#something made from stardust ( edits. )

[yukkiji]

off-camera

in the blur of spotlight and fame, a secret relationship brews between a beloved actress and japan’s star athlete—where what happens off-camera becomes the most unforgettable part of their story.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. hinata shoyo x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, smut, timeskip!hinata, actress!reader

wc: 13.8k

warning: 18+ mdni., smut. nsfw. unprotected sex. cunnilingus. spanking. pining. (inform me if there's more)

author's note: okay, hinata might be a bit of ooc here but i loved writing this and i hope you guys enjoy it!

you were a rising star in the acting industry, already building an impressive fanbase and stacking up offers—films, guestings, endorsements, you name it.

and you first met hinata shoyo during one of your guest appearances on a late-night talk show.

you knew his name—honestly, who didn’t?

a household figure in the world of volleyball, the fiery msby black jackals ace who went on to represent japan in the olympics.

he walked onto the set with that sun-bright smile, hair still slightly damp from some earlier shoot, and energy so loud it practically announced him before the host did.

you told yourself to keep it professional. he was just another guest. just another athlete doing press.

but then he sat beside you.

and leaned in.

and said, “you’re even prettier off-screen.”

like it wasn’t being recorded. like he hadn’t just derailed your entire ability to speak with one sentence, delivered so casually it almost didn’t register—until it absolutely did.

you were a professional. you were media-trained, polished, always quick with a clever reply or a charming laugh. compliments were nothing new. you heard them constantly—from directors, co-stars, hosts trying to flatter their guests. they rolled off your shoulders like wardrobe lint.

so why was hinata shoyo different?

maybe it was the way he said it, not with the usual sleazy undertone or that overconfident smugness some actors wore like cologne. no, his words were honest. teasing, sure. a little cheeky. but his eyes held nothing but admiration—like he meant it. like he’d thought it before and just didn’t bother stopping himself from saying it out loud.

and of course, you were a blushing mess.

you laughed, tried to shake it off, but your voice cracked a little when you spoke next. you avoided eye contact. your fingers tightened ever so slightly around your water bottle. and everyone noticed. the internet noticed. clips of the moment hit social media before the segment was even over.

and just when you thought you’d regained composure, the host turned to hinata with a follow-up question—something harmless about training schedules and balancing fame.

he blinked, lips parted, then smiled sheepishly before leaning into his mic and saying:

“i’m sorry, can you repeat that? i got distracted by the beauty beside me.”

you nearly choked.

the audience exploded.

your heart dropped straight into your stomach, bounced off your dignity, and kept going.

the host lost it, practically doubled over in laughter. your co-guest looked between the two of you like they were witnessing the birth of a scandal in real time. someone backstage dropped something loud.

and you? you froze. laughed. covered your face with your hands for a second before daring to look at him.

he just grinned, bright and unbothered, legs bouncing slightly like he hadn’t just shattered your entire professional facade on national television.

and in that moment—caught between the studio lights, the screaming crowd, and the burning heat crawling up your neck—you realized two things.

one: hinata shoyo was dangerously charming.

and two: you were absolutely, completely screwed.

the internet ate it up, of course.

within minutes of the episode airing, your name and his were trending side by side. edits popped up like mushrooms after rain—slow-mo replays of the moment he called you beautiful, zoom-ins of your flustered face, fan-made fancams with captions like “get yourself someone who looks at you the way hinata looks at her.”

the comment sections were feral.

“i don’t know what PR is cooking but it ain’t better than THIS.” “forget that boring actor, have you seen her smile around hinata??” “they look like a romcom waiting to happen.” “chemistry? that wasn’t chemistry, that was a collision.”

people weren’t just shipping you with hinata—they were invested. comparing photos of you beside the actor your agency was trying to push versus you beside hinata. and the verdict? unanimous.

you and hinata looked better. laughed harder. felt more real.

you scrolled through it all in the backseat of your car on the way home from the taping, trying not to smile, trying very hard not to double-tap anything.

the tweets were unhinged. the fancams were already being set to romantic bgm. and someone had somehow managed to find a frame-by-frame analysis of the exact moment you broke into a flustered smile, claiming it was “the visual representation of falling in love.”

you were about to laugh—really laugh—when your manager’s voice cut through the buzzing high of your phone screen.

"as much as possible, refrain from interacting with hinata," they said without even looking at you. their tone was clipped, scrolling through their own tablet in the passenger seat. "his image isn't what we want linked to you. the actor is much more… fitting. marketable."

you blinked.

“marketable.” like you were a product on a shelf. like genuine chemistry could be replaced with staged photo ops and forced smiles.

you didn’t reply. just locked your phone and leaned your head against the window, city lights flickering past like strobe flashes.

but even then, behind your closed eyelids, you saw his grin. heard the way he’d said “the beauty beside me” like it wasn’t a joke—like he meant it.

it replayed in your head like a scene from a movie you weren’t ready to let go of.

and fate, apparently, was a hopeless romantic.

because a few days after the interview—after your manager’s firm insistence that any interaction with hinata shoyo was off the table, sealed, buried, and locked away—you ran into him.

completely unplanned. totally unscripted.

at a small café tucked into a quiet street, the kind of place where no one cared about fame and your name wasn’t flashing on a marquee.

you were in disguise. hood up, oversized sunglasses on, one of your dad’s old college hoodies pulled over your head like it was a cloak of invisibility. you just wanted coffee and a quiet corner.

what you got instead was hinata shoyo—seated two tables away, halfway through a matcha latte and scrolling through his phone like he had no idea the universe had just handed him a plot twist.

you froze.

he didn’t.

he looked up once. blinked. tilted his head. then smiled.

of course.

he got up casually, walked over like this was the most normal thing in the world, and slid into the seat across from you before you could even decide whether to run or pretend you were someone else entirely.

"seems like fate is on our side, huh?"

his voice was just as warm as you remembered it—easy, teasing, like this was some private joke between the two of you.

you blinked at him from behind your oversized sunglasses, mouth parting in disbelief. “you’re not supposed to be here,” you whispered, even though it wasn’t exactly his fault fate had terrible timing and a flair for drama.

"funny," he said, leaning in just a little, chin in his palm, "i was about to say the same thing about you."

his eyes flicked to your hoodie, to the sunglasses, to the way you were hunched low in your seat like you were avoiding paparazzi in a spy thriller.

"and yet... here you are. incognito and all."

you gave him a look, deadpan. “i’m serious. if someone sees us—”

"then they’ll see two people enjoying coffee." he shrugged, like it really was that simple. "and maybe they'll think, ‘wow, that guy’s lucky to be sitting with someone that pretty.’”

you choked on your sip of coffee.

he smiled like he knew he got you again. like he wanted to.

and just like the night of the interview, the cameras may not have been rolling this time—

but your heart was.

recording every second.

every grin.

every word that made you forget why this was supposed to be a bad idea.

you didn’t even realize how long the two of you had been sitting there in that little corner café, tucked behind dark shades and baseball caps, fingers curled around warm mugs and stolen glances. the outside world blurred, your responsibilities momentarily quiet. it should’ve been a quick encounter—one polite hello, maybe a laugh or two before going your separate ways.

but hinata had a way of anchoring you to the moment. like gravity in the shape of a boy with a foxlike grin and eyes that sparkled when he teased.

he’d slid into the seat across from you like he’d been doing it for years, one arm slung over the backrest, the other bringing his drink to his lips. his orange hair was slightly damp, messy from what you could only assume was post-training sweat. and speaking of training—

you hadn’t meant to notice it at first. but it was hard not to.

his compression shirt hugged his torso like it was custom-made, drawing attention to the lean muscle of his shoulders, the defined curve of his biceps. he’d thrown on a hoodie, sure, but left it unzipped—like he knew exactly what he was doing. like he wanted you to look.

and god, you were trying so hard not to.

your eyes flicked up to meet his, only to find him already staring.

his grin widened.

“you okay there?” he asked, feigning innocence, tilting his head slightly. “you’ve been staring at my chest for a while now.”

you nearly choked on your coffee.

“i wasn’t—!” you started, cheeks going hot. too hot. your voice cracked halfway through the denial. “i wasn’t staring.”

he raised a brow, leaning forward just a little—elbows on the table, smug written all over his face.

“uh huh.” he glanced down at himself, then back up at you with mock curiosity. “must be something really interesting down here then.”

you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“it’s just a shirt,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

“it’s a compression shirt,” he corrected, voice low and teasing, like he was thoroughly enjoying your slow descent into flustered oblivion. “made for performance. enhances blood flow. shows muscle definition…”

he smirked.

“…clearly working, huh?”

you hated how good he was at this. how effortless he made it seem. and yet, there was nothing cruel about it—nothing that felt mean-spirited. it was light, playful. flirty. but never below the belt.

still, your hands curled tighter around your mug as you fought the urge to smile.

“you’re impossible,” you muttered.

“and you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed,” he replied without missing a beat.

you rolled your eyes, but the warmth blooming in your chest betrayed you. no matter how much you tried to play it cool, hinata had this uncanny ability to slip right under your defenses—like it was second nature to him. his teasing wasn’t just harmless fun; it felt personal. intentional. like he wanted to see the way your guard cracked every time he looked at you like that.

he took another slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving yours, then leaned in slightly—chin propped on his hand, gaze too amused for your comfort.

"i’ve been meaning to ask for your number last time,” he said, voice a touch quieter now, more intimate. “but you were whisked away like cinderella at midnight.”

you huffed a laugh, setting your mug down. “i think cinderella at least got to say goodbye. i was practically shoved into the car by my manager like i’d committed a crime.”

“well,” he shrugged with a playful glint in his eye, “you did commit one.”

you raised an eyebrow. “oh? do tell.”

he leaned in just a little closer, enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne—clean, fresh, a little woodsy. unfairly distracting.

“you stole my attention,” he said, lips twitching into a grin. “and didn’t even leave a shoe behind.”

you stared at him, momentarily stunned. how did he say things like that without flinching? without even a hint of hesitation? like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“you’re really going all in on the charm today, huh?”

he chuckled. “what can i say? i’ve got limited time. might as well make it count.”

and then, as if he hadn’t already knocked the wind out of you once, he added—softly, but without a trace of sarcasm,

"are you and that actor really a thing?"

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. it wasn’t accusatory or bitter—just curious. tentative. honest.

"no," you said, the word escaping with a sigh, your fingers absently circling the rim of your coffee cup. "pr stunt. apparently, for more exposure. buzz, clicks, articles—whatever keeps the spotlight burning."

you didn’t know why you felt the need to explain, but the moment you did, you felt lighter. like saying it out loud made it real—that you weren’t actually tied to someone else, that there was space for something else. someone else.

hinata leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment, eyes flickering down to his cup like he was turning something over in his head. and then—

"so you're saying there's a chance?" he asked, lips twitching into a grin that had no right being as endearing as it was.

you laughed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t hide the way your mouth curved, the way warmth bloomed somewhere deep in your chest again—persistent and impossible to ignore.

"you’re ridiculous," you muttered.

"but charming, right?"

your gaze flicked to his. he was relaxed in the chair, one arm casually slung over the backrest, still wearing that too-tight compression shirt that you swore he knew was unfair. it clung to him in all the right places, stretching across his chest and shoulders with an ease that made it impossible not to glance—more than once.

he caught you doing it again, of course.

"you keep looking at me like that," he teased, tilting his head, "and i’m gonna think you’re into me or something."

"maybe i’m just admiring the poor fabric trying its best to survive."

he laughed—loud and boyish and unguarded—and for a second, it made the world feel simple. like there were no managers waiting outside, no headlines looming, no risk in sitting here with him.

"next time, i’ll wear something looser," he said, still grinning.

"don’t."

the word slipped out before you could stop it, and it hung in the air between you—bold and shameless.

his eyebrows shot up. "oh?"

you cleared your throat, reaching for your drink to hide your flustered smile. "i mean... wear whatever. i don’t care."

but you did. and he knew.

and when he smiled again, this time it was softer. knowing. as if he was silently agreeing: yeah, this was definitely not a bad idea.

you shifted in your seat, heart beating far too fast for a casual café meetup, and fished your phone out of your coat pocket. with a playful raise of your brow, you slid it across the table to him.

"here—before my fairy grandmother calls and turns the carriage back into a press van."

he laughed, a real one, eyes crinkling with amusement. "so you are cinderella."

"more like cinderella with a publicist and a fake relationship contract."

"even better," he said, already tapping in his number, the screen lighting up in his hands. "means i still get to be the guy chasing you down with a glass slipper."

"or a phone number," you muttered, trying not to smile too obviously as you watched his fingers fly across the screen.

"both," he said, handing your phone back. "except i won't lose you this time."

and somehow, despite the noise of the café, despite the chaos of everything that had led to this moment, that sentence landed like a promise. it made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t want to name. not yet.

he stood then, stretching a little, and your eyes betrayed you once again—flickering briefly to the way the fabric of his compression shirt moved with him. he caught it. again.

"really should’ve worn something looser," he said with a smirk, voice just low enough to make your face heat.

"you’re impossible."

"but charming, right?" he repeated, grinning as he grabbed his drink.

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the warmth blooming under your skin as he added, just before heading to the counter to grab a napkin,

"text me when you get home. and don’t disappear this time, cinderella."

he was halfway across the café before you realized—you were already reaching for your phone. already saving his contact. already typing something with a smile you couldn’t hide anymore.

it didn’t stop there.

one secret meetup turned into two. then three. then so many that you stopped counting.

you were both careful—god, you were careful. hoodies pulled low, caps shadowing your eyes, oversized sunglasses that made you look like you stepped out of a badly disguised spy movie. it should’ve felt ridiculous. sometimes it did.

but then hinata would catch sight of you from across the court—eyes lighting up mid-warm-up, a split second longer than necessary before he returned to his team—and suddenly, it was all worth it.

you’d sit high up in the stands, blending in with the crowd. pretending not to care. pretending like your chest didn’t swell every time he made a point, like you weren’t dying to run to him when his name echoed through the stadium.

after games, sometimes he’d find a way to slip away. duck behind staff exits, or fake a phone call just long enough to sneak into the backseat of a tinted car, breathless and grinning.

“you came again?” he’d whisper, like it was still unbelievable. like your presence wasn’t the thing that kept him going through grueling practice runs and double overtime.

“wouldn’t miss it,” you’d murmur back, brushing a strand of hair out of your face before it got caught in his jacket when he leaned in.

on off days, you’d meet at quieter places—a ramen shop near the river where no one paid attention, or a convenience store at 11 p.m. with instant noodles and laughter echoing off vending machines.

you learned that he trained too hard and slept too little. that his days blurred into morning drills and late-night strategy reviews, protein shakes and aching joints. he never complained, but sometimes—just sometimes—he’d let his voice soften during your calls, the exhaustion slipping through like cracks in glass. and you’d listen, quietly, offering nothing but your presence and the occasional: “you’ve done enough today, shoyo.”

he learned you hated the fake PR relationship. that you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt whenever your team sent over a new headline pairing you with that actor. the one who barely knew anything about you. who didn’t know your favorite song, or how you hated the cold, or that you could never finish a drink without biting the straw until it was bent out of shape. hinata did. he noticed everything, quietly.

he wasn’t the jealous type, not really. not in the possessive way that made people petty or loud. but on nights when you called him after a red carpet event or a staged dinner with your so-called co-star, he’d scoff.

lightly. like it was nothing.

“looked cozy with him tonight,” he’d say, clearly not meaning it. but also clearly meaning something.

you’d roll your eyes. “we were both acting. that’s the point.”

“yeah, well,” he'd mutter, “maybe i should start showing up to premieres in a suit and pretend to be your bodyguard or something. see how he likes that.”

it made you laugh. always did. because hinata didn’t know how to be jealous in the normal way. he didn’t brood or sulk. he just... got quiet. thoughtful. like maybe he was wondering if the world would ever let you be his for real.

but he never asked you to stop. never made you choose. he just waited—trusting, steady—like someone who believed that whatever you were building together could survive the noise.

and every time you heard that soft scoff or the way he’d shift his voice, just a little sharper, a little less sunny, you wanted to say: it’s not real. he’s not you. he’ll never be you.

but instead you’d promise, “soon,” because that’s all you could offer in the quiet, secret space you and hinata had carved between the cameras. and for now, it was enough.

what surprised you most—though maybe it shouldn’t have—was that hinata wasn’t just patient. he was your biggest fan.

he made it his personal mission to collect every magazine cover you were on, even if it meant ducking into convenience stores in full hoodie-disguise, mask on, hoping no one would recognize japan’s star volleyball player clutching three copies of elle like they were limited edition.

he’d send you pictures, too—half blurry, always with a dumb grin on his face.

“guess who’s on aisle three again?” he’d text, along with a photo of your face next to some shampoo ad, and “i told the cashier i knew you. she didn’t believe me.”

he made a point to stop and stare (dramatically) at every billboard you were on, whether it was in shibuya crossing or a random subway station. once, he even asked a stranger to take a photo of him standing beneath one. arms crossed. chin tilted up.

you could see the pride in his smile, even through the screen.

“should’ve signed it for me,” he’d tease, and you could only laugh, cheeks warm with something heavier than affection—something that felt dangerously like love.

he didn’t treat your career like it was something intimidating or separate from him. he treated it like something to cheer for. something to be proud of. and in those moments, between your exhaustion and his training, you realized that hinata didn’t just see the version of you the world wanted—he saw all of you. and still, he stayed.

still, he smiled.

still, he bought every single magazine.

every cover you landed on, every spread you graced—hinata had it tucked somewhere in his apartment. he never made a big deal about it, but you’d catch glimpses: one stacked beside his bed, another on the coffee table, a few more carefully placed on a shelf like trophies he didn’t win but still celebrated.

your shared off-days were quiet rebellions against the lives you both led in public. no disguises, no handlers, no staged smiles. just dim lighting, takeout containers, and the kind of peace that only came when the world wasn’t watching.

his place was your favorite hideout. not because it was spacious (it wasn’t), or particularly tidy (it definitely wasn’t), but because it smelled like him—fabric softener and worn-in cotton and just a hint of sweat from training. real. grounding.

you’d spend hours doing absolutely nothing. tangled in his sheets or curled on his couch, limbs overlapping like it was second nature. his arm slung over your waist. your fingers tracing absentminded patterns across the ridges of his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt. breathing in sync, like you’d practiced this rhythm your whole life.

sometimes, the kisses started lazy. playful. you straddling him without meaning to, a knee on either side of his hips while you teased him about something he said, your face hovering just close enough to make him chase it. his hands would find your thighs like muscle memory, pulling you down gently until your bodies met in full.

and then it would shift—slow lips becoming deeper, hungrier. like every second spent apart had built up behind a dam now cracking under the weight of want. you kissed like you were trying to memorize each other all over again, mouths moving in sync, breaths coming faster, more uneven.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against your mouth. his palms, warm and sure, pressed into the curve of your spine, pulling you closer until your bodies aligned, chest to chest, like puzzle pieces that just fit.

his hands slid beneath the oversized hoodie you were wearing—his, of course. they moved with purpose, calloused fingertips skimming over your bare skin, teasing the soft dip of your waist before finding the swell of your breast. he cupped you gently at first, thumbs brushing just enough to draw a breathy gasp from your lips.

the sound made him smirk into the kiss, all boyish mischief and quiet satisfaction, like he was proud of himself for getting that kind of reaction from you.

