#one has training and practice and games and meetings

[tokoyamisstuff]

The Price of Kindness

ft. Salesman, Masked Officer, Front Man (separately)

@stygianoir requested sth about "love at first sight", but those guys are ✨️canonically insane✨️, so don't expect something healthy and lighthearted (though I did make them uncharacteristically nice). Warnings: not proofread, pretty ooc, slight obsession/stalking, manipulation, hints to unhealthy future dynamics, kinda marysue (but hey we're here to have fun aint we)

Salesman

The first time he saw you, it was merely on a file with potential players.

Another sob story of undeserved crippling debt, accumulated through circumstances you had no control over.

Sure, you had a pretty face, but were unwilling to resort to dirty work that could easily help yourself out of your predicament. He could never relate, having worked in the games from childhood on to pay off loans he wasn't even responsible for.

To him such principles weren't admirable, no - they were a flaw, a sign of weakness.

So naturally he never felt an ounce of pity for folks like you, even if the cards one was born with or the situation they ended up in was entirely not their fault.

World's unfair, get used to it. If you're unwilling to do whatever's necessary to survive, that's on you.

Survival of the fittest, some might say.

It's been a while since he started observing you in order to find the perfect moment to offer you the Dalgona game. You're always smiling through the sorrow, carry yourself with dignity even when you had to beg for scraps.

And despite most people treating you like a lowlife, you never seem to fight back.

Pathetic.

When he witnessed you spending the last of your hard earned money to feed some random homeless person, he decided enough was enough.

"You must really like struggling, huh?" he scoffed when he dropped on the bench right besides you. You raise an eyebrow at the strange man, nervously shifting on your seat. "And you are?"

"A concerned citizen." Sure...

There was something about his voice, smooth like silk but with an etch to it that made the fine hair on your arms stand up, almost as if subconsciously alerted.

"Why did you do it?" he asks, pointing over his shoulder to the disheveled elder man, eagerly devouring a meal you definetly needed yourself. You shrug. "I can work, he can't anymore. Doesn't cost anything to be kind."

Your explanation made him roll his eyes so hard, he thought they'd get stuck in his skull. "Of course it does. It's painfully obvious that this was a lot of money for someone like you, and you practically threw it into the trash."

Such a fucking waste of potential...

"Well, it did make a difference, for him it did." You beam at him with a smile so blindingly bright, he didn't know whether to be irritated or interested. "I wholeheartedly believe that if we all would take care of each other, this world would be a much better place."

Yeah, yeah...the old 'What you do to one person means nothing to the world, but it means the world to that person' bullshit. But newsflash, this isn't how our society operates.

The strong prey on the weak, a few idealistic fools aren't gonna change that.

And yet, this whole speech he mentally prepared for your eventual meeting had just evaporated from his mind as soon as you looked at him with that naive hopefulness in your eyes.

"Aren't you tired of bending over backwards for others?" His eloquent silver tongue was clearly failing him today if that was all he came up with - but right now he almost felt hurt in your stead. "What has this mindset ever done for you?"

Right. You should be mad, furious even!

There's no shame in sinking to the level of those responsible for this injustice. If not to make them pay, then at least so you'd become able to make some actual change.

Instead you're sitting here, on a filthy train station in the midst of the night, trying to sugarcoat your situation as if it was was some meaningful sacrifice.

"I can't really explain it..." You gaze into the distance, smile never faltering, not even when your eyes gloss with unshed tears from your hardships. "But knowing I eased someone else's burden just a little bit makes it all worth it."

The odd businessman sighs deeply, neither his expression nor his tone giving away whether it was out of frustration or sympathy.

Either way, his reaction made you laugh a bit bashful. "It was nice talking to you, Sir" you say, tentatively putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's rare to meet a person that actually listens to what someone like me has to say."

There is a long break of silence between your words and his reaction.

Then, after rumagging in his chest pocket for a moment, but instead of offering you the usual deal, he stuffs some crumpled banknotes into your hand.

"Treat yourself" he breaks the silence while you stare at the money in disbelief. "...or give it to another worthless piece of shit, I don't care."

"I can't-"

"Yes you can" he cuts you off sharply, yet with an almost caring insistence. "And you have to. Because I won't take it back."

As he prepares to leave you jump up, calling after him. "What's your name? How can I contact you? I will pay you back, I promise!"

He chuckles quite amused, raising his hand as means of dismissal. "Don't worry, I'll find you."

Can't hurt to take it easy once in a while, he tells himself, feeling a warmth spread in his chest as he remembers the way your face lit up like a christmas tree at his unexpected act of charity.

Maybe you were onto something, after all...

...or at least this might be entertaining for a while.

Masked Officer

Ironically, the place of your first meeting was the same he'd potentially lose you.

Outside of the games, his main task is making out potential players and soldiers alike.

Truth be told, it has become somewhat of a pastime, really. Field study in human behavior or something like that, many colleagues of his also took a liking to observe rather than be a part of civil life.

A side-effect of becoming so utterly disconnected from society.

He's been a regular at many hospitals, officially disguised as voluntary visitor, but secretly managing both organ trade and recruitment.

Logically medical bills can be crushing, and being too ill to work was also a huge factor of debt spiraling out of control.

You're a regular patient here, severely ill which was a shame honestly since with the right amunt of wealth, this wouldn't even be an issue.

He met you in an elevator, shockingly frail and yet your sickness did nothing to dull your stunning beauty. You sat in a wheelchair in obvious pain, not once stopping to joke with the nurses despite your apparent struggle.

"Why the long face?" The tall man glances down quite confused, seeing you eye him with genuine worry as if you weren't the one in need of help right now. "...that's just the way I look" he grumbles and you snort a laugh at his almost offended reaction.

It had become quite your thing to support or at least cheer up others however you could, no matter if it was a loved one or a complete stranger. Well, truth be told, it was probably more of a coping strategy than anything - a desperate attempt to distract yourself from your own miserable life.

And this guy right there? He was the kind of person that chose to suffer in silence, but you saw right through the stoic act.

Over the course of your agonizingly long stay in this tiny countryside hospital, the two of you would run into each other countless times at random locations.

Eache time it would all go about the same, with him giving short-cut answers to deflect your pathetic attempts at smalltalk, maybe some harmless banter if he felt particulary generous. He wasn't rude or anyhting, remaining polite yet distanced since there was no reason in being cruel to someone whose existence didn't matter to him at all...

...until it did.

Slowly but steadily, he got used to your presence, anticipating it even. He caught himself aimlessly wandering through the corridors, hoping to 'coincidentally' cross paths with you again, feeling anxious whenever he wouldn't see you for a few days in a row.

So he kept telling himself just checking on you can't hurt, but this soon turned into sincere visits.

As your meetings became intentional, your interactions got more meaningful as well, with him pushing your wheelchair to the small garden behind the building or simply staying at your sickbed during extraordinary bad days. Some days he'd sit in the waiting room to help you pass time, others he'd bring snacks from the outside or even flowers.

Opening up certainly wasn't his forte - neither did he intend to - but he may have slipped up the fact that he once lost someone to a similar condition as yours, which explains a lot.

Once you had lunch together in the cafeteria, laughing hysterically at his serious rant about the clinical food. You appreciated that he didn't treat you like some fragile flower, and he enjoyed that you weren't intimidated by him in the slightest.

"You're too kind for your own good" he always scolded you, "It won't get you anywhere."

"It got me to you, silly!" you'd chirp, gifting him a dreamy smile that made his heart stop a beat or two, and he wondered how someone so weak could have such power over him.

Indeed, your bond grew so natural, mending each other's souls as if it was indeed fate that brought you here.

When your condition worsened though, and they couldn't find a matching donor, that pleasant illusion was scattered just like that.

You're holding his hand when you tell him that your days were limited, consoling him instead of the other way around and thanking him countless time - because the impact he had on your life would make you able to pass fullfilled.

That's enough, he thought, zoning out as reality crept up on him, spitting into his face and taunting him for daring to raise his hopes.

He won't allow it.

You were his salvation, his second chance - and he won't let anyone take you from him, not even death itself.

Seems like he needs to harvest a heart...

Frontman

Does it really count as love at first sight if it was only through a monitor?

You were one of the rather unimpressive players of the most recent Squid Game, the type of person you're wondering how they endured up to that point.

In-ho had taken a liking to you nonetheless, still waters run deep or so they say.

He stopped rooting for you however when he noticed the way you selflessly cared for others to the point of neglecting yourself. It hit a bit too close to home, reminded him of what the humanity he abandoned in order to survive and how it's haunting himself every single day ever since.

So when you win against all odds and chances, without any blood on your hands at that, the Frontman convinces himself that he loathes you and everything you stand for.

Still, as he gathered the composure for his usual congratulation, his heart clenched painfully against all logic as he wittnessed you collapsed and sobbing on the crimson-stained floor.

Before he knew it he was cradling your unconscious self into his arms holding you tight against his chest as he carried you into the infirmary.

Surprisingly, as soon as you recovered and were about to be escorted home, you ask for an audience with the mastermind out of your own accord, and as curious as he is cunning, he accepts.

If only you knew who had been lurking at your bedside, his gloved knuckles tentatively stroking your cheek as he contemplated whether to suffocate you with his pillow or use his bare hands.

In the end, he did neither of it.

The drive to your hometown is a long one, stretched by uncomfortable silence and a nervousness in your presence he isn't willing to acknowledge. He subconsciously sat down in the back of the limousine right next to you, so close he could easily pull you in for- nevermind. His mind is wandering to strange places lately.

You didn't demand an explanation for his actions, nor did you try to appeal to his morality or anything. All you wanted from him was a list with names and all the information about your deceased fellow players he could provide.

"What for?" In-ho crossed one leg over the other, leaning forwards as if you were a puzzle he had yet to solve, and the prize being the only thing of worth to someone so obscenely rich. "If you think about going to the police, I can assure you-"

"I'm not stupid" you say, tears wettening through your blindfold and the sight makes his stomach churn. "There's no use in fighting against something so much bigger than me. I just- let me care for their loved ones. Make the best out of it."

That response somehow made him even more infatuated infuriated with you than he already was, because how dare you staying so naively positive after everything you've been through?!

It was like your very existence was taunting him for his mistakes - a living testimony of his shortcomings.

The true extend of despair you had him spiral into only emerged when the aftermath of the games were cleared, and In-ho was once again standing in front of the abyss that was his empty life for yet another year.

From then onwards, breaking your spirit becomes his twisted motivator, in order to not lose his mind over this unfair twist of luck compared to his own misfortune.

Kindness is not a virtue, it's a weakness - and he'd teach you this lesson one way or another.

The blinking of a GPS-tracker they injected under your skin was the only light that illuminated the Frontman's limousine when he parked it in front of your home on that rainy afternoon.

Your lifestyle didn't change a bit, one would never assume you were basically one of the wealthiest people in this country. And yet there you were, still living in that rundown apartment in the worst part of your hometown.

Most of the prize-money remained untouched, only used to pay off your debts and send anonymous donations to the player's families. Even your own living cost you'd carry by working part-time like you actually enjoyed being a lowlife instead of elevating yourself to another level. Foolish.

Seems like he has to take on drastic measures to make you see the truth...

....and if he can't convince you as your enemy, then he'll have to do it from the other side.

In-ho used his binoculars to peek through the window from afar, watching as you make dinner from scratch while singing and dancing across the room. He'd never admit, but at that moment he misses the sound of your voice - it's just not the same on the recordings, especially with the screams and cries of other participants mingling in between.

The man confidently strolls towards your door, reciting the whole plan in his head down to the last minicule detail. A knock, then two and then slamming against it before frantically ringing the doorbell.

"H-hello, I'm so sorry to disturb you at this hour, but my car broke down...you don't mind helping out a stranger, do you?"

[burrythebusy]

Kagi is planning out a fancy all day long date with Hirano with multiple stops: where do they go and what do they do??? 🤔 (he's a rich and famous basketball player so unlimited budget here)

Holy cow i love you anon okay let's get going.

FIRSTLY, three words: Hot. Air. Balloon.

"Who tf uses hot air balloons anymore" they do. Because hot air balloons are fun and cool <- never been in one in my life.

But okay think about it. And by that I mean think about Dr. Stone. If you've seen it. If you haven't im gonna put it into perspective for you. Hot air balloons aren't actually that complicated (and with today's tech they are definitely safer than, say, the stone world) and people have FESTIVALS of these things. With some knowledge of weather patterns and physics and good attention hell yeah whats wrong with a hot air balloon ride. And we know Kagiura has the means to find one even if its not common. And I REALLY dont know how common they are in japan but again. Who cares.

Hirano is a pilot, so he can get a run down and know what to do plus it allows him a little more direct, simpler control. And yeah he sees the sky all the time... but being in the air with nothing between you and it, is different than flying at hundreds of kilometers an hour with you and a large hunk of steel and glass between you and the open air. A hot air balloon ride just before dawn would actually be like. Amazing. And they'd watch the sunrise together as they see it before the world below them (mostly). How cute would that be.

So let's say this is early spring ish? For the sake of sunrise/sunset times. So first on the itinerary

5h00: Hot Air Balloon ride

Not to mention their respective careers definitely make them get up early so yeah they'll live.

Anyway next. Its 100% breakfast time. Lets say the ride took about an hour so now its 6 AM and there's like no places open because dawg (there are places open but where's the fun in that) Kagiura takes them to a fairly (very) expensive hotel that he had booked from the night before (but hes gonna check out before they leave) anyway it has a kitchen and you BEST believe that Kagiura spent 10 years trying to perfect this ONE recipe for breakfast (you can decide what it is) and he makes it for hirano bc NO princess youre not lifting a finger today (he already has) (hirano would rather die than sit there and not help so it becomes them cooking together and will it end in disaster? 50/50 but it doesnt matter bc its FUN) they eat. Yay.

6h15: Breakfast

15 minutes just in case. But it takes them about an hour and a half to finish cooking and eating. So now its almost 8am what are we doing next. Kagiura has something specifically planned for the following times: 11am, 2pm, 7pm, and 10pm, in various locations, but he and Niibashi expertly made sure that each of these places were lined up so that they could make their way there throughout the day. So Hirano gets to choose what to do until 11. Hirano has some things he wants to buy and we all know he likes dressing kagiura up so suddenly hes like okay umm im gonna choose your outfit for the rest of the day. Okay hirano??

They do all this damn shopping and buy each other NUMEROUS outfits to wear and change into as the day goes on. They change and make their way to the 11am scheduled event which is a picnic that they spend doing a crosswords in a crossword book they got from a shop like nerds (its rlly hirano tho but trust he's enjoying it) picnic prepared by yours truly with the help of the one and only Niibashi Juuya and the most expertly crafted picnic basket you can find on the market. Where'd he get it from? ("I wouldnt worry about it," Kagi says. Hirano decides to listen).

11h00: Picnic. Thank god the weather is holding up amiright.

They dont rush when theyre done with eating at around noon, 12:30 perhaps. They kinda just lay around and talk. They could honestly do that until 2 but Kagiura 100% loses consciousness and wakes up in a sweat like where am I but dont worry kagiura Hirano is STILL here with about 1% less storage due to his camera roll. Its 13:30 where are we off to next sweetums. Let's go learn something.

They end up at a museum. Multiple museums. Not because kagiura planned for that but he did plan for one which was an aviation museum but Hirano went through that shit like that duck Adam in that one video and they have time until their 19h apppointment so they end up at an art museum not too far from it. Then theres another aviation museum with space stuff this time. And is that a mothherfucking planetarium. Someone's geeking out. Hirano buys Kagiura Hella garbage from the gift shops like key chains and bracelets and "they said its a space rock its not but we can pretend also its the color of your eyes" but kagiura takes it with a smile and promises to eat it later (hirano doesnt question it) (kagi loves getting gifts from Hirano sooo bad) and they have a lot of fun talking about things and watching informational videos and kagiura loves seeing hirano talk about some of what he already knows and learn some of what he doesnt. And he doesnt know how much he'll retain but the smile he's receiving he will for sure rememeber forever.

14h00: Aviation museum (and two others and planetarium)

They take a walk because the restaurant they have a reservation for is nearby and its only around 18h25 so why not. Sun set a while ago so its this beautiful dusky color. They walk across a bridge and admire the reflection of the water. They look up and see a couple of distrails and the light of planes. "Is that the ISS," Kagi asks. "No," Hirano laughs. "Have you ever wanted to go to space?" Kagi asks. "Not really," Hirano says. "I've got all I've ever wanted below the exosphere." SIGHHHHH

19h00: Dinner

It doesnt really NEED to be expensive but it kinda is because not expensive for them is kinda elevated at this point so its NICE. And they quickly change again in the car before they get into the restaurant and they just talk about the things they talk about. Schedules and plans and stuff that happened a few days ago that I forgot to tell you about and "when the hell did you plan all this" and Kagiura giggles and says not telling. The food is filling and delicious but they dont get desert because Kagiura says we will worry about that later.

A rational part of me is like... no way kagiura has a license. I think hirano does though and Kagiura is not above being Hirano's passenger princess so he blindly gives him directions and yeah they make SEVERAL wrong turns but this is why there's still an hour and a half to get there and honestly being on time isnt necessarily important dont worry about it. They're in the country now, its nice and quiet though there are still people walking about and doing whatever. Hirano is like how late can we be exactly and Kagiura is like however late we wanna be tbh. So they go to a small bar because Hirano likes his alcohol As We Know. They Talk as always except this is also hirano and kagiura so there's no limit on what they talk about. I think they sit there and talk for a long ass while really.

So its definitely well past ten PM at this point and they are no longer sober but they dont even have to drive to their last destination which is actually just a small inn on a small hill that Hirano did NOT have fun walking to but he'll live. And the reason for this very specific location and idea is because of its view once you get there. You look up and there's not a single thing obscuring the sky... except some clouds.

Holy shit.

Hirano laughs his ass off BTW.

22h00 (planned): inn and its view which, not much of a view rn

They end up staying up VERYYYY late until the clouds mostly clear up, its like 4AM at this point, but they can see everything. And since its cool out and dark they can REALLY see everything. So technically the date lasted almost 24 hours. So Kagiura is like, "Do we get a world record for the world's longest date?" Hirano pinches he cheek. "Pft. Not even close." But it was probably one of the busier days hes had even with flights, because hes only ever doing one thing on them. And yet it was also the most relaxing and the most fun and thrilling at the same time. It really is all hes ever wanted jam packed into one day (to be with him more than anyone in the world).

So considering the tired yet incredibly bright grin he gets from Hirano at about 5AM, when it looks like the sun is beginning to rise again, Kagiura can consider the date an astounding success.

And then they both pass out inside the end.

(Uhhh what nooo i didnt write a fic what are you talking about)

[lily-bisque]

✦ jock!sukuna fucking the girl that’s scared of him ﾉ eighteen plus, dub-con, dead dove.

