way out in the rain. He wants to call you to explain himself.

But he doesn’t. His pride won’t let him.

It’s his pride that makes him trudge out to bars with Denki, Mina, and Sero the next day after you leave - he needs alcohol in his system to numb himself from the thought of you. Anyone will do if it warms his bed and makes your face disappear for even a second. God, he never thought he would be so hung up on you. He downs beer after beer, dances with woman after woman. Names and faces blur together as a cacophony of voices plays in his head. 

He ends up taking someone home that night - he couldn’t remember her even if he tried. He takes her back to the apartment you shared and pushes her onto the bed you shared. He kisses her collarbone and up her neck, but he’s aiming for your favorite spots instead of hers. The image of you overlaps with her, and he sees your figure beneath him instead of some stranger. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s his broken heart playing tricks on him.

He kisses her, imagining it’s your scent he’s breathing in rather than the vanilla and booze she smells of. He pictures your arms wrapping around his neck, your lips on his. She says his name, like honey on her lips, whispers it into his ear. And if he tries hard enough, he can twist her voice in his head to sound like you.

“Katsuki, I love you.” He hears it over and over, sees your smile and hears your laugh. “Katsuki, I love you.”

He makes her leave after that. She’s upset but he is too - an argument ensures and she storms out, leaving behind her underwear in her hurry to leave. 

He doesn’t notice. He’s too busy thinking of you.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s been three weeks since your breakup with Bakugou. 

The news stations and gossip websites have been flooded with reports of Camie and Katsuki - neither have said anything about their relationship and the speculation of if they are or aren’t a couple is driving everyone wild. Thankfully, the people who were leaving awful comments have long since left you alone, prompting you to turn your Instagram to private and changing your username so they can’t find you easily. 

You’ve been avoiding social media like the plague, ignoring all television interviews that involve either Bakugou or Camie - you’ve learned your lesson from the night of the Hero Rankings. But you’re only human after all, and the one time your curiosity got the better of you, you dove into the comments on a tabloid’s website to see what the public was saying.

It doesn’t escape your notice that the comments are much kinder - it ranges from well wishes to remarks about how they wish they could replace Bakugou or Camie in the relationship. No one mentions you, which you are grateful for. You know the media thrives off of drama and rumors, so you’re content to have been forgotten about in this narrative. 

Shinsou’s been treating you like normal - another thing you’re grateful for. He is kind without being overbearing, and he gives you distance while also being there for you when you need it. You’ve migrated from sleeping on the couch to crashing in his bed, and more often than not you fall asleep to the smell of his body wash as you lay on his chest. 

You wonder what Bakugou would say if he saw you. He knew how close you and Shinsou were and still are, but anyone could think that you and the purple haired man were lovers. Here you are, getting upset at your ex-boyfriend for having a woman over two days after the breakup, when you are falling asleep in the arms of another man - even if he is your best friend. You wonder if that makes you a hypocrite. Your emotions are in chaos, all jumbled and confused. You miss physical intimacy and a part of you wonders if you’re just using Shinsou as a replacement. “It’s better to sift through these feelings when I’m calmer”, you think to yourself, “I’ll come back to it when I’m in a better place.”

Otherwise, you’ve been steadily making your way back to a normal life - work, school, and your personal life all seem to be peaceful and you’re content in a way you hadn’t been for a long time with Bakugou. Of course, the wounds of the breakup are still healing, but you’re doing a lot better from three weeks ago, when you couldn’t even bring yourself to get out of bed. Shinsou has been making sure that you eat properly and that you take care of yourself. Now that you’re out of that post breakup funk, he notices that you’re cheerful and upbeat - a good sign that you’re slowly recovering from your heartbreak.

Today, you’re home alone while Shinsou patrols the city - he’s promised to pick up dinner on his way home so you don’t have to cook. He’s looking forward to tonight - you’ve finished all of your school work for the weekend and you’re off from work until Monday. He’s eager to come home to you, he’s turned down his coworkers invitations to drink so he can spend the weekend with you. He’s picked up food from your favorite Mexican restaurant, and he’s stopped at the grocery store to get your favorite flavor of ice cream - the one that’s almost always sold out. 

He arrives home to see you lazing about the house - you’re laying on your back on the couch, holding your pastel Animal Crossing Edition Switch with a bag of chips resting on the table next to you. Your eyebrows are furrowed together as you focus on beating the shit out of a boss in Cuphead - a game you and Shinsou spent hours playing when it came out trying to pass the incredibly difficult levels. You’re wearing Shinsou’s favorite hoodie again - you might as well claim it as your own already you wear it so much - and your fuzzy cat print socks match with a fluffy cat ear headband that keeps your hair out of your face. Your face is recently washed and slightly pink, and he can smell your favorite coconut body wash from where he’s standing. He waits until you lose the stage (let's face it - there’s no way you’re beating that damn clown boss without his help) and he makes his way over to you, leaning over to look down at you as you exhale in annoyance at your loss. 