“so sensitive,” he murmured against your mouth, the words a soft tease, but his tone reverent—like he was discovering something precious and trying to take his time with it.

your hips shifted instinctively, grinding down into his lap, and he let out a low, shaky breath—eyes fluttering shut as if your weight alone could undo him. his hands tightened on your waist, holding you there like he never wanted you to move. like he wanted to feel every shiver of your body right against his.

the kiss deepened again, slower this time, but still just as urgent. it was the kind of kiss that made time blur, that made your stomach flutter and your fingers twitch with the need to feel more. you could feel the heat of him through the thin barrier of clothing between you, his breath coming faster whenever you shifted just right.

his hoodie—oversized on you—was pushed up halfway by his touch, and when his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts again, you arched into him with a soft, broken sound that had him smiling into the kiss.

“you’re trouble,” he whispered, voice roughened by want, his lips ghosting along your jaw, down your neck, where he lingered just enough to leave goosebumps in his wake. “you know that?”

you mumbled something in response, too breathless to be coherent, threading your fingers through his hair again and tugging lightly—because you knew how much he liked that. and he did, a quiet groan escaping him as he pulled you closer, letting you feel just how hard it was for him to stay patient.

but you two never let it go too far. not all the way. there was a kind of tenderness in your restraint—a quiet agreement between the two of you. this wasn’t just about need. it was about trust, about the slow, magnetic pull between two people who wanted everything but weren’t in a rush to take it all at once.

still, there were moments—lazy, drawn-out nights in his apartment or yours—where your hands would wander a little more boldly. where the kisses would trail lower. where you’d end up tangled in his sheets, soft moans filling the dim light between mouthfuls of laughter and whispered promises.

and sometimes, when the tension built too high and the ache was too much to ignore, he’d take his time with you—slow, unhurried, and focused like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. and maybe in those moments, you were.

you’d sink into the couch, already breathless just from the look he gave you. and he’d kneel between your thighs, hands steady and eyes locked to yours as if asking, again, silently, for permission. and when you nodded, or whispered his name, it was like flipping a switch.

because hinata could eat like a man starved.

his mouth was reverent, like he was worshiping more than just your body. he listened to every gasp, every soft cry, adjusting his pace, his pressure, until you were arching against his tongue, one hand gripping his hair, the other over your mouth to muffle the kind of sounds the neighbors definitely didn’t need to hear.

and when he finally pulled back, lips slick and eyes heavy-lidded with pride and affection, he’d always kiss your thigh, rest his cheek against it like it was the most natural thing in the world. and you'd laugh, breathless and dazed, brushing your fingers through his hair like you couldn’t quite believe how lucky you were.

those nights weren’t about release. they were about intimacy. trust. knowing someone would learn every part of you without rushing to take all of you.

and in that slow burn, in that secret, sacred space you shared—it always felt like enough.

but maybe the tension had already reached its peak the night you went to watch one of his games, still hidden beneath a hoodie and cap, tucked into the farthest seat you could find. you weren’t supposed to be there. no one knew. but you had to see him—not through a screen or a photo or someone else’s words. you needed to watch him move. to feel that electric pull in real time.

and something inside you always shifted whenever he played.

it wasn’t just the way he moved—though that was part of it. it was the way he pushed his body past its limits, the way his jaw set with determination, the way he called for the ball like he knew the whole court belonged to him. and yes, maybe the way his arms flexed after a spike or how his shirt clung to his back didn’t help the ache low in your stomach.

you were so wound up from watching him that when your phone buzzed, and it was his name lighting up the screen—“come to my room?”—you didn’t even hesitate.

you were already halfway there when you texted back, “on my way.”

his hotel room door opened just as you were about to knock, like he’d been standing there waiting. his hair was still damp from the post-game shower, and he was dressed in just a loose shirt and sweats—but his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“you came,” he said, voice a little hoarse.

“you called,” you replied simply, stepping inside, heart pounding, heat still coiled tight in your chest from watching him earlier.

the moment the door shut behind you, it was like the space between you snapped. he didn’t waste time with small talk—just reached for you, tugged you forward, and kissed you like he needed it as badly as you did.

and you kissed him back like you’d been holding it in all night.

your back hit the wall before you even realized he was walking you there—his hands gripping your waist, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like it could anchor you through the rush of it all. his lips never left yours, moving with a hunger that had been simmering under the surface for far too long.

he kissed like he was trying to make up for every second you’d spent apart. like the crowd, the court, the noise—all of it faded the second you walked through that door.

his body pressed flush against yours, one knee sliding between your legs, widening your stance. and then his hands—hot and sure—moved under the hem of your hoodie, finding bare skin and dragging a gasp from your throat.

you moaned into his mouth, and he smiled against your lips, a low sound of satisfaction rumbling from his chest.

“missed you,” he breathed between kisses, and you could barely answer, too busy chasing the next touch, the next kiss, the next place his hands would go.

he pressed you harder into the wall like he couldn’t stand the distance between your bodies—not even an inch. not now.

not after tonight.

"baby, tell me you want this. i don't think i can hold back anymore," he said, voice low and frayed at the edges, each word pressed into your skin like a confession.

his mouth trailed down to your neck—slow, deliberate—until he found that spot, the one he knew too well. the one that always made you shiver, no matter how many times he found it.

he lingered there, lips brushing over it once, then again, just to feel the way your body reacted, the way your breath caught, the way your hands clutched tighter at his shoulders.

“right here, huh?” he murmured against your skin, the smile in his voice unmistakable. he sucked, just a little—just enough to make your knees wobble and your head fall back against the wall with a soft whimper.

you weren’t sure what gave you away first: the way your hips tilted toward him like gravity had shifted, or the way your hands were already under his shirt, dragging it up, desperate for more skin.

“yes, shoyo. please,” you moaned—soft, breathy, and unguarded.

his breath hitched at the sound, like it struck something deep inside him. your voice—like that—was a kind of possession. one no crowd, no camera, no spotlight could ever compete with. it was his, and his alone.

“you have no idea what that does to me,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours for a second, as if grounding himself. and then his lips were back on yours—slower this time, but deeper. every kiss full of something he didn’t always know how to say out loud.

his hands were on the hem of your shirt, pausing, eyes flicking up to meet yours—checking, asking without a word. you gave him a nod, barely more than a breath, but it was all he needed.

in one fluid motion, your shirt was peeled away, tossed to the floor without a second thought. his hands were reverent—warm, calloused from endless hours of practice, but gentle as they skimmed over the bare skin now exposed to him.

your pants followed shortly after, unbuttoned with trembling fingers and slipped down your legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. they were flung carelessly across the room, a forgotten casualty in the urgency that pulsed between you.

“god, you’re…” his voice trailed off as his gaze dragged over every inch of you. there was awe there. hunger, too—but not the kind that rushed. this was slower. deeper. like he wanted to savor you.

he leaned in again, pressing kisses from your collarbone to your sternum, then lower, each one leaving a trail of warmth and intent. “been thinking about this since the moment you walked into the stadium,” he murmured, lips brushing the skin just above your bra. “you drive me insane, you know that?”

you let out a small squeak when hinata suddenly lifted you with ease, strong hands gripping the underside of your thighs, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. his mouth was back on yours before your back even hit the mattress—hot, urgent, tasting of everything you’d both held back until now.

his weight hovered just enough not to crush you, but you could feel every inch of him, feel the way his restraint was fraying with every second.

your hands found his shoulders, dragging down the smooth, toned lines of his back as you gasped against his lips, “shōyō… take off your shirt too.”

he pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, chest rising and falling with sharp, shallow breaths. “yeah?” he teased, voice low, fingers already reaching for the hem of his shirt. “been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

you only bit your lip in response, watching with wide, hungry eyes as he peeled it off in one motion—revealing the full view of his sculpted chest, the lines of muscle carved from years of training, the light sheen of sweat from the game still clinging to his skin.

“this what had you distracted the whole match?” he said, leaning closer, his nose brushing yours, that teasing grin back on his face. “because i saw you. front row. couldn’t even look away when i stretched, huh?”

you hated how right he was.

and he knew it—especially when your hands slid down his chest like you were confirming every part of it was real.

his lips found your neck again, mouth warm and relentless as he left a trail of small, possessive love bites. each one pressed into the sensitive skin with just enough pressure to make you whimper, to make you shift beneath him. you knew they’d darken into purple and red by morning—badges of something secret, something sacred—and the thought made your breath hitch.

his hands slid around your back with practiced ease, fingers finding the clasp of your bra and undoing it in one smooth motion. you barely registered the sound of it being flung somewhere behind you, too focused on the way his eyes dropped, hungry and reverent all at once.

the chill of the hotel room kissed your skin, and your nipples perked up from the sudden cold—but before you could shiver, his warm palms were already there, cupping your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath catch. his thumbs brushed softly over the peaks, slow and purposeful, and the contrast of his touch against your cooled skin made your back arch almost instinctively.

he chuckled, low and warm, his breath ghosting over your collarbone. “so sensitive, baby,” he murmured, like he was committing every sound you made to memory.

his mouth dipped lower again, this time latching onto one nipple, tongue flicking in slow, teasing circles while his fingers rolled the other between his fingertips. you whimpered, hips bucking lightly beneath him, needing more—needing him.

“you always get like this for me,” he said, pulling away just long enough to whisper the words directly into your skin, “so perfect, so responsive.”

his lips latched onto your other nipple, tongue swirling, sucking gently—giving it the same slow, thorough attention while his free hand traced hot trails down your body. the pads of his fingers danced along your stomach, pausing just briefly at the waistband of your underwear before slipping beneath.

he didn’t rush. he touched you like he had all night—like he wanted to memorize every reaction.

his fingers found your clit, and he started slow, dragging them up and down with the lightest pressure, teasing, testing. your hips jerked at the contact, breath catching in your throat as he began to circle, gradually adding just enough pressure to make your thighs tense around him.

“s-shoyo. ngh,” you moaned, your voice shaky, almost pleading. “it feels so good…”

he hummed against your chest, clearly pleased by every sound that escaped your lips.

“yeah? already this wet for me, baby?” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. his fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles over your clit, then dipped down to gather more of your slickness before returning, dragging out every wave of sensitivity. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

then, without warning, one finger slid inside of you—slow but sure—stretching you just enough to make your back arch off the bed, a sharp gasp catching in your throat.

“sh-shoyo—” you breathed, hips pushing forward instinctively.

his lips never left your skin, still trailing across your chest—kissing, sucking, his tongue flicking over your nipple with slow, deliberate devotion. every movement was purposeful, almost reverent. he touched you like you were sacred—like he needed to memorize the taste of your skin, the way your body reacted to him, every breathless sound he pulled from your lips.

then, he added another finger—sliding in beside the first, curling just right. your hips jolted as another moan escaped you, raw and needy. and when a third joined, moving in rhythm, his palm grinding softly against your clit, you swore you could’ve come undone right then. just from his fingers. just from his mouth on your chest.

“gonna cum, baby?” he asked, voice low and thick, his lips now hovering over yours.

you nodded quickly, almost desperate—but he pulled back just an inch, teasing.

“i want words, baby. tell me.”

“yes—ugh, shoyo—please, i’m gonna cum,” you gasped, barely holding it in.

that was all it took for him to smile, all soft and satisfied, before kissing you again—deep, consuming, like he wanted to feel your pleasure through your mouth.

and then it hit—your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, white-hot and blinding. your body arched, back lifting from the sheets, thighs trembling around his hand. for a moment, everything blurred, all thought wiped away by the intensity of it. all you could see were stars behind your closed eyes.

then, gently, his hand moved up to your cheek, brushing back a few damp strands of hair. his thumb caressed your skin, grounding you, coaxing you back into your body.

“you did so good,” he murmured, voice soft but thick with heat. his eyes were locked on yours, gaze heavy with something deeper—affection, need, pride. “my good girl.”

he pressed a kiss to your lips, slow and reassuring. but when he pulled back, the smirk that curved his mouth told you everything.

“but we’re not done yet.”

true to his words, hinata pulled you toward the edge of the bed, his hands firm but gentle as he guided you exactly where he wanted you. he dropped to his knees before you, eyes dark with hunger as they swept over your body—bare, flushed, and still trembling from your last orgasm.

your soaked panties were peeled off slowly, almost teasingly, before being tossed aside to join the scattered pile of clothes on the floor.

you were completely bare now. exposed. vulnerable. wanted.

his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them with ease, and he looked up at you like you were the only thing that existed.

“all mine,” he murmured, voice low, reverent. “so fucking beautiful.”

then he leaned in.

his tongue met your folds with no hesitation—lapping you up like he’d been craving you for days. it was messy, intense, almost greedy. he flattened his tongue against your clit, dragging slow, deliberate strokes before switching to firm, rhythmic suction that made your hips jerk and a strangled moan catch in your throat.

“fuck—shoyo,” you gasped, hand flying to his hair, fingers curling tight as he buried himself deeper.

hinata always ate you out like this. like he worshipped the taste of you. like your body was something sacred and he was the only one allowed to kneel before it. each lick, each suck, each flick of his tongue was laced with the kind of hunger that left your legs shaking around his head.

he moaned against you—low and guttural—the vibration making your toes curl. he thrived on the way you trembled, on the way your thighs tried to clamp shut around his face. and he didn’t stop. not when you cried out, not when your hips bucked up against his mouth. in fact, he gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open like a man on a mission.

“so fucking sweet,” he murmured between strokes, “you were made for this.”

your hands moved instinctively, cupping your breasts and squeezing, thumbing over your own nipples in desperate search of more friction—more of everything. and hinata looked up just long enough to see you like that—head thrown back, lips parted, hands on your chest as your body begged for more.

god, he nearly lost it right there.

“fuck—baby,” he groaned, voice rough with want, “you’re gonna make me cum just watching you touch yourself like that.”

but he didn’t stop. if anything, it spurred him on—his mouth working even faster, tongue flicking and circling your clit with purpose. his grip on your thighs tightened, dragging you impossibly closer to the edge of the bed, like he needed to be closer, like he’d crawl inside you if he could.

every moan you let out, every tremble in your legs, was feeding something wild in him. it lit him up from the inside, drove him deeper into you with an intensity that felt almost primal. he wasn’t stopping—not until you were unraveling again, trembling and wrecked, completely his.

“sho—i’m coming,” you gasped, voice breaking on the edge of a cry.

hinata looked up briefly, his eyes dark and full of hunger, lips glistening with your slick. “go on, baby,” he said, voice low and rough, like gravel and heat. “cum for me. i want it—need it.”

and with that, his mouth was back on you, sucking and licking like he knew every spot that made you come undone. it didn’t take long—your second orgasm slammed into you like a jolt of lightning, thighs tightening around his head, body convulsing under the weight of your release. your hands gripped the sheets, breath catching in your throat as the pleasure surged through you.

he didn’t stop until your legs were trembling, twitching from overstimulation, and your breath came in broken gasps. only then did he slow, tongue now soft and lazy, his lips trailing reverent kisses along your inner thighs—like he was thanking you for letting him worship you.

hinata rose from between your legs, crawling back up your body. his hands smoothed over your sides, warm and grounding, gently coaxing you back to earth. he pressed his lips to your shoulder, then your collarbone, each kiss a soft anchor.

“still want to continue?” he murmured between kisses, voice low, tender—but laced with heat.

his eyes searched yours, fingers still drawing slow, soothing circles on your hips, grounding you in the moment. there was no rush in him now—just heat, reverence, and something deeper.

“of course,” you whispered, voice a little hoarse from all the moaning, but filled with certainty. your hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing just beneath his eye. he leaned into your touch instantly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, as if grounding himself in you.

“my girl,” he breathed, so softly it was almost a prayer, before he kissed your palm, then your lips again—slower this time, but no less hungry.

with gentle care, hinata shifted beside you, adjusting your position so you were lying comfortably against the pillows. he smoothed your hair back from your face and tucked a pillow beneath your lower back, like he knew exactly what your body needed after everything.

“there,” he murmured, voice still thick with affection and desire, “comfy?”

you nodded, heart fluttering as he kissed your forehead, then your jaw, then trailed lower again, as if starting all over—but this time, slower, deeper, more deliberate.

he wasn’t just taking his time now. he was savoring you.

your hand trailed slowly down his chest, fingertips brushing over his skin with intent. you felt the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch—every inch of him responding to you. your fingers reached the waistband of his sweats, tugging at the knot, and without hesitation, hinata helped you, quickly shimmying out of them, his boxers following right after.

your hand wrapped around his length, warm and pulsing in your grip. he hissed softly through his teeth, his hips twitching at your touch. he was big—thick and long, the veins along his shaft prominent beneath your fingers. the sight of him, paired with the heat radiating off his body, had your mouth watering and your core clenching in anticipation.

hinata’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as you stroked him slowly, your thumb grazing the bead of precum that had gathered at the tip.

“fuck,” he breathed, voice rough and low, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

your body was already responding to him again, the ache between your thighs growing deeper, wetter, as you imagined what it would feel like to have him inside you—stretching, filling, claiming. your legs shifted restlessly beneath him, need blooming hot and fast all over again.

“shoyo, can i suck?” you asked, voice soft, eyes wide and innocent—but laced with heat. hinata swore under his breath, jaw tightening at the sight of you like that, looking up at him so sweet and desperate.

he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours as he chuckled lowly. “not now, baby. maybe next time, yeah?”

you pouted, lips pushing out slightly, and it only made his cock twitch in your hand. but he just shook his head, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“i want to pleasure you,” he murmured, voice deep with intent, “tonight’s all about you.”

he kisses you again—slow and warm, with a hint of growing urgency—before pulling back just enough to reach toward the drawer beside the bed.

his brows furrowed a little as he rummaged through it. “shit,” he muttered under his breath, still searching.

you bit back a smile, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. “can’t find it?”

“i swear i put one in here,” he grumbled, lifting and shuffling through random things—lip balm, a stray pen, an old receipt—everything but what he needed.

“it’s okay,” you said softly, resting a hand on his arm. “i’m on the pill.”

he paused, eyes flicking to yours, the heat in them momentarily eclipsed by something tender—concern.

“are you sure, baby?” his voice was low, careful, but laced with desire.

you nodded, your thumb brushing slow circles against his skin. “you don’t have to worry about going raw with me.”

his jaw flexed, clearly affected, and he leaned in to kiss you—slow, deep, reverent. when he pulled back, his voice was rough with restraint.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

he pulls you closer, one hand gripping your hip as the other wraps around his cock. he drags the head through your folds, teasing your clit, smearing your slick over the tip and down his length. the sensation makes you gasp, hips twitching toward him.

“so wet already,” he groans, his voice low and shaky, “all for me, huh?”

he keeps rubbing the tip against you, slow and deliberate, letting the tension build. every little twitch in your thighs, every stuttered breath, was making him lose his mind.

“fuck, shoyo, stop teasing.”

your voice was breathless, almost whining, and it made him smirk—eyes dark with want.

“can’t help it,” he murmured, dragging the head of his cock over your entrance one more time, just to hear you gasp. “you’re too perfect like this. squirming for me.”

but then he leaned down, kissed you like he couldn’t bear to wait any longer—and he didn’t.

with one slow, steady push, he began to slide in, inch by inch, filling you completely.

he was big—thicker, longer than anyone you’d ever had—and your walls clung to him greedily, stretching around every inch. it burned in the best way, a slow, delicious ache that had your breath catching in your throat.

your eyes fluttered open as you pulled back from the kiss, gasping. instinctively, you looked down between you, where your bodies met—where his cock was slowly sinking deeper into you—and your stomach flipped at the sight. he wasn’t even all the way in, just halfway, but you already felt impossibly full.