On the lengthy list of every single depraved, immoral, and degenerate act that Sukuna had committed, now conjuring them up in his mind, this one took the cake. And salaciously licked the plate clean.

He’s clandestinely fingered a girl during a pep rally, received head from another the week before she was made to be a bride, and he’s even bent one over in the locker room showers after a game.

But this? He’s never been worried about the state of his consciousness until now.

Because he’s got you, caged before him, squirming with saucer wide eyes as he tells you to slip your panties down.

You, who has been actively avoiding Sukuna for months now, cowering whenever he even so much as nears you. Cheeks flushed, stumbling over your each syllable, hiding behind that fucking flimsy camera of yours that you carry around to snap stills of the team.

To put it plainly—you were scared of him. Like a fucking deer in headlights.

Sukuna was an asshole, and he brazenly knew it. Spewing insults about how miserable you looked on the sidelines during the games, adjusting that giant satchel circling your front, rubbing your palms against your thighs when Sukuna made his way towards you.

And give it to Toji to wantonly make a vile comment about you and Sukuna that made him scowl.

You and him? The two of you lived in completely different worlds, entirely different tiers, as arrogant as it sounded.

But the single thought lingered in the back of his mind when his gaze would catch on yours—noticing the way your shivering orbs would catch on his rippling muscles and how you’d worry your lower lip between your teeth once you’d been caught ogling.

Toji had unintentionally planted a seed that was only sprawling into every crevice of his frayed psyche.

He tried to ignore it, really. He’d find another girl to wet his dick, to try and push you out of his mind. But he knew he was tragically doomed when he’d accidentally uttered your name when he was snapping his hips into a classmate he’d never recall the face of.

So, he began to linger around you. Stayed after practice longer to see if he could strike up a conversation with you.

Yet, without fail, you’d scatter like a clodhopping beetle every single time, nearly tripping over yourself while you did so.

Frankly, it was really fucking weird. Sukuna was a certifiable jerk, but scary? Nah, that wasn’t him… right?

Wrong.

He’d finally found a way to corner you—forging a letter that the coach wanted to meet with you in his office where he then ambushed you and curled his fingers around your wrist in a firm grip to slip you into the janitor's closet.

He clicked the door shut behind the two of you, his massive form blocking the door, gaze training on yours.

“Fuck—Are you shaking?”

Yes. Yes you were. Shoulders rising and falling with rapidly rising trepidation, owl-eyed, trembling hands gripping the strap of your bag like it was your one preservation.

You didn’t reply, only backing up slowly until you hit the shelf and nearly toppled a spare paint can over your head to which Sukuna pushed out of the way.

He peered down at you, narrowed carmine eyes fanning the flames of your firing neurons. 

You felt like you were about to pass out any second.

His fingers skimmed over your bicep, your breath swiftly catching in your throat at the contact, eyes shutting as if you were bracing for impact.

He cocked an eyebrow at that, a low chuckle leaving his lips. “Not gonna bite you. Unless you ask nicely,” he gently whispered, leaning over to fan his breath over your ear and press a tender kiss just below the lobe, goosebumps sent in a wave over your skin.

You whimpered, head casting away from him, legs nearly about to buckle beneath the weight of his essence in its entirety. 

Yeah, you thought he was hot. Everyone did, it was a plain fact on campus that Sukuna was one of the most lusted after guys around. But did that mean you had the mind to even tread upon the fact that you’d pursue anything with him?

You, who made it known that you weren’t a talkative person, never hanging around others for long? Who found solace in your solitude and kept security behind your camera lens?

Fine, you’d thought about his hands on you, his plush lips chasing after your own, how he’d sound groaning for you. 

But never could you have imagined him towering over you like he was now, pressing kisses against your jugular and whispering heady breaths of your name.

“Wait…” You sighed out, balling your hands into tight fists by your side, knuckles whitening over with the burdening pressure.

“What?” He flatly responded, pulling away to glare at you.

If it weren’t for how your feet felt as if they were rooted in tar, you would’ve ducked out from under the arm he had planted beside your head and made a run from it.

But your brain blanked under his intimidating stare, mouth parting and lips quivering as words died on your tongue.

His eyes flickered over the minute pout of your lips, the way your eyes glossed over slightly, the huffs that left your mouth as if you just ran a marathon.

And as fucked up as it was, he felt himself growing disgustingly hard at the sight of it.

His lips crashed onto yours, gripping your nape and craning your head upward as he slipped his tongue between your lips, sliding inside the cavern and prodding around with a wanton curiosity.

You whimpered, stilling like a sheet of cardboard, fingers coming up to clutch the fabric of his cotton tee around the abdomen.

Sukuna felt like he was rediscovering lust with the way you had him keening over, swapping drool with you like a fucking mutt.

His hand that wasn’t keeping your head in place, splayed over the flesh of your ass, tugging you flush against him and kneading the fat like a stressball.

A shudder wracked your body, one that Sukuna amplified by nibbling on your lower lip. You winced, the pain making your eyes clasp shut, but you released a deep breath when he cooed and ran his tongue over where he inflicted damage.

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your sweats. “Take these off,” he grunted, kissing your cheek, then your jawline in haste.

You complied, quickly shoving them down, brain slated from any sort of rational thinking.

“Attagirl,” he smirked, leaning up to press a kiss against your forehead.

He nudged the waistband of his own shorts down, the guy somehow going commando all day, and allowed his cock to spring free.

Red, and definitely angry with the way it was twitching, the slit of his violently swollen tip dribbling pearly seed just from making out with you. And the size? Fucking daunting… and your gaze dropped to the granny cotton panties you’d unfortunately opted for. “There’s no way that’s going to fit…” you mousily trailed off, swallowing the thick lump lodged in your throat.

Sukuna flashed a grin. “Who said anything about making it fit?”

His hands gripped your waist, aligning his throbbing shaft with your heat. “Hold your panties down.”

Again, you wordlessly obeyed, holding the fabric down and feeling your head lull with lust.

He pressed his cock straight between your folds, immediately letting out a warbled groan, slamming a hand well above your head to clutch the metal shelf, eyes threatening to roll back into his skull. “You always…fuck, carry this much slick in your panties?”

Unfortunately, you could barely hear a word from his lips, the prominent veins underscoring his length dragging tantalizingly between your sopping folds, catching all of your juices as he rutted in slowly.

Your hands found themselves latching onto his chest as he pressed you against the shelf, desperately searching for some semblance of stability as everything around you seemed to rock and teeter. Sukuna had to push objects away from the edge of the rickety shelf to avoid them from crashing onto you.

“Thattttt’s it,” he groaned, head ducking and salmon tresses sticking to his perspired forehead, picking up a pace as he fucked himself between your treacly folds. He’s never fucked a girl without actually being inside of her, yet he never expected for it to feel downright heavenly. He’s still not certain if you’re a determining variable, something he’ll just have to test for next time.

Your cheek smushed against his hardened chest, thighs trembling as a familiar feeling coiled just beneath your diaphragm, hot and ready to go.

Sukuna felt it too—maw slack as he chased the both of your highs, the flesh of your thighs meeting his bulky ones.

“Mmmf I-,” you whined out, face contorting with pleasure, hiding the expression away as you dug your head into the fabric adorning his chest, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and something akin to shame and horror swirling in your mind.

“Say.. my name,” he grunted out, chest caving as his abs tightened, holding back his impending peak just to hear your pretty voice, palm digging into the metal shelf to distract himself.

You shook your head, lips with a quivering quake, wet lashes dusting the rounds of your cheeks.

His fingers raked through your hair, gently tugging your head back or else he feared he really may scare you away, before his lips found over yours again. Messier this time—gasping and teeth bumping, consuming the warm breath of each other. “Say it.”

You hiccuped, pausing before complying. “‘K-kuna,” you whispered against his lips, voice trembling with the sound.

And that was enough to push the both of you over the precipice you were so desperately teetering on—Sukuna shooting his load across the fabric of your panties, hot and sticky, and you gushing all across his cock with a strangled yip.

“Fuckkkkk,” he groaned through heaved breaths, the crowns of his ears tinging with a hot-red that mirrored the clench of his chest.

He collapsed over you, arms folded on the shelf above your head as you breathed in his scent—heady musk and the lingering scent of smoke. It wasn’t frequent, but you’d catch him inhaling a cigarette when the coach wasn’t looking.

After a few breathy, silent moments, Sukuna pulled away, slowly sliding his cock from your panties with a lewd squelch, peering down at you with narrowed eyes swirling with mirth.

“See, I don’t bite. I’m even leaving you with a little present for next time,” he huffed out, pure amusement washing over his fucked out face as he stuffed his cock back into his trousers and adjusted the shirt he was sporting that clung to his sweaty skin. “See you around, pansy.”

He pushed out of the janitor's closet clearly pleased with himself, leaving you with your sweats bunched around your ankles and his seed thick in your panties, still trembling from both the aftershocks of your orgasm and a somewhat terrifying ordeal.

What the fuck just happened?

pt 2 here

[kentucky-daisey]

Hello! I'm feeling really burnt out! Thankyousomuch!!!

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[bambisnc]

      MEETING GAMER BF IRL?! (GONE WRONG)   wherein % you realize your actions have consequences . .

            ST✮RRING───N.RK 🎮 826 && WR. kisses ˖ ✧

[ 陰 ♡ ] : hi ...... this is for instagram / blr user calabaeri cb to me pls ... ♡ briar baef's gamer bf hee made me think ab this heh >< along w/ ifeye's song irl !

                        𝖢𝘓𝗂𝖢𝖪     🖇. 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝙁𝗶𝗟𝗘 ᰈ̠ 𝖭𝘈𝖵𝗂

calling nishimura riki your boyfriend would be an overstatement.

he was more “boy you met in a discord server one day and bonded with over similar music tastes and roblox horror games.” with whom you also occasionally flirted.

it was over a quick round of one such game that he’d proposed meeting each other face to face. because like, who even cares about cyber security, really.

not like he’d given you any reason not to trust him, after all. before you knew it—you’d met at a cafe. and very subsequently agreed to go over to his place. he’d gotten a new game over the weekend, ni-ki had told you over coffee, would you like to test it out with him? you had agreed. 

so why was it that what was only supposed to be a quick gaming session has long extended into you seated over his lap, with him kissing you like a man starved? 

it was safe to say that neither of you had really been paying attention to the game from the start. ni-ki was the one who’d brought it up first. 

“you keep looking at me like that,” eyes still trained on the controller as his fingers worked with it deftly, “and i might start thinking you want something from me.”

with great haste you had torn your own gaze off his figure, hoping to wave off the implication of his words with some kind of a joke. fine, sure, maybe you were a little distracted. 

“and what if do want something?” wait, fuck, you had not meant to say that.

ni-ki’s head lowered, and for a moment you cheered internally. you’d managed to make him flustered?! you could taste the satisfaction. this was like revenge for all the times he’d tried to pull one over on you—deep voice through your headset doing the absolute most to make you lose your cool and let your in-game character die in lieu.

“you okay there, baby?” you can swear that the nickname, born after one too many sleepless nights spent talking to the other on voice chat, was only meant to be slightly patronizing in the situation. 

a pause. you could practically hear your heartbeat and hoped against hope that he couldn’t. the barely there proximity between your figures was probably not helping either. you have half a mind to get up right there and hide away in his bathroom when you almost gasp at his thigh brushing against yours.

you remember flinching slightly when, upon looking at ni-ki again, you realized his focus was completely on you. “yeah. ” glancing up through his lashes, a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “just wondering when you’ll tell me exactly what it is that you want.”

he set down his controller then, before lazily taking yours out of your hand as well. “and be quick about it—preferably before i start guessing.”

you didn’t say anything. couldn’t, would be more apt.

because ni-ki had leaned in just close enough for you to be able to see the reflection of the neon video game credits rolling out on the screen in front of you.

game over.

“hm? not gonna tell me?” 

and suddenly you find yourself regretting spending the entire day being a tease. the casual touches, the playful comments—you should’ve known better.

should’ve known that if you were going to start this game, it was only natural ni-ki would end up finishing it.

his hand brushing back a lock of hair behind your ear brings you crashing back to reality. back to the moment.

you swallow. “i thought you said you’d guess.”

that was all it had taken.

ni-ki’s lips crashed into yours before you could even process it. and god, the only half coherent thought still left in your brain was how you wanted more.

he kissed you like he had a point to prove. you could feel it in the way he smirked into the movement, like he’d known this would happen from the very beginning. 

you’re not sure if you were the one who moved first or if it was his hand that now rests deliciously heavy on your waist which had pulled you to sit perched over his lap. 

ni-ki doesn’t seem to care though. not with how he keeps diving back in with murmurs of jus’ one more. you have to push him away with a palm covering his lips, having been left in desperate need of air.

“you’re a menace.” you finally manage to complain. 

he agrees. well you assume he does from how he licks at your hand with that shit eating grin. “took you long enough to figure that out, baby.” 

and that’s the last of the talking that happens for a while as he pulls you impossibly closer, fingers once again angling your face to meet his own. 

you don’t really find it in you to complain about that, though.

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatariki @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @eunwonji @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras @calabaeri @athenaisonlinee @weepingsweep ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[kxsagi]

Me Me I REALLY LIKE THE WAY YOU WRITE ABAKSJAJAJA I LOVE IT SO MUCH JWBWKAKAKQ OF COURSE LOVE YOU TOO 🫶🏻🥺💖💝um... I want ask for the bllk boys' kids to say that the kid admires someone other than them, or their cute little daughter to say that she wants to marry their coworker in the future and not her dad.

“𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐥𝐮 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧”

a/n: AHHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU TOO FOREVER AND ALWAYS BAE 💖🤞🙈 HOPE YOU LIKE IT

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, kunigami rensuke, bachira meguru, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

“i wanna be like uncle rin! he’s sooo cool!” 

he blinks. then again. then he goes completely still like he’s buffering. “… uncle rin?” 

suddenly he’s on his knees, hands on his son’s shoulders, eyes wide with hurt. “but– but i taught you how to dribble.” 

“yeah, but uncle rin doesn’t even smile when he scores, that’s sick.” 

oh the betrayal. 

isagi dramatically flops face-first into the couch like a shakespearean widow. his son is confused. you’re trying not to laugh. 

later, he’s training harder than ever. 

“love, i’m gonna reinvent my image. cold. emotionless. lethal.” 

“yoichi–” 

“don’t call me that. call me dad, but like rin.” 

he sulks until your son tells him, “i changed my mind. i wanna be like dad when i grow up.” 

“say it again.” “i wanna be like dad.” “LOUDER.” “DAD!!!” “THAT’S MY BOY!!!” 

itoshi sae

“i’m gonna marry uncle nagi when i grow up!! he’s cool and plays games with me!!” 

he literally just stands there, blinking slowly like a cat. you can almost see the disappointment on his face render in 4k. 

“nagi? seishiro nagi? he’s a man-child.” “he lets me sit on his shoulders when we play tag!” “he can’t even tie his own shoes.” 

he immediately texts nagi in the group chat: [10:24 AM] sae: you’re banned from my house [10:24 AM] nagi: ?? [10:25 AM] sae: you’re corrupting my daughter [10:26 AM] nagi: idk what that means but she’s fun [10:27 AM] sae: blocked. 

the next time nagi visits, sae is stone-faced and stiff, holding his daughter in his arms the whole time like a guard dog. 

“you can’t marry nagi,” he mutters in her ear. “why not, daddy?” “… he doesn’t believe in taxes.” 

she ends up saying, “then i’ll just marry daddy!” 

he smirks at nagi. “good choice.” 

itoshi rin

“i wanna be just like uncle kaiser!! he’s awesome and has gold and blue hair and funny teeth!!” 

rin is offended. not surprised. not confused. offended. 

“funny teeth? funny teeth? they’re normal white straight teeth. and it’s not even a natural blue. he dyes it.” “he said his hair is made of sunbeams!!” 

rin scoffs and mutters under his breath: “this is your fault.” you: “… how is it my fault?” “you’re the one who let him meet kaiser in the first place.” 

he starts showing his son his highlight reels. “watch this. i broke his ankles once. made him cry. it was beautiful.” 

your son just goes, “yeah, but uncle kaiser smells like candy.” “that’s hair bleach, dumbass–” you slap his arm. 

rin sulks for the rest of the week. 

eventually, your son switches to, “daddy’s the coolest,” because rin bribes him with blue raspberry popsicles. desperate times. 

kaiser michael

“i wanna marry uncle ness!! he’s so cute and has pretty eyes and he always gives me snacks!” 

dead silence. 

kaiser slowly turns his head toward you like he’s possessed. “… did she just say ness?” 

he crouches down to your daughter’s height, fake smiling. “baby, you don’t wanna marry ness. he gets nosebleeds when he’s nervous.” “so? he said i’m his special princess.” “he says that to me, too!” 

he storms into practice the next day. “ness. you. stop giving my daughter snacks. stop calling her ‘my little cinnamon drop.’ i will report you to child services.” 

ness is sweating. “i was just being nice!” 

kaiser squints. “you’re trying to steal her from me.” 

he starts sabotaging ness by hiding all his hair products before games. 

later that night, your daughter cuddles up next to kaiser and says, “daddy, you’re the best boy in the world.” 

he melts instantly. “yes, baby. ness who?” 

kunigami rensuke

“i wanna marry uncle shidou! he lets me ride on his back and he roars like a lion!!” 

kunigami chokes on his protein shake. “SHIDOU?!” 

your daughter’s giggling in a princess dress and plush heels, swinging her feet as she talks about how “uncle shidou’s soooo funny and strong and he said i can be queen of the jungle if i want!” 

he immediately texts shidou: [3:03 PM] kunigami: stay away from my daughter [3:03 PM] shidou: lol why [3:04 PM] kunigami: she said she wants to marry you [3:04 PM] shidou: LMAOOO sounds like a skill issue 

he turns to you in complete distress. “how the hell am i supposed to compete with someone who barks for fun?!” 

kunigami starts taking your daughter to the gym with him. “this is the weight room. muscles are cooler than barking.” “but uncle shidou said barking is powerful.” “uncle shidou also drinks ketchup packets like juice. he is not a good role model.” 

she ends up picking kunigami again after he buys her a lion plushie and names it “sir roars-a-lot.” 

bachira meguru

“i wanna be like uncle reo! he smells like flowers and lets me play dress-up!” 

bachira freezes mid-spin, his son piggybacked on his shoulders. “what did you just say?” 