“Hey there, I got dinner. Also nabbed some dessert for you - ready to watch nothing but ghost stories for the rest of the night?” You stretch out your arms and legs, groaning as you move to stand from the couch. 

“Only if you promise to sleep next to me until I see sunlight again.” You hate ghost stories - you can handle scary movies about murderers and clowns but you don’t mess with ghosts. The only reason you’re watching tonight is because you know it’s Shinsou’s favorite and he always watches your nature documentaries even though you know deep down he probably doesn’t enjoy them as much as you do. You saunter over to the kitchen, and prop yourself on the counter facing Shinsou as you pull a taco to your mouth. “Ugh, even though the Exorcist was made like 50 years ago it still gives me the creeps. I can’t believe,” you take a moment to drink some water, “that you can watch her crawl backwards down the stairs and not piss your pants.” Shinsou lowly chuckles, giving a teasing smile as he unwraps his burrito.

“It’s ‘cause I’m not a chicken.” You roll your eyes and snort. 

“Whatever Mindjack. Not everyone can be as fearless as you.” He smirks as you swing your legs, turning your full attention to the taco you have in front of you. “Hurry up and finish so we can do a facemask before our movie marathon. You didn’t forget about that did you?” 

“‘Course not. You wouldn’t let me forget even if I tried, since you’re such a nagger.” You pout, hopping off the counter to wash your hands. Shinsou spends a bit too much time admiring how small you look wearing his hoodie - enveloped in something that belongs to him makes him swell with pride even if it’s wrong of him to think so. He wonders when he started to feel this way towards you, when his love changed from a close friend to an admirer. When he remembers his life, you are always there with him. By his side like a part of his body, always around when important events pass by, always by his side when the going gets tough. It’s not as if he’s always been pining for you - he’s brought other girlfriends around before even if the romance fizzles out before long - but recently he’s noticed you in a different light. Your bedhead and your sleeping face are just as cute to him as when you have your hair done and makeup on. Bringing other men over was never a problem, you’re his best friend and your happiness was always the first priority. But now, he finds himself annoyed at the mere mention of possible partners. You have no shortage of those - you’ve always been able to draw people to you as nerdy as you are - and the green vines of jealousy wrap around his heart every time someone gives you a gift on Valentine’s Day or someone asks you out for a coffee. You usually turn them down since you have so much to focus on, work and school makes you a busy woman after all. But he can’t help but be irritated at the stares you get in public sometimes - as beautiful as you are, you would think that you’d notice the way others look at you. He’s always loved you, but now he feels this once platonic love changing into pure romance, he aches for you like he’s never had before - longing for your touches, your hugs, your feather light kisses on his forehead when he’s having a tough day. The guilt he feels every time he holds you close like he did when you were kids, when you lay your head on his chest and he plays with your hair. To you, it’s still the action of a best friend, but to him it’s something he’d do for a lover. And yet, you’re oblivious, as dense as a rock but he loves that part too. How infuriatingly adorable you are sometimes. 

“‘Toooooshi~”, You wave your hand in his face as he comes back to reality. You raise an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” Your arms cross as you stare at him, suspicious that he’s hiding something from you. 

“You ready? I got everything set up.” He nods, and you turn to walk towards his bedroom.

Shinsou’s room is quite neat, a black bed in the corner next to ceiling to floor windows that gives a pretty good view of the city. He scored a good location in spite of his modest salary - he’s in it for the heroism and the good deeds, not the money. He may not make as much as Bakugou, Todoroki, or Deku, but he does alright. His capture weapon and artificial vocal cords mask rest atop his bookshelf, populated with picture books of you and him in your younger days, as well as a Polaroid camera you left with him when he went off to U.A and you stayed in Saitama. Next to the parts of his Hero costume is a picture of you and him on a trip to the beach - one he treasures above all else. In it, he holds you bridal style as you both smile from ear to ear at the camera. You’re practically glowing, wearing a bright yellow bikini set with a see through beach coverup wrapped around your hips, sunglasses resting atop your head. Shinsou recalls how you nagged him to actually swim with you, and you pretty much forced him to wear those green swim shorts - this picture was before he decided to run with you in his arms to the water. 

He sees your presence everywhere he looks in his room. After he reassured you that you weren’t a burden, you’ve basically turned his home into your home as well. The bottom half of his bookshelf is claimed as yours - it’s filled with your favorite stories, and your collection of Switch games is stacked next to the shelf neatly. Your laptop rests on his bed (you were no doubt doing homework before you got distracted and started playing Cuphead before he got home) with your Geology textbook open and notebooks filled with notes and highlighted phrases. Your clothes have been hung up in his closet, with your makeup and perfumes taking over three-fourths of his bathroom counter. If anyone else came to visit, they’d think you two were an item.

But alas, you two are not.