“fuck,” you whispered, legs trembling, fingers digging into his shoulders. “shoyo, you’re… so big.”

he groaned, low and strained, watching every twitch in your face with hungry eyes. “you’re taking me so well, baby,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “so tight… feel so fucking good around me.”

you could feel your eyes roll to the back of your head the moment he finally bottomed out—every inch of him snug inside you, stretching you just right. your breath hitched, and your nails dug slightly into his back as you tried to ground yourself.

hinata paused there, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against yours. he was breathing just as hard, holding himself still for you, his hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. his restraint was barely holding, his muscles trembling with it.

“you okay?” he whispered, voice rough and shaky.

you nodded, lips brushing his. “you can move now, shoyo. please.”

that was all he needed.

hinata moved with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface—now unleashed. his thrusts were deep and purposeful, hitting all the right spots with practiced ease. it was overwhelming in the best way, the drag and push of him inside you sending your mind spiraling.

he was feral, and you loved every second of it.

the way he gripped your thighs, the way his hips slammed against yours—it was like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have enough of you. each thrust had your breath catching, your moans spilling freely into the air between you.

and god, the sounds—skin meeting skin, his low groans, your gasps—they could send you straight into cloud nine.

his name tumbled from your lips like a chant—shoyo, shoyo, shoyo—your nails digging into his back as he fucked you like he needed you to breathe. his pace was relentless, but not careless; he knew your body too well, chasing every twitch, every gasp, every tremble like it was a reward.

“look at you,” he gritted out, sweat dripping from his brow as he hovered over you, his thumb finding your clit and circling it just right. “taking me so fucking good.”

“fuck—look at that,” he growled, eyes glued to where your bodies met. his cock twitched deep inside you at the sight of your slick coating him, a creamy ring forming at the base. “you’re making such a mess on me, baby.”

his thrusts deepened, slow but punishing, each one pulling a gasp or moan from your lips. his thumb never let up on your clit, drawing tight circles that made your thighs tremble around his hips.

“feel that?” he groaned, pressing your hand down gently against your own lower belly, his eyes locked on yours, dark and wild with desire. “that’s me—so deep inside you.”

you could feel it—his cock, thick and pulsing, pressing against your insides from the inside out. the sensation made your breath hitch, made your body clench tight around him, earning a low, broken moan from his lips.

“fuck, baby… you’re so wet,” he muttered, hips rolling with deeper intent now, grinding into you as if he wanted to mold himself to every part of you. “can feel you dripping all over me.”

your body was burning, shaking with overstimulation and pleasure—but the way he moved, touched, and praised you only made the fire grow hotter.

“you gonna cum for me again?” he asked, thumb working your clit faster now. “wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

"yes shoyo, fuck, i'm cumming," you moaned.

hinata pulled out just slightly before slamming back in, his thrusts becoming more erratic, rougher, deeper—chasing both your highs like he needed it to breathe.

the only words you could form were broken chants of his name, over and over, like a prayer on your tongue—and he loved it. every sound you made pushed him closer to the edge.

hinata's eyes were wide in awe at the sight before him. you looked breathtaking—mouth open in bliss, chanting his name like it was the only word you knew, your tits bouncing with every deep thrust, decorated with the red and purple marks he'd left across your skin.

to him, you weren’t just beautiful. you were a goddess—divine, untouchable, and yet here you were, unraveling just for him.

he lets out a deep, guttural groan as he feels your walls clench tighter around him. you were so close—he could feel it in the way your body trembled, in the desperate way you held onto him. and fuck, so was he.

“come on, baby,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, breath shaky against your ear. “cum for me. i wanna feel you fall apart around me.”

his thrusts were deeper now, heavier—less rhythm, more need. the way you clenched around him, warm and tight, was making him unravel faster than he wanted to admit. but he held on, just long enough to get you there.

his thumb found your clit again, circling it with practiced pressure. your moans grew higher, breathier, body tensing beneath him. your hands clawed at his back, nails dragging down as the pleasure built and built until you couldn’t take it anymore.

you cried out his name, voice breaking, back arching off the mattress as your orgasm slammed into you like a wave. your whole body shook with it—legs trembling, walls fluttering around him so tightly he almost saw stars.

“that’s it,” he groaned, watching you fall apart completely. “just like that, baby. fuck—”

the way you squeezed him, so wet, so perfect, pushed him right over the edge. with a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, broken moan, spilling inside you. his hips stilled, trembling slightly, chest heaving as he pressed his forehead against yours.

you both stayed like that for a moment, breath mingling, skin hot and slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync.

“fuck… you’re perfect,” he murmured again, softer this time, almost reverent. his arms wrapped around you protectively, pulling you into his chest like you were something fragile and precious.

your fingers found his hair, running through it gently, grounding both of you. and for a few quiet seconds, the world disappeared—just him, just you, tangled in warmth and something deeper than either of you could name.

hinata leans in, breath still heavy, and begins peppering your face with soft kisses—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, anywhere his lips could reach. between each kiss, he mumbled in that warm, husky voice, “good girl… so good for me… fuck, you’re amazing…”

his fingers gently ran up and down your sides, grounding you as your body slowly came down from the high. you were still shaking slightly, but his touch was tender, soothing. each press of his lips felt like reassurance, like he couldn’t get enough of you—not just the sex, but you.

“you did so good,” he whispered again, eyes soft as they met yours. “you’re everything.”

he pulled you closer into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. his hand rubbed your back in slow, lazy circles while he continued to kiss your hairline.

of course, it didn’t stop with just one round.

the two of you were insatiable—drunk on each other, on every touch, every kiss, every moan that fell between tangled sheets. it was like something had snapped the moment he first slid into you, and now, neither of you could stop. time blurred, and the only thing that mattered was the way you felt in his arms, how perfectly your bodies moved together.

at one point, you were straddling him, thighs shaking but determined, riding his cock at your own rhythm. hinata laid beneath you, flushed and panting, his eyes dark with lust and adoration. his hands roamed your waist, guiding your movements as his mouth latched onto your breasts—kissing, licking, sucking like he couldn't get enough. he moaned against your skin every time you sank down fully, the wet drag of your bodies moving together making you both shudder.

"just like that, baby… ride me," he whispered, voice hoarse, lips brushing against your nipple. your name tumbled from his lips like a prayer, like you were something divine—something to be worshipped.

but he needed more.

he flipped you over with ease, manhandling you like you weighed nothing. the next thing you knew, you were on your knees, face down in the pillows, your ass raised high for him. he knelt behind you, hands spreading your cheeks as he watched his cock slide back into you with ease, slick from everything you’d already shared. the angle had you seeing stars instantly, your cries muffled in the sheets.

"fuck, look at this pussy... taking me so good," he groaned, leaning forward to press his chest against your back, his hand wrapping around both your wrists and pinning them behind you. you felt so exposed, so completely at his mercy—and you loved it.

his free hand found your hip, pulling you back into him with every thrust, and then—

smack.

his palm came down on your ass, the sting blooming across your skin and making you clench around him. he grunted, losing himself a little more every time your body reacted like that.

your mind was a haze of heat and pleasure, completely undone. words stopped making sense. all you could manage were broken, breathless moans and endless chants of his name.

you had no idea how many times you'd come—three? five? more?—but every time you thought you couldn’t take anymore, hinata gave you another reason to fall apart.

he never once let you go untouched. his lips, his hands, his voice—they were all over you. his mouth kissed your spine, your shoulders, your neck. he kept whispering filthy praise, calling you his good girl, his perfect baby, his everything.

"you’re so fucking pretty when you fall apart for me," he breathed, fingers digging into your waist. "so tight—so wet. fuck, i can’t get enough."

your legs trembled, body slick with sweat, sheets tangled around your limbs—but still, you wanted more. and so did he.

and long into the night, even when your body was too spent to move, he’d still be touching you, still be pressing kisses to your skin, still making you feel wanted, worshipped—completely his.

because this wasn’t just about sex.

it was about you. and for hinata, that was everything.

you thought you were done.

your bodies were sore, your legs barely steady, and your throats hoarse from the moaning, the whispering, the breathless gasps that filled every corner of the room. the sheets were a mess—damp and tangled, the air heavy with heat and the scent of shared pleasure. both of you were exhausted, limbs tangled together as your chests rose and fell in sync, basking in the quiet aftermath.

but hinata wasn’t quite finished.

"come on," he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to your temple as he stood. "we need a shower."

you groaned, muscles aching, but followed him into the bathroom, your hand resting in his like it belonged there. warm water began to cascade down, steam rising around you both as you stepped in together. he pulled you close beneath the stream, hands gliding over your skin with tender intent, washing away the sweat and evidence of everything you'd shared—at least, on the surface.

his fingers lingered a little too long. his gaze roamed, a spark reigniting behind those warm brown eyes. his touch shifted from gentle to teasing—thumb brushing over your nipple, hands sliding down the curve of your waist, his body pressing against yours from behind.

"i know we should stop," he whispered against your ear, his breath hot, "but you feel too good… i can't help it."

before you could answer, he was inside you again—slow, deep, the water masking your gasp as your hand gripped the slick wall for balance. you were already so full from the night, overstimulated and tender, but that only made every thrust feel more intense. every inch of him hit home, coaxing another wave of pleasure from a body that didn’t know it could take more.

"shoyo—" you whimpered, your voice trembling, but he only shushed you with a kiss to your shoulder, his pace steady, deliberate.

"just one more," he promised. “wanna feel you like this. warm, wet… mine.”

the water dripped down your bodies, slicking your skin as your back arched into him. he held you tight—one hand on your waist, the other slipping between your legs again, determined to wring out one last climax from you. and when you came, trembling under his touch, your name a breathless whisper on his lips, he followed not long after, burying himself deep with a groan of your name.

you leaned back into his chest, heart racing, your body humming with aftershocks.

and this time, when he washed you gently, carefully, whispering soft “thank yous” and “i love yous” between kisses, you knew—for sure—you weren’t just full of him.

you were full of something deeper. something lasting. something real.

you woke up the next morning feeling sore in places you didn’t even know could ache. every little movement reminded you of the night before—of his hands gripping your hips, his mouth trailing heat down your skin, the way your bodies moved together again and again until you both lost count.

but the ache was worth it.

you turned your head and smiled softly at the sight beside you—hinata, fast asleep, hair tousled and lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. his body bore the evidence of everything you gave him. faint red scratches down his back, purpling love bites along his collarbone and shoulders—your marks, painted proudly on his skin.

he looked peaceful, completely undone, and yet, wholly yours.

you reached out and gently traced a finger down one of the marks on his side, careful not to wake him. he stirred a little, brow twitching, but didn’t open his eyes—just moved closer, as if even in sleep, he needed to be near you.

your heart swelled.

yeah, you were sore. but if this was the price for being loved by him—touched, marked, and held like that—it was worth every single bruise, every ache, every breathless moment.

and you’d do it all over again.

you reached over to the bedside table, grabbing your phone with a quiet click of the screen. the morning light filtered perfectly through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the room. it was calm, warm—the kind of stillness that made everything feel dreamlike.

slipping on hinata’s hoodie, the fabric smelled like him—clean sweat, a hint of his shampoo, and something distinctly him. it was oversized on you, falling mid-thigh and completely swallowing your frame. the warmth of it soothed your sore muscles, a comforting reminder of last night.

you padded across the room toward the mirror, tucking strands of messy hair behind your ear. something about the glow in the room and the way the hoodie fell just right made you pause. you lifted your phone, angled it slightly, and snapped a mirror selfie.

it was casual, almost innocent at a glance—hoodie-wrapped, bare legs, no makeup, just soft morning light on bare skin. but if someone looked closer, really looked, they might notice the faint silhouette behind you. hinata’s muscular back, the curve of his shoulders half-covered by the sheets, was just barely visible in the corner of the frame. not enough to be obvious—just enough to hint.

you posted it anyway. no caption, just the image.

you laid back down on the bed, the soft mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight as you turned to face him. hinata was still asleep, his breaths slow and even, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that calmed you instantly.

the golden morning light streamed lazily through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room—and across him. it kissed his skin in the most delicate way, highlighting every dip and curve of his toned body. the tan of his skin looked impossibly rich in this light, glowing like sun-warmed bronze.

hinata’s eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the soft golden light filtering through the curtains. it took him a second to focus, but the moment he saw you—curled beside him, wearing his hoodie, your hair a little messy and your lips curved in a sleepy smile—his heart felt like it might burst.

a soft, warm smile spread across his face as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“good morning, baby,” he murmured, his voice still raspy from sleep.

he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth waking up to. his thumb brushed gently across your cheekbone, his touch lazy, affectionate. “you look so pretty right now,” he added, voice low, like he didn’t want to break the calm.

you leaned into his touch, your nose brushing against his. “you’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, and he chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close until your foreheads touched. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his tone more serious, concern hidden beneath the warmth in his voice.

“sore,” you admitted, with a grin. “but worth it.”

hinata let out a low laugh and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i went a little crazy, huh?”

you shrugged, playful. “you were just passionate.”

his grin widened. “and you were perfect.”

his hands slid down to your thighs, warm and familiar, fingers tracing soft circles against your skin. slowly, deliberately, they inched higher, slipping beneath the oversized hoodie you wore—his hoodie. his touch was gentle, teasing, but purposeful.

“shoyo,” you whined, shifting slightly under his hand, “stop... i’m still sore.”

he paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, a crooked smile forming on his lips. “sorry,” he murmured, not sounding sorry at all. “can’t help it. you’re just too pretty like this.”

his fingers rested just at the edge of your folds, not pressing further—just staying there, tempting. he leaned in, brushing his lips along your jaw, then your neck, slow and unhurried.

“i won’t do anything,” he whispered, voice low and soft. “just touching... promise.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the way your breath hitched when his thumb gently caressed the inside of your thigh, the sensation light but electric. he was taking his time, just enjoying the way your body responded to his touch—even in your sore, sensitive state.

“you’re insatiable,” you mumbled, barely suppressing a small gasp.

“only with you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, grinning against your skin. “besides... we don’t have to do anything. i just wanna feel you.”

his fingers traced the delicate curve of your folds, barely touching, just enough to make you shiver. the teasing motion sent a spark straight through your core, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that slipped past your lips.

“shoyo…” you breathed, your voice already tinged with need despite the soreness lingering in your body.

he grinned against your skin, lips ghosting over your neck as he murmured, “mm, hear that? you’re already getting wet for me again.”

his fingers moved a little more deliberately now—slow, featherlight strokes that made your thighs twitch and your breath hitch. the hoodie you wore suddenly felt too warm, too heavy, as heat bloomed between your legs.

you buried your face in the crook of his neck, hiding the way your cheeks burned. “you’re unbelievable,” you whispered, hips tilting just barely into his touch, betraying your own resistance.

“i could say the same about you,” he chuckled, fingers now slick with your arousal. “still sore, but your body’s already begging for more.”

his free hand slid up your back, holding you close while the other toyed with you—slow, careful circles that had your stomach tightening all over again. it was maddening, how easily he could unravel you even in the quiet, golden light of morning.

“just a little more,” he whispered. “let me make you feel good again.”

hinata was insatiable, and despite the soreness still lingering in your muscles, you found yourself on top of him once again. his hoodie was now discarded and crumpled beside the bed, long forgotten in the heat that bloomed between your bodies.

your thighs trembled slightly as you straddled him, but his hands on your hips steadied you—warm, firm, possessive. his mouth was latched onto your nipple, tongue flicking and lips sucking greedily, like he couldn’t get enough of you. soft whines and gasps spilled from your mouth as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin, leaving faint love bites in his wake.

“you drive me crazy,” he murmured against your chest, voice husky, breath warm.

you began to roll your hips slowly, your slick folds gliding over him, teasing him both with friction and restraint. he groaned, his head tipping back against the pillow, the veins on his neck straining as he fought to hold himself back.

your hands splayed over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palms, and you smiled—half dazed, half wicked—as you sank down on him again.

his cock filled you deeply, stretching you open all over again, and your moan echoed his own. your pace started slow, deliberate, savoring every inch as your walls clenched around him.

“fuck—just like that,” he gritted out, hands tightening on your waist as you bounced on his cock, the wet sound of skin against skin filling the room.

every movement made your breasts bounce, and he couldn’t help but sit up, wrapping his arms around you, mouth finding your chest again as if he’d been starved for it.

“you’re so perfect like this,” he murmured between kisses. “riding me like you were made for it.”

and in that moment, with the sunlight casting a golden glow across your bare skin and his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer, it was impossible to disagree. every thrust, every moan, every desperate kiss he pressed to your collarbone made you feel like the center of his world—and you basked in it, drowning in the overwhelming pleasure only he could pull from you.

of course, hinata didn’t stop until he’d wrung two more orgasms from you—each one more intense than the last. your body trembled, overstimulated and utterly spent, but he held you through it, whispering soft praise and brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

“that’s it, baby… you’re amazing,” he murmured, voice rough but tender as he kissed your temple.

by the time he pulled the blankets over both of you, tucking you into his chest, you were already slipping back into sleep. your breathing slowed, your limbs heavy and warm, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek.

he held you close, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist, his lips resting against your forehead as the morning quiet settled around you both.

when you woke up again you felt the other side of the bed empty.

"he probably went to the gym."

your guess was spot on the moment you saw the instagram notification pop up on your screen: shoyo_hinata just posted a photo.

curious, you opened it—only to nearly choke on your own breath. it was a picture of his back, shirtless, his toned muscles on full display and unmistakably covered in fresh scratch marks. red, raw, and clearly recent. and the caption? just a smirking emoji and a volleyball. classic hinata. subtle, but not really.

your own post from earlier—taken just an hour before—was now blowing up too. the mirror selfie you’d casually posted in his hoodie, his faint silhouette in the background, had fans in full detective mode. and they were ruthless.

your notifications were in chaos.

@spikemyheart: OH MY GOD IS THAT HINATA IN THE BACK??? @liberoinmydreams: wait the scratch marks on his post… YOU DID THAT??? @sweatyforthevballboys: y’all are literally feral i’m not even mad @kneesforhinata: this is so nsfw and i LOVE IT @softservequeen: you’re sore aren’t you. blink twice if you need electrolytes 💀

later that afternoon, hinata came back to the hotel room, still a little damp from the post-training shower he’d taken at the venue, his bag slung over his shoulder and a smug grin playing on his lips.

he dropped the bag by the door, immediately walking over to where you were lounging on the bed, scrolling through your phone—still trying to recover from the wild fan theories flooding your dms and comments.

“so…” he started, plopping down beside you and tugging you close until you were tucked against his chest. “guess the internet had a little meltdown today, huh?”

you groaned, hiding your face against his neck. “don’t even start. some people are already making tiktoks syncing the posts with timestamps and analyzing the lighting.”

hinata chuckled, low and satisfied. “well… serves them right. we were subtle. kinda.”

you looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “subtle? you posted your back covered in scratches like you just survived a bear attack.”

he shrugged, clearly unbothered. “what? it’s art.”

then he tilted his head slightly, grin turning mischievous. “but hey…” he leaned in, brushing his lips just shy of your ear. “you think they’re still gonna link you with that actor now?”

you stiffened, pulling back to stare at him. “shoyo—”

he laughed, fully amused at your expression. “what? just saying. guess they know exactly who made those marks now, huh?”

you smacked his shoulder lightly, cheeks burning. “you’re impossible.”