“uncle reo is sparkly. i wanna be sparkly, too!” 

bachira gasps like he’s been stabbed. “am i not sparkly enough?! what about all our monster drawings?!” “uncle reo has glitter. and nail polish.” 

bachira pulls you aside. “babe. we need to up our fashion game. we’re losing him to rich people glam.” 

next thing you know, he’s bedazzling his shin guards and showing up to school pickup in eyeliner and gold studs. 

reo just sips his smoothie like, “i win.” 

later, your son returns to his senses. “i changed my mind. dad’s sparkly and cool.” 

bachira cries a little. “my son. my heir. my glitter boy.” 

mikage reo

“i wanna marry uncle nagi ‘cause he’s super smart and he naps with me!!” 

“... excuse me?” reo’s eye is twitching. 

he just dropped a whole paycheck on matching father-daughter outfits for family photo day. he’s the best dressed man in kindergarten pickup history. and this is the thanks he gets? 

“uncle nagi doesn’t even pay taxes. i do your hair. i cook your snacks. i pay your tuition!” 

you’re like “reo, baby, breathe.” 

reo lies like “no. i’m fine. i’m just gonna lie here. like a broke peasant. because apparently money means nothing anymore.” 

he tries to outdo nagi by turning every activity into a glam bonding moment. “let’s go get spa treatments, princess. daddy’s paying. the whole mall. just for us.” 

your daughter, sipping her juice box: “but uncle nagi bought me gummy worms…” 

reo’s heart is breaking. 

he wins her back when he gives her a glittery tiara and says, “you’re my little heiress.” 

“can uncle nagi give you your own kingdom? didn’t think so.” 

nagi seishiro

“i wanna be just like uncle isagi! he works hard and never naps!” 

“huh???” 

nagi stares at his son like he’s never seen him before. “you… want to be conscious all day?” 

your kid nods eagerly. “uncle isagi said hard work is everything!” 

“gross.” 

he texts isagi: [9:08 PM] nagi: stop brainwashing my son [9:08 PM] isagi: i just said sleep is important but dedication matters [9:09 PM] nagi: he said naps are for losers [9:10 PM] isagi: YOU said that about water breaks in training 

nagi sulks the whole day and refuses to get out of bed. he lays on the couch with his hoodie over his face like a moody sea slug. 

you try to cheer him up: “baby, don’t be sad.” 

“i got replaced by someone who voluntarily wakes up before 10 AM.” 

but he wins his son back by saying: “fine. guess i’ll nap alone…” “NOOO DAD, WAIT, I’LL NAP TOO!!” 

shidou ryusei

“when i grow up, i wanna be just like uncle sae! he’s so cool and serious and smart and he never yells like you do!” 

shidou is frozen. mouth slightly open. one eye twitching. “… like who.” 

“uncle sae!! he’s amazing!! he has pretty eyes and he talks so calm and he said my drawing was ‘not bad.’ that means he likes it, right???” 

you watch as shidou physically short-circuits. because like, yeah, he gets it. he knows. he’s been mentally writing fanfiction about that man since the first time sae insulted his haircut. 

but this??? this is betrayal. 

“you wanna be like sae? what’s next, you gonna start ignoring people on purpose and wear turtlenecks???” 

your son nods proudly: “i already practiced my death stare in the mirror!!” 

shidou dramatically collapses on the couch. “this is the worst day of my life. my own flesh and blood… defecting to team itoshi.” 

you’re like “baby, aren’t you literally obsessed with sae?” “YEAH, BUT THAT’S DIFFERENT.” “how.” “i’m allowed. he’s mine.” 

he drags his sulky self to practice and corners sae like: “yo. i need you to stop being hot and mysterious around my kid.” sae: “i literally said two words.” “exactly. you’re too powerful.” 

later that day, your son tells shidou, “don’t worry, daddy. i’ll still visit you when i’m famous like uncle sae.” but then his son adds, “but i won’t marry him! he’s too busy!” 

and shidou perks up immediately. “good. ‘cause if anyone’s marrying sae, it’s me.” 

he immediately earns a “what 🧍” from you and his son. 

karasu tabito

“i wanna be like uncle aiku when i grow up! he’s soooo cool and all the girls like him!!” 

karasu freezes in the middle of brushing his teeth. spits. turns around. stares. 

“… what did you just say.” 

“uncle aiku said when you grow tall, you get girls.” 

“he did not.” 

karasu immediately bends down and rants to his son like he’s talking to a guy at the bar: “look, man. i know aiku seems cool, but he’s like 90% hair product and fake confidence. you wanna be a real man? do taxes. take multivitamins. own tupperware.” 

“but uncle aiku said abs are better than taxes.” 

“yeah? i say abs are lies.” 

he goes to work the next day and yells across the locker room: “HEY AIKU. STAY AWAY FROM MY KID.” 

aiku: “what’d i do??” 

karasu: “you’re poisoning his mind with your tall energy and hair gel!” 

to win his son back, karasu starts saying “no cap,” “rizz,” and “chopped.”  his son: “dad, please stop, you’re embarrassing me.” karasu: “see? i’m cool again.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[harukyuu2]

hiii how are you? I hope you’re doing alright<33 So can you do a Nene Kusanagi!reader x Ivan, Till, and Luka hcs like I can imagine reader going behind characters back whenever there’s a stranger and someone they don’t know? and reader being shy towards people except character 😭🙏🏻

that’s all and ty take care!! ^^

୨♡୧ ▸ "A star that hides !!" - Ivan, Till and Luka x Shy!Reader

!! - Reader has the same personality as Kusanagi Nene, headcanons, Fluff, gn reader <3, tried to write Luka with more emotions like wiege(??, reader meet them as a child

༊*·˚Till ▸

☆ I think it was hard for you two to talk at first since Till isnt the most talkative one and with you being shy...he'd probably spy on you until you notice him!

☆ Once you two are close and you hide behind his back? Oh my god, he is exploding in all different emotions— feeling proud, embarassed, happy...

☆ If you dont want to talk, then he doesnt either. But he'd still do it for you— just dont expect a long conversation. Your Till isnt great with socializing either; he'd much rather the two of you avoiding people most of the time

☆ He finds solitary places for the two of you to stay and do whatever you prefer— even if, most of the time, you end up sleeping on his lap or playing a game your guardian gave you while he practices on his invisible guitar or composes a song

☆ Is quite amusing for him how youre not shy with him, so he encourages you to be like that on stage too! to try your best to win so you can stay on his back all you want

☆ At the end of the day, Till will try his best to keep you in a comfort zone. You two prefer to avoid Aliens and humans unless its necessary!

༊*·˚Ivan▸

☆ You wanna hide behind his back? Yeah, dont even ask, boy has been waiting for you to do it since ages— Its a dream of his since the first time he saw you

☆ Ivan talked and followed you everywhere as kids, until you just accepted him in your life! You picked his interest, now he forces himself in your space

☆ type of relationship: "This is reader, reader loves their personal space. This is Ivan, Ivan ALSO loves reader personal space!"

☆ No worries, he's got your back during conversations with other people. But sometimes, he'll drag you into them— partly to tease your shyness, partly because he wants you to overcome it. Being shy is a disadvantage on stage, and he doesnt like the idea of you losing

☆ Your personal translator for the Aliens when you dont feel like dealing with them. Just murmur to Ivan's ear that you dont feel comfortable talking and he will find a way out for you while handling the conversation

☆ Still, he doesnt like seeing you struggle with confidence since its a major risk for you— so he'll probably push you to overcome it with small training sessions and plenty of praise. Ivan loves patting your head!

༊*·˚Luka ▸

☆ You probably thought he hated you at first— the way he looked at you so directly as a child, with no emotion at all. Dont ask what kind of magic happened, but somehow, you made him laugh. And now, here you are, with a new friend— if you can call it that...

☆ No matter how silent the situation is between you two, Luka as a child stated youre his "favorite clone" and that you will stay on his side <3

☆ Hide behind his back? He finds it weird, but wouldnt refuse you to do it. If you wanna stay there, just do it! He may call you out on it but because he is confused by the action

☆ Still, he would take you to places where you have to be a little more confident since you have to learn and stop being stupid— you have to live even if it mean harsh words for you to get better at it

☆ Silent naps with you veeeeryyy far from the Aliens— even if it rarely happens and its not that far tbh, he enjoys it with his heart, more if the one sleeping is him and youre playing a videogame or composing

☆ If he could, he'd keep you in a jar— safe, always, and only for him! But since he cant, he does his best to keep you going, even if he's not sure how to praise or encourage you properly <3

[casssmalefantasy]

CASSSMALEFANTASY MASTERLIST 𐙚🧸ྀི

PAIGE BUECKERS ONESHOTS / SERIES

𐙚 TAMPA NIGHTS & TROPHY HANDS (wc 2.6k)*

after watching paige lead conn to a natty win, you’re torn between pride and want. back at the hotel, once the crowd’s gone, she shows you how she planned to finish it—just for you

𐙚 SOMEWHERE OFF THE COAST (wc 1.1k)

after the championship, paige finally gets a break—and she wants it with you, somewhere warm, sun-kissed, her hands on you

𐙚 LUCKY NUMBER ONE (wc 3.4k)*

you’ve been paige’s best friend since you were ten. she’s on top of the world, but tonight, she just wants to show you—she’s never forgotten who’s been there all along.

𐙚 WRONG JERSEY (4.1k)

you’re a uconn senior who skips game days—until your best friend drags you to one. you wear an azzi fudd jersey. paige bueckers only has eyes for you. four quarters and one drink later, you’re wondering if that’s all it takes to fall

𐙚 OFF MUTE ( 3.2k) | PART TWO ( 3.2k) *

a random tiktok scroll lands you on a live with kk arnold and paige bueckers. one song request, a few smiles, and a dm later… paige might’ve found her new favorite singer.

𐙚 FIVE DAYS IN MINNESOTA (5.6k)*

you haven’t seen paige bueckers in two years—until a family barbecue brings you back. she’s taller, hotter, cockier, and can’t stop staring. five days in minnesota might not be enough.

𐙚 MEET ME UNDER THE MISTLETOE (4.3k)

your flight home for christmas gets canceled, leaving you stuck in connecticut over the holidays. paige bueckers isn't about to let that happen.

𐙚 BABY, JUST TELL ME WHAT TO DO (2.9k)*

paige is away for an away game. you're long distance. when she calls you from the hotel, she sounds off-and then she asks for something she's never asked for before.

𐙚 PLAYIN IT COOL (4.6k)*

your best friend drags you out to a dallas club for a much needed girls' night, but the last thing you expect is to spend it making eyes with paige bueckers across the room.

𐙚 ONLY ME FOR YOU (5.7k)

all you wanted was to vibe with your girl at a sza concert. instead, you got fans, a pretty girl getting too close to your drunk girlfriend, and a whole lot of feelings.

𐙚 I NEVER STOPPED BEING YOURS (5.9k)

you and paige were best friends that turned into something more in high school. but then uconn, fordham, and distance happened. now it's christmas, and she's in your house again-looking at you like you're still hers.

𐙚 SHE’S GOT GAME (6.3k)*

two years in, being with paige still feels like magic. back then, she was a flirty guard; you, the clueless team manager. now she’s in dallas, nervously prepping for her preseason debut—and you’re finally there to see it.

𐙚 YOU, ME, AND TED’S TUESDAY (5.6k)

the team's back at conn for summer training, and one thing leads to another... and another... and suddenly you and paige bueckers are making out at ted's on live.

𐙚 YOU ALWAYS PLAY WITH FIRE (4.6k)

villanova week means war-at least to paige bueckers. a year into dating, you've seen how fired up she gets. practice is intense. the game's brutal. and when it all takes a turn, all you want is to be near her, even if all you can do is love her from the bench

𐙚 FEEL IT IN YOUR CHEST (5.7k)

you’re a senior on uconn’s soccer team, just trying to focus on your first big game. paige bueckers being there and looking stupid good, doesn’t help. especially when everything between you has been casual…at least, it was supposed to be.

𐙚 STILL THE GIRL I THINK ABOUT AT NIGHT (3.8k)*

you and paige have been best friends since middle school. it was always harmless—until you're home for the summer, wrapped in an old sleepover routine and everything starts to feel different. maybe it always has.

𐙚 STRUCK (3.5k) / PART TWO (1.4k)

you've been a uconn fan for as long as you can remember. a fan bowling event? cool. being in the same lane as paige bueckers? wild. her noticing you? absolutely insane.

𐙚 WE KNEW THE RISK (1.4k)

your relationship wasn't supposed to be anyone else's business. not yet. not like this. but when the internet finds out you're dating paige, the comments start rolling in— loud, cruel, and impossible to ignore.

𐙚 LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU (2.7k)*

a physical game leaves you bruised and furious, and paige is the only one who can calm you down. back at the hotel, the tension that's been simmering between you all season finally boils over.

𐙚 THE QUIET PART (1.9k)

paige comes home carrying more than she can hold. you try to help. she pushes too hard. now you're both figuring out what it means to stay.

𐙚 BACK IN YOUR BODY (1.5k)*

the night before the final four, paige can't stop spiraling-so you help her come down the only way she'll let you; slowly, softly, completely.

──────────────────────

MY SERIES STORIES

𐙚 TEAM USA: THE SERIES

two rising stars meet at team usa. late-night talks turn to quiet longing, then something more. a slow-burn, friends-to-lovers story of tension, missed signals, and shifting povs.

𐙚 BEYOND THE BASELINE: THE SERIES

ari james transfers to uconn and joins the volleyball team, stepping into a world of fierce competition and basketball legends. as she builds new bonds and feels an undeniable pull toward paige bueckers, everything begins to shift. a slow-burn story about tension, secrets, and finding home in the most unexpected places.

𐙚 NOTHING BUT NET: THE SERIES

tatum rhodes transfers to uconn for a fresh start. new team, new city, and unexpected challenges. amid the pressure, she’s drawn to her teammate, paige bueckers. but love isn’t part of the game plan—not yet.

open to requests for any of the uconn wbb !

[libraryofgage]

After checks calendar 84 years, I am once again offering Smart Steve content lmao

Listen the writer's block has been hitting recently if you couldn't tell, but I'm still happy with how this came out.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :P

----

So.

Steve Harrington is smart.

Like, smart smart.

Like, the kind of smart where he not only understands shit, he can explain complicated shit to Eddie without sending his brain into a coma.

It's been two weeks, and Eddie is still trying to come to terms with this discovery. He's four tutoring sessions in and a little spark of surprise still rocks him whenever Steve can easily explain a new topic using the stuff Eddie likes.

He explained velocity using D&D spells. He explained electrical circuits using the concept of plugging a guitar into an amp. After asking a few questions about Lord of the Rings, Steve Harrington managed to explain the in-depth concepts of magnetism using the fucking One Ring.

How the fuck is Eddie supposed to be normal about any of that? Ignoring the sheer fact that Steve is capable of it, how is Eddie supposed to feel about the...the willingness to learn what Eddie understands best and meet him on that level?

If the answer is awed and practically starstruck, he's ahead of the game.

"Hey, you doing okay? Kinda spacing out over there, man."

Eddie blinks, the textbook in front of him coming back into focus. Steve had been explaining the concept of momentum, but his words just floated in one ear and out the other because Eddie was once again consumed by the absurdity of the situation.

It's not like he can say that, though. So, instead, he settles for a grimace and pushes the textbook away. "I think I'm all fried out for physics," he says, looking up at Steve.

"Oh," Steve says, blinking a few times before nodding. "Yeah, sure, uh, sorry."

"Wait, what are you sorry about?"

Steve looks away, an awkward frown tugging at his lips. "I...probably wasn't explaining it too well, huh?"

"Woah, woah, no way," Eddie says, putting a stop to that train of thought before it can leave the station. He turns in his chair to face Steve directly, ignoring how the metal rod that attaches it to the desk digs painfully against his shin. "Listen, Stevie, I've never understood physics more than when you explain it. Like, I don't know, man, whatever you're doing works."

Steve must have been more worried than he let on, because Eddie can literally see the tension draining from his shoulders. "Great," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances away. "Seriously, that's great. I'm glad nothing's been confusing."

"Yeah, so, nothing you did," Eddie says, feeling like he needs to reiterate that point to drive it home. "Honestly, you could probably even make me understand geometry. Not like our teacher is doing shit to help."

"Do you...not understand geometry?" Steve asks, looking a little unsure like he can't tell if that's a joke or Eddie's attempt at suggesting another class he needs help in. This one is a class they share, which means Steve will have seen Eddie's floundering attempts at answering questions, and he feels a whole new burn of embarrassment course through him.

"Do you?" Eddie asks in return.

"Yeah. It's just, like, angles and shit, man."

Eddie stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowing and trying to figure out if Steve is somehow, subtly, making fun of him. But of course he isn't. If Eddie has learned nothing else, it's that Steve doesn't ever think Eddie is actually stupid or deserving of ridicule. He just thinks Eddie hasn't been taught properly, which is more on the teacher than him.

After a moment, Eddie twists around to dig in his bag. He pulls out his geometry homework, slaps it on the desk, and gestures at the triangles and squares and other shapes with unidentified angles and side lengths. "I have literally no clue what the fuck is going on here," he says.

Steve moves closer, looking over the sheet with a slight frown. Eddie knows this face by now. It's the one Steve makes when he's searching for the relevant knowledge in his own brain, pulling it to the front so he can easily identify the gaps in Eddie's understanding. "So, how would you start?" Steve finally asks, offering his pencil.

Eddie takes it, twirls it between his fingers a few times, and looks over the questions. He eventually chooses one asking him to find the length of a side. "I know this one. It's the equation with the squares and shit," he says, carefully writing it out and plugging in numbers under the triangle.

"Right. Pythagorean theorem. A squared plus B squared equals C squared."

"Yeah. That," Eddie says, working through the math on a separate sheet of paper instead of in his head. He can do easy addition and subtraction, but one of the first things Steve did was get him used to using scratch paper. His brain doesn't feel quite as crowded by numbers anymore; now it's just crowded by the endless rotation of bites of knowledge and equations that have nothing to do with the work at hand. It's like his brain can recognize that it needs to remember something, but can't identify what exactly, so it just offers up everything.

When he's done, Eddie shows Steve his work, the answer circled at the bottom of the scratch paper. "Perfect," Steve says, flashing a smile that makes Eddie's heart lurch dangerously. "Okay, so that's solid. What about this one."

He points at a right triangle with only one angle listed and the other marked as unknown. "No fucking clue," Eddie says.

"This one is asking for the unknown angle. It'll just be some subtraction."

"It's only giving me one angle, Stevie," Eddie points out, gesturing to the angle marked as 53. "What the fuck do I do with that?"

"Well, the main thing is that a triangles angles will always add to 180. Also, this is a right triangle," Steve explains, taking the pencil from Eddie to circle the L-shaped corner of the triangle. "This angle will always be 90 degrees on right triangles. Should I keep going?"

"No," Eddie says slowly, drawing the word out as he takes the pencil back. "I'm starting to get it. Lemme try."