You push your schoolwork and computer aside to make room for you and Hitoshi, making your way towards the bathroom to grab a basket of skin care products and face masks. Shinsou knows how much you care about your skin - and by extension his skin - and he watches as you walk from here to there gathering what you need. You turn to him with a huge grin on your face as you hold up a matching cat headband in the color black, something you picked up from the store before you came home last week. He sighs, but turns around anyways to allow you to pull his lavender hair back into a loose ponytail and place the cat headband on his head before turning back to face you. 

He looks so silly wearing it, but for you, he’ll do anything. You grab your phone and open the front camera, sticking your tongue out while grabbing Shinsou’s face, squishing his cheeks as he makes an annoyed face at the camera. After taking the photo, you upload it to your now private Instagram and send the picture to Shinsou who does the same. He’s always been a private man, so you don’t worry about the public getting a hold of the photos and trying to make a story out of your life like with Bakugou. 

Tossing your phone aside, you motion for Hitoshi to turn towards you, propping yourself up on your knees in front of him as he sits cross legged. You giggle as he looks back at you, reaching to grab a jar of your favorite moisturizer and opening it. The smell is familiar to him - you always smell like it at night when you watch TV while sitting next to him in the living room. You start to apply the product to his face, careful to keep it out of his eyes and mouth. “You need to take better care of your skin ‘Toshi.”

“I know. I’ve been putting sunscreen on like you’ve asked.” He’s not lying, it’s become a part of his routine ever since you suggested it. 

“Good. You better be taking the time to eat properly at work too. I know you’re sleeping normally again since I’ve been here, so I won’t lecture you on that.” You glance at his arms, covered in scattered scars from run ins with villains. 

Most people look at heroes as an invincible force, unstoppable like All Might. Others may see Mindjack, but you just see Hitoshi Shinsou, your partner in crime.

“Thank you Hitoshi...for everything.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself.

“I didn’t know this facemask meant so much to you.” You punch him in the shoulder as he laughs.

“‘Toshi, I’m serious. Look at all you’ve done for me. You let me crash here, listen to me complain, make sure I’m okay...without you, I probably would still be lying in bed all depressed.” You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. “I have to say it before I never get the chance to. You may be Mindjack, a hero, but you’re still Hitoshi to me. You do so much for me and you put your life on the line for others every day. I watch you and I’m proud of the boy who proved everyone wrong when they said you had a villain’s quirk. You being here for me after everything with Bakugou and always being there for me growing up makes me realize how much you mean to me. You’re my hero, ‘Toshi. But I need you to stay safe. Look at all your scars...” You pull back from the hug and grab his arms, running your fingers over his scarred skin. You’ve always known Shinsou’s job is dangerous - he’s a hero after all, he saves people. But he’s also your best friend. He’s a selfless man, a kind man. 

You love Shinsou. You truly do, he is someone you can never lose. To lose him would be to lose a part of you.

He says nothing in response, so you continue. “Remember that time you fought that villain in the subway? All the news stations said that the tunnel was going to collapse and I just felt like my heart was going to burst. I saw you getting trapped and I felt like…”

You trail off, feeling the familiar sting of tears as you hold them back. Hitoshi gazes at you, lilac eyes boring into your own. “I felt like my whole world was ending. When you came out alright I thought I would faint. I was so scared ‘Toshi… scared you wouldn’t come back. I don’t want to lose you.” Shinsou grabs your cheeks, gently moving his hands so you face him. He wipes a tear from your eye. 

“I’ll always come back to you.” You close your eyes, and press your forehead to his.

“You better. I’ll be waiting.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bakugou wants to be anywhere else but here. 

He’s at Kirishima’s apartment - he’s been dragged out of his house by Mina and Kaminari for a night of drinking, with Sero and Jirou also coming along for the ride. The blonde would rather be in bed, wallowing in his misery, but his friends won’t let him stay inside. So he pouts in the corner, arms crossed and a permanent scowl painting his features. Kirishima gives him a knowing smile, and mouths “I’m sorry”. Bakugou clicks his tongue and looks away, grabbing his phone in order to distract himself from all the noise. 

He would rather die than admit it, but he’s been looking for your Instagram ever since you left. You must’ve unfollowed him or even blocked him - he can’t find a trace of you anywhere. He hates this pathetic side of him, one that makes him seem like a stalker, but he has to know you’re okay. If his pride won’t let him call you, then he needs to know you’re okay.

To his surprise, you pop up on his feed. He immediately inspects the photo of you, and breathes a sigh of relief to see your face. Your tongue is sticking out all playful, beaming as you hold Hitoshi’s face for the photo. You’re wearing that cat headband you always use when washing your face, and he can tell you’re almost ready for bed. He smiles solemnly, vermilion eyes staring at you, so far away.

He notices you’re wearing one of Shinsou’s hoodies and his blood boils at the thought - he knows you are friends but he hates the idea of anyone else having you - although he shouldn’t be one to talk after bringing home that girl from the club. He hates himself for doing it. He stares at your face before standing, saying a curt “I’ll be back” before making his way to the balcony. His friend’s voices fade as he stands outside overlooking the city, and he makes sure the coast is clear before dialing your number.

Fuck his pride. He has to hear your voice.