“mmh. maybe. but at least now they know you’re mine.” he said it so easily, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

as if on cue, your phone buzzed in your hand, screen lighting up with a message from your pr team:

[urgent – need you at the office asap. call when you’re en route.]

you stared at it for a moment, dread pooling in your stomach. hinata glanced down at your expression, then raised a brow. “bad timing?”

you sighed, sitting up slowly and tossing your phone onto the bed with a groan. “it’s my pr team. i think they saw the posts.”

he leaned back on his hands, clearly not surprised. “oh, now they noticed?”

you shot him a look. “they’re probably trying to figure out how to spin this before it explodes more than it already has.”

hinata just grinned, watching you pull his hoodie back on. “want me to say i scratched myself in my sleep?”

you blinked at him, deadpan. “please never say that in front of my publicist.”

he chuckled, standing up and helping you gather your things, stealing a kiss here and there as you tried to get dressed. “don’t stress, babe. worst case, we just tell them the truth.”

“that i spent the weekend getting railed by japan’s volleyball star?”

“well…” he smirked, leaning in to kiss your neck. “worked out pretty great for both our engagement, didn’t it?”

you shook your head, unable to fight your smile as you grabbed your phone again. chaos or not, the internet could wait. but your publicist definitely couldn’t.

you sat inside the sleek glass-walled conference room of your agency’s office, dressed in a hoodie you borrowed (stole) from hinata’s suitcase and a pair of oversized sunglasses to shield your face from curious stares. despite the casual outfit, the room was filled with an unmistakable energy. your manager, two assistants, and even someone from the PR team were all seated across the table — and right next to you was hinata, legs sprawled, hand casually resting on your thigh under the table like this wasn’t the most high-stakes meeting of your month.

you felt slightly overwhelmed, if not dazed, from the sudden turn your morning had taken. not even an hour ago, you were in bed, your hair still damp from a too-long shower turned… something else. now you were staring at a stack of documents and your manager practically vibrating with excitement.

“okay, i’m just going to say it,” your manager started, slapping a stack of printouts on the table. “this is insane — and i mean that in the best way possible.”

you raised a brow. “what is?”

“you. hinata. the photo. both of your photos. the internet basically exploded.” she turned a few pages, revealing printed-out screenshots of social media reactions. “you broke the algorithm.”

hinata leaned in, amused, as your manager continued. “people figured it out immediately. ‘oh my god, is that hinata’s back?’ ‘are those her nails on his shoulder?’ and don’t get me started on the slow-motion analysis videos on tiktok.”

you felt heat rise to your cheeks. “they’re analyzing the nails?”

“yes,” one of the assistants chimed in. “there’s already a fan account documenting your ‘secret soft launch’ relationship timeline.”

hinata chuckled beside you. “i told you they’d figure it out. you think they’re still gonna link you with that actor guy now?”

you shot him a side glance. “i forgot about him.”

“your pr team didn’t,” said the woman from PR, adjusting her glasses. “but don’t worry. that ship has officially sailed. now, onto the real news…”

she pulled up a presentation on her laptop and turned it toward you. “endorsements. projects. appearances. not just for you individually — but together. turns out, everyone wants a piece of the ‘it couple.’”

you stared at the screen in disbelief. makeup brands, fashion lines, travel companies, even a luxury watch brand — all with interest in pairing you and hinata together for campaigns. one of them was a magazine shoot titled undeniable chemistry. another was a high-profile drama offer for a couple-centric storyline, with an optional steamy twist if “the actors are comfortable.”

hinata whistled under his breath. “we’re gonna be busy.”

your manager grinned. “if you say yes to even half of these, you’re set for the year.”

you leaned back in your chair, overwhelmed but not entirely displeased. the idea of working so closely with hinata was… distracting in a way that made your stomach flutter. he must’ve sensed it, because his thumb gently rubbed slow circles on your thigh under the table.

“so,” your manager asked, eyes expectant. “do we want to ride the wave?”

hinata answered before you could. “yeah. we’re in.”

you looked at him, wide-eyed. “you’re just going to agree to everything?”

“not everything,” he said, smirking. “but the stuff with you? absolutely.”

you tried to play it cool, but the way his voice dipped lower at the end made something in you stir. you crossed your legs, subtly pressing them together.

“fine,” you said, clearing your throat. “we’ll look through the offers.”

“great,” the PR rep said. “oh, and… try to keep it PG for a bit. at least until the magazine cover drops.”

hinata gave a lazy shrug. “no promises.”

you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “this is going to be a lot.”

“maybe,” hinata said, grinning at you sideways. “but at least it’ll be fun.”

and deep down, even with your nerves tangled and your heart racing, you knew he was right.

you eventually left the meeting with a folder full of contracts, a dozen potential collaborations swirling in your head, and hinata’s hand still comfortably entwined with yours. the hallway buzzed with agency staff and interns sneaking glances, whispering to each other, probably already texting their friends about seeing you two together in person.

as the elevator doors closed, hinata leaned against the mirrored wall, watching you with that lazy, satisfied smile.

“you good?” he asked, voice softer now that it was just the two of you.

you looked down at your reflection, then up at his. “i don’t know. i think so? it’s a lot. but also kind of… exciting.”

he tilted his head. “scary?”

“a little,” you admitted.

hinata reached out, brushing your hair behind your ear. “well, don’t worry. we’ll figure it out.”

“you sure about that?”

he leaned in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “you’re stuck with me now. might as well enjoy it.”

you laughed under your breath, eyes fluttering shut for just a second, letting the moment settle. the doors opened with a soft ding, and the sunlight poured in once more, casting that same golden glow that started this whole thing.

you stepped out together — not just into the lobby, not just into a brand-new set of projects and headlines — but into something that felt, for once, completely right.

you didn’t look back.

[lazysoulwriter]

sand and stardust - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you. ♡ content: slowburn, soft nostalgia, Pedro being in love™, behind the scenes of GOT, cultural pride, mentions of fame and fan love, married fluff, portuguese phrases, real soft and romantic. Pedro Pascal x Brazilian!actress

---

You met Pedro in the kind of heat that made your costume stick to your skin. The Dornish sun—well, the set lights pretending to be it—shone harshly against the gold jewelry hanging from your ears, and you remember adjusting your stance for the fifth time while someone off-screen yelled about shadows.

“You alright there?” came his voice, a little raspy, a little teasing.

You turned—and there he was, Oberyn Martell himself, giving you a crooked smile and holding out a bottle of water like he already knew you'd forget to stay hydrated.

“Só se for com você por perto,” you replied before you could stop yourself. (Only if you’re around)

Pedro blinked. “Wait. Was that Portuguese?”

You tilted your head, smirking. “What, the Chilean didn’t expect a Brazilian on set?”

And that was it.

A spark, a crackle, the kind of thing that doesn't burst into flames right away, but smolders for months. Pedro made you laugh between takes. You helped him with lines when he fumbled through Valyrian. He kept showing up early, claiming it was for “professionalism,” but he was always just waiting to catch a glimpse of you first.

By the time the Game of Thrones premiere came around, people noticed how close you were. But you weren’t loud about it. You never needed to be.

Years passed, roles came and went. You both worked on opposite ends of the world sometimes, but your roots were already tangled.

When Pedro got cast in The Mandalorian, he brought you to the set like a good luck charm. When you starred in a critically acclaimed Brazilian film, he showed up in São Paulo with flowers and a front row seat.

Your fans? Ferociously loyal. One Twitter thread called you two “the last real love story in Hollywood,” and someone else made a fancam that used a vintage filter and “Garota de Ipanema” in the background.

“I think they love us more than we do,” you teased once, scrolling through edits as you lay tangled in your shared sheets.

Pedro kissed your bare shoulder, still warm from sleep. “Impossible.”

There were still paparazzi sometimes, invasive headlines when they had nothing better to write. You’d get insecure—about the fame, the way the world looked at you, the pressure of being a “power couple.”

But every time, Pedro would find you, wrap you in his arms, and say something dumb in Portuguese like “minha estrelinha de Dorne” (my little star of Dorne) with the worst accent imaginable. And you'd laugh, because he meant every word.

Your wedding had been quiet. Just family. Just love. Just a Chilean boy and a Brazilian girl who met under fake sun and ended up building something real.

And years later, the fandom still posted your old behind-the-scenes photos like they were proof that soulmates were real.

They weren’t wrong.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 𝓒hampagne 𝓒oast , 𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza do you miss me too?

─── 𝓨ou think about reaching out. just a text. just a line. this song still sounds like you. but you don’t. not because the love is gone—but because some stories are meant to live in the quiet. in glances. in songs. in memories. because letting go doesn’t mean you ever wanted to. and sophia—sweet, golden, soft at the edges and sharp at the center—was never really yours. but she was real.

❝𝓪ll my last strength against you,

𝓫aby tell me what you need.❞

౨ৎ 𝓹airing. predebut!sophia laforteza x female reader ౨ৎ 𝓰enre. fluff if u squint, undefined relationship, was it ever casual? no. angst (i tried) like a ton of it but i wasn't trying to drown u, hurt no comfort, wc. 3299 a/n. my exams js finished nd i thought id give yall sumn as compensation for the lack of mamma mia updates LMAO i was trying sumn new w this oneshot—writing style wise—nd im ngl it didn't quite go how i wanted to nd i ended up writing less bc of this experimental oneshot 😭😭😭 anyw, this is a long overdue angst from me i tried my best💔💔💔 i saw smn on tiktok say sophia is the type of person ud have a crush on high school nd that mainly inspired this so thanks random tiktok editor. this is mostly how i imagined champagne coast

❝𝔂oung as i want to know,

𝓲'll never let you go.❞

YOU REMEMBER HER BEST IN SHADES OF GOLD. not the kind that glitters, but the kind that glows. sun-warm. skin-close. the kind of gold that poured through her bedroom blinds every time you snuck in past midnight and stayed for as long as you could before school dawned, heart thudding, breath caught between wanting and wondering.

sophia.

sophia with the smile that felt like a secret sunrise. with soft pink polish barely clinging to her nails and the habit of humming songs she hadn’t written yet. her voice always held a lilt of laughter, like a secret being shared. 

she had a laugh that caught sunlight in its rhythm, and a way of remembering everyone's name like it was the most important one she'd ever heard. she moved through the halls like spring after a long winter—bright, warm, impossible not to notice. her presence made lockers bloom and linoleum shimmer. 

she’d offer a compliment with such genuine ease that it felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. she held eye contact like she was seeing you for the first and last time all at once. sophia, who always smelled like vanilla chapstick and the faintest trace of gardenias after rain. you said her name like a prayer you didn’t believe in but kept whispering anyway. just in case it could save you.

she’s everywhere now. bigger than memory, louder than youth. katseye headlines every festival lineup, and her voice spills from every speaker like honey and summer. but back then, she was just a girl with stardust in her laugh and music in her fingertips. her family’s name opened doors and booked venues, but sophia walked through them like they didn’t matter. she made time slow down. she made you feel like you were being seen through a softer lens.

sophia’s world had always been lyrical. she moved through life like she was humming a song only she could hear. each step light, each smile like a melody lingering in the air long after she’d walked away. 

everything about her felt improvised yet effortlessly right, like the first draft of a poem that didn’t need editing. she spoke in rhythm, thought in metaphor, lived in verses. there was music in her hands, in her laughter, in the way she leaned her head back when she was thinking—as if catching something only the sky could offer.

your world, on the other hand, was cinematic. made of still frames and silences. you didn’t move through life—you watched it. framed things, paused them, looked for symmetry in the ordinary. 

you didn’t always speak, but you noticed everything: the flutter of her lashes when she was about to say something vulnerable, the exact tilt of her smile when she was hiding a bruise of sadness. where sophia saw a lyric, you saw a shot list. where she saw wonder, you saw composition. where she breathed melody, you caught meaning in the silences between.

she narrated the world in chorus; you captured it in light. you were opposites in the way a poem and a film are different ways of saying the same thing. 

and somehow, in those precious months where your lives tangled and bloomed, you translated each other.

you met her in late march. spring still a whisper, flowers barely blooming, the sky bruised with indecision. your film teacher read names off a list, pairing students for the semester film project. you weren’t paying attention until you heard it: "y/n and sophia."

she turned to you with a smile that looked like it belonged to someone in a film already. sharp and soft at the same time. her voice was breezy, casual. "guess we’re partners."

you nodded, blinking, caught in her gravity already.

when you sat together to brainstorm, her notebook was full of lyrics—descriptions of faces in profile, sunflowers, waves crashing over shoulders. 

she wanted to create something that felt like breathing. you wanted to shoot something that felt like dreaming.

so you made a film about nature and people. about how vines wrap around fingers like lovers. how wind braids hair. how skin glows in golden hour like the earth is passing its light into it. sophia became the muse. barefoot in tall grass. spinning in white linen. half-submerged in a creek, laughing. you directed and held the lens like it was a heartbeat.

"you make the world look softer," she said once in awe, watching a playback.

"it only looks like that because you’re in it," you replied. your voice almost cracked from saying it.

she didn’t say anything then. just smiled at the screen, her reflection flickering over her shoulder.

that project was the beginning. the spark. long editing nights that bled into morning. coffee shared from the same chipped mug. the camera always between you—until it wasn’t. until it was just her, and you, and the quiet understanding that bloomed beneath everything left unsaid.

it started, maybe, on the hill.

that nowhere hill behind her high-rise, just past the stillness of manicured parks and closed cafés, where city light softened into starlight. you called it your chapel. the place where time slowed down and everything else disappeared.

every summer night, you’d sneak into her room at twelve-oh-something. her window creaked like it missed you. sophia would be waiting in a hoodie three sizes too big, her braid unraveling like ribbon. sometimes she brought snacks. sometimes she brought a poem. sometimes she brought nothing but herself.

and that was enough.

you’d walk, fingers brushing, shoulders bumping. and when the world was quiet enough, she’d start to sing. something half-formed. breathy. beautiful. you never interrupted. just listened. memorized the shape of her in the dark.

you brought your guitar once. not to impress, not to perform—just to fill the quiet with something that wouldn’t spill over into words. sophia lit up when she saw it, eyes shining like she’d been waiting for this without knowing it.

"you play?" she asked, voice full of something like awe.

"just a little," you said, shy.

she grinned and sat cross-legged in the grass, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. "can i sing?"

and so you played. soft, simple chords beneath your fingers like the beat of a heart learning a new rhythm. and sophia—god, sophia—she sang like her voice belonged to the sky. high, clear, breathy in the way that made your lungs forget how to work. you caught her gaze mid-song, and she smiled at you—not the kind she gave to the world, but the one that felt like it was stitched from your name.

you harmonised by instinct, your voice falling in beside hers like it had always belonged there. no one told you how music could feel like holding hands in the dark. no one told you it could be the first time you really felt someone without the need for physical touch.

when the last note faded, you didn’t speak. just sat there, letting the silence gather around you like a blanket, the ghost of melody still hovering between your mouths.

she leaned her head against your shoulder.

"you think stars remember us?" she asked.

"i think we remember them enough to make it count," you replied.

she looked up at you, pupils wide, eyes full of summer and something softer.

"i don’t want to be forgotten," she whispered.

"you won’t," you promised.

because that was the night something began. not loudly, not clearly, but with a strum and a hum and a shared breath beneath stars.

you'd never play that song for anyone else again. not because it was sacred. but because it already belonged to her.

the first time you kissed, you could feel the earth shift beneath you.

her lips were soft, trembling against yours like they were learning how to be still. the air between you was thick, humming with the kind of tension that seemed too big for both of you, yet you moved closer, closer still, until it was only her and the night and the stillness of a world that didn’t seem to matter anymore.

her hands were on your face, fingers delicate as they traced your jaw, as if committing every contour to memory. and then her mouth was on yours again, and this time, the kiss was deep and slow, a kind of sweetness that burned hotter than you ever imagined. you ran your hands up her sides, fingers exploring the soft curve of her waist, mapping it to memory like it was the only thing you’d ever truly need to know.

you could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her hoodie, the heat from her body seeping into yours. it spread like wildfire, quick and alive, until every nerve inside you was set alight. you held her so close—so impossibly close—that her breath mingled with yours, her heartbeat a steady thrum in the rhythm of your own.

god, you thought, as you kissed her deeper like she was air and you were addicted, letting yourself succumb and drown in her warmth. i have never felt so close to heaven as i have now with my lips on hers, and holding her so close to me that her warmth spills and spreads over me in waves, lighting every nerve lining of mine on fire.

“i think..." you whispered, your voice shaky with something raw, something tender. "i think i like you."

she smiled at you, the softest, saddest smile you'd ever seen, as if she already knew that what was happening between you was fleeting even before the hushed confession, a fleeting thing that would burn bright and quick before it was gone.

but for now, it didn’t matter.

for now, it was just you and her and the kind of kiss that felt like everything.

and for just a moment, you let yourself believe that everything was enough.

senior year rolled in with deadlines and early applications and the kind of weight that makes your bones feel older than they are. you and sophia partnered up for another media project. a short film. something dreamy, something about the in-between. something that felt like both of you.

one afternoon, everyone else had gone home, and it was just you and her in the empty classroom. she was sitting on the windowsill, the wind playing with the ends of her hair, painting her in soft light. you lifted the camcorder, pressed record. through the viewfinder, she looked unreal. backlit, untouchable. like something borrowed from a dream.

and it struck you again—how sophia's world was lyrical, and yours was cinematic. where she sat in that golden light, she looked like a line of poetry you’d never forget. but through your lens, she was also something else—framed, finite, fading even as you filmed. it hit you with a sharp kind of knowing: this would only ever be a memory. the footage would last, but the moment would not.

"what?" she asked, turning to you.

"nothing," you said, even though everything was happening all at once. because in that moment, with her framed by the sky and the silence, you knew. this wouldn’t last.

some people are moments. not destinations.

and sophia? she was a meteor. blazing. brief.

that footage still lives somewhere on your hard drive. you haven't played it in years. you’re not sure you could survive the sound of her voice saying your name in that soft, sun-drenched tone again.

some days, she was distant—her mind lost in melodies you hadn’t yet heard, her gaze turned inward, like she was looking at something beyond you. other days, she clung to you like gravity, as if the weight of her presence alone could pull you back from drifting too far into your own thoughts. 

you started to learn the language of her moods: the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was uncertain, how she bit her lip when she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words, as if speaking them would unravel something fragile that was better left unsaid.

one night, there was nothing but the quiet between you. the hum of distant cars, the weight of the stars above. you could feel her next to you, close but just out of reach in a way that made everything feel too heavy, too raw.

"i wish i could keep this forever," you said, your voice barely more than a breath. the words fell from your lips before you could stop them, the kind of wish you didn’t know you had until it was already there, full and aching.

“this?” she asked, her voice soft, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“you. us. this...whatever this is,” you murmured, unable to name it, afraid of the weight of what it could mean if you did.

she didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you, the kind of look that made you feel like she could see into the places you didn’t let anyone touch. her smile came slowly, tinged with something tender and sad, as if she already knew what was coming, what was always coming, but wasn’t ready to let go yet. 

"you know some things aren’t meant to go on forever, even if they feel like they could."

you wanted to argue, to tell her that this—whatever this was—felt too big to be just a passing season. but the truth was, you didn’t know what it was. nothing about it was defined, and maybe that made it even more real.