Steve waits patiently as Eddie hesitates before adding the angles together and subtracting that from 180. When he gets to a solution of 37, he gestures for Steve to check.

"That's right," Steve says, nodding as he points to another triangle on the sheet. "For this one, I'll teach you about the SOH CAH TOA trick."

Eddie nods, paying as much attention as he can, but he can't help feeling a little distracted by Steve's happy smile and relaxed posture. He's never seen Steve like this during class, and he's struck by the sudden notion that nobody else will see Steve like this, either.

------

When Steve gets home, he drops his bag in the hallway, grabs a soda from the kitchen, and collapses onto the couch.

A few National Geographic and Scientific American magazines are still spread out across the coffee table. A brief glance reminds Steve that none of the stories were particularly interesting in these editions.

He pops the tab on his soda, takes a sip, and glances at the phone on the end table next to him.

Steve had noticed something today. Eddie's shirt. Most of the band shirts Eddie wears are popular enough that Steve sort of knows them. Metallica, KISS, and AC/DC were recognizable since he's passed their albums on display in record stores.

Today's band, though. He didn't recognize that one. What the fuck was Manowar?

After a few seconds of thought, Steve reaches out and grabs the phone. He's just doing research. Wanting to understand the music Eddie likes is reasonable. That's how Eddie learns. There's no other reason for Steve dialing the number of an old classmate.

The phone rings a few times before picking up. "Amare residence," a girl says, sounding distracted.

"Hey, Dee. It's Steve."

"Hmm, Steve. Steve. ...Steeeeve. Oh, is this Steve Harrington, deserter of friends for the woes of public education?"

Despite everything, Steve can't help an amused smile. "Yeah, that Steve," he says. He doesn't apologize, since he knows that's not what she wants. If she was actually angry, she would've hung up.

"Well, how kind of you to grace me with your voice," Dee says, sounding distant like she's set the phone down. "I suppose I can give you until I finish braiding my hair."

"Great. You know about metal, right?"

"Like iron? Duh, Steve, I'm not thirteen."

"No, like, heavy metal."

"Iron is pretty heavy."

"Music, Dee. Heavy metal music."

"Oh! Aren't you a Tears for Fears kind of boy? What are you doing asking about heavy metal?"

Steve starts to answer but stops himself. He doesn't know why. Dee tutors kids all the time. Everyone in their private school group did. That's how they made money. She'd understand that he's trying to learn more about Eddie's interests for tutoring purposes.

So why can't he just say that?

"This long pause says you're thinking about lying to me," Dee says. "Don't bother, Steve."

"Well, I do want to know for the guy I'm tutoring. But not just because I'm tutoring him."

"Awww, are you trying to make a friend?" Dee teases.

Steve grimaces, wondering why his stomach twists slightly at the question. "Yeah, kind of. I want to know more about the stuff he likes. And he likes heavy metal. So, ya know, I thought of you."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Dee says. "And I love talking music, so I guess we can keep talking even after I'm done braiding."

A relieved smile tugs at Steve's lips. "Thanks, Dee, I appreciate it. So, first question, what's Manowar?"

-------

Tag List!

@estrellami-1, @ravenfrog,

[aesthetixhoe]

warnings: none! ill make more with nsfw things later !

CURRENTLY THINKING ABOUT my chuckle sandwich head cannons

ted:

loves being called teddy and theo but no one else calls him it :(

loves when you steal his clothes and pretends to not know where they went

forehead kisser

olive theory (or pickles, tomatoes, onion, whatever you like and he pretends not to do you can have extra)

“sweetheart”

“honey”

hugs from behind with head kisses

where he towers over you

the party was…fine. following the streamy awards, the venue being filled with content creators… which you were not. ted went to go get drinks, leaving you alone. a fish out of water. after some time standing alone awkwardly, you pull your phone out briefly to check the time and your notifications. as you’re clearing them you feel two arms come around your middle.

you momentarily flinch, caught off guard, but as soon as you feel a kiss pressed to the top of your head you relax. you turn, looking up and finding ted, craning your neck to meet his eyes.

“scare ya, hon?” he chuckles, feeling you turn around in his arms.

“just a little.” you giggle, taking the glass from his hand. “was fine when you kissed me though…” you smile slyly up at him.

“oh yeah?” he raises an eyebrow, following along with your train of thought. “how ‘bout i give you another hmm?” you beam up at him, nodding. he leans down empty hand pulling you closer by your waist, pressing his lips to yours. you smile against his mouth,exhaling softly through your nose. when you pull back and meet his eyes they’re practically shining down at you with adoration. “love showing you off, sweetheart.”

love language is touch

also words of affirmation

he says “i love you” probably 3 times an hour

loves date nights

takes candid pictures of you often (how can he not, you’re so pretty)

charlie:

when cuddling he holds your stomach so he can feel when you laugh

loves cooking for you

he often wakes up before you so he’ll make breakfast for you to wake up to

loves teaching you how to play dnd (or a different game if you already know dnd)

rock gifter

so many inside jokes

“babe”

kiss monster

“c’mere.” he says as soon as you walk into the living room with your dinner.

“char, i need to eat…” you say, sitting down beside him on the couch.

“just a second, promise.” he smiles over at you. you give him a quick peck on the lips. bad choice. he smiles evilly before you get pushed back in the couch, charlie on top of you stopping you from getting out of his grasp. he has your hands above your head, his lips kissing you wherever he can reach. your neck, your chest, he moves up to your face attacking you with his quick kisses.

you can’t conceal the giggles falling out of your mouth with his cuteness aggression. “char!” you laugh out, but to no avail. he won’t stop until he’s satisfied. he finally pulls back after covering every inch of you with his kisses. “you’re relentless!” you sigh out, getting your hands back and wrapping your arms around his neck. you pull him down to touch your lips to his, a slow, gentle kiss this time. you feel each other smiling against each others mouths.

“i have to reheat my food now!” you groan out, a soft laugh following.

will burry his head in your neck

love language is physically touch or acts of service

schlatt:

loves when you wear his clothes

quickest way to his heart is his cats

isn’t big on pda

but he will have a hand on your back guiding or holds pinkies with you to not lose you

he actually does use toots

but he also uses angel

puts his hands on your waist when standing behind you. which he often does

very introverted and doesn’t go out much

love language is quality time

every other one he brushes off by saying “it’s not big deal” or “it’s nothin’ special”

“oh hey, i got you somethin’. i left in on the counter for ya.” he says simply, walking into the living room. you get up, confused. no anniversary, no birthday… did he get you food?

you get to the counter and sitting in the middle is a long rectangular box. you furrow your brows and open it, revealing a tiffany & co necklace you saw online and really wanted. it just wasn’t in your budget for this month.

“jay… no way you bought this for me.” you half scoff in disbelief walking back into the living room.

“eh, it was nothin’. i saw you eyeing’ it on your phone couple of weeks ago. figured why not?” he says looking up at you, a slight smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. you jump into his lap, tackling him in a hug.

lowkey a sugar daddy…

sings softly around the house and gets flustered when you hear

drive by ruffles your hair

is actually a big cuddler. loves having his head laid on some part of you

[sweettu1ips]

PAIGE BUECKERS x FEM!READER

SYNOPSIS: A fall shattered her future, dreams slipping through trembling fingers—but in the quiet ache of recovery, love reveals itself. Not in grand gestures, but in the steady presence of Paige, who has always been home.

WARNING(S): -ish, angst ⋮ yelling ⋮ argument ⋮ ACL injury ⋮ pain ⋮ crying ⋮ reader feeling lost(ig) ⋮ kissing ⋮ fluffy towards the end ⋮ ACL recovery ⋮ friends to lovers ⋮ emotional ⋮ slow-burn(ish) ⋮ kind of shit writing :/ ⋮ i'm not sure if i'm missing anything...

WORD COUNT: 9.2k [Here's a pretty long one before I start writing the series <3]

| MAIN MASTER LIST |

ONE SECOND, I WAS IN THE AIR—suspended between gravity and glory—the ball in my court, the championship within reach.

The lights above gleamed like stars, burning bright against the cavernous arena, the roar of the crowd swelling like a tidal wave, pushing me higher, willing me forward. 

Every muscle in my body coiled with purpose, years of training condensed into this single, breathless moment. This was for us. For my girls, who bled beside me in every grueling practice.

For coach, who shaped me from raw talent into something unstoppable. For every person who had ever screamed my name, believing I could be something more than just a player.

And then the next second, it was as if time twisted, crueling and unrelenting. 

Time did not just slow; it fractured. The moment of collision ripped through me like a lightning strike, sudden and merciless.

My body twisted midair, momentum stolen, limbs flailing before the ground rose up to meet me. But it wasn’t just a fall. It was a crash, a brutal, unforgiving descent into agony.

The court was not hardwood beneath me; it was steel, unrelenting, and I crumpled against it like a marionette with its strings cut. Pain detonated through my body—sharp, blinding, all-consuming. 

A firestorm in my knee, a searing knife twisting in my hip, a sickening pop I both heard and felt.

The scream ripped from my throat before I even realized I was the one making it, raw and jagged, swallowed by the gasps in the crowd, the shrill of the referee’s whistle, the frantic shouts of my teammates.

 But none of it was louder than the relentless pounding in my ears, the deafening rhythm of my own heartbeat, slamming against my ribs like it wanted out. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end.

Tonight was the night. One of the biggest games of the season–– the Big East Championship. The night we were supposed to take everything we had bled for and make it ours.

And yet—here I was. Not sprinting down the court, not lifting the trophy, not standing.

Just lying there, my fingers digging into the polished wood, as if I could anchor myself against the inevitable.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

The pain wasn’t fading. It was swelling, spreading, sinking into my bones like venom. My knee was twisted at an unnatural angle, the joint already ballooning, throbbing, pulsing with heat. My hip screamed in protest when I tried to move, sending shockwaves of white-hot agony racing up my spine. And then there was the fear—the cold, creeping dread settling in my chest, suffocating, paralyzing.

Because this wasn’t just a fall.

This was something worse.

Something that could rip basketball from my grasp. Forever.

The world around me blurred, colors bleeding together, faces twisting in and out of focus like smudged paint on a canvas.

My chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven breaths, my fingers twitching against the slick hardwood as if I could claw my way back to before. Before the fall. Before the pain.

Before the moment my entire world began to slip through my fingers like sand in an unforgiving tide.

A hand pressed against my shoulder—firm, steady, yet trembling at the edges.

Coach.

His voice was a muffled hum against the static in my ears, but I could hear the strain in it, the forced calm he was trying to wield like a shield. I didn’t need to see his face to know. 

He was scared.

I blinked hard, my vision swimming in and out of clarity, and through the overhead glare, I saw them. My team. My girls. Their faces frozen in horror, hands clasped over their mouths, eyes wide with something I had never seen in them before—helplessness. 

They were warriors, fighters, the kind of players who clawed and scraped and pushed through anything. But now, they stood frozen, as if moving might shatter what little hope remained.

The trainers were there now, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. Hands hovered over me, assessing, measuring, calculating the extent of what I already knew was devastating.

“Where does it hurt?” one of them asked, but it felt like a cruel joke.

Everywhere.

The answer sat heavy on my tongue, but I couldn’t force it past my lips. My knee throbbed violently, a deep, bone-deep ache that spread like wildfire, the joint swollen, stiff, unnatural.

My hip burned with a pain that rooted itself into my spine, anchoring me to the floor in agony. But worse than all of it—worse than the physical destruction—was the creeping, soul-crushing certainty that this was it.

This wasn’t just a sprain.

This wasn’t just another injury to ice and shake off.

This was something bigger. Something worse. Something that could take everything from me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the noise, the panic, the sheer, unbearable weight of it all. But I couldn’t ignore the way the stretcher was brought onto the court.

I couldn’t ignore the hush that fell over the crowd, the way thousands of voices had shrunk into silence, waiting, watching, knowing what I wasn’t ready to accept.

The trainers moved carefully, methodically, but even the slightest shift sent a fresh wave of agony rolling through me. I bit down hard, tasting copper, my nails digging into my palms, a futile attempt to ground myself in something other than the pain.

And then—Paige.

I didn’t see her at first. I felt her. The familiar presence before I even heard her voice. Then, suddenly, she was there, pushing past the others, dropping to her knees beside me, her fingers brushing against mine in a whisper of warmth. Her touch, the only thing in this moment that didn’t hurt.

Her eyes locked onto mine, stormy and wild, brimming with something fierce, something unbreakable.

“I’m here,” she breathed, voice tight, shaking. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time since the fall, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, she did.

Her touch was a lifeline, delicate but unwavering, as if her fingers could draw the pain out of me, pull it from my skin like a curse unspoken.

I clung to her, the rhythm of her breath syncing with mine, a soft, fragile beat in the chaos of the world spinning around us. 

Her presence was the anchor in a sea of doubt, the only thing keeping me tethered to something solid, something real. But even that wasn't enough to quell the storm raging inside me.

"Hey," Paige whispered, her voice steady, but there was something raw underneath it, something jagged that cut through her carefully controlled words. "Look at me. You’re going to be ok, alright?" 

I could see the way her lips trembled, the way her hands were clenched tight around mine, as if she feared that if she let go, I might disappear. And in a way, I understood. Because in that moment, I felt like I was slipping.

Like the very core of me was being pulled apart, thread by thread, until I was nothing but a collection of broken dreams and what-ifs.

The stretcher came, the cold, unyielding metal frame beneath me sending a shiver through my body, and with it came the realization: this wasn’t a bruise I could ice away. This wasn’t a sprained ankle that would heal in a few weeks. 

The look in the doctor’s eyes when he glanced at me told me everything I needed to know.

They couldn’t say it yet, not with so many people watching, but I saw the truth there. A diagnosis, a future that wasn’t certain, a career that might slip away in a single, cruel breath.

“You’ll be alright,” I heard Paige say again, her voice barely a whisper, but it wrapped around me like a cloak, warm and tight.

The words burrowed deep inside me, sinking into the wound of my heart, and for a moment, I allowed myself to let go of the panic, of the fear that gnawed at the edges of my mind. 

For that fleeting moment, it was just the two of us, her breath mingling with mine, her presence filling the empty spaces where I used to believe in things like certainty and control.

I couldn’t feel my leg anymore, the numbness creeping in like the dark, but the pain in my chest—a hollow, aching emptiness—was enough to consume me whole. I had built my life on this game. 

On the rush of the court beneath my feet, on the ball in my hands, on the endless hours of practice, sweat, and sacrifice. And now, as I was lifted away from everything I had ever known, I wondered if I would ever feel whole again.

The stadium lights, once brilliant, now seemed like distant stars, fading and flickering as I was carried away, as if the universe itself were dimming in sympathy with the crushing weight on my soul. The cheering, once deafening, now felt like an echo from a life I could no longer touch. 

My dreams, so close they had once seemed within reach, were now drifting further away with every inch the stretcher moved.

But then, I felt her hand again, pressing against mine, warm and steady. Her fingers intertwined with mine, a promise, a tether to something I could still hold onto.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said, her voice strong now, like a steady current cutting through the storm. “You’re not alone in this. I’m right here.”

Her words were a balm to the raw, open wound inside me. But the truth was, no one could take away the fear. The cold, gnawing fear that my future in this game, the one thing I had known for so long, was slipping through my fingers like smoke.

I closed my eyes, my heart beating slow and heavy in my chest, and for the first time, I let myself lean into the warmth of Paige’s presence.

Her hand was the only thing that kept me from shattering, and in that brokenness, I allowed myself to believe—if only for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, I could rebuild.

We would rebuild. Together.

Together.

Togeth-

To-

“Y/N?” 

“Y/N.”

Paige’s voice slipped through the static, sharp enough to cut through the fog wrapped around my mind. My head felt heavy, thoughts sluggish and tangled, like a radio caught between frequencies—just white noise and fleeting, incoherent signals. 

I barely registered the crease in her brows, the slight part of her lips, the way she hovered, waiting.  

“I was asking what you wanted for dinner,” she repeated, her voice softer now, laced with something careful, something that tread lightly.  

Her words reached me slow, like sound traveling through water, distant and warped. 

My gaze flickered, landing on the deep blue of her eyes, then the soft parting of her lips. I caught the quick flick of her tongue, the way it glossed over her bottom lip before disappearing again. 

Something about the motion anchored me, pulling me just enough from the haze to remember I had to answer.  

I blinked. Tilted my head slightly.  

“Mexican— please.” The word tumbled out, weightless, thoughtless.  

Paige lingered, watching me, waiting for something more. I gave her nothing. Just turned back to the window, to the blurred streaks of streetlights smearing gold across the glass. 

The world outside moved, but I felt detached from it, like I was watching from behind some invisible barrier.  

She sighed. It was soft, almost imperceptible, but I caught it.  

She thought I was tired. Or maybe that’s just what she told herself.

Brent Faiyaz murmured through the speakers, his voice smooth, weaving into the quiet like silk. The hum of the car, the occasional flick of the turn signal—it all blended together, a background score to the silence stretching between us.  

Paige broke it first.  

“Talked to Macy today.” She kept her voice even, dipping her toes into cold water. Testing. “told me you made some pretty great progress at therapy.” 

A quick glance, then a nudge against my arm, something light, something meant to pull me in.  

I rolled my eyes instead. Kept them fixed on the moving world outside.  

I could feel her waiting. Expecting me to say something.  

I did.  

“What is this?” My voice came out flat, edged with something bitter. “You keeping tabs on me now? Counting my steps, measuring my progress? Waiting for me to finally catch up?” A dry, humorless laugh.

 “Bad news—I haven’t gone anywhere in the past 10 months.”  

The air in the car shifted. Grew heavier. Paige’s grip on the wheel tightened.  

“You know that’s not what I meant.”  

I didn’t respond. But my gaze—it drifted.

Down, down, to the brace wrapped around my right knee. The one I had worn like a second skin since the accident. 

The one that screamed at me every time I moved wrong. A reminder. A weight. A sentence I hadn’t been given the choice to serve.

My fingers curled into my palm, pressing deep, grounding myself in the sting. Paige noticed. She always noticed.  

Her eyes flicked toward me, then to my hands—tense, unmoving. Her right hand left the console, found mine, threading our fingers together with ease. Like it was natural.

It was.  

It had been, for a while now.  

"Hey," she murmured, softer this time. "Don't let yourself think that just because you hit a bump in the road, you don’t matter. Don’t—don’t ever let that shit get into your head, alright? Because you’re still in this, whether you think so or not." 

I swallowed, but it did nothing to loosen the knot in my throat.  

She didn’t get it.  

10 months. 10 months of feeling trapped in the same aching cycle. Wake up. Pain. PT. More pain. Nothing changed.

I had pushed, forced myself through every damn exercise, through every stretch, through every stair climbed and weight lifted. And still—I was stuck.  