"maybe," you whispered, the ache tightening in your chest. "but even a song gets stuck in your head for years."

and in that moment, with nothing else left to say, you both let the silence stretch between you.

when katseye began to bloom into the world’s consciousness, you watched her from the quiet. from the sidelines. where you had always been. tv interviews filtered through your screen late at night, their light flickering across your bedroom walls like ghosts you couldn’t name. 

there she was—sophia—draped in gowns that shimmered like the sea on moonlit nights, lips painted the soft red of a closing day, laughter threaded with rehearsed charm. people loved her. how could they not?

but you listened closely—not to her words, but to her voice beneath the voice. and god, it still sounded like her. like the girl who once sang barefoot beneath the stars, who curled into your side with wind-tangled hair and asked if heaven could be a person. that voice hadn’t changed. it still held the ache of midnights, the tremble of wishes no one ever said out loud.

but her eyes—her eyes had learned something you hadn’t. they were no longer the windows that once opened only for you, soft and unguarded and impossibly full of wonder. 

now they shimmered with something distant. practiced. eyes that had seen too much, learned how to hold just enough back to be adored but never known. she had become someone the world could look at, but never touch. someone who had learned how to let go.

you didn’t go to the farewell party that night of graduation.

you told people you were busy. that you forgot. but the truth was quieter than that, more fragile. you couldn’t stand the idea of watching her say goodbye to a place she always belonged to, to a chapter she had always meant to leave behind. you couldn’t watch her smile at the crowd and thank them for memories that brushed her skin.

so instead, you went to the hill. the hill that started it all. 

alone.

the one you both used to sneak off to when the world felt too sharp. the one where you’d bring your guitar, and she’d bring her voice, and between the two of you, you created something unnamable. you didn’t bring the guitar this time. there was no need. even the silence was loud with her absence.

you lay on the grass and stared at the sky until the stars blurred, your throat aching with a name you refused to say out loud. but it was there. it always was. in the hush between crickets. in the wind brushing against your cheek like a goodbye you never received. her name lived in the quiet. in the stillness. in the ache.

and maybe that was love.

not the kind that stays, but the kind that marks you anyway.

and sometimes, on the loneliest nights—when the world feels too quiet, and the sky hangs heavy with all the things you never said—you still look up at the stars and wonder if they remember.

two girls. a camera. a song.

you wonder if the stars recall the softness of her voice beside you, how it curled into the night like incense smoke, how your name sounded different when she said it—more alive, more whole. you wonder if they remember how her hand brushed yours in the dark like it meant something, like everything unspoken between you was understood anyway.

one of you rose—like the crescendo of a chorus, like light breaking over a stage. the other stayed—quiet, still, holding onto the echoes.

you don’t talk anymore—an outcome that didn’t come as a surprise—not really. just likes on old photos buried beneath filters and captions that meant more at the time. sometimes a tagged memory surfaces from the past—a birthday, a laugh, a behind-the-scenes shot—and her username feels like a paper cut across your chest. she never shared it, and neither did you. a reminder. a timeline. a pause you never quite recovered from.

every once in a while, champagne coast plays—that damned song you’d both fought over whether to use for the short film or not, that cost hours of editing over something so petty you’d won anyway—. maybe in a café, maybe in the shuffle of a playlist you forgot you made. 

the first few notes are enough. your breath stutters. and suddenly you're seventeen again, filming her by the window of an empty classroom, wind tugging gently at her hair, sunlight turning her into something god might’ve carved by hand.

you still remember the last day of filming. how she laughed at something you said. how you almost kissed her again, but didn’t.

how the golden hour touched her skin like it was saying goodbye too.

that day replays sometimes, in slow motion, like the final scene of a movie that never made it to theaters. you never really wrote an ending. just...stopped filming.

and maybe that’s the cruelest part. that there was no goodbye, no final bow. just the quiet unraveling of something too beautiful to hold.

you think about reaching out. just a text. just a line. this song still sounds like you.

but you don’t.

not because the love is gone—but because some stories are meant to live in the quiet. in glances. in songs. in memories. because letting go doesn’t mean you ever wanted to.

and sophia—sweet, golden, soft at the edges and sharp at the center—was never really yours. but she was real.

and that’s what you carry. not the goodbye. not the could-have-beens. just the memory. just the thought.

the way she looked at you once, when the camera was rolling and she didn’t know it—blissfully unaware she’d changed your life for the better or worse or in between, if that even made sense. the way your name lingered in her voice when no one else was listening.

the stars. the song. the stillness.

her.

and you. forever changed.

not by what lasted—but by what burned bright enough to leave a mark.

even now, you still look up. you find the time to. and sometimes, she’s still there. in the sky. in the silence. in the memory. like light you never forgot how to follow.

masterlist.

— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx

[santaasi]

the jealous take

pairing: film director!james potter x actress!reader

summary: in the quiet tension between stolen glances and unspoken words, jealousy lingers like the final frame of a film, holding a story that’s yet to be told

warnings: slow burn, jealousy, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 2.1k

a/n: one more part for my muse universe. hope you'll like it

ᯓ★ now playing…

labrinth - jealous

IT STARTS SMALL.

A laugh that lingers too long. Fingertips trailing over James’ forearm when he’s explaining a shot — light, casual, like she has every right to touch him. And the way she says his name, like she’s tasting it on her tongue, sweet and slow, every single time.

You’re not usually like this.

Not the lip-biting, stomach-knotting, spiraling type. You’ve played leads. You’ve stood under hot lights beside charmers who whispered unscripted things in your ear and asked you out before the credits rolled. You know how to keep your cool. You wear disinterest like a perfume. Detached, elegant, untouchable.

But this is James.

Your James.

Not yours, technically. Not officially. But still — yours in the way he always finds your eyes before a take, in the way he leans a little closer when you’re cold, how he grins when he makes you laugh even though you try not to.

And now he’s not just the boy with the handheld camera and an editing setup that takes over his living room floor. He’s directing. With an assistant. A boom mic operator. Actual producers circling like sharks with clipboards and iced coffees. This is real. His real shot. The one that could change everything.

You’re proud of him.

God, you’re proud of him.

But when she — the new girl playing the best friend — glides onto the set, you feel something twist sharp and ugly beneath your ribs. She’s all glossy hair and understated makeup, tall in that effortless way, hovering too close between takes. Complimenting James on his vision. Telling him she feels the chemistry in the scene.

And suddenly, everything in you bristles.

You cross your arms tighter. Your mouth settles into that slight pout you get when something tastes off. And you watch — quiet, guarded, burning slow — because maybe you don’t know what to say, but you know what you feel.

And it’s louder than you want it to be.

You’re curled in the corner of the soundstage, knees drawn to your chest, sleeves swallowed by the fabric of his hoodie. The one he tossed to you this morning without a second thought, murmuring something about you looking cold in just your tank top and jeans. It still smells like him — pine, coffee, and the faintest trace of some detergent that reminds you of early mornings and foggy windows.

You’re wearing him like a claim. Like a warning. Like armor spun from threads of hope.

Not that she notices.

Elise doesn’t notice much that doesn’t glitter with attention. She’s too busy tossing her hair and laughing in ways that echo too long in the rafters, like she’s trying to stretch every moment on set into a performance just for him. You watch her trail her fingers over camera equipment she doesn’t understand, watch the way her gaze clings to James like dew to morning grass.

For a few days, he doesn’t notice either.

He’s in his element — lit from within, glowing with purpose. Giving notes, adjusting lights, sketching out shots in the air with his hands like he’s painting something only he can see. His voice is low, firm, endlessly patient. You love him like this. You love watching him become the version of himself he’s always wanted to be.

And you tell yourself not to care.

You have no right to. There’s no label. No claim but the hoodie on your back and the way he sometimes touches your waist like he forgot he shouldn’t. No promises. Just how he films you like you’re made of stardust and longing. Just how he always says you when someone asks if he’s cast the lead yet.

But today, she laughs. Too loud. At a joke that wasn’t funny.

And then she leans in. Closer than necessary. Her hand brushes his bicep, fingers lingering, and this time–

James doesn’t pull back.

He smiles.

Just slightly. Barely more than a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Maybe polite. Maybe distracted. But you see it. You feel it.

And you freeze.

It’s not an earthquake. It’s not a fire. It’s quieter than that. Colder. Like ice cracking under the surface of something that had once been still.

Your stomach knots. Your breath forgets how to move. And there it is — the slow, sick burn of jealousy, creeping in like smoke under a locked door.

You tug the sleeves of his hoodie further down over your hands, lips pressing into that familiar pout you wear when the world feels wrong. Your eyes flicker to them again, unable to help it, even as it stings.

You don’t want to look. But you have to look.

Because maybe if you watch long enough, you’ll understand how it happens — how a soft laugh, a hand on an arm, a smile not meant for you — can tilt the whole axis of a day, knock the breath from your lungs without warning.

Later, when he passes your trailer, you don’t look up from your phone. You mumble something about being tired. Say you need to run lines. You don’t tell him that your heart’s been lodged in your throat since lunch, tight and aching like it might crack open if he so much as says her name.

He finds you eventually. Curled on the worn makeup couch like something small and stormy, face half-buried in the collar of his hoodie. It’s too big on you. You’ve worn it like a second skin all day, clinging to the warmth he left behind.

“You’ve been quiet,” James says, soft, leaning in the doorway like he’s afraid to spook you.

You shrug, voice light and practiced. “Long day.”

He watches you. Really watches. Eyes sweeping over the way you’re curled in on yourself, sleeves pulled over your hands again. The way you haven’t looked at him once.

“You mad at me?”

“No.” Too fast. Too bright.

His head tilts slightly. You’ve seen that look before — when he knows you’re lying and is just waiting for you to admit it.

“You sure?”

You finally lift your gaze. It takes effort. His eyes are too warm, too open, and you’re too full of words you’ve bitten back all day. “Why would I be mad?”

He steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him like the scene changing. Walks over slow, like you’re something fragile that might startle. “Because you’ve been wearing my hoodie like it’s armor,” he says quietly, “and you haven’t smiled at me once since Tuesday.”

Your breath catches.

He kneels in front of you, hands resting gently on your thighs, grounding you — and at the same time, undoing you. Your whole body is electric under his touch. It’s stupid. It’s everything.

“I didn’t flirt back,” he says, voice low, as if confessing something holy. “Not really.”

You don’t answer. Can’t.

“I saw you watching,” he murmurs. “The way your jaw clenched.”

“I didn’t–”

“You did.” A whisper. A smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “And you know what? I liked it.”

His fingers ghost down your knee, featherlight, just enough to make your pulse stutter. “You never get jealous.”

You swallow, hard. “I didn’t mean to be.”

“I know.” He leans in, the space between you going impossibly still. “But I want you to know something, okay? This job — this dream — it’s everything I ever wanted. But you…” His voice dips to a hush, brushing against the rawest part of you. “You’re the reason I ever thought I could dream this big.”

Silence blooms. Heavy and golden.

Your hand moves before your pride can stop it, fingers slipping into his hair, nails grazing his scalp in that way that makes him exhale like he’s been carrying the weight of the sky. His shoulders loosen beneath your touch, like something in him has been wound too tight without you.

And you — you don’t say a word.

You just hold him there, fingers threaded in his hair, like maybe if you stay quiet long enough, he’ll understand how your silence says everything — how it aches, how it wants, how it loves him in a way you still haven’t dared to name.

Your cheek rests against your hand as you look down at him, eyes half-lidded, voice dry. “Think the studio would let me improvise a scene?”

He glances up, one brow raised, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. “Depends what kind of scene.”

“One where I slap her.”

His eyes crinkle, that barely-there laugh sitting in his throat. “Subtle.”

“She’d deserve it.”

“She didn’t actually do anything.”

“She was breathing near you,” you mutter, pout deepening.

James huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Dangerous offense.”

You narrow your eyes, expression all feline displeasure and slow, deliberate irritation. “You smiled at her.”

“Are you calling me out right now?”

“Not if you write me a dramatic monologue in the final act.”

He grins, nudging your knee with a warm, calloused hand. “You’re ridiculous.”

You tug at the collar of his hoodie, fisted lightly in your hand. “You gave me this, by the way. This is on you.”

“Oh, I know.” His voice lowers, curls around the edges of the moment. He shifts, resting his head on your thigh like he belongs there, like it’s home. His nose brushes the hem of the hoodie, his breath warm against the fabric. “Trust me, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

It’s playful. Barely a whisper of sound between you. But beneath it, something deeper pulses. That tension you both carry like a second heartbeat — unspoken, sharp-edged, known.

You glance at the door behind him. Voices echo faintly down the hallway — footsteps, laughter, calls for lighting adjustments. The world is still turning. There’s still a set waiting, a camera needing to be reset.

But James doesn’t move.

He stays close, kneeling between your knees, gaze fixed on yours like you’ve become the only thing he can focus on. Like this — you — are the only frame he wants to hold. Not a performance. Not a scene. Just this moment. Just the truth humming between your skin and his.

And in his eyes, you see it. The part of him that’s already yours. The part that always was.

You exhale slowly, fingers still tangled in his hair, like letting go too quickly might undo whatever fragile thing just wove itself between you.

“You’re lucky I like your stupid movies,” you mutter, but your voice has lost its usual bite — too wrapped in the warmth of him, in the gravity of the moment.

“Stupid?” he repeats, faux offended, hand splaying dramatically over his chest.

You shrug, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “Okay. Maybe brilliant.”

“That’s better,” he murmurs, hands gliding up your thighs in a barely-there touch that sends a flicker of heat curling through you. “You know you’re my favorite scene, right?”

Before you can form a clever comeback — something deflecting, something safe — someone calls his name from the hallway. Sharp. Impatient. Something about final checks on set.

He groans softly, forehead pressing against your leg like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you before he goes. Then, reluctantly, he pulls back — but not before pressing a warm, lingering kiss to the inside of your knee, just above the tear in your jeans.

You swear your breath leaves your body in one slow, stuttering exhale.

“Come find me after wrap,” he says as he stands, smoothing his shirt like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just ruin you with one kiss and a line like poetry. “I’ll write you that slap scene.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks flushed. “Make sure it’s dramatic. I want at least one slow-mo shot. Maybe a single tear.”

“Only if you promise to glare like you did earlier,” he teases, backing toward the door. “It was… impressive.”

And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

You’re left alone. In his hoodie. On that worn makeup couch. Still tasting his words, still burning from his touch, still buzzing with something electric and terrifying and real.

Your hand drifts to the place where his lips pressed against your skin, and everything in you hums — sharp and breathless, a little too loud to ignore.

And for once, you stop thinking about Elise and her perfect posture and whispery compliments. You stop replaying the way her hand lingered on his arm, the way she laughed like she had something to prove.

Because it doesn’t matter.

You’re the one in his hoodie. You’re the one he looks at like the whole script lives in your bones. You’re the lead — in the film, and in his story.

And maybe, just maybe… you’re starting to believe it.

Cut to black.

thankx for reading <3

i’m working on another part of the muse universe. i’ve gotten completely obsessed with these characters — so much so that i feel sick and all i can do is write about them. i plan to post their first meeting by the end of the week. it’s already written, but it just needs a few slight edits, so i’ll try to get to them as soon as possible.

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

                                    – your santi 🪐

masterlist

[russetfoxfur]

had the worst idea ever

💫star-of-the-show reblogged badassplum . . .

🔮the-universe-leads Follow

hey guys can we talk about the way the starromantics are appropriating the moonromantic flag? ive seen way too many ppl be just. chill with it??? saying mistfog like """"oh well the moon and stars are basically the same things"""" like babes have yall never looked up at the sky. those two things are Very Much Not The Same!!!!!

🍤plates-to-heaven Follow

the flags literally aren't? anything the same??? are you still using the moonro flag by stagefright-stardust. that guy was outed as a dischanger you know

🔮the-universe-leads

Wow! a clueless entitled vaugardian who without any proof decides that any astros are dischangers! stars could we just stop with the bigotry. anyways you're blinding wrong Look At This Fog:

like literally the starro flag is just two less stripes than the moonro flag. could yall not stick a moon or star onto one of them to show the difference

🕺lordjose-fan-dre Follow

Good Change, astros are annoying. We get it! You're all hopelessly infatuated with the night sky! You know alllll the little lights up there because you studied soooooo hard to get an A+ on the test!!! Leave the rest of us alone!

🔮the-universe-leads

my brother in stardust This Is Basic Knowledge

🔮the-universe-leads

like if this were me trying to get you to name the stars in the sky then yea id see how thats absurd but like???? how do ppl live like this?????

starsaboveearthbelow-deactivated

op i feel your pain :[ EDIT I KNOW ITS ASTRONOMY STOP CORRECTING ME

😺joyofjouvente666 Follow

Whats the difference between an astromantic and an islander /genuine

starsaboveearthbelow-deactivated

islanders are people from that Unnamed Island (you know the one, don't think about it). because its an island. this is most people. now scholars speculate that the Unnamed Island was really weird about stars. astromantics are people who feel like their romantic life is tied up with the island/stars. honestly im just a tranny dyke so i cant tell you what thats like

🔮the-universe-leads

so firstly YEAH! yeah i wish astro trauma was more talked about in the astro community! like calling stagefright a dischanger or just hating on astros. anyway obviously stagefright's not a dischanger but apparently like most astros she was taking refuge in vaugarde. However due to recent circumstances relating to a certain monarch,

💎jewel8gem6 Follow

as a starro i think youre stupid. they literally have a difference of two stripes!!! i bet youre not even a real astro. to my starro followers: you all are so valid and dont allow petty infighters like op to divide us astros!

🍤plates-to-heaven

well actually while youre right about the infighting thing yall do need a better flag than the standard one stagefright made. i drew this in like less than a minute (forgive the messiness i edited this at 2AM my time)

💎jewel8gem6

that looks blinding awful. are you astrophobic or something thats such a joke. blocking you

🍤plates-to-heaven

these are crabbing sketches??? not the real thing??? i know this is piss-on-the-poor website but come on

💎 jewel8gem6

Haha. what a fool you are to think me poor of reading comprehension skills. I am far above a blinded fool like you. Do you know what its like, being astromantic? every day people send me asks on anon yelling at me about my ugly white NATURAL hair, and you're just as bad as them. this is a disgrace to the astromantic community. you say in your bio that you are supportive of all astros but are you really? when you can create such mistfog as pictured above??? if you do not delete those pictures off your blog i will sneak into your house and suck off all your teeth one by one so you cannot speak your awful opinions aloud. i will tell the universe to kill your family and curse you with immortality so you can watch and suffer as horribly as i did laying my eyes upon these """""flags""""". wither and waste in the agony of your own unfulfilling and insignificant life, worthless vaugardian. be blinded forever idiot >:/

🔮the-universe-leads

i feel like this post is kind of getting off track could we talk about the flags again. plates' flags looked kinda cool and weren't cheap copies of each other

💎jewel8gem6

you SUPPORT this fool? you SUPPORT plates, who ruins the delicate harmony of astromantic spaces through xyr tasteless insults and mockeries??? how dare you calm yourself an astro op. TRUE astros must walk through fire in order to find any happiness in their perpetual incompletion. for example, i have been persecuted by ka buan officials for my sexuality, nearly slain by vaugardian defenders, and then forced to flee to mwudu in order to survive the king. fools such as you are the reasons we haven't found the island yet. a kiddie like you needs to go back to potty training if you think plates has any credibility whatsoever. go burn up in the atmosphere and let not a soul tell where you lie

🦀crabbingcastle Follow

Anyone in this thread eat crab

🌟officialastroposts Follow

Official Astromantic Post!

🔮the-universe-leads

i made this two blinding months ago and forgot about it are you seriously like. a vaugardian

👩🏿‍❤️‍👨🏼 mirafrin4ever Follow

EW AN ASTRO!!! go back to the ocean you mooneyed crabs. don't you crabbing weirdos know not to infest holy everchanging sites like tumblr with your weird stupid sky obsession. lol

🔮the-universe-leads

Saviorshipper. blocked

🍤plates-of-heaven

savior shipper, bolcked

💎jewel8gem6

Ew, saviorshipper. blocked

🦜pioupiou-9377 Follow

wow i cant believe ive found the original! ive only seen this in screenshots! and its only four months old!!!