It felt like being locked in a room with no doors, no windows. Just walls that kept closing in, pressing tighter, leaving just enough air to exist but never enough to breathe.  

And at night, when the world was quiet, when the weight of it all sank into my bones, I could still see it.  

The accident.

The moment my body folded wrong, the sickening pop, the way pain swallowed me whole before I even hit the ground.

The way the sky blurred—too bright, too vast—as the sounds of the game faded into white noise. Hands on me. Voices I couldn’t recognize. The panicked rush of the ambulance.  

The surgery.

Sterile lights. Cold air against my skin. A mask over my mouth, the slow, creeping pull of anesthesia dragging me under. Then—darkness.  

The first day of PT.

The first time I tried to move and failed. The sharp, unforgiving pain that shot through me like a live wire. The way my body refused to listen. The way my therapist had smiled at me, patient and kind, telling me it would take time. That it was a process. That I had to trust it.  

But trust was hard when every step felt like a battle I kept losing. 

Behind all of it, lurking beneath the surface, was something heavier. The articles. The ones that used to paint my story in bright, bold letters, capturing every slam dunk, every game-winner, every moment that made me feel like I was on top of the world.

 But now, they only reminded me of the cracks, the moments where I stumbled, where my body couldn’t keep up with the force of my ambition. 

The whispers. The ones that echoed in locker rooms, in hallways, in the stands. They used to ask when I’d get drafted, when I’d make it to the next level.

Now, they barely spoke my name. It was as if I was just a ghost on a paper trail, slowly fading away. 

The expectations.The ones that used to drive me, that pushed me harder, faster, until every second of the game felt like life or death.

Now, they were suffocating, bearing down on me, reminding me of what I was supposed to be, not what I had become.  

And underneath it all, the weight that felt the heaviest—the fear that I was being left behind. Everyone else was moving forward.Everyone else seemed to be finding their place, their rhythm, their future.

 But me? I was stuck in this moment, this place, where I didn’t matter anymore. 

I could feel it, like a knot in my chest. The chance to get drafted was no longer just a dream—it was a distant possibility I couldn’t touch. It felt like I was watching from the sidelines, a shadow on a game I used to play in.  

I couldn’t shake it. The thought that I was slipping through their fingers, just another name, another headline that would eventually fade into the past.

 Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them all moving forward, without me. 

I saw the clock ticking, louder and louder, as if it was counting down to a time when I was no longer relevant.

Paige’s thumb brushed against my knuckles, slow and steady, pulling me back to the present.  

“I know it’s been hard,” she murmured, voice threading through the quiet like the first crack of dawn against an endless night. “I know you feel stuck. But you’re not alone in this, Y/N/N. You never have been, and you never will be.”

Her words hung in the air, fragile, like the last leaves of autumn clinging to their branches before the wind came to take them.

I stared down at our joined hands, at the way her fingers curled around mine—gentle, warm, steady. A tether in the storm.

I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to.

But belief was a fickle thing, slipping through my fingers like sand, impossible to grasp no matter how tightly I tried to hold on.

“Right,” I muttered, the word slipping past my lips, hollow, weightless. I exhaled slow, deep, as if trying to empty my lungs of something heavier than air—something that had settled deep inside me, thick and unmoving.

My teeth grazed the inside of my cheek, sharp against soft, the dull sting grounding me for just a moment. My jaw clenched, a quiet rebellion against the emotions pressing at the edges of my ribs, waiting to spill over.

Instead of letting them, I turned back toward the window, watching as the world blurred past in streaks of amber and shadow, a silent film playing at a speed I couldn’t match.

And then—her grip.

Slightly tighter. Once. Twice. Three times.

A rhythm. A pattern. A pulse against my skin.

She always did that. And I always wondered why.

"You think this is just about your knee?" Geno’s voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, sharp and unforgiving. "No, kid. This is about you. About that damn wall you keep building between yourself and the game. Between yourself and the people trying to help you."

I sat there frozen, my pulse thrumming in my ears, my arms crossed so tight it felt like I was trying to hold myself together. His words struck like a match against dry wood, igniting something volatile inside me. 

My chest was tight, my jaw locked, my breathing uneven. I wanted to fight back, to tell him he didn’t understand, but I knew the second I opened my mouth, the weight of everything I’d been carrying would come spilling out.

"You don’t get it—"

"Oh, I get it just fine." Geno stepped closer, his presence towering, his voice like thunder rolling low in the distance, a storm waiting to break. "You’re pissed. You’re frustrated. You feel like the universe dealt you a bad hand, and now you gotta crawl your way back to where you were. And instead of taking the help, instead of trusting the process, you’re making it harder for yourself."

The air felt thin, my lungs refusing to expand fully. My fingers dug into my arms, nails pressing crescent moons into my skin. I needed to hold on to something, anything, before I shattered.

"You think I want to be like this?" My voice came out sharp, like broken glass, words slicing at the edges of my teeth. "You think I want to wake up every damn day feeling like I’ve lost everything? That I have to fight just to move like I used to? To watch everyone else move forward while I’m stuck in the same place?"

I was unraveling, the seams fraying, every emotion I had buried beneath exhaustion and frustration clawing its way to the surface.

Geno let out a slow breath, measured, but his gaze stayed locked on mine, unyielding. "No one’s saying it isn’t hard, Y/N. But you? You’re the one making it unbearable."

The words slammed into me like a body check. I flinched—barely—but he caught it. He always did.

"You think the weight of all this is yours to carry alone, but it’s not. You have people who want to help you, who believe in you, who see more in you than just this injury. But instead of trusting them, instead of trusting yourself, you’re shutting down. You’re keeping yourself in this prison of doubt and anger, and the only one suffering for it is you."

My vision blurred for a split second—not with tears, but with the sheer force of everything I’d been trying to suppress.

The articles. The scouts. The draft. The future I had spent my entire life chasing, now dangling just out of reach, taunting me.

Because what if I never reached it?

What if I clawed my way through the pain, through the rehab, through every grueling day of physical therapy—only to come up short?

The thought had been haunting me for months, a quiet, insidious whisper in the back of my mind.

What if you never get back to who you were?

What if you’re just… done?

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat thick and immovable. "It’s not that easy."

Geno’s expression softened for a fraction of a second before the steel returned, unwavering. "No. It’s not. But you’re making it impossible."

The silence between us was thick, weighted with everything left unsaid. I could still hear the echoes of that moment—the sharp crack of impact, the way the world had wrenched sideways as I hit the ground. 

The crowd’s roar had died in an instant, replaced by a suffocating stillness, a beat of eerie quiet before panic surged through the air.

I could still see the blur of the stretcher, the sterile white of the hospital room, the forced smiles on my parents’ faces—strained, trembling at the edges, unable to mask the fear in their eyes.

I could still feel it.

All of it.

And the worst part? It hadn’t stopped feeling like that moment.

Like I was still on the ground. Still watching everything I had worked for slip through my fingers.

Suddenly the air in Geno’s office felt suffocating, thick with the weight of words I wasn’t ready to hear.

The walls felt closer than they should have, the fluorescent light above casting a harsh glare over the desk between us.

"You don’t understand," I whispered once more, my voice barely there, fragile like glass threatening to shatter under pressure.

Geno tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady, unrelenting. "Then make me." His voice was quieter now, but no less firm. "Or better yet, make yourself get it. Because if you don’t? If you keep fighting the wrong battle, Y/N?"

He shook his head once, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch between us like a chasm. "You’ll lose before you even step back on that court."

And that—that—was the part that scared me the most.

Because deep down, I knew he was right.

I could survive the rehab, the pain, the grueling hours of training. I could take the blood, the sweat, the exhaustion. But losing myself? Losing the game—the only thing I had ever truly known, the only thing that had ever made sense?

That was a different kind of pain entirely.

The weight of it sat on my chest, heavy, suffocating, clawing its way up my throat. I couldn’t lose myself. But the fear of losing everything I had worked for—it clung to me, ghosting over my skin like a warning, like a whisper of what could come.

The protection of being the greatest player on the court was no longer in my hands.

The realization was devastating.

My breath was shaky, uneven, as I pushed back from the chair. My legs felt unsteady, my head light, but I stood.

My eyes burned, the tears I had spent weeks—months—trying to hold back brimming at my waterline, desperate to fall. I wouldn’t let them. Not here. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.

I turned on my heel, fingers curling around the doorknob. I needed to get out. I didn’t want to hear any more, didn’t want to face the truth that Geno had shoved in my face like a mirror I couldn’t look away from.

But when I pulled the door open, my stomach dropped.

They were there.

KK. Azzi. Sarah. Ice.

And Paige.

All standing just a few feet away.

The hallway was eerily quiet, but the way their faces fell, the way their eyes flickered with something between concern and hesitation—I knew they had heard everything. Well, more like the yelling.

My breathing stuttered, my chest rising and falling too quickly. Tears I had barely been holding at bay slipped past my lashes, hot against my skin, and I hated it. Hated how exposed I felt. How raw.

I turned my back to Geno, my vision blurring as I wiped at my face roughly, as if scrubbing the emotion away would make it disappear.

But when my gaze met Paige’s—that soft, worried expression, the way her brows knitted together, the way her lips parted as if she wanted to say something but didn’t know how—I felt something snap.

I stood frozen for a second, caught in the weight of her stare, the quiet understanding that sat between us like something unspoken, something fragile.

I shook my head, as if shaking myself out of a trance.

I pulled my hoodie over my head, the fabric swallowing me whole, a pathetic attempt to disappear, to make myself small, to push them all away.

And then, without a word, I walked past them.

Didn’t know where I was going, but I just kept going.

The world around me blurred—faces, voices, the rush of movement all melting into a distant hum.

The neon signs above the storefronts flickered weakly against the night, their glow swallowed by the thick, humid air that clung to my skin. Even at this hour, UConn’s campus still pulsed with life. 

Groups of students spilled onto the sidewalks, their laughter and chatter weaving into the distant wail of sirens and the rhythmic hum of cicadas.

No one noticed me.

No one saw the way my shoulders curled inward, the way my breath hitched unevenly in my chest.

The farther I walked, the quieter everything became.

My hands clenched deep inside the pockets of my hoodie, fingers curling into fists.

The fabric was rough against my knuckles, grounding me in something tangible, something real. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, heavy and uneven, drowning out the world around me.

I didn’t stop walking.

Didn’t think. 

Then, suddenly, I was here.

The gym.

Its towering structure loomed before me, untouched by time, yet somehow different—colder. The doors groaned on their rusted hinges as I stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of sweat, aged wood, and the faint metallic tang of dust.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, flickering like dying stars, casting long, distorted shadows against the polished floor.

I stood there, still.

The court stretched before me, vast and empty, its boundaries marking the space where I once felt whole—where every movement had purpose, where my body knew exactly what to do before my mind even had to think.

Now, all I felt was the crushing weight of everything I’d lost.

A presence loomed above.

Geno.

Watching. Silent. Measuring.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. I knew that.

But my feet had brought me anyway.

Like they always did.

Like they always would.

My gaze flickered to the sidelines, where a lone basketball rested against the edge of the court. Its once-vibrant orange hue was dulled with time, scuffed and worn, its grooves filled with dust. It looked abandoned. Forgotten. Just like me.

I bent down to pick it up, fingers brushing against the rough surface. The weight of it settled into my palms—familiar, yet foreign. Like holding a memory that no longer fit the shape of who I was.

A past version of myself lingered in this gym, in these walls, in the phantom echoes of sneakers squeaking against polished wood.

 I used to belong here. This court had once been my second home, a place where I moved without thinking, where my body knew exactly what to do before my mind had even caught up.

But now?

Now, it felt like a cage.

A cruel joke. A reminder of every second, every minute, every month that had slipped through my fingers while I sat on the sidelines, watching.

Ten months.

Ten months of physical therapy.

Ten months of rehab.

Ten months of stretching, icing, strengthening, pushing—only to feel like I was standing still.

They told me healing wasn’t linear. That progress took time.

But what if I had wasted all this time just to end up exactly where I started.

I swallowed hard, exhaling sharply. Then, I moved.

Dribble. Dribble. Dribble.

The sound cracked through the empty gym like a heartbeat—mine, erratic, desperate. I gripped the ball tighter, fingers pressing into the seams, trying to anchor myself to something real. Something solid.

One step. Two steps. Pull up. Shoot.

The ball clanked off the rim.

My breath stuttered, the sound scraping against the silence.

Again.

One step. Two steps. Pull up. Shoot.

Short.

The sound of failure echoed through the hollow space, wrapping around me, sinking into my skin.

What’s wrong with me?

I used to make this shot in my sleep. I used to move without thinking, without questioning, without this crushing weight of doubt pressing into my lungs.

Now, nothing felt right.

Not in the way I jumped. Not in the way I landed. Not in the way I breathed.

The brace on my knee squeezed like a vice, a silent reminder, a whisper in the dark: You are not the same.

And I knew that. God, I knew that.

But I was so tired of waiting.

Tired of time moving like a glacier, of watching the world spin without me, of clawing at progress only to feel it slip through my fingers like sand.

I wanted to be back.

I needed to be back.

But what if—what if when I finally got there, I wasn’t enough?

What if I had lost her—the version of myself who soared, who dominated, who had no fear of falling?

What if I was chasing something already gone?

I pushed harder.

Faster.

More.

The court blurred beneath me, my body moving on pure defiance, on the raw ache of desperation. My lungs burned, sweat slicking my skin, my vision tunneling to the basket—because if I just made this shot, if I just did this one thing, maybe—just maybe—I could prove to myself that I still belonged.

But then—

I misstepped.

The world tilted.

Gravity seized me in its merciless grip, and before I could catch myself, I was falling. Again.

My body collided with the hardwood, the impact reverberating through my bones, but the sting barely registered. Because the real pain—the kind that burned beneath my ribs—had already settled in.

I wasn’t the same.

I wasn’t the same.

And maybe—I never would be.

Footsteps rushed toward me, quick and urgent.

"Y/N!"

Paige.

Her voice cut through the thick silence, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

She crouched beside me, her presence warm and unwelcome, hands reaching, hovering, like she didn’t know if I’d let her touch me. "What the hell are you doing?"

I let out a sharp breath, turning my face away. "I’m fine."

"No, you’re not." Her voice was gentle but unyielding. "Seriously, Y/N/N—"

"I’m fine!"

The words came out too sharp, too raw, slicing through the space between us. I shoved her hands off me, a final push, a desperate attempt to keep her at arm’s length.

Paige froze, hurt flashing across her face before she quickly masked it.

I groaned, dragging a hand through my hair, my breath coming too fast, too uneven. "God, Paige!" My voice cracked, splintering under the weight of something I wasn’t ready to name. "Why can’t you just—leave me alone? For one fucking second?"

She didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

And that only made the anger rise higher, hotter, burning through my veins like wildfire.

"All you’ve done these past months is get on my ass!" My voice wavered, but I couldn’t stop. "Tellin’ me what I need to do, how my progress is going, how I should be feeling. Just—just stop!"

"Y/N..." Her voice was quiet, but it held so much weight. "I’m just trying to help."

"Help?" I repeated, sarcasm lacing my words. "Is that what you’re calling it? 'Cause it sure as hell doesn’t feel like help. It feels like... like I’m some fucking project, and you’re the goddamn teacher, making me jump through hoops to prove I’m worth something."

Her brows pulled together, frustration flickering in her eyes. "Because I know you’re trying! I know you’re putting in the effort. But you’re the only one who can’t see that. We want you back, Y/N. We need you back. But you’re so afraid of failing, you don’t even wanna try more."

I let out a hollow laugh, empty and bitter, the sound barely resembling something human.

"What else do you want me to do, Paige?" I snapped, my voice raw, my throat tight. "You think I’m making this harder for myself?" My breath hitched. My vision blurred. "You think I’m not tired? Tired of feeling so useless? Tired of feeling so stuck while all of you are out there, playing, living, moving forward—"

I swallowed thickly, my pulse roaring in my ears.

"I have been fighting." My voice trembled. "But nothing—nothing is fucking working." My shoulders sagged, the exhaustion settling deep in my bones.

"I’ve spent the last ten months working my ass off to get back to who I was. But what if I never do?"

The words hung between us, thick and heavy, raw and real.

Paige opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Silence pressed down on us, suffocating.

Then, suddenly, I was moving––pushing myself up, turning away.

"Where are you going, huh?" Paige’s voice was louder now, tinged with desperation. "Nothin’s gonna do you any good if you’re just gonna go back to your dorm and feel sorry for yourself."

The moment the words left her mouth, regret flashed across her face.

Instantly, everything stopped.

I stood there, my back to her, my fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.

She didn’t mean it.

I knew she didn’t.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady, even as the weight of it all threatened to pull me under.

"I never asked for your help, Paige."

And with that, I walked away.

Again.

It was another Wednesday. Another grey morning that bled into the warmth of the afternoon, stealing a touch of brightness into the dullness of winter.

 Late January had no business feeling this warm, yet there it was, a surprise sunshine pushing through the clouded sky.

 A slight breeze played with the edges of my jacket, tugging at me in gentle reminders of the world continuing outside my small bubble of frustration.

I hadn’t spoken to Paige since last night… since the words I threw at her like stones, sharp and unwarranted. I could still hear them echoing in my mind.

Practically telling her to fuck off.

 It felt like a jagged thing to say, even now. I had no right.

I knew I shouldn’t have said it. I knew that, but the frustration in me boiled over—too much, too fast. She didn’t deserve that.

Especially not after everything she’d done for me.

I couldn’t even count the nights she’d stayed up with me when the pain from my surgery made sleep impossible.

The nights where she curled up on the floor beside my bed, her hand resting lightly on my wrist, grounding me when the discomfort turned unbearable. When I got frustrated—at the limitations, at myself—she never snapped, never told me to get over it.

She just listened.

The endless drives to and from physical therapy, even when I wasn’t able to offer her any thanks, because my knee was a constant reminder of my limits.

When I’d been too bitter to acknowledge her efforts, when I sat in silence, fuming, she never wavered. 

She would just let the music play softly through the car speakers, her fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel in time with the beat. Letting me exist in my anger but never letting me sit in it alone.

Paige had been nothing but patient, kind, and steady. She had shown up—again and again.

When I lashed out, when I pulled away, when I made it impossible for anyone to get close—Paige stayed. She pushed when I needed pushing and gave me space when I needed air.

She brought me my favorite snacks, even when I refused to eat, leaving them on the table without a word. She sat with me through the rough nights, playing old movies on her phone when I couldn’t sleep.

She learned how to tape my knee properly when I complained that the physical therapists always did it too tight.

She carried my bag when the weight of it pulled too much at my shoulder. She made jokes, teasing me just enough to make me forget—if only for a moment—how much everything hurt.

And I had the audacity to act like she was the problem. Like she was in my way.