🔮the-universe-leads

someone wish me out of existence already

#wow only six months old lol? this post is a mess. thx for putting this on my dash mira #poor op #islander talk #moot talk #longpost #shitpost #< i hope

47,368 notes ↪️ 💬 🔁 🤍

💫 star-of-the-show-2 . . .

@.star-of-the-show tutorial for you stardust! i want you sososo bad

2 notes ↪️ 💬 🔁 ♥️

[unexaltedonewhoisnotking]

Seeing as we have a bit over a month until the fight begins this year I think it’s time to release this from the drafts so I don’t have to copy paste the full thing lol…

So you want to know how ArtFight works

Well, here you go. This is more or less a copy of a post I was using a lot last year as well, just slightly updated. It's a little long so I'm keeping most of it under the read more

What even is it:

ArtFight is basically an annual art trading event in July, focused around players' original characters (fandom-based or otherwise) - although it might be more accurate to say art gifting, as you aren't necessarily organising individual trades where you make arts for User X and User X has already agreed to make art for you.

ArtFight includes most forms of visual art (no music or writing), both digital and traditional, but of course most people like to draw so you might see me refer to drawing in the rest of this post out of habit, even though it isn't limited to that. There are two teams, and when you submit art you earn points for your team! There isn't really a prize, just bragging rights I guess.

Where and when it’s hosted:

ArtFight is hosted on its own website: https://artfight.net

You’ll have to upload your characters there in order for them to be attacked - if you don’t have a character on the site, you can’t be attacked, but you can still attack others. A few people choose to remove or hide all of their characters specifically so they only give attacks instead of getting.

Technically you can upload a ‘character’ that is just a link to something like Toyhouse where you’ve got other characters hosted, instead of putting that information specifically on ArtFight, although there are some people who are less inclined to attack characters that require them to go off-site for information.

You can upload characters and edit their profiles, and bookmark other people's characters that you might want to attack later, at any point during the year, but the event itself is only open in July (specifically, noon on July 1st MST until noon on August 1st MST) - so that month is the only time you can submit attacks.

How to join:

First of all, make an account on the site!

Second, even in July, you can’t play (ie, submit/receive attacks) until you get on a team. That means that if you decide not to participate one year, nobody can attack your OCs against your will either, since by not choosing a team you simply won’t have made yourself available as a target.

How do you get a team, then:

Well, you can’t yet.

You’ll notice that if you make an account right now your username is greyish-brown, indicating that you aren’t on a team. A lot of users currently have purple or teal names, which represent the teams from last year (Stardust and Seafoam, respectively). Don’t worry, you aren’t being held back from anything - those team colours don’t mean anything for this year! The themes for the year should be announced in June and then team picking will become available.

What if you’re late to join the fight:

No worries! On my first year I only heard about it a couple days into the fight and thought I was too late to start… and then I realised halfway through the month that I was not, in fact, too late. You can make an account and join a team right up to the last day of the fight, so don’t feel scared of a late start! You won’t be prohibited from joining and you can still probably get a lot done. There’s no minimum number of attacks required, unless it’s just a goal you set for yourself.

The only thing about joining late is you’ll have missed out on the ‘early bird’ team picking - you’ll just be randomly assigned to a team instead of getting to choose. That said you’ve got two chances each year to ‘reroll’ if you prefer the other team. Personally, so far I’ve been excited to get randomly assigned (well, except last year. I saw purple and I wanted purple lol).

What the team themes do:

…nothing  really, they’re just for fun. Each year the theme changes and like I said above, we’re still a while away from hearing what they’ll be for this year.

You aren’t required to make your OCs or profile or anything match the theme, although some people do like to just for fun. One type of OC you might see is the ‘ArtFight sona’, which is, y’know, a sona inspired by your team for that year, uploaded as a character to be attacked.

Submitting a character:

At the top of the site there’s a button that says ‘Submit’, and then gives the option of ‘Submit a Character’. That button’s available year-round, during and outside of the fight.

ArtFight’s a bit finicky about image sizes, which can be annoying when uploading characters. When you’re uploading a character initially you can only add one image, but if you then go to edit the character you can add more images, up to 6 total. There is a description space for each character you upload where you can write information about their lore, design notes, etc, so you don’t need to squish all of that into images.

Like I said up above you can technically link off site instead of writing a profile for a character on the site. You can also put multiple characters in one slot on ArtFight, if you consider them a package deal.

Personal opinions/advice for uploading characters

You don’t necessarily need a full reference sheet, but at least having a fullbody artwork makes it a lot easier for people attacking. There are some people who won’t attack without a reference sheet, and others who won’t attack unless you have some non-ref sheet artwork to show your ‘investment’ in your own character, but honestly most people are just there to have fun and won’t mind as long as they have an idea of how to represent your OC - honestly, just put what you want to and what you think is worthwhile, the people with 'rules' about this stuff all have different rules and you don't have to abide by them.

Make sure to use the tagging system! A character can have up to 10 tags which make it easier for people to find them - it's not required, but it helps a lot. Some good things to include would be like genre/aesthetic - ‘fantasy’, ‘steampunk’, ‘superhero’ ‘modern’ - and, in the case of fan OCs, the original media. Tag if they’re a human or another species, and tag if they’re anthro or feral for furry characters. And if they have some distinct feature or motif tag that too! Maybe tag a distinct theme colour if they have one. You might not be able to fit everything in that tag limit, but those are ideas.

I’ve seen someone ask how many characters is a good number to have. Honestly, the answer will vary. You can have up to 100 at a time on the site but some people use that ‘link to Toyhouse or somewhere else’ idea to functionally add more. Personally, I’d say it’s just nice to give people some options when they want to attack you, so at least two or three… past that put as many as you like. But also, if you just have one blorbo you really want art of, there's nothing wrong with only uploading that one guy - and there are even a few users who only want to attack others for nothing in return, so they don't upload any characters

You can re-order your characters in the ‘manage characters’ page. A lot of people make sure that the characters they’d prefer to get art of are at the start of their list, and of course it’s handy to group characters from the same setting together.

You can also set your character ‘permissions’, which are your rules or preferences about attacks you receive - you have global permissions that apply to all of your characters by default, and character-specific permissions that note unique rules or exceptions you’d like other users to keep in mind when creating art for you. Common things to mention in permissions might be if you’re okay with being included in “mass attacks” (I’ll get to those later), if you’re okay with artistic nudity for your characters, if you like their outfits to be changed, etc

Submitting an attack

An ‘attack’ is an art piece of another user’s character or characters - making attacks is how you earn points for your team. Again, use that ‘Submit’ button at the top of the page, and then choose ‘Submit an Attack’… Bear in mind that this option is only there during the Fight and only if you’re on a team!

Each character on the site has an ID code, which you’ll paste in when submitting an attack, to indicate what character it depicts. Then you’ll have to rate your attack in a few categories: Basically, you’ll give yourself points. When submitting an attack you’ll have to rate it in a few categories: how much of the character is visible? Did you use clean linework? Is it fully coloured and shaded? Is there a background? All of this works into the score that the site will display. The site has guidelines for attack rating with examples, but they change a little from year to year so you’d be better off looking for those than me trying to explain it here.

Friendly fire:

You usually attack the opposite team… but you can also attack people on your own team. It’s just worth fewer points - 20% of an equivalent attack on the other team, specifically.

Revenge:

When submitting an attack, if the recipient is somebody who already attacked you this year, you’ll see an option to mark the attack as revenge. It doesn’t impact the points, but it means that the two attacks will have a link to each other at the bottom of their pages.

Users can create revenge chains by repeatedly revenging each other. Some people make it a goal to create a long chain, others would rather leave it at one and done so they can focus on other people as well. There’s no obligation to take revenge, so don’t feel pressured.

Revenging is fun, but I’d recommend against saying that you will always do it. If you wind up getting burnt out or just get more attacks than you can deal with you might wind up breaking that promise.

Mass attacks:

Mass attacks are attacks that feature multiple characters - of course, more characters means more points! You can include your own characters in these, too.

Unlike revenge, mass attack isn’t an ‘official’ term and there isn’t anything to select when submitting an attack that will label it as a mass attack. You’d just keep adding more characters to the attack by the same method as normal - put in their ID and mark fullbody, halfbody or simple shaped for each one.

For a mass attack you designate one person as the main recipient; they’ll be the only person who can officially revenge it, although the others might still decide to attack you back as thanks.

If the main recipient is on the opposite team, you’ll get full points for the attack, regardless of the teams of the other characters in it. And likewise if the main recipient is on your team you’ll still only earn 20% regardless of the other characters.

There’s an upper limit of 100 characters per attack.

Finding characters to attack:

The first place to look is that ‘Browse’ button up at the top of the site. That can take you to a random character’s profile, or a random user’s profile. You can see all the most recently uploaded characters. And best of all, you can search for characters by their tags, like I mentioned.

Last year, Artfight changed the tag search slightly. It used to be that it would display a 48 randomly-selected characters from the tag, but nowadays the selection will be a group that were uploaded around a similar time to each other (what time will still be random with each time you search), which means that it might not display as many characters as it otherwise could. Keep retrying the search to see if anything new comes up!

And honestly, just trawling through the site, from the profile of someone who was included in a mass attack with you to an attack they made on someone else to a user that person was attacked by... something is bound to catch your eye

[adozowa]

LITTLE ONE

:: Headcanons on how joestars would react to finding out they have an older sibling. ( You are the older sibling. )

:: This features how they would react to this information, meet you, and how they would treat you. Jonathan, Joseph, Jotaro

( I won't be able to probably write all the Joestars in one sitting, so there will be parts. )

I made an edit because I accidentally used a m pronoun, whoopsie reflex🤧!!!!

:: GN! READER

! VIOLENT THEMES, SWEARING

Dividers by: @cafekitsune ! They have TONSSS

The way you can tell who's my fav..

(Young jonathan)

- It all started when random things in the house started... Looking off in it's place.

-I know it's a damn big house but Jonathan is very observant tryst me

-Like... The vases are moving?? Pens??? Papers?? And there's this one empty room that seems clean every time

-Dio thinks Jonathan is becoming schizophrenic lmao

-until one night..

-you came in from the window as you scavenged your room for something, little did you know young Jonathan is right behind you in shock

-when he saw you he tried to stab you lmao

-you explain ...

-apparently you're just a forager coming day and night at random times, so that explains why at random times of day there is a sequencing of items moving- Jonathan how the fuck did you discover a SEQUENCE??

-he's ecstatic, but also a bit sad that his dad never introduced you before.

-introduces you to Dio hesitantly, like he's gripping your arm as you tower over both the children.

-he's kinda jealous that you treat Dio as you would normally treat a younger sibling, that bitch is NOT NORMALL

-he's overprotective of you and doesn't hide it, he doesn't trust Dio at ALL

-literally you talking to young Dio while Jonathan is CLAWING at your arm.

-if he sees Dio being "nice" to you after a while he would stop the overprotectiveness but still keeps an eye

-it's like having a small over protective puppy by you're side it's so cute

-okay older Jonathan

-ohhhh this bitch is TOO protective, after father got sick from a certain piss haired shit he's on the GUARD

-since he's older, you're older too. And he doesn't want you to end up sick like dad.

-Dio is becoming more riskier with his tactics around you, testing your boundaries and seeing what he can do.

-Jonathan prevents that.

-after what happened with the stone mask, oh goodie goodness

-expect for Jonathan to be clinging onto you the whole time. He doesn't want you to fall for dio's tactics, die, or anything else.

EXTRA:

-he introduced you to Erina, shed a tear when they got married, and shed more tears when Jonathan died.

-At first he spotted Lisa Lisa with a strange hooded figure who was quite tall....(sorry short readers)

-runs up, no sprints.

"YOOOO" what a great first impression! To a stranger!!

-Lisa Lisa introduces you

-he gasps

-he's excited

-ruffles your hair even though you're older than him

-takes you on bizarre adventures

-you helped him defeat the pillar men, they had no beef with you but joseph? Bros a natural opp atp

-really clingy and eager to explore new things with you, I mean an older sibling. COOOLLL

-literally homies for life, you both are an unstoppable duo. Very annoying and loud lmao

-if ur taller than him, now that's a problem.

-WILL grumble about your height differences

-but if you're more of a jotaro personality, he's teasing you left and right like that one time with Santana

-you're 😐 while he's 🥰😁😝🤪🤯🤓🥱🥸

Okay now old joseph

-introduces you to his daughter, holy kujo. You and his daughter bonded quite easily!!!

-your probably all crippled but he's now wondering how the fuq you're still standing at like idk.... 3827w928 years old.?.

"JoJo I'm not that old.."

-he WILL introduce you to the stardust crusaders, since you're older. You laid back some more and now your chill ig

-jotaro likes you since you're more tolerable than joseph

-you and avdol are best buddies

-kakyoin are buddies

-polnareff and you get into trouble a lot (good grief..)

-He visited his mom once, and felt an eerie presence in the house upon entering. Like he's IMMEDIATELY suspicious.

-"who's in here."

-insert gif of you popping up from the side randomly and waving hello

-Holy explains to jotaro so he wouldn't attack you and he's quite confused? When did he get an older sibling? Why are you only here now? Who are you??

-he's interrogating you and your sweating bullets because how can your lil bro be this intimidating, last time u saw him he was all sunshine and rainbows as a kid

-he eventually softens up a bit, only to you. And we all know he's a big softie on the inside... And if you're a stand user..

-oh goodness star platinum is ALL over you

-giving you gifts, clinging to you, playing, you name it! He reminds ya of young jotaro and you shed a tear at that (yare yare.. Stop crying..)

-he's embarrassed at how star platinum is at you, since he's basically his soul. It's presenting things that he can't do he's a bit glad

After stardust crusaders

-after Egypt he really needed a shoulder to lean and cry on, imagine how traumatized he was. And he was only a teenager at that time, it guilted you how tensed up he was now.

-he sometimes tells you about the stardust crusaders and in those moments, sometimes he cries.

-he just needs a big hug from a big sibling (you)

-you wished you met the other stardust crusaders apart from joseph, since you kind of see him a lot anyways.

Okay OLDER JOTARO

-introduces you to jolyne

- "MY LITTLE BROTHER HAS A DAUGHTER?? "

- "yare yare... "

-when you met her, you're basically the coolest.. Erm.. How do you say this,, dad's sibling?? Dadib??? Dad-sib... Yeah. Coolest dad-sib..

-you and jolyne are best buddies now actually, literally unstoppable.

-you already accepted anasui lol which had jotaro fuming

The next part will feature part 4, 5, and 6 JoJos. I might even make a jobro version!

[theskywithin]

LOVE EDITION — The Version of You That Love Asked You to Leave Behind (But You Still Miss Sometimes)

Sometimes, loving deeply means losing parts of ourselves we thought we could keep forever. The innocent parts. The fearless parts. The version of you who once believed love could save, fix, or shelter everything. Here is the version each sign had to leave behind and the quiet ache they still carry, when no one is watching.

Aries: You had to leave behind the version of you who believed that love could be conquered like a battlefield, that if you fought hard enough, if you bled honestly enough, it would stay. You miss the way you used to charge at life with your heart on fire, unafraid of being burned. Now, you walk slower. You listen for silence before you leap. And sometimes, when the night is too quiet, you ache for the reckless soul who didn’t know what it meant to lose.

Taurus: You had to let go of the you who believed that building strong walls around something could make it eternal. You miss the softness of trusting that loyalty was enough to keep gardens blooming, even through winter. Now, you know that some things rot even under the gentlest hands. And still, part of you dreams of that quiet house inside your heart, the one where no one ever left, and nothing ever needed to be rebuilt.

Gemini: You had to bury the version of you who thought that if you could find the right words, you could stop the world from breaking. You miss the magician in you, the one who believed that understanding people could save them. Now, you know that some endings arrive like unexpected storms, no explanation, no translation, just thunder. But sometimes, late at night, you still draft invisible letters to the past, trying to rewrite the parts where goodbye was inevitable.

Cancer: You had to release the you who believed that loving deeper would heal what was never meant to be carried. You miss the small, fierce child who thought love was a lifeboat big enough to rescue everyone. Now, you know love can’t be a bandage or a promise made in someone else's name. And yet, there are moments when your hands ache to reach back in time and hold the ones you couldn’t save, even if it cost you everything.

Leo: You had to set down the version of yourself who thought shining brightly would always be enough to keep the right people close. You miss the performer who believed applause could mean devotion. Now, you understand that true love doesn’t need a stage, and that sometimes, your brightest light only blinded you from seeing who was never clapping for real. But still, you mourn the stardust that fell from your eyes when you realized you weren’t everyone's sun.

Virgo: You had to walk away from the you who thought perfection could protect you from being hurt. You miss the architect who believed that if you built a flawless house, no one would ever want to leave it. Now, you know that even golden walls crack and even pure intentions get misunderstood. But sometimes, when doubt creeps in, you still find yourself gathering the broken pieces, trying to rebuild a shelter that once promised safety.

Libra: You had to let go of the version of yourself who thought balance meant bending yourself in half to keep the peace. You miss the gentle diplomat inside you, the one who believed that love could be stitched back together if you just held both sides long enough. Now, you understand that some scales will never even out, no matter how still you stand. And yet, you sometimes dream of the version of you who could still believe that if you smiled wide enough, no one would ever leave.

Scorpio: You had to bury the you who thought devotion meant disappearing inside someone else. You miss the shadow-dancer who gave everything without asking for anything in return, believing that loyalty was a spell powerful enough to survive betrayal. Now, you know that no amount of surrender can make a ghost stay. But sometimes, when you're alone, you mourn the intensity you once wore like armor, the kind that believed love was supposed to hurt to be real.

Sagittarius: You had to abandon the version of yourself who thought that running faster could outpace the ache. You miss the wild-eyed traveler who believed that freedom could erase the fear of standing still. Now, you understand that even the widest skies can feel like cages when you’re carrying an unloved part of yourself wherever you go. And sometimes, you catch yourself looking over your shoulder, wondering if that fearless part of you is still out there somewhere, waiting to be found.

Capricorn: You had to step away from the you who thought building a kingdom would finally quiet the emptiness. You miss the relentless architect who believed that success could fill the places where love once lived. Now, you know that no mountain is high enough to silence a heart that was once taught it had to earn its worth. And yet, some nights, you still lace your boots and dream of a summit that will finally make you feel like enough.

Aquarius: You had to turn your back on the you who thought distance would keep your heart safe. You miss the dreamer who believed that if you floated high enough above it all, nothing could reach you, not disappointment, not betrayal, not grief. Now, you know that even the stars you dance among can’t save you from longing. And sometimes, you still feel the ache of wanting to belong somewhere you don't have to hide parts of yourself behind brilliance.

Pisces: You had to release the version of yourself who thought that saving others would somehow save you. You miss the tender soul who believed that if you poured enough of your magic into broken places, they would heal, and you would, too. Now, you understand that some wounds were never yours to tend, and some people were only meant to brush against your light for a moment. But even now, there are quiet evenings when you still reach for the pieces of yourself you left inside other people's oceans.

[jibitzlesscrocs]

chris sturniolo x popstar!reader

warning : none

used the lyrics from “best part” by daniel ceasar feat. H.E.R

a song for you

in which, chris’ popstar girlfriend does her last show

The world knew you as the glittering pop star with a voice like moonlight and fire, someone who danced across stadium stages as if born with stardust in your veins. But to Chris Sturniolo, you were something softer. You were sleepy phone calls and hoodie-clad coffee runs. You were midnight laughter and sunlight tucked into a single smile.

Your love wasn’t loud, but it didn’t hide.

Fans knew. They felt the spark even if you never posted it. They whispered excitedly in comment sections and stitched your moments together—your matching bracelets, the way you wore his hat on a random Tuesday, the lyrics that hinted at him. They adored the mystery of it all, that quiet, real kind of love that didn’t need an announcement to be known.

Chris had always understood your rhythm. He never asked you to slow down. When you went on tour, he didn’t hold you back—he packed your favorite snacks in your suitcase and kissed your forehead at the airport. And when you stood under the spotlight, thousands of eyes watching, he was never far—not in your heart, not in your words, and never in your songs.

And then came L.A.

The last show. The final crescendo of the tour. The sky was painted deep violet as the stadium lights beamed against the stars, like the universe had opened its arms just for you.

Somewhere in the crowd, near the front, Chris stood with his brothers, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as he watched you soar—your voice pouring like honey over the crowd, golden and sweet. He knew every lyric by heart, but it was the last song that made his heart still.

Because that one… that one was his.

You had written it for him when the nights were cold and your pillow missed his scent. You wrote it between plane rides and sound checks, stitching pieces of him into every chorus, every line. It was your story—the way he grounded you when the world spun too fast, the way he loved you gently when the noise became too loud.

As the first notes played, the crowd grew quiet. Almost reverent. You didn’t say the song was about him, but you didn’t have to. Your eyes, as they found his, told the whole truth.

Your voice shimmered, the lyrics blooming into the air like petals:

“ you know that I see it I know you’re a star

where you go i follow , no matter how far

if life is a movie , then you’re the best part, oh ”

The confetti burst like starlight, raining down in gold and silver. The crowd roared, but all you could see was him. Chris. Standing there with wide eyes and a smile that said I love you without needing words.

You crouched at the edge of the stage, heart pounding like the drums behind you. He leaned closer, hand over his chest as if to keep it from bursting. And in front of thousands—no longer hiding, no longer hesitating—you kissed him.

It was soft and slow, like time bowed to let the moment bloom. It was a kiss that spoke of everything between you—the quiet promises made in the early morning, the gentle laughter shared in the quiet corners of your shared spaces, the depth of love that didn’t need to shout to be heard. You could feel his hands cupping your face, the way he held you as if you were the rarest thing in the world, precious and cherished.

The kiss was nothing hurried, nothing desperate. It was tender, filled with all the unspoken words that had passed between you in stolen moments. The crowd, the lights, the music—they all faded into the background as you melted into each other, the world pausing, just for this.

The fans screamed. The cameras caught it all. And just like that, the mystery wasn’t a mystery anymore—it was magic.

Weeks passed, but the magic lingered.

Edits flooded your feeds: montages of your kiss, slowed-down clips of Chris’s face glowing as you sang to him, videos layered with soft music and glittering captions like “fairytale love” and “soulmates for real.” People didn’t just love your music—they loved your love. Because it was the kind that felt rare, the kind that felt true.

Even in quiet moments afterward—when you were back home, your head on Chris’s chest, tangled in blankets and sunlight—you still smiled whenever you saw another edit of the two of you.

Chris would laugh, kiss the top of your head, and say, “They’re not wrong, you know.”

And you’d whisper, eyes closing, “No… they’re not.”

Because in a world full of noise, you had found something real. Something warm.

A love that needed no spotlight, yet shined brighter than any stage.

And in every song that followed, a part of that fairytale lived on.

MAI’S STORE

love this song so i wanted to write about it :))))

[soobmeongie]

Tied To You

Pairing: Rich Husband! Ricky x Poor Wife! Reader

Genre: Fluff + Angst

Summary:

She was just a florist with no family left. He was the country’s youngest billionaire, and her most loyal customer.

Now she’s his wife — and the target of every whisper in the mansion halls.

But Ricky Shen doesn’t care about bloodlines, business mergers, or what the world thinks.

He only cares about her.

This is the story of a soft girl and the man who would burn the world to keep her smiling.

Of a love that began with flowers… and bloomed into forever.

People say marrying into money is like stepping into a fairytale.

But fairytales don’t usually start with me… standing awkwardly in a walk-in closet bigger than my childhood home.

The silk nightgown I’m wearing probably costs more than my entire old flower shop monthly rent.

And yet, here I am — still the same me.

The same ex-florist girl who used to save leftover petals in a jar.

Now I’m Mrs. Shen. The wife of Ricky Shen Quan Rui.

Young and Rich, Tall and Handsome. Shen Ricky.

That’s what people describe him.

A name that people speak with reverence or fear — or both.

But to me…

He’s just Ricky.

The man who used to bring me coffee every Wednesday at 3:15 p.m. Sharp.

The man who silently replaced the lock on my flower shop after someone tried to break in.

The man who asked me to marry him in the middle of my shop, surrounded by wilting lilies at night.

He didn’t kneel. He didn’t need to.

He just looked me in the eyes and said,

“I want you to be mine, always. Marry me, Y/N.”

I remember trembling. I remember nodding.

I remember thinking — this can’t be real.

But here I am.

Married to the richest, most desired man in the country…

…while I still feel like I don’t quite belong in his world.

⸻

In public, he’s cold, unreadable.

But behind closed doors?

He’s the softest, most terrifyingly gentle man I’ve ever met.

He kisses my hand before bed.

He holds my waist like I’m made of something precious.

He calls me “darling” and “my love” and sometimes, in a voice that shakes me to my bones — “Mrs. Shen.”

⸻

The world knows him as the young CEO who doubled his company’s value overnight.

As the man who broke engagement with the heiress Annalise Chen, shocking the social elite.

No one knew he’d fallen for a florist girl from the wrong side of town.

But his grandparents love me. Especially Nainai — she always says,

“Ricky only smiles like that when you’re around.”

And yet…

His mother, the great Madam Shen, looks at me like I’m a wrinkle in her designer suit.

Like I’m the one blemish in her son’s perfect life.

I try to stay out of her way.

I try to be the perfect wife.

But some days, no matter how hard I try, I can still feel the sting of not being… enough.

⸻

Tonight, Ricky comes home late.

His tie loose, his hair slightly tousled — tired but still heartbreakingly handsome.

He sets his briefcase down, walks straight to me, and cups my cheek.

“Missed you,” he whispers, kissing my forehead.

And just like that —

The anxiety melts away.

I smile. “You’re late, hubby.”

He grins. That rare, boyish grin that’s just for me.

“I’m here now, my darling.”

He pulls me close, and I bury my face in his chest.

For a moment, there’s no wealth gap. No cruel mother-in-law. No ex-fiancée with sharp smiles.

Just the thump of his heart against my ear.

Just us.

Tied To You MASTERLIST 🕊️

CHAPTERS

Prologue - A Home Full of Roses, and Thorns

The Man in The Rain

The First Step

Thorns In Bloom

Rooftop Promises

His Queen, Always

First Date, First Panic | Special Chapter (6.5): Kiss Me Like A Fairytale

I Do, I Always Do

A Home Called You

The Event, The Ex, The Cracks

Don’t You Dare Touch Her

The Letter On The Table

You Can’t Leave Me

You’re Mine Forever

Over Me

Where Love Blooms Eternal (Final)

Epilogue - Stardust in the Morning

Disclaimer : ALL STORIES ARE FICTIONAL ONLY

[do not copy, edit, or revise my works]

Comment if you want to join taglist!

[linda-from-the-bird-site]

****ONLY 632 TICKETS NOW LEFT****

Well folks we are now down to the last 632 tickets for the amazing edition of @neil-gaiman 🌟🌟STARDUST🌟🌟 with the addition illustrations by both Neil and Charles Vess and of course bound by the amazing Lyra’s Books

The funds will support so many wonderful fully volunteer led charities and groups. NO MONEY WILL GO TO ANY CEO!!

These funds will buy extra foodstuffs for non referral foodbanks, it’ll buy tents and warm clothing for the homeless it’ll support some amazing groups who support struggling parents in the community, it’ll “Give a Kid a Coat for Christmas”

If you click on myRaffall profile you’ll also see the awesome signed, numbered copy of Coraline which you cannot buy unless you go to a well known auction site and you’ll need to pay £0000s for it!

An added bonus with the Coraline book is a one off glass dip pen made by the awesome Sally Sutherland - Lampwork Beads and Jewellery in the colours of Coraline, this is the same pen as was gifted to Neil!!

Buy a ticket for a fiver, it’s about the cost of a large coffee in some places and you never know buy a ticket to either book and YOU could win!

There has been a winner from this group previously.

So if you’re looking to do something that’ll make you feel good and give you the chance to win an awesome book this is it.

[yukkiji]

editor's note

you and akaashi talked about starting a family once. quietly. gently. a passing dream between cups of tea and weekend mornings. now, the dream is real—and you’ve been carrying the secret, waiting for the right moment to tell him. that moment arrives in the softest, most “you” way possible.

chapters of us. haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. akaashi keiji x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, domestic fluff, timeskip!akaashi, pregnant!reader

wc: 1.1k

author's note: second chapter is now up! tbh i don't really have a specific number on how many chapters there will be, so it may be possible that even as the kids grow up, there would still be a few chapters or like short spin off with uncle kotaro who knows hehe

mornings with akaashi were always a kind of poetry in motion.

not loud, not extravagant. just slow, peaceful things—clinking mugs, slippers brushing over wood floors, your wedding rings catching faint morning light as they clinked against porcelain at the kitchen table. outside, the world was still half-asleep, clouds low and gray with the promise of gentle rain, birds calling lazily from the trees.

you’d been married for nearly two years now, and life with him was soft in all the right places. being his wife didn’t mean grand declarations or dramatic romance. it meant the small things, the real things. like freshly folded laundry left at the foot of the bed. like sticky notes on your lunch with doodles of flowers and sleepy cats. like the way he kissed the top of your head when you passed each other in the hallway, or how he made your tea just the way you liked it—without asking.

love with him wasn’t loud. it lingered. it lived in the quiet moments—the fogged-up mirror after your shared showers, brushing your teeth in sync, leaning into one another while half-asleep on the couch. it lived in the subtle touches, the whispered goodnights, the way his hand always found yours beneath the covers, even in dreams.

and it meant you knew—truly knew—how to tell him something life-changing. something terrifying and beautiful and big.

you hadn’t said the words out loud yet. you hadn’t needed to. instead, you gave it to him the way he gave things to you: subtly, thoughtfully, meaningfully.

you placed the envelope between the chapters he was editing.

he’d been working on a novel from one of his favorite authors—a returning client whose prose was deliberate and complicated, someone he admired for the slow unravel of emotional arcs. it felt fitting. like slipping truth into fiction. and you knew akaashi. you knew he read deeply. nothing escaped his eye.

he’d been up before you that morning, as usual. hair slightly tousled, glasses perched low on his nose, hoodie loose around his frame like it belonged more to you than him. you found him in the kitchen, already two sips into his coffee, one hand holding a red pencil, the other absently stirring the air in rhythm to whatever he was reading.

you leaned in, kissed his temple. he hummed something unintelligible and warm. when you refilled his mug, he didn’t even glance up—just murmured, “thank you, love,” like second nature. he didn’t suspect a thing.

now, it was just past 10 a.m. and the soft gray quiet of the house felt deeper than usual. the gentle scent of petrichor drifted in through the slightly cracked window. the world outside was still yawning. you were curled in a blanket by the window, your book long forgotten in your lap. you'd reread the same paragraph four times, your heart beating a little faster with each minute that passed.

waiting.

you didn’t know what page he was on. you didn’t know when he’d reach it.

but you knew he was close.

then came the shift—the change.

at first, just the slight pause in pencil movement. the absence of page turns. then the silence grew, thick and heavy with stillness.

he found it.

your breath caught.

from across the room, you heard the rustle of paper sliding out from between the chapters. the envelope being unfolded. and then, that long, unbroken quiet—the kind that held emotion too full to name.

you didn’t move. you didn’t dare. you only looked up when you heard the chair creak.

akaashi stepped into the doorway of the study, slow and disbelieving.

his expression was unreadable at first—stunned, wide-eyed, soft. his left hand trembled slightly where it held the ultrasound photo, while his right gripped the side of the door like he needed something to anchor him. his mouth parted, then closed again. his eyes—those gentle, intelligent eyes—met yours.

you stood.

neither of you said a word for a long moment.

he stepped forward, cautious, like he was approaching a fragile, precious truth. when he reached you, his hand rose to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing beneath your eye.

“i just…” he started, voice barely above a whisper. “i just flipped the page. i was ready to critique a scene. maybe circle a line. and then—” he exhaled shakily, holding up the photo, “this was there.”

your throat tightened.

“i didn’t know how to tell you,” you whispered. “so i gave you a story.”

his laugh was small, cracked around the edges. “i was marking up clichés. and then i found… everything.”

he dropped his forehead to yours, the photo between your hands now. the silence wrapped around you again—but this time, it was warm. full. whole.

you closed your eyes as he let out a breath that shook through his shoulders.

“twins,” he said, almost like it wasn’t real unless he heard it out loud.

you nodded. “i found out last week. i kept trying to find the right moment, but… they never came.”

“this was the right moment,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “you gave me something real in the middle of something imaginary. you always know how to reach me.”

and then, with such reverence it made your knees weak, he crouched before you. his palm pressed gently to your stomach.

there was no bump yet. no visible sign. just the quiet knowing. just them.

you watched his lashes flutter as he looked at your stomach like it held galaxies.

“i hope they inherit your laugh,” he whispered. “i hear it every time i fall in love with you again.”

your heart fractured open at that. emotion welled, unspoken and overwhelming.

you dropped to your knees, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he held you like the whole world had just fit into his hands.

“they’re going to be so lucky to have you,” you whispered, voice cracking.

he pulled back just enough to look at you—really look at you. “no. we’re lucky to have them. lucky to have this life. lucky to have each other.”

he pressed a hand to your cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb.

“you’re everything i’ve ever wanted,” he said simply. “and now there’s more of you.”

a tear slipped down your face as a smile broke through. you didn’t know what to say. you didn’t need to.

his thumb swept over your lower lip.

“may i kiss you?” he asked, quiet and sure.

you smiled, eyes shining. “you always can.”

and when he kissed you—it wasn’t hurried or desperate. it was slow, grounding, tender. the kind of kiss that told stories. that promised futures. that sealed every unsaid word between you with something sacred.

you melted into it, into him, into the moment that changed everything.

and somewhere behind you, on the desk in the study, the manuscript sat—unfinished. still open to the page where fiction had been interrupted by truth. but tucked between the chapters, untouched by red pencil or revisions, was a new story now.

a new beginning.

the kind you don’t write. the kind you live.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

Current Fandoms (that I am likely to post about)

DTPPF (Li Yu is the bestest boy)

TGCF (FENGQING!!)

SVSSS (Shen Qingqiu deserves a harem)

MDZS (Nie Huaisang is my blorbo)

2ha (Domesticated Chu Wanning Cinematic Universe)

Star Trek woke me like a sleeper agent just now

Merlin BBC deserves a mention since I revived my main mbbc wip from the graveyard a bit ago

Published Works (and their status)

An Ding Almanac (ongoing on side blog)

Current WIPS (in order of something, but don't ask me what)

Note: highlighted in green is my main wip for a specific fandom.

[ the root of the problem (is my love for you that grows) ] the fengqing hanahaki fic that is my love child with satan.

[ roots dug in the ground (buried beside my broken heart) ] the companion piece to the previous fic with extras of the rest of characters watching the shit show go down.

[ though the stars walk backward ] an academy era spirk au where the Kobayashi Maru is replaced by a new test called the Tarsus IV

[ deep in that darkness peering (as the darkness peers back) ] the huan hua trial au that spirals into an identity and system reveal.

[ in inevitably, eternal ] an existential look into Mo Xuanyu's cycle of death and rebirth as he fights against time and god itself for a chance to escape his fate and maybe just once deserve love.

[ my soul is painted like the wings of butterflies ] the huaqing brother au I've mentioned involving prophets, pathological liars, a lot of chess metaphors, heavy angst, and time loops.

[ currently untitled dream curse au ] a fengqing romantic drama filled with domestic fluff, mutual pining, quite a bit of domestic sex, a conglomerate of mixed feelings and denial, and many MANY misunderstandings.

[ across an ocean of time, the wind still sings your name ] a beefleaf time travel fix it featuring amnesia and lots and lots of mutual pining (they pine so much I could warp them in Christmas lights and hang ornaments on them).

[ stardust burns gold in our veins ] a merthur fic of tragedy and angst because I'm evil like that. You're welcome. “Magic comes from the stars, I think. That’s why it burns gold.”

Feel free to ask me about any of my wips. I have way more in my folder I sometimes drag out, dust off, and work on, but I figured for brevity (I have well over 120 wips okay we're not listing them all here EDIT: link goes to the time I listed a lot of my wips with their silly doc names), I'd only list the ones I'm at the point of naming.

Below the line will be a list of fic's (with links) I've info dumped about at some point. The links will go to the first post I made of each.

The OTHER SVSSS Huan Hua Trial au

TGCF Qi Rong Transmitigation au

SVSSS random NPC transmitigates into SVSSS (a.k.a. Shen Yuan has selective amnesia, time travels, and thinks his memories are a book)

TGCF dream curse au post 1, post 2

SVSSS deep in the darkness peering fic

SVSSS qijiu broken soulmate bond au angst no comfort

TGCF post canon shi brother ghost king

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken at All Chapter 18/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Oh hey! What's up everyone?

I know it's been a while (shocking) but it's Solstice today and the muse decided something needed to be posted for this fic in honour of the fairy orgies XD

This was written super fast and not really re-read because it's already 10pm so I'll probably edit it later but I'm giving it to you all now.

Happy Solstice and I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

********

Part 18

“Doesn’t look so bad,” Will shrugs when they stand outside the mouth of the cave the next morning. Emma and Wendy roll their eyes at the same time. It does look that bad. For a place called Echo Cave she’d had expected something bigger, something louder. But all she can see as they approach is a narrow tunnel in the rockface, no sound escaping from within. So she jumps when Tiger Lily’s voice suddenly comes from within. 

“You’re late.”

“Apologies,” Killian nods. “The forest has changed a fair bit since I last made the journey - it took us longer than anticipated to find the path.” 

“You have a habit of doing that,” Tiger Lily scoffs. “Misinterpreting time.” 

The reply is so quick, and Killian’s sigh so exhausted, that Emma has to hold back a snort of laughter.

“We came as fast as we could.”

“Come then, let’s not delay any further. The others have gathered.” 

“Who are the others?” Emma asks Hook quietly as they follow.

“The eldest of those who were here before Pan. They were barely more than children when it happened, but They have some memory of how things were.” 

“I thought you said they’d forgotten all their magic.” 

“We did not forget,” Tiger Lily snaps from the entrance. Emma watches as the faint, gold dusting of magic that covers their skin, the only light in the otherwise pitch black cave shimmers and slides over their arm, cascading like water down through their fingers  that they trail along the  rocky wall, leaving flecks of sparking, gold dust in their wake.  “It was taken from us. Through slaughter and cruelty. When the children who were left behind grew enough to become a threat to Pan, we were forced to lock away what little we remembered or meet the same fate.” 