The regret curled up at the edges of my chest, cold and insidious, a reminder of just how unfair I had been. How blind..

But the words… they’d slipped out, a careless storm of resentment, clouding everything. And now, here I was—silent in my guilt, unable to shake the weight of what I had done.

I sighed deeply as I glanced into the vanity mirror, the soft hum of the Bronco’s engine cooling into stillness. The reflection staring back at me was no different than usual. 

My hair was simply braided, strands falling loose in a few places, and my UCONN sweatshirt, the one I’d worn so many times, hung comfortably over me like a second skin. 

I adjusted the brace on my knee, a reminder of everything I had gone through, and grabbed my bag, my phone, my lifeline.

The parking lot outside the facility was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of other cars coming and going. I could feel my nerves gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. And then, across the lot, to my left, there she was.

Paige.

Leaning casually against her black Jeep, arms crossed, eyes gazing off into the distance, lost in thought or perhaps waiting for me. I stopped. My breath caught. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not now. Not after what had happened.

My heart skipped a beat in a way it never had before. It wasn’t just the sight of her—it was the fact that she was here. Standing in front of me, even after last night. Even after everything.

I furrowed my brows, walking toward her slowly, hesitantly, as if I weren’t sure whether I was moving toward her or away from the uncomfortable mess we’d made.

"You’re here."

I muttered the words under my breath, a small disbelief lingering between us. 

Paige looked at me with that soft, half-smile that could always make me feel like everything was going to be okay, even when I didn’t feel like it. "When have I ever missed any day of your PT?"

Her smirk seemed almost like a challenge, but also a quiet comfort. I shifted on my feet, looking anywhere but directly at her.

But, I knew better. Paige wasn’t just here because of that. There was more to it, something unspoken, yet too heavy to ignore.

The words I wanted to say felt too large, too complicated to voice, and the silence settled between us like an unsolvable puzzle.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, barely above a whisper, a soft curiosity edging into my voice.

Paige uncrossed her arms, letting them drop to her sides, and sighed, a long exhale that seemed to carry all the tension she’d been holding onto.

She turned away for a moment, looking toward the distant horizon, her fingers twitching at her sides. When she turned back, she seemed more vulnerable than I had ever seen her, eyes searching mine as if she were weighing something in the space between us.

"Because I realized that you’re right."

She paused, swallowing hard, and I felt the ground shift beneath my feet, the weight of her words settling heavily in my chest. "I have been on your ass..."

Guilt flooded through me, sharp and biting. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, holding back the emotions that were rising too quickly. She didn’t deserve my frustration.

"Paige," I started, but she was quicker, cutting me off with a softness that disarmed every defense I had left.

"But because I care about you," she continued, and the world seemed to stop for a heartbeat, the air thickening with the gravity of her words. "And I love you."

Her hand found mine, delicate and warm as she slid her fingers between mine, grounding me in something familiar, something safe. My heart tripped over itself, a sudden skip that sent a confusing wave of emotion through my chest.

I love you wasn’t new. I had said it a thousand times before—both to Paige and to others. Yet now, with her hand in mine, it felt different. It was a deeper pulse, a deeper truth.

Paige continued, her voice lower now, carrying an apology wrapped in care. "And because I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have said that shit to you yesterday."

The weight of her words settled over me, washing away the sharpness of the argument. Sorry.

It was a small word, but it held so much. She didn’t have to say it. She didn’t owe me an apology. But there it was, hanging in the space between us, an offering I didn’t know I needed until now.

I looked at her, and everything inside me stilled. The guilt that had knotted in my chest began to loosen, though it lingered, hanging like the last drops of rain after a storm.

I felt the pulse of her heartbeat against my skin, felt the truth of everything we had shared and everything that was still left to be said.

In the quiet that followed, I squeezed her hand gently, offering something I couldn’t yet say aloud.

My heart still raced, uncertain but softening. And in that moment, everything else—the anger, the argument, the walls we had built—felt like echoes in the distance.

We were here, together, standing in the light of this new, fragile truth.

The world around us seemed to blur, melting away like the early morning fog caught in the sun’s embrace. The faint hum of cars in the distance was a muffled memory, drowned out by the beating of my own heart.

The warmth of her touch seeped into my skin, spreading through me like a slow fire, awakening parts of me that had long been dormant. Every breath I took felt deeper, more intentional, as if we were both waiting for the next breath, the next word to break the silence.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke, our bodies suspended in that fragile space where everything is too big to express and too important to leave unsaid.

The world felt slower, gentler. The sun was still climbing, its rays now stretched wide across the parking lot, casting long shadows that seemed to mirror the tension between us, but there was something tender in the way the light fell.

As if the day, too, was waiting for us to choose the next step.

I shifted my weight, my fingers tightening around hers. A small gesture, but it felt like I was offering something I wasn’t sure I had—my trust, my willingness to try again.

The ache in my chest softened just a fraction, though I couldn’t help the flicker of uncertainty that lingered in my stomach.

Was this real? Would we ever be the same after last night?

I opened my mouth, but the words I’d rehearsed in my head for hours felt inadequate, too small for what was swirling inside me. I wanted to apologize, but I didn’t know how to make up for everything. How could I?

“I’m sorry,” I finally said, the words feeling foreign on my tongue, but necessary. I didn’t even know if it was enough.

But I needed her to know—needed to feel like I was trying, like I was reaching for something beyond the anger, beyond the frustration. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that.”

The guilt crept back, cold and insidious, curling up at the edges of my chest. I could feel it there, a constant reminder of how much I had hurt her, even though all she had ever done was try to help me. Try to love me.

Paige’s thumb brushed softly over the back of my hand, grounding me once again. Her gaze softened, the sharpness of earlier giving way to something warmer, something more vulnerable.

She was here, and she was willing to meet me where I stood, even after everything.

“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it was enough to stop time. “I know, and I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was… like I was smothering you.”

“You weren’t,” I said quickly, shaking my head, hating the way my own words had made her feel. “Paige, you were just—” I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down my face before dropping it. “You were just looking out for me. You always do.”

Paige let out a dry chuckle, her tongue running along her bottom lip. “Yeah, well… maybe I need to chill out a little,” she admitted, and then met my eyes again. “But I just—” She sighed, shaking her head. “I just hate seeing you struggle. I know how hard this has been for you. And I didn’t wanna let you go through it alone.”

I swallowed hard, her words settling deep into my chest.

“I know,” I whispered.

Paige stepped closer, just slightly, but enough for me to notice, enough for my body to respond before my mind could catch up.

“I meant what I said,” she continued, her voice softer now. “I care about you. And I love you.”

My breath hitched. I knew this feeling—it was familiar, something safe, something that had always been there between us, unspoken but present. So why did hearing her say it make my stomach twist?

 I forced a small chuckle, trying to lighten the air before it swallowed me whole. “You act like we don’t always say that, P,” I murmured, shrugging. “We say it to Azzi and the girls all the time.”

Paige tilted her head slightly, studying me in that way that always made me feel like she saw more than I was willing to give. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah,” she said, voice almost teasing, but there was something else beneath it—something careful, deliberate. “But do you feel like this when you say it to them?”

I blinked, caught off guard. My breath hitched before I could stop it.

Paige had never said anything like that before—not so directly, not so openly. My mouth opened. Closed. My throat felt tight.

The air between us shifted, something unspoken crackling in the space where our fingers touched. Paige must’ve noticed, because she let out a small, knowing breath, her amusement laced with something softer, something more dangerous.

“Yeah,” she murmured, glancing away for the briefest moment before her eyes found mine again, steady and sure. “That’s what I thought.”

My heart slammed against my ribcage, a sharp, unmistakable rhythm.

Her fingers curled just a little tighter around mine, and suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I was still breathing.

She sighed, breaking the tension slightly. “Look, I know we fight,” she admitted. “And I know you’re stubborn as hell.”

A small, breathy laugh escaped me, and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle of her own.

“But I also know you,” she continued, a little more serious now. “And I know that when you push people away, it’s because you’re hurting. And I don’t care how much you fight me on this, Y/N—I’m not going anywhere.”

I felt my chest constrict, emotion creeping up my throat faster than I could swallow it down.

Paige smiled then, small but warm. “So,” she murmured, nodding towards the building behind me, “are we gonna stand here all day, or are you actually gonna let me walk you in?”

I huffed out a laugh, rolling my eyes. “God, you’re annoying,” I muttered, shaking my head as I turned on my heel, my hand still in hers.

Paige grinned. “Yeah,” she said, tugging me along beside her. “But you love me for it.”

And, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t argue.

The tension between us began to dissolve like mist in the early morning sun, and I could feel the space between us closing, slowly, like the tender stitches of a wound trying to heal.

Paige spoke again, a teasing lilt in her voice. “You’re the best player on this team—maybe even on the same level as Michael Jordan.”

I rolled my eyes despite the smile etching on my face. “Ok, now that’s reaching.” I laughed.

Paige laughed too, her laugh sweet and familiar, but then she shook her head, her expression softening. “Alright, that’s not the point!” She nudged my arm.

She hesitated for a second, as if choosing her words carefully. “Look, I know it doesn’t always feel like you’re getting anywhere. I know how frustrating it is to work your ass off and still feel stuck. But, Y/N, that doesn’t mean you’re not growing. You’re not just a great player—you’re one of the hardest-working people I know. And you know what happens when someone like you keeps pushing, even when it’s tough?”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Enlighten me.”

Paige smirked. “They don’t just get better. They come back stronger, smarter—more unstoppable than they ever were before. So yeah, maybe you don’t feel like you’re at your peak right now. But that doesn’t mean you won’t be. And when that happens? Michael Jordan better watch his back.”

I let out a breathy chuckle, shaking my head, but the warmth spreading through my chest told me that her words had landed exactly where they needed to.

Something about the way she said it—the quiet certainty in her voice—made my heart clench. She didn’t just say things to make me feel better; she meant them.

And that realization hit me like a wave, pulling me under before I even had the chance to catch my breath.

My gaze drifted from her deep blue eyes to her lips—soft, perfect, slightly parted as if waiting for something, for me.

My heartbeat stuttered, a rapid, uneven rhythm against my ribs.

Before I could overthink it, my hand moved on its own, fingertips grazing the sharp line of her jaw. Her breath hitched, a subtle intake of air that sent warmth rushing through me.

Slowly, I tilted her face down to mine, closing the space between us, and then I kissed her.

The world around us blurred, faded into nothing. There was no noise, no expectation, just the quiet press of her lips against mine—soft, warm, achingly familiar yet entirely new.

It was slow, unhurried, like the moment had always been waiting for us to catch up to it.

I could feel everything in that kiss—the way her lips moved against mine, tender but sure, the way my hands trembled slightly where they held her.

She tasted like something sweet, something comforting, and yet there was a fire beneath it, a spark igniting deep in my chest. The way she melted into me, the way her fingers curled ever so slightly against my waist, sent a shiver down my spine.

By the time we pulled back, I felt lightheaded, breathless in a way that had nothing to do with oxygen. Paige’s eyes searched mine, something unreadable flickering across her face before her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. 

“I love you,” I murmured, the words tasting different now—deeper, more honest than they had ever been before.

Paige’s smile widened, and she squeezed my hand gently. “I love you, too.” Her voice was steady, but there was something raw in it, something that made my heart flutter. “And I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

I nodded, unable to find the right words to say back. What could I say? She had already given me everything I needed to hear.

I didn’t need grand gestures or promises that we’d be perfect. I just needed her to stay—to show up, like she always had.

She pulled me into a hug, and I let myself fall into it, the warmth of her body pressing against mine, grounding me.

In that moment, I could feel the weight of everything that had been said and unsaid—everything that had hurt and healed—begin to settle in a place where I could finally let go.

I breathed her in, the familiar scent of her hair, her skin, mingling with the cool air around us. The sun, now higher in the sky, warmed my face as I closed my eyes.

The world outside continued, but in this moment, everything felt still, everything felt possible again. The past was never going to be perfect, but we could make the future ours, one step at a time.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was finally ready to move forward, with her by my side.

Paige smiled knowingly. “You’re already incredible, Y/N. And I can’t wait to see the player—the person—you’re becoming.”

My heart fluttered, an unexpected rush of emotion tightening in my throat. I looked away for a moment, trying to play it cool, but Paige caught my chin gently between her fingers, guiding my gaze back to hers.

“And just so we’re clear,” she added, her voice a little softer now, “no matter how good you get, I’m still totally claiming credit for hyping you up first.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t fight the grin spreading across my face. “Obviously.

© sweettu1ips.tumblr 2025 do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[parasolemn]

X7 Acts 4-5 Summaries Transcription

Acts 4 and 5 (mostly 4) are the most likely to have errors since they're never completely clear, so please take this with a grain of salt! Suggested edits are appreciated.

I've already transcribed acts 1-3 here. Double check that the version you're reading is the most up-to-date one. :-)

(Updated as at 13/04/2025 at 2PM AEST)

Act 4 - The Doubt

Summary

Size: Large Playtime: ~5 hours Energy: Medium Emotional tone: Creeping doubt & feeling like an Outsider 70% Talking; 30% Action 50% Comedy; 50% Darkness

"Arriving in the Fourth Act, Cuno is officially furthest from his home that he's ever been, while Cunoesse is coming nearer to hers than she has been in the years after she escaped, and this [distinction?] is starting to get difficult to ignore. The presence of Hämärä Maa looms over them both, as the fabled archipelago lies just across the bay, across the [...]. Having disembarked from the Train virtually in the middle of nowhere, Cuno and Cunoesse come upon the Rhöne-Tréville (Royal) Penal Colony or the Tréville, but most people call it: a [...] centred around a former Royalist prison-labor camp. Being that geographically [...] to Hämärä Maa, the small community represents the closest point of contact between the archipelago and the world, participating in the trade of goods, legends and the profitable psychedelic marrow of an endemic cave fish. Meeting the locals, the kids will learn about the impending relocation of the surprisingly harmonious community-sustaining prison complex, and the complicated [...] between the coordinate [...] of freedom, imprisonment, community and [reunion? tension?]. They will also begin on their [...] is a growing sense of dread that Cunoesse got herself into something that is much darker and more morbid than he could have expected. In order to progress to Hämärä Maa to find out for themselves, the kids must [...]. [...] they must [...] Cunoesse's half remembered [...] family connections among the marrow traders, some of whom are now in the prison, or they might win their way forward with [...] and sneers, stealing a toy raft from a gang of violent girl children."

Player experience

[...] begin to suspect we are approaching a sinister [...] with the things we've been avoiding all along.

[...] more and more about Hämärä Maa [...] borders of a bad neighbourhood, like walking alone at [...] realising your GPS is leading you in the direction of [...] you've realised way too late to do anything about it.

[...] are more frightening if they are unseen. Hearing [...] tales about Hämärä Maa before we've had [...] establish what's there will build up the sense of dread [...] for the game's climax location.

[...] for the later endgame where Cuno breaks free of the bond.

The power balance between Cuno, Cunoesse and the player's conscience will again be tested as Cunoesse urges Cuno to brutally fight one of the Tréville girls in order to steal her raft.

The small self-sustaining community will present the player with the opportunity to engage with the full set of game systems, including game economy, Thoughts, substances, exploration and multiple-approach problem-solving.

Act 5 - The Arrival

Summary

Size: Medium Playtime: ~2 hrs Energy: High Emotional tone: [...] & Reality-Twisting 60% Talking; 40% Action 30% Comedy; 70% Darkness

"After all the fear and the mayhem, Cuno and Cunoesse are finally there: landing on the shores of Hämärä Maa, their promised shadow-land. Greeted with the sounds of shamanic singing and solemn drums, the kids will catch the locals in the midst of a funeral ceremony, gaining a glimpse into both the cultural practices of the Näkki and the strange and colorful faces of the island's population. The island has changed since Cunoesse has last called it home. Only her impossibly old grandfather remains, and her [sins?]. She knows she must do one last thing before she can plead to be readmitted into her tribe. Under the pretense of a Hämärän naming ceremony, Cunoesse pressures Cuno into ingesting the bone marrow of the psychedelic cave fish. As Cunoesse takes on the role of his fucked-up trip shaman, Cuno grapples with the growing clarity that her goal is deeply sinister: to bind him to herself, or kill them both trying. Cunoesse embraces him and throws them both off a pier, pulling him deep under water, triggering the stylish climax sequence of the game: the Underwater Psychedelic Trip. Reality will [...] as you seemingly sink for an eternity, fighting for your life and your identity as Cunoesse's true intentions come to light - to use the drug to manipulate Cuno into total and irrevocable ego death, and make him believe that he is Jaakko, the boy Cunoesse killed in the caves three years prior. That was her plan all along: to bring Cuno all the way from Martinaise to buy herself passage back into her community by replacing what she has broken. All she needs him to do now in order for her plan to work is to play along, *really* play along, so deeply that he will never recall being someone else ever again. Their showdown under water will determine whether Cuno will let go of his identity in one [...], or if he is willing to kill his other half in order to remain who he is. The Act spins off into up to five possible endings, depending on which one of the kids lives, dies or is brainwashed."

Player experience

We want a sense of culmination in every way -- the culmination the journey, of finally getting to see what Hämärä Maa is truly like and what Cunoesse truly is.

This should be a streamlined sequence, funneling the player [seamlessly] towards the end. We want the player to be unable to [...] the game once they've landed on Hämärä Maa, similarly to how Harry's story spirals tighter and tighter towards its resolution from the moment he steps onto the Deserter's Island.

We want the player to feel as if they are performing cultural [contact?] with an ominous insular community, something like Midsommar but with degenerate alcoholics instead of tradwives.

This is where everything we've tried to do over the course of the game comes to count. All the dual-character systems that make the player roleplay as both Cuno & Cunoesse, all the story beats that make the player internalise their respective stakes, all the emotional connection to this feral superorganism, if we can make the player feel like we're making them choose between two halves of themselves, we've achieved what we set out to do. If they feel torn apart, agonized over their choices, we've won.

[fancyfeathers]

Thinking about Yandere!Justice League having children with their darlings and perhaps those children aren’t too keen on their relationship with their parents…

Set in the universe of Young Justice.

Includes references to my Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling & Always Prey But Never A Bird

Clark’s daughter grew up in Smallville after Clark married his darling, living near the same house her father grew up in. She is one of many children, including Connor who her mother immediately took in as her own even if her father was still struggling with his feelings about his clone (though Connor rarely comes by unless Clark is gone, otherwise he is back with the team). Between herself and her siblings there is one major difference, she doesn’t have powers, or at least they have not come in yet.

She feels herself isolated from her siblings, especially when she sees one of her brothers practice and train with their father or when she gets pulled from the soccer team since it is apparently not safe when she sprained her ankle during a game but her dad has missed half her games of the season because of being Superman, Justice League business, or something with her siblings because of their powers that they are learning to control.

He is so protective but he is never even there.

She gets fed up when it gets near to her high school graduation and she is looking at colleges and talk to her parents about colleges and Clark is not sure about sending her off.

So she decides to leave on her own, pack a bag in the middle of the night while her dad is off planet and walks outside, walking across the empty field and she hears…

“Heading out?”

One of her siblings had caught onto her leaving, but they are not going to stop her, instead offering to take her anywhere she needs because she needs to leave this place to figure out who she really is.

Of course there will be panic when Clark returns home and finds one of his children is missing and she is completely untraceable, how is she untraceable? Clark can not even hear her heartbeat, she could be dead!

But she’s not…

Hal Jordan’s twins don’t really know their father super well because of when he is off planet as Green Lantern but he still wants to be a part of their lives, but their childhood is spent running around the Watchtower and being babysat by other league members or other Green Lantern Corps members while their dad is off planet, and their mother is tired of reading two very chaotic teenagers. Hal is like that one dad who does not fully understand that his children have been growing back, he’ll come into his teenage daughter’s room, sit on her bed and ask if she wants to go practice softball pitcher throws but he doesn’t know the last time his daughter played softball was in middle school. Or offering to take his son to the beach but his son cannot stand the feeling of sand on his feet or how the sand can ruin his books.

He remembers them like when they were babies and he made constructs from his ring of animals and toys for his children to play with and now when he picks up his daughter up from school he does not even know the names of her her friends.

But one thing that will never change is the fact that he will protect them no matter what. All it would take is for Hal to witness one incident, say he has to save his twins as Green Lantern, he makes the decision that at the end of the school year he is pulling them out and moving them into the Watchtower full time, besides they already stay there when he is off planet.

The two pick up on this when they overhear their parents arguing about it in the night, it is far past their bedtime so Hal doesn’t think either of them are listening but both of them listen in and all it takes is for their dad to go to a Justice League meeting and the two have packed their bags and jumped out the bathroom window.

Diana’s darling is definitely a woman and I think if they were to have a child they would have adopted an orphan, one who perhaps lost their family in an accident and Diana saves them, a young boy, a preteen at the oldest. He has a semi normal upbringing, he doesn’t really have any powers. He has never been to Themyscira because of he is a man, but Diana trains him anyway because it is important he knows how defend himself and his other adoptive mother when Diana is not around.

But the day comes where every little bird has to leave the nest and Diana agrees to let him to go to college nearby, especially after hearing about his intentions to become a lawyer. But his true intention to pursue such a career is because when he heard the stories from his other mother about how the members of the Justice League did certain things to get their partners and he felt horrified, he may not have been the one who done such a thing but he would be damned if he was not the one to try and repair it. Besides Diana has no reason to believe her baby boy is a liar, so he never even gets caught and forced to tell the truth.

It is at school where he meets someone not too different from himself and the two immediately hit it off, but the major thing between the two of them is that she is fast… really fast…

Barry Allen is close to his darling little girl, especially since she inherited his speed, they found that little fact out when she was practicing for track team tryouts and she suddenly found herself in Arizona, that was an interesting conversation when she called up her dad, a crying and confused mess, and before she could hang up Barry was already there, kneeling down in his suit and explaining everything to her.

Most kids get a car for their sixteenth birthday, she got super speed.

But another thing she got from her dad is his intelligence, it takes a lot to be a forensic scientist so Barry is hardly surprised when he little girl graduates early, he knows that she used her speed doing homework when he told her not to but sometimes the achievement outdoes the actions to get there.

Barry is willing to send her away from home for college, after all he is never far. But while she is at school she meets a boy, a few years older than her, and they become fast friends. She trusts him so she reveals her powers one night when they are hanging out around campus, her hand literally phasing through the wall with how fast it is going, but after that all turn is revealed and her world is shattered.

That boy was the son of Diana and he tells her everything, the truth about her own parents and she feels like she can never look her dad in the eye again. She doesn’t even feel like she can go home again, but when the end of the school year comes up they do have to move out of their dorm rooms and go home, but neither of them have the intention of doing that.

When Barry comes to help her move out, she is gone, most of her stuff is still there but she is gone. Then he hears the same from Diana about her son and everything clicks into place…

They found out the truth.

Zatara has another child besides Zatanna, though not biological. When Zatara’s first wife died and he kidnapped got remarried to his darling, she also had a child, a little boy from a former relationship. The boy may not be his biological child but that boy is his son, so just like Zatanna, he teaches him about the mystic arts.

The boy is practically raised by Zatara as his father, especially when his mother falls into stockholm syndrome, but that just makes the sting so much worse when Zatara puts on the Helmet of Fate to save Zatanna. Sure by the time it happened his son is basically an adult, but it still hurts when his sister comes back home and tells him and his mother what happened. So while Zatanna joins the team and leaves home he is left to struggle with his emotions about what happened.

The young man is cleaning up some of his father’s things to tuck away in boxes because his mother is to grief stricken to even look at them, but then he found some of Zatara’s old journals where he wrote about his darling, when he was too young to remember, and he feels absolutely horrified about what his step father did. He thinks about asking his mother about it but he does not want to bring up any sad memories she might have lingering, and he is not going to ask Zatanna, because his sister is still in pain after what her dad did to protect her.

So he decides it might be best for him to leave so he can make peace with a few things.

He packs up his bags and does not even tell his mother or Zatanna that he is leaving, just leaving a note on the kitchen counter. He travels the world, becoming a mostly self taught magician, besides the few things his father taught him when he was younger. He calls Zatanna or his mother every so often and every time his sister sounds more and more worried, but he reassures her that he is not on a team of superheroes like she is, he is just trying to figure out where he belongs…

But that promise does not last long once he finds out about the rest of the Justice League and their darlings and he is enraged…

Arthur Curry’s son is technically a prince, but really he feels captive in his own home. His father may be half human but his mother is fully human, and so their son is mostly human, so one can imagine how hard it is for him to breathe underwater without some form of assistance. Arthur tried to get his son adapted overtime, but it just became too hard as he got older and he had to rely on assistance to breathe underwater like his mother. He would be the heir to the throne if it was not for having young siblings who were stronger than he was, truly he is not jealous but he is disappointed that he is seen as so fragile for being born into an environment his body mostly does not want to be in. He is hardly let outside just because his body already struggles enough being so deep underwater… he wonders if it would be different on the surface, he’s never been up there before.

By some miracle he convinces his retainers to let him explore, just for an hour or two, but then an hour turns into a day and a day turns into weeks. He feels so much more alive on land, his lungs don’t feel heavy like they are struggling to breathe.

But the Prince of Atlantis going missing is going to cause more than a few people to panic. Including Arthur himself.

With more children of the Justice League going missing they get more worried and stressed and begin a mass search for them if it was not for a certain someone…

Now Bruce Wayne’s daughter I have written about before, she was the vigilante know as Songbird in Gotham, she ran away years ago and in this universe when everything was said and done she went off all on her own, sure she based herself off Black Canary, but with most of the league like this she wants nothing to do with it.

She was the first one to run away from home and not being caught by the Batman is certainly a feat but she is certainly her father’s daughter, so when she hears the news about some of the children of Justice League members going missing because she definitely did not hack their server communications. So she finds each child of the Justice League and she helps them out, because to be honest they all want the same thing.

Setting up a place for everyone to stay safely after tracking them down one by one, she even went all the way to Paris to find Zatara’s son to convince him because he was doing a show there.

So she makes lead lined shirts for little Miss Supergirl so she cannot be found via powers. Then it gets get worse when she does finally get powers and being half Kryptonian hits her hard, especially when she has no one around to teach her how to control them, well almost no one. Luckily she has someone in her corner, who better to teach her than the daughter of the Batman who taught herself how to be a vigilante, it should not be that hard.

Each one wants to either help one of their parents or they straight up are doing this out spite. But trying to piece together a team of the heroes who have next to no idea what they are going to do. But becoming a team to spite their parents turned into them basically stopping villains before their parents do.

Extra things

I love the idea of Clark’s and Bruce’s daughters and Diana’s son be best friends who have never met, like the second the meet each other they just know that they are inseparable. The self trained vigilante, the boy raised by an Amazon, and the half Kryptonian girl. Then the training sessions and teaching Clark’s daughter how to control her newly gained powers almost always turns into just chatting and some sort of shenanigans.

I don’t know why but something about Zatara’s son gaining powers kind of like the Scarlet Witch from the MCU just makes sense to me. Also the idea of Doctor Fate having slight, or heavy, protective tendencies over him while Zatara is the host.

Also I did not put them down here but I also had ideas for Green Arrow’s & Black Canary’s daughter because they would definitely share a darling, and I might write a second part for them and a few others.

Then I also thought about Martian Manhunter and his darling having an adoptive daughter because she is a meta human with telepathic abilities, but then I got reminded of Charles Xavier and thinking that she would be just to similar and now that I am finishing up this post I don’t hate that idea.

[wosospacegirl]

Sweet girl - Alessia Russo (+18)

Summary: Request-> Alessia and Y/n have a quicky in the morning after an argument and Alessia is late for training. Good thing Y/n has a motorcycle.

Warnings: +18!!!; smut; little bit of angst (happy ending); fingering alessia receiving.

Word count: 2.8k

MASTERLIST

..

Alessia was the sweetest girl you could ever meet in your life. She was caring, kind and gentle; sometimes she was too kind to people who didn't deserve it. Everyone who met Alessia fell in love with her right away, that’s how joyful she was.

Y/n often used the words ‘soft’ and ‘tender’ to describe Alessia’s personality as well. Sadly for Y/n, none of these qualities were shining through in her girlfriend at the moment.

Alessia’s week had been a mess– two days of splitting headaches, her period had ended days ago but she still felt bloated and sensitive. All of this affected her training, and therefore her performance in Arsenal's last game. As a result, the team lost 2-1 to Liverpool.

Y/n tried very hard to explain to Alessia that the defeat was caused by the whole team, not just her, but she was upset and wouldn’t listen. Whether Arsenal won or lost, it was never the fault of one player. Alessia knew this, of course, but she was upset nonetheless.

It was one of those days when frustration would linger around her and no one could take Alessia away from it. The match had been three days ago, but she was still upset about it, and an upset Alessia was rude Alessia.

“I just don't understand why you didn't buy the eggs when I asked you to!” Alessia said, slamming the fridge door. “You always forget to buy the groceries, and then I'm late for training because there's nothing to eat!”

Alessia was standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing Arsenal’s training kit, her blonde hair was down her back, and she had a hair tie on her wrist. She had to be at practice soon, and it looked like that was Y/n’s problem, too.

Y/n listened to Alessia’s complaints as she sipped her morning coffee, sketchbook in hand, drawing tattoo designs for a client.

Y/n prided herself on being a decent girlfriend– she tried to look after Alessia as best as she could. The couple had been together for two years, so Y/n had been by Alessia’s side through a series of injuries, wins and losses.

It was hard to be an athlete's partner; their life was always full of adrenaline, and they were always busy with national and international chronograms.

Alessia was very mindful, considering she wasn’t dating someone from the football world, but unfortunately, when Alessia was frustrated, she seemed to forget that Y/n had a real life outside of being her girlfriend.

Y/n was a tattoo artist. She had opened her own tattoo studio in a corner of North London years ago. Alessia and Y/n had met after the player came into the shop wanting a tattoo on her feet; after their meet-cute, they’d become inseparable.

Y/n took a sip of the black coffee, the rich and bitter aroma filling her nose. Coffee always helped to calm her down, and she certainly needed to be calm, as it was early in the morning and Alessia was looking for a reason to argue.

Y/n sighed and put down the cup in her hand. “Baby, you were the one who had the car this week.” 8 am, it was 8 am and they were talking about fucking eggs. “And Lamar got sick, so I had to take in his clients.”

“I know, but I had a lot going on so I asked you to pick the eggs up,” Alessia said, clenching fists resting on either side of her body.

“And I said I couldn't because I was overbooked with customers, love.” Y/n leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “How about I make you a fruit salad? We have strawberries and blueberries; I can make you something to eat.”

“I don't want fruit, I want an omelette! I always have an omelette in the morning. Alessia groaned and rolled her eyes. Am I supposed to keep up during training today?”

“Alessia, come on, baby–”

“No! This whole week had been shitty and you’re not even helping me!” Alessia continued to carpet.

And that made it for Y/n.

Y/n stood up. “Room, now.” Was all she said before disappearing into the hallway next to the kitchen.

The girl opened the bedroom door and sat down at the end of the bed with her legs spread open. She heard footsteps in the hallway and soon after Alessia entered the room.

“Come here,” Y/n beckoned to Alessia.

“You haven’t been very nice to me the last few days, have you?”

“No” Alessia shook her head.

“And why is that?” Y/n asked. “Look at me, sweet, I'm talking to you.”

“Sorry. I told you I haven’t had a good week,” she mumbled, playing with her hand. Embarrassment radiating from her.

“I understand you’ve had a bad week, what I don't understand is why you’re going out of your way to make sureneither of us can have a good day today.”

Y/n had always been a very straightforward person. She didn't like drama or didn't like unnecessary arguments. If she could fix something, she would. Since Y/n had earned the autonomy to do whatever she wanted in life she focused on opening her tattoo shop.

At the moment, Skin Deep Studio was her pride and joy. Y/n treated the studio with respect and expected Alessia to do the same, just as she did with Alessia’s career.

“I told you I had clients from 9 am to 9 pm, didn't I?” Y/n continued, her eyes fixed on Alessia. “Did you expect me to cancel on them? Especially knowing that they were booked months ago?”

Alessia listened to Y/n, tears slowly forming in her eyes. “You told me you had clients. I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t being very considerate with me,” Y/n explained reassuringly. “You know it’s not fair to ask me to drop everything to go out and do something you want me to do, I’m busy too.”

Y/n wiped a tear from Alessia’s cheek, “I'm just very stressed with everything,” Alessia cried.

The footballer put her legs on Y/n’s lap and rested her head on Y/n’s shoulder.

“There's this big game this week and I can't seem to play it right.” She continued. “But I shouldn't be mean to you just because I'm stressed. I'm very sorry.”

“It's okay, sweetheart,” Y/n said, hugging Alessia's body. “Just talk to me next time, yeah? You always talk to me. I don't know why you didn't this time.”

“I don't know either,” Alessia admitted, breathing in and out slowly, she was calming down bit by bit.

Y/n kissed her cheek, feeling the saltiness of Alessia’s tears on her lips. “It’s alright, just breathe…f do you feel better now?”

Alessia smiled shyly and nodded her head. “Thank you, I love you,” Alessia said before kissing Y/n's mouth.

The kiss was gentle at first, but it quickly became intense.

Alessia slid her tongue into Y/n's mouth. Her hands were on Y/n's shoulder, trying to balance herself while the other girl put her hands on Alessia's lower back, trying to pull Alessia closer.

“I missed kissing you like this,” Alessia said, placing soft kisses on Y/n's neck. “I missed it a lot.

Y/n squeezed Alessia’s hips. “If you hadn’t been so moody this week, we could have kissed a lot sooner.” Y/n said teasingly, holding Alessia’s hips so that she was straddling her.

“Sorry,” Alessia whispered, slowly beginning to grind herself against Y/n's black trousers.

“Is that why you were so grumpy too? You wanted some kisses and didn't know how to ask for them?” Y/n asked, scratching Alessia’s back.

“I think so,” Alessia agreed, rubbing harder, trying to create some friction.

Y/n cupped Alessia's cheek and kissed hard, tugging at the girl's shorts.

“Take them off,” Y/n said against Alessia’s mouth.

“We can't love, I have training” Alessia whispered, still moving her body against Y/n. “And I'm already late.”

“I’ll be quick, just wanna make you cum,”

Alessia blushed deeply. She was always very shy with dirty talk, So Y/n always lowered it down as much as she could.

“Come on, get up,” Y/n tapped her body, urging the girl to stand up, and she did.

Alessia stood in front of Y/n, who quickly pulled her shorts down. The blonde girl was now standing in only her underwear and Arsenal t-shirt.

What a sight.

“So pretty,” Y/n murmured, kissing Alessia's chin, then her cheeks and finally pressing her lip to her mouth. “I want you to ride my fingers, do you think you can do that? Be quick?

“Yes,” Alessia moaned.

Y/n slipped one finger inside Alessia’s soaked underwear “You're gonna cum real nice because you are already so wet, baby,” Y/n said as she sat further away from the bed, to give Alessia more room to get into position.

Alessia already knew what she had to do. She placed her knees on the mattress, each one next to Y/n’s body. The blonde met Y/n's lips and moaned into her mouth as Y/n pulled her underwear aside and gently played with her clit.

“I’m gonna put them in, yeah?” Y/n said, gently playing with Alessia’s hole before penetrating her with two fingers. “Feels nice?”

Alessia purred in her ear, telling her all she needed to know.

“Ride my fingers, baby,” Y/n told Alessia, easing the girl down until her fingers were properly buried inside her pussy.

“Like that, just like that,” Alessia moaned, sinking deeper and deeper into Y/n’s fingers.

Y/n loved watching Alessia being fucked. She was always so sweet when she wanted to cum, so good. Knowing she was the one doing it made her chest rise with pride. She was the only one to touch this pretty girl, the one responsible for her sweet sounds. They shared another kiss, this one was messier, and Alessia was getting eager.

“I need you to cum, love” Y/n whispered to Alessia, pushing her hips down and dictating the pace. “Or else we’ll be late.”

“Al-almost,” Alessia whispered with her eyes closed.

“Yeah? My love is going to make a mess on my fingers just before she has to go to play?” Y/n said teasingly, sucking on Alessia’s neck, but not enough to leave a mark behind. “Come on, let go for me.”

Alessia leaned forward as she came, losing control of her torso; her lips brushing Y/n’s ear. Alessia wasn’t vocal when she came, instead, she was silent, her mouth remaining open for a few seconds as her body trembled with bliss.

Y/n tenderly ran her fingers through Alessia’s blonde hair with her free hand, letting her come down on her own without rushing.

“I’m gonna take them out, okay baby?”

Alessia nodded, resting her head on Y/n’s shoulder as the girl lifted her hips. Y/n pulled her fingers out of Alessia’s warmth and cleaned them against the blanket on the bed.

“Wow, I’m very dizzy,” Alessia breathed, shifting her body and cradling Y/n.

Y/n chuckled, and kissed her cheeks “Is that because of the orgasm or because you haven’t had your omelette yet, huh?”

Alessia nudged Y/n, a shy smile in her eyes. “Stop it, I’m not the same person I was ten minutes ago.”

“Of course, you aren’t,” Y/n hugged Alessia. “My sweet girlfriend is back, now.”

Y/n playfully peppered Alessias’s face with kisses while the girl giggled, squirming against Y/n’s body whenever Y/n kissed a particularly ticklish part of her.

“Okay, okay,” Y/n said, planting another kiss on Alessia’s chin. “I’ll get you cleaned up and I’ll drop you off at training on my way to the tattoo studio, how does that sound?”

Alessia’s eyes widened. She had completely forgotten about training, too absorbed in the bubble of love they had created.

“Bloody hell, I'm going to be so late,” Alessia gasped, as she broke free of Y/n’s grip and ran to her bathroom, Y/n was close behind.

When Y/n got to the bathroom, Alessia was in front of the mirror trying to fix her hair so she didn’t look like she’d had sex with her girlfriend when she should have been at work.

“Renée’s gonna make me do suicide drills just for the fun of it.” The blonde complained, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. “She hates it when one of us is late– do you think that’s a Dutch thing?”

“Probably, they do enjoy punctuality in the Netherlands,” Y/n said, handing Alessia’s short back. The girl put it on quickly and started brushing her teeth. Y/n gently pushed Alessia to the side so that she could use the sink too.

“Okay, I think I'm good,” Alessia said more to herself, looking at her reflection in the mirror and fixing an unruly strand of hair. “What do you think? Do I look like a mess?”

She and Y/n made eye contact through the mirror. “You look pretty,” Y/n said with a grin, making Alessia blush. “Now let’s go, I'm gonna get our helmets.”

Alessia stopped in her tracks. “Helmets? What do you mean? We’re using my car today.”

“Nope, we’re using the motorcycle.” Y/n pushed Alessia gently out of the bathroom, closing the door behind them.

“No, we aren't,” Alessia stated, turning around to look at Y/n.

Alessia wasn’t terrified of Y/n’s motorcycle, she genuinely thought it was cool. She just didn't like being the one to ride it.

“Baby, you have to be at Arsenal in…” Y/n looked at her watch, “...six minutes, do you think London’s traffic will allow that?”

Alessia thought for a moment, arms crossed. “ Hmph. Alright,. Well, I don’t have much choice,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Whatever, let’s go,” she added, grabbing her training bag while Y/n picked up the helmets.

“I won’t go too fast,” Y/n said, putting an arm around Alessia’s waist as they walked out the door. “Just enough to get you there in time without Renée biting your head off.”

“You know I need to breathe to ride, right?” Y/n said as they rode through the streets on London, rain pouring down on their riding jackets. Yes, her riding jackets because Y/n had bought one for Alessias as well.

Alessia clung to Y/n, her head pressed against Y/n’s back.

“I’m scared,” Alessia murmured, barely audible over the wind.

“Why baby? I’m a good biker.”

“Too fast,” was all Alessia could manage.

Y/n had already slowed down to a safer speed, but she let the motorcycle ease down even more. “There, how’s that? Better?”

“Uhun, thank you,” Alessa finally breathed, loosening her grip but still holding onto Y/n’s hips gently.

Alessia had a love-hate relationship with Y/n’s motorcycle. She liked it because Y/n liked it, and she knew it was almost like a lifestyle to her girlfriend. But sometimes, in her deepest thoughts, she wished Y/n would sell it. Alessia was just too anxious whenever Y/n rode it, afraid of a possible accident.

The motorcycle was undeniably cool and honestly, Y/n looked hot when she wore the black leather jacket that came with it. Alessia just wasn’t cut out for this lifestyle. That’s why she preferred her car–more safety, less wind.

When they finally arrived at Arsenal’s training grounds, Alessia got off the motorcycle, and handed her helmet to Y/n, feeling dizzy.

“You okay?” Y/n asked, catching Alessia’s arm. “You’re green.”

“I honestly think I’m gonna throw up,”

“No you’re not, it was an eight-minute ride,” Y/n smiled softly as she opened the motorcycle trunk and grabbed Alessia’s bag.

“Eight minutes was long enough,”

“You’ll have to ride with me more than that, get used to it,” Y/n leaned against the motorcycle and checked her watch. “Your training’s starting, you should go, baby.”

Alessia moved closer to Y/n and kissed her. “Thanks, love, I appreciate the ride, even though I think my insides are turned upside down.”

“Thank you, It’s always a pleasure to have a pretty girl bear-hugging me while I ride,” Y/n winked. “Also, let me know when you get your lunch break. We can get something to eat around here.”

“Okay,” Alessia smiled. “Will you pick me up when the training is over?”

“Yep, I can do that.”

“Can you take the car, though?” Alessia asked, giving Y/n her best doe eyes.

“Baby–”

“Please? The feeling of having something around you when you drive is nicer than having wind scratching on your face”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree there, love,” Y/n said, putting her helmet back on, and sitting down on the bike. “I’ll grab the car and pick you up.”

“I love you,”

“I know.”

..

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Notes//2: my smut writing is shitty.

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[andersonsgf]

modern roommate!abby

this shall be so criminally self indulgent :)

18+ bit of smut. minors dni.

modern roommate!abby who wasn't keen on you at first. manny had just moved out and it felt as though she had practically grabbed you from the street to make sure she could make rent that month. but she did not like living with a stranger. for the first week she kicked you to the curb, giving you minimal responses when you tried to talk. She looked at you with a frown most of the time, blinking at you when you suggested a movie on your third night. "I'm going out tonight" was her response, mentally noting to make sure to text manny to hang out now.

modern roommate!abby who after getting over her initial distaste realised you weren't too bad after all. at first she protested that you put little trinkets of yours around the apartment. "i don't see why you have to make this place look like one of your fucking video game stores", she complained when some lego blockheadz appeared near the tv. but after a little while she came to find that she didn't mind it so much, and after getting over the fact that manny was gone she realised you were filling all the little gaps he had left in your own way.

besides, you had pointed out all of her trinkets that were dotted around. "those aren't trinkets!", she had protested, arguing that her mass amount of classic books and classical music CDs dotted around were fine collections, and not "kids toys". you had for sure worn her down, though. you won the battle claiming that you deserve to have your fine collections around the apartment too. even though abby was annoyed that her entire apartment felt different now, she wasn't a dick. you were paying equal rent, you should have equal trinkets.

modern roommate!abby who after finally deeming that you weren't a threat to her little paradise at home drove you everywhere. your shiftwork at the local store was on her way to her work. it was the least she could do she felt, not trusting other people to keep you safe when walking around seattle on your own. she wouldn't tell anyone you were friends yet, still telling people that you were just her pesky roommate. still, she couldn't bear the thought of you shuffling through the torrential seattle rain to work, then walking back in the dark after. no, no. she was willing to be your chauffeur. she even gave you the aux. she would rub her forehead when she saw you put it on without her permission anymore, but she never made you turn it off.

modern roommate!abby who has a rigorous sleep schedule thanks to all of the rugby training she does cannot understand how one night you will be in bed asleep by 10, and the next she'll wake up for a glass of water and hear you shuffling around in your adjoining room at 2am. time and time again she would lecture you on not going to bed late due to your commitment to your playstation, but she soon realised it was no use. you were unfortunately a gremlin.

you consistently mocked her for going to bed at a "baby hour". it was always met with an eye roll and her telling you you would meet an early grave from sleep deprivation. come to think of it, she often told you that you'd die young. whether it be from lack of sleep, eating too much candy, not looking properly when confidently stepping out into the road, or just being oblivious to the world around you in general. "you gotta get healthier so i know my rent payments are still secure", she'd tell you whilst eating her perfectly counted macros meal after the two of you visited the gym together, watching you scoff your face with your version of a post-gym snack. a subway sandwich with four rainbow cookies.

modern roommate!abby was pleasantly surprised to find out that you were a gym rat too. she obviously had way more muscle, built like an ox, but you were doing pretty well for yourself too. different body types had different ways of showing muscle anyway. at first she couldn't really tell, you had moved in in the winter so wore baggy comfy layers to the gym. after a few months of joining in on her training sessions though, the seasons changing and the weather warming up, you started wearing your matching sets. abbys favourite was your dark blue ones, a cropped muscle shirt and shorts. not that she would ever ever admit to you that she had a favourite.

she would never admit that sometimes she corrected your form just to get a little closer. your form was never wrong, she'd taught you too well over the months. she was embarrassed, her eye contact when in the gym dropped completely, and she had never been one to shy away from that kind of crap. you were though, eye contact had always alluded you so you didn't notice the way abby could barely look at you, feeling terrible for ogling you in your new leggings when she helped you on the squat rack.

modern roommate!abby who when she got a text that you cracked your tooth on a skittle at work booked half her shift off and drove you to the dentist. she didn't even have to think about it, just told her boss she had a family emergency and had the 'holiday' booked within five minutes. she pulled up to the curbside with a screech, staring at you with an incredulous expression. "you're like four minutes from your work why did you start walking?", she had half yelled out the window.

"what? why are you out of work?", your hand was covering your cheek on the cracked tooth side of your face as if that would do anything. abby sighed, pushing the endearing thoughts towards you out of her head as she yelled at you to "get in the fucking car". she took you for a milkshake after it got fixed.

modern roommate!abby who got comfortable enough with you in her life to invite her friends around for an evening of drunk games again. manny made about ten jokes over the course of the night about how he was invited to his own apartment. you laughed at how he poked fun at how you ruined his old room. hearing your drunken giggles made abby smile a lot over the course of that night. you'd become a permanent fixture in her life, and as the drinks kept coming she kept sidling closer and closer to you on the couch, basically ignoring her friends as they cracked open a board game and ten more beers. you spent the night basically staring at her hands as they clutched onto the various beer bottles. they were just so fucking big, and attached to the biggest forearms you had ever seen.

at some point you got up to go make some toast, trying to preemptively cure the hangover you knew you were going to get. you had completely missed how abbys eyes narrowed into thin slits when one of her coworkers took interest in you and very clearly tried to chat you up in the kitchen. her hand almost crunched the beer bottle when she saw that womans hand on the small of your back. you had been clearly too drunk to notice much, but you did approach abby the next morning after finding a phone number slipped into your back pocket.

"you scored last night, huh?". abbys heart raced a million miles an hour as she looked at you. it shouldn't have mattered, she wasn't interested in dating, nevermind getting into it with a roommate. that was a terrible choice. but she couldn't deny the smirk she held back by sipping on some orange juice as you murmured about not being interested whilst throwing the paper in the bin.

modern roommate!abby didn't invite that particular coworker around again. you did question it when she was absent at the next hangout. "She's just busy, sweetheart", she was drunk enough to call you that as her hand covered your knee completely. she woke up humiliated at how many advances she had sent your way that night, but if you noticed then you didn't make it clear, entering the kitchen the same way you did every morning. your bright smile melted her heart.

after a while modern roommate!abby started cooking for you more. she wanted to make sure you were getting a good amount of protein and carbs with how much physical exercise you did each week. not as much as her of course, but still a hefty amount. it became a common occurrence for her to hand you some tupperware with your name on a post-it before she drove you to work. she never put a post-it on her own tupperware though, which you thought needed to be rectified. she was pleasantly surprised when she got to work, seeing "abby <3 :)" on her lunch. it did lead to her having to deny having a girlfriend at work though, her coworkers pestering her about it nonstop. it did get her thinking, however. you were sweet, maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing- no, no.

modern roommate!abby who decided to invite you to a rugby game for the first time. you knew she worked in an office for her main income, and obviously knew she was on a rugby team. what you didn't know was that she was in an actual major league team, the seattle seawolves. you also didn't know that she was such a star of the show that premiership teams were looking into scouting her for the next seasons. fucking hell. it now felt like living with a celebrity. you sat alone on the bench near the pitch, getting special treatment for being a special guest. a decent crowd showed and screamed loud when the seattle team had momentum. abby pushed harder than she ever had now that you were in the crowd. she pushed through tackles like the opponents were made of butter, easily reaching the end goal and slamming both herself and the ball onto the floor near the posts, making life easier for the kicker. you, meanwhile? drooling. straight up drooling. Her muscles rippled as she stormed across the pitch, her hamstrings and quads were sculpted and your eyes were pinned to them. suddenly you realised why people liked watching rugby.

it was a win, of course. she celebrated with her teammates on the pitch as the crowd slowly filtered out. it was incredible. abby won player of the match, scoring the most tries, letting her team win by a landslide. "well done!", you spoke louder to be heard over everyone as you reached her after hurrying across the pitch. abbys heart skipped and her ears rang as she saw you grin up at her before you went up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around her neck.

modern roommate!abby who after this had realised she was down bad. one hug should not have been on her mind for this long. and abby 'get the fuck away from me' anderson never normally craved another hug after someone held her. but no, she started even inviting you to match practices and being a tryhard just for the chance of you giving her another well done hug after. fuck, she was so screwed. she even found herself putting her hands on you when moving past you in the apartment, making sure to get your favourite snacks in if she saw you were out of them. she'd never done this when manny lived with her so she could not chalk it up to just feeling comfortable. she grumbled to herself when you arrived home from wandering around the city and she smiled too brightly during welcoming you home, huffing and puffing and making her sandwich too aggressively when you were back in your room.

"why are there so many finger marks in your bread?", you startled her. your chuckle reverberated around her heart, making it beat faster. she gave some pathetic excuse about literally hand planting her sandwich as she tripped coming back from the fridge. you believed it, shrugging her off as you sat down next to her and unwrapped another subway.

modern roommate!abby who made it all worse when acting deeply uncomfortable when you talked about dating apps. "i mean, i thought when i moved to the city that the choices in women would be better but its still 'katy and brent looking for their third', or 'just looking for some fun on my exchange!'. ugh does no woman in seattle just want a nice relationship or something?". abby looked up from her beer, looking a little frazzled that the topic of dating was now here. she painfully swallowed a hunk of pizza whilst absentmindedly agreeing with you. "what's your relationship take? do you have much luck here?".

she sighed, fucksake. "i don't really have one", she brushed you off, watching as you frowned at her. it's not like she could admit that her relationship take right now was you. "how can you not have one?".

"i mean one day it might be nice to settle down but like you said the dating pool is shit".

"yeah it is pretty shit. i dunno, i kinda like knowing the person first, might just delete hinge it's so ass", you grumbled and she watched you toss the application into the trash, her chest felt relieved. without the dating apps she didn't have to worry about you finding an actual person on there, now she could take her time in being a wimp around the apartment again.

modern roommate!abby who had managed to make it even more worse when you scampered through the apartment in just a shirt and your underwear after a shower, yelling in panic about how you left your pyjama bottoms by accident. even you in all of your beautiful obliviousness noticed the way she stared at your ass as soon as you were in view of the living room. you clearly gulped and scampered away even faster as you felt your face and ears flush. abby had to go and get a drink of water before shaking her head. you were her roommate, it was too complicated. but now that she had seen you in some simple black cotton underwear -to abby, the simple stuff was hotter- she knew she was fucked. not in the fun way.

before she knew it her car keys were in her hand and she was heading to mannys apartment. he enthusiastically invited her in and she immediately shared her woes about how she had fallen so hard for her new roommate. "dude, you can't do apartment-cest".

"don't call it that, that's gross", she shoved his shoulder and got a soda out of his fridge. "i didn't think i had a type before her but she's just so sweet y'know? like everything she says is like she's throwing rainbows at me even if she's complaining about how her avocado socks got soggy on a walk or some shit".

"dip your pen in the apartment ink, then", manny sat down on his couch whilst trying to subtly shove someones bra under a cushion.

"i could have maybe continued silently pining after her like a fucking loser but she caught me staring at her ass and fuck it was a good one". abby anderson basically whined when thinking about how she saw you at the apartment, her stomach doing that thing.

modern roommate!abby who hid at mannys apartment until 10pm when you had your shower at 5. she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole when you looked up at her as soon as she opened the door. you had been waiting for her with a tub of ben and jerrys, and you were wearing her rugby teams shirt as a pyjama shirt. fuck. her voice was strained when greeting you, biting the bullet and placing herself on the sofa too. "you were gone a while", you noted. all she could do was nod, her mouth going dry now she knew she'd seen the entirety of your legs. she had decided they were her new weakness. "sorry if i made you uncomfortable".

"the opposite, actually", she replied after a moment. and neither of you knew where to go from there. in every aspect of her life abby was headstrong, intimidating, said what she wanted. but when it came to women? useless. fucking useless.

the memo was received though. but you? also fucking useless. "okay i think we're both knowing where this is going", your voice was careful. terrified. you watched abby nod and shift to be facing more towards you. "maybe we can test to see if its awkward?", you looked up at her.

modern roommate!abby whose hand tentatively placed itself just above your waist as you both leaned in, awkwardly. your noses bumped, and she smiled with a huff before your lips chased hers. it was safe to say that it was a successful test. she worked her lips against yours and wondered why she hadn't been doing this the whole time. you tasted sweet, like orange juice, and her brain went static when you panted slightly as her hand moved up and down the side of your ribcage. sensitive.

modern roommate!abby who loved you hard as soon as you got past the awkward first week of not knowing how to be roommates and also go on dates. she took you out for some amazing burgers the day after your kiss and then got confused on what to do after. you both had the same home. some people may have retreated away to their rooms after, but not her. she straight up followed you into yours after your fifth date on week two, grinning as you laughed when she settled herself onto your bed. she just couldn't be apart from you, it seemed. not that you minded, especially not when you settled curled up against her chest as her hands rubbed your back. these days you could talk the nights away now that the useless pining was over. and you always found that one of abbys hands always found their way down your back and onto your ass, without fail, resting her hand there before falling asleep. think it's safe to say she's an ass girl.

modern roommate!abby who so lived up to that when she meekly asked if she could go from behind during your first time. even though she liked to be 'on top', she really was so shy during it. she made sure you had lots of pillows to be comfortable, she brushed your hair out of your face to make sure it wouldn't annoy you during it. the groan she let out when staring at your lower half, one hand cupping and squeezing it as the other worked the outside of your centre was enough to have you gushing. she worshipped you completely as she started off with one finger, aware that her hands were bigger than average. the small little whines were just not enough though, so she slipped another in, pumping them in and out softly as she gently rocked her body back and forth in time with her wrist, keeping her rhythm steady.

modern roommate!abby who over and over again murmured reassurances when she heard your soft whimpers. "you're okay, you're okay. so fucking hot", she'd slur out in a whisper, punctuating the end of her sentence with another squeeze to your ass before working you harder when she felt you near the finish line. she couldn't get over how good you felt, how warm, groaning when your back arched as she finally got you to the end, feeling ever so slightly proud of herself, and wondering why she hadn't bent you over sooner.

modern roommate!abby who proudly called you her girlfriend now when she brought you to rugby practice, pressing her lips to the top of your head before running off with a wink to go and batter some people. your eyes once again fixated on her thighs, definitely your favourite part of your girlfriend if you were quite frank. even though practice was her favourite time of week, the highlight of it really were those 'well done' hugs. only these days? she got a little kiss with them too.