Every time she thinks it can’t get worse, it does. The massacre of Tiger Lily’s people and the destruction of their history, the torture and killing of the Lorelei, the horror of the murder of those boys on the beach. There’s no end it seems to Pan’s cruelty, to his thirst for blood. 

Emma reaches for the shimmering of light that remains along the wall, glittering and moving with the flow of the rough surface. It glows brighter beneath her touch and something swells from deep within her, rushing to meet it, warm and electrifying, before she yanks her hand back and stumbles the rest of the way though. 

The walk is long, this cave buried deep in darkness and stardust. She’s not sure she even hears it at first, a small whisper of a voice from far away, the words too quiet to make out, but repeating. As they continue along and a dim light starts to appear in the distance, they grow louder. It’s a child’s voice, rolling against the walls of the cave - wish I’d never come here… just want to go home. Just want to go home. Just want to go home….

She feels Killian’s hand on the small of her back and realizes she’s stopped walking. “It’s alright, love. It’s just an echo. The last secret that was shared here.” She still hesitates, not wanting to get any closer to the haunting voice. “Whoever they were, they’re not here anymore.”

“His name was Ruffio,” Will says, nearly as quiet as the first echo. “He’s been gone a long time.” He only meets her eye for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing as though he hadn’t said anything. She can’t blame him. She knows by now that nobody in Neverland ever goes home. “Come on - we’ve got secrets to spill.” 

The light ahead grows until finally they emerge into a massive cavern. The stone that surrounds them black onyx - gleaming faintly against the dust that covers the ceiling like a galaxy above them. The space feels boundless, endless like the darkness could go on forever and she’s reminded of their flight here, of the endless sea of stars they’d sailed in on. 

There are four people standing in the center of the chamber on a platform of the same black onyx, all of them with the same sharp, androgynous features as Tiger Lily, all with the same loose-fitting clothes and cropped hair, and all with that same shimmer of living magic glowing faintly in the dark. Tink stands with them, waiting. None of them are any older in appearance than herself, but she knows better by now than to judge age or power by appearance on this island. 

The Constant. 

They follow the rest of the way to the narrow, stone bridge that connects the ledge to the platform on which the others stand. When Emma takes a step to follow Tiger Lily onto the bridge, Killian puts an arm out, halting her in her tracks. Emma watches, heart in her throat as the bridge crumbles after Tiger Lily, stone falling away behind every step until they reach the end and there’s no bridge at all. 

“The Constant keep no secrets,” Killian explains. “The cave can’t compel anything from them. We, on the other hand…” 

“Of course they don’t.” No wonder they wanted to use this place. Easy to make others share their deepest darkest secrets when you’ve got none of your own to divulge and nothing to risk. “What about Tink?” she asks, nodding at the fifth person standing with the Constant.

“The fey have wings.” 

Right. “So how does this work?” 

“From what I remember, you step out onto the edge and call out your secret. If it’s truly your darkest, the cave will echo it back to you.”

“And then we get across?” 

“Aye, easy as that,” Killian attempts a smile, but it comes out as a wince. “I’ll go,” he offers though he looks like he’s dreading this as much as she is. She’s just thankful she doesn’t have to start.  He lets out another sigh, bracing himself and then, “I kissed Emma.” 

Fuck. Her heart drops into her stomach. He’s been a pirate for two hundred years - How the hell can his darkest secret have anything to do with her?

Will smirks. “Kissed? Is that what they’re calling it these days? And I think you’re forgetting that we were all there when she jumped you at Solstice.” His smirk deepens. “And when Emma came back all wet.” If Emma could reach him she’d smack him. 

“I literally walked in on you,” Wendy deadpans.

“I’m not talking about Solstice,” he sighs, not rising to the bait. “It was…” She knows when it was. We’ll keep each other safe, they’d promised. She doesn’t need everyone else to know though. Not when she’s not even sure what any of it meant or what it means now. “It doesn’t matter,” Killian shakes his head. “It was what the kiss - what all of it - exposed.” Fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. “My secret is… I never believed that I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah.” He breathes her name like a prayer and a wound. “To believe that I could find someone else.” His eyes lift to hers and it’s only by sheer force of will that she’s able to stop herself from taking a step back, from running away from the way he’s looking at her. Because she needs to hear this. They all do. If she wants to get across this fucking bridge, if she wants to talk to the fucking Constant, if she wants to get her son back - she needs to hear this secret as much as he needs to tell it. “That is, until I met you.”

She doesn’t know what to say or if she’s supposed to say something, can’t bring herself to look at Wendy or Will or look away from his eyes still burning into hers. And then before she even can do anything, Killian’s voice echoes through the cave, ‘until I met you’ called back to them like a ghost. A rumble follows as a section of the fallen bridge rises back from the depths below them, rock by rock, rebuilding itself. 

Killian lets out a humourless laugh. “So, who’d like to go next?” 

“I will.” Wendy stands with her shoulders straight, like she’s ready for a fight rather than a confession. Emma gets a sinking feeling in her stomach from the way she’s making herself look at Killian, with shame and guilt. He doesn’t look surprised - he looks like he expected this to hurt. “Sometimes… Sometimes I wish you’d never found me. Sometimes I wish you had just kept on walking that day when Pan left me to die.” She winces. “I’ll always be grateful to you for saving my life, for taking me in but…” 

Killian nods when she hesitates, her eyes damp with unshed tears. “Go on, it’s alright.”  

“You trapped me here, Hook. You’re the reason I have to live in this neverending nightmare. Forever. You knew what that water would do to me and I know you couldn’t ask but… you didn’t give me a choice. And I think that if I had one now - if I could have had a say in the next hundred years of my life… I’d rather you’d just let me die because this -” she gestures at herself, at everything around them.  “It’s worse than death. And because of you I’ll never leave.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “I can’t even die if I want to. Not unless Pan decides that’s what he wants. You forced this life on me, Killian, you cursed me to live because it made you feel better and I don’t… I’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Tears stain her cheeks now, jaw tight as she refuses to let any more follow and Emma can see the heartbreak on Killian’s face. “Wendy…” but she shakes her head and he stops the step he’d taken towards her. 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes and he shakes his head this time. Her secret echoes around them like a taunt this time - ‘never forgive you for that’ - and another piece of the bridge rebuilds itself. The silence hangs between them, louder than any echo, until Will steps up. 

“I suppose I should go next - while we’re on the topic of never being forgiven.” He takes his own steadying breath. “I’m dying.” 

Wendy’s face falls. “... what?” It comes out cracked and small and frightened. “What do you mean you’re dying?”

The look Will gives her - there’s so much guilt there, so much pain and self-loathing and love. Emma may not know much about it but she can recognize it now in his eyes, in the way he looks at Wendy. “I lied when I told you I didn’t know what Pan did to my heart. I’ve seen him do it before.”

“One hundred years…”

Will nods, a self-deprecating smile falling flat. “I really hoped that I could keep it from you for a little longer. Neverland will slow it down but… he squeezed a hundred years from my heart. I’ll start aging faster - a lot faster - and pretty soon…”

“How long?” He hesitates a beat longer than Emma can handle - and Wendy… gods, she can’t imagine. “How long?”

“I’ll be dead in a few months - three, maybe four depending on how long I would have lived if I’d aged like a normal person but - I’m so sorry, Wen. I didn’t want to tell you, I -”

Whatever he was going to say and whatever she might have answered  is stolen by the cave calling back to them in Will’s voice, ‘dead in a few months’. Nobody looks as the bridge puts itself back together, all of them too focused on the cruel revelation. He did it for her, Emma realises, for all of them but… he’s dying because of her. Wendy’s losing him because of her. Even Killian looks solemn at the news. 

“Your turn, Emma,” Will chokes out with the palest attempt at levity she’s seen him manage since she met him. “Wouldn’t want to be left out of all the fun, would you?”

She looks out towards the chasm between them and the Constant. She doesn’t even know what she expected to confess, or what she’d hear confessed by those with her, and now, with the truth of Will’s fate hanging in the air, nothing feels like it matters in the grand scheme of things. 

What even is her deepest secret? That she gave up Henry? That she had her heart broken by a selfish man who used her and then left her? That she spent a year of her life in jail? That she’s spent her whole life searching for the parents who left her behind? That between Neal and her parents she doesn’t think she could ever trust someone again - could ever let herself love someone again, or let them love her… That she might be anyway? None of it feels like enough; none of it even feels like a secret anymore, not since Henry found her and brought her to Storybrooke. 

And then, like bile and sick, she feels something being forced up from her throat, words clawing their way to the surface and past her lips of their own volition. She can’t stop them. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to say until they come spilling out. 

“I wish Henry had never come to find me. I wish he’d never brought me to Storybrooke.” The confession leaves her gasping, tears in her eyes as though she had been sick. She wants to be, hearing such a horrible truth being spoken out loud. Killian looks at her with sympathy, but she turns away from it. And once it’s started, she can’t stop it. “I never wanted to be a mother. I gave him away because I knew he’d be better off without me - but also because I knew I’d be better off without him. He’s a beautiful, amazing kid and I love him more than anything… but I never asked for this. Every day since he showed up at my door I’ve been terrified - every minute of every day. Those few minutes in the Fae forest when I couldn’t remember him were the most peaceful I’ve felt in months and when it all came flooding back it just reminded me of how much simpler my life was before I had to be anything to anyone. I don’t want to lose him. But I never wanted to find him either.” 

The bridge rebuilds itself, completing the path across as the worst thing she’s ever said, ‘never wanted to find him’,  is echoed back to her cruelly. She feels drained, numb, and she wonders if the others are feeling this horrible emptiness too. She looks out at where the Constant wait. If this is their idea of having them prove their allegiance, they better be ready to give theirs in return.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian tells her, leading her across the bridge. None of them say a word, Will and Killian both casting glances at Wendy who won’t look up from her feet, and the silence follows them the whole way across. 

“That sounded rough,” Tink comments when they reach the platform, the five Constant talking in harsh whispers in a language she doesn’t recognize. 

“How lucky of you to have missed it then,” Will snips. He must be feeling worse than Emma realized.

There’s an argument starting, still in that foreign language, but she can tell just the same. Every few words there’s a glimpse of something that feels familiar, a syllable from another language she’s heard, a word that could be French or Spanish, a glimpse of English, not one language but many - like every language spoken at once.

“This meeting has been a topic of some controversy,” Killian whispers. “But I think Tiger Lily might be on our side.” 

“You can understand them?” 

He shrugs. “One picks up a few things after two centuries.”

There’s a small scoff from Tink. “Yeah, all that pillow talk was really educational.”

Killian ignores the quip. “They’re the keepers of the last of the forgotten history of the old Neverland.” He nods at each as he names them. “That’s Philodendron, Halcyon, Alder, Jacaranda, and you know Tiger Lily.

“Tiger Lily is one of them?” 

“Tiger Lily was the oldest Constant to survive the massacre. They were just shy of a century when Pan took over.”

“A century?”

“The Constant are eternal, love. A century is nothing.” 

The Constant have gone silent, a tense, begrudging conclusion to their argument that Emma can feel even if she doesn’t know the words. 

Finally, Tiger Lily speaks. “Tinkerbell tells us you wish to unearth the secrets of the island - secrets that were buried to keep us safe.”

“Secrets that could return the island to the way it once was if you ally with us against Pan,” Killian counters. 

“If our knowledge could have defeated the boy,” Alder interjects, “we would have done so a millenia ago when he first laid waste to this island.” 

“Maybe your knowledge alone couldn’t defeat him, but we have the Lorelei on our side, and the fae,” Wendy adds, gesturing at Tink. 

Alder scoffs. “You have one fairy. One who’s been without magic for almost five hundred years, who’s magic was corrupted by the very demon you seek to destroy. Our magic was born from the innocence and dreams of children, the purest light magic there is, and even it was snuffed out by Pan’s darkness. What chance have you with a weakened fairy and the duplicitous sirens?” 

“We have more than that,” Tink interjects, bitterness and insult obvious in the bite of her words. “We have her.” It takes Emma a moment to realize that she’s the one being gestured at and now every set of eyes is on her. 

“Me?” 

“Her?” Wendy frowns. 

“You can’t honestly tell me you haven’t noticed. She practically reeks of magic. It’s spilling out of every pore. I clocked it as soon as she got here.” 

“I don’t have magic.” The Constant continue to stare, questioning, doubting. “I don’t. Don’t you think if I did I’d have used it by now to get Henry back?” 

“Not if you weren’t aware of it, love,” Killian offers gently.

“Okay but I’m not some fairytale character; I’m from Boston - the land without magic. I don’t have any power.” 

“Oh for…” Tink swears under her breath, crossing the room and grabbing Emma’s wrist. Faster than she can stop her, the fairy pulls a small blade from the complicated twist of pins and leather that keeps her mass of blonde hair piled on top of her head, ivory handle embellished with gold runes, and slashes it across Emma’s palm. 

“Ow! What the hell!” Emma shouts, yanking her hand away. That fucking hurt. Tinkerbelle doesn’t resist, the rest of their small crew moving to intervene, but all at once, they freeze. Emma follows their gazes to her hand, clutched tightly in a fist to her chest and her breath catches. There’s light seeping through the cracks in her fingers, golden and swirling like smoke, shimmering like the magic that flows over the Constant’s skin. 

Jacaranda reaches a hand out to her, palm upturned in a request and Emma looks to the others before carefully placing her hand in theirs. Carefully, the Constant unfurls her fingers, examining the light that shines from her wound with a careful touch. Their eyes go wide. “This is our magic,” they say, voice soft and tinged with awe. “Ours and… something else.” 

“May I?” Philodendron asks, extending their own hand. Emma nods, even as the urge to refuse shouts at her. You don’t have magic. You’re not magic. You’re a goddamn bail bonds person from Boston, not a fairytale character. Philodendron looks at her after taking a moment to examine the wound themselves. “This is light magic,” they confirm. “It’s raw and untapped but powerful, more powerful than anything I’ve seen since before Pan’s time.” They twist her hand a bit, trying to look closer, to read something in whatever they see that Emma can’t. “But this isn’t born of belief and dreams as ours is, it's the product of something else… of -”

“True love,” Emma breathes out, so low she doesn’t mean for anyone to hear it. Henry had said that hadn’t he? That she was supposed to be the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, that she was supposed to be the Saviour. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Philodendron nods slowly. “You were right, Tinkerbelle. This is more powerful magic than we anticipated.” 

“Can you use it?” Emma asks, still not believing it really, but if it means they’ll help her get her kid back, she doesn’t care what she has to do. 

“That depends,” Halcyon takes a step forward. “Can you wield it?” 

“No, I…” she doesn’t even know how this is possible. 

“I can.” They all turn to Tink, Emma cradling her hand to her chest once more. “If you tell me what we need to do, I can guide her. But you’ll have to let me.” The last bit is directed at her and she hesitates… Tink hasn’t exactly made a secret of the fact that she’s not a fan of hers, and she just slashed her damn hand open… Trust already isn’t her strong suit to begin with. “I’m not going to steal it,” Tink snaps and looks genuinely offended and Emma remembers that she knows what it is to have her power taken from her. 

“I know you won’t. I just… what if it doesn’t work?” How powerful could this magic be? She’s not anything special, she never has been. Why would this be any different? 

“Then I guess you don’t get your kid back.” 

“Tink,” Killian warns but Emma can’t help but appreciate the fairy’s bluntness. 

“What do we need to do?” 

“This cavern, ” TigerLily starts, taking a knee and placing a hand reverently on the stone, “used to be a sacred place. It held all of the secrets of Neverland, and the dreams of children who visited - the purest and most honest of truths of all - fueled the island as it did our magic. This was its source - the source of everything. 

“But then Pan tainted this cave with his twisted version of secrets as power, as something to be wielded, and forced us to sacrifice the last of the light magic that still breathed life into Neverland, the cavern shielded itself from his darkness. Now it echoes truths rather than accept ones taken maliciously. This place… has seen nothing but darkness for centuries. It has not been sleeping, but fighting, the last of the resistance against Pan right under his nose, keeping the darkness at bay and it has hardened. We need to remind it what the light looks like.” 

“It can have mine. Whatever this is. If it can help and if this place can defeat Pan it can have all of it.” 

Tiger Lily smiles kindly. “Not all of it. It would never snuff out your light. But even the slightest kindling can spark an inferno and with it you can breathe magic back into the island.” 

“How?” 

They nod to Tink who retrieves her knife again, slashing her own palm this time, the light that glows from her wound a shimmering green, and holds her hand out to Emma. Heat burns across her skin when she takes Tink’s offered hand, the light between them growing, shining and mixing. Tink places her other hand on Tiger Lily’s shoulder and the Constant flattens both their palms against the stone beneath them. After a moment, they look to Emma and she knows she’s doing it wrong. She’s not doing anything but she’s doing it wrong. 

“I’m sorry.”

Tiger Lily shakes their head, their smile not malicious, but understanding. 

“I have met so many lost boys and girls on this island. So many broken, hardened children lead here by fear and hurt and neglect, so afraid to trust, to love, to admit or even accept what they want, what they desire more than anything - what has been robbed of them. This place is born of dreams and truths and you, dear Swan, strong Swan, brave Swan… frightened Swan, have locked yourself away from both.” 

“But I already told this place my darkest secret.” But she doesn’t need Tiger Lily to tell her - this place echoes darkness, resists darkness. That secret was Pan’s magic - not Neverland’s. 

“What do you dream of, Emma? What truths do you keep from yourself?” Emma opens her mouth to speak but Tiger Lily holds up a hand. “Do not tell them to me. Tell them to the lost girl. Unburden her.” 

What does she dream of? Things she can’t have, things she’s never had, things that were taken away. She wants to find her parents, that’s no secret though, she’s always known that. She wants them to have never given her up in the first place. She wanted a family, the one she could have had with Henry and Neal if he hadn’t turned out to be the vile person he was, the life that she’d had just a glimpse of after one missed period, before everything went to shit. She doesn’t want that anymore. She hasn’t let herself want any of it since then, not love, not family, not hope… 

Her skin begins to warm, something flaring beneath the surface. Liar. She doesn’t know if it’s the cave or herself or her magic but it echoes through her like her secret against the walls. Tiger Lily accused her of locking herself away from her dreams, from her truths, but can they even still be truths if they’ve been silenced and stomped down for decades? 

She thinks of the lost girl she was, abandoned, a runaway on the street, burning the last of her childhood, of stupid fairytales and stories to keep warm in a world that was only ever cold. What had that girl wanted? Powerless, lost, alone. That girl who felt like nothing, who meant nothing to anyone, who had never mattered and never would, who had only herself to take care of her. She wanted to matter - to someone, to herself, she wanted people to matter to her, to be able to let them. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. Even as she pushed away every foster parent, every friend, every lover as she grew older, she didn’t want - she doesn’t want - to have to do it alone. 

That’s what she dreams of, what she refuses to admit that she dreams of. That for all of her rightly earned distrust of everyone, for all of her caution and her fear of abandonment, of love and hope, she wants to be able to let them in, let them matter. She wants to believe that she could have that happily ever after that she’s scorned all her life. 

Images flash in her mind as the heat builds, her body tingling, a faint glimmer of light shining against her shut eyelids. Henry smiling in her doorway in Boston, Mary Margaret offering her a home, Killian bringing her to Neverland, Wendy helping her hide from Pan, Will sacrificing himself for her, Killian nearly sacrificing Milah’s name - sacrificing his memories, all of them banding together to help her save her kid, even Tink now, helping her to wield magic she doesn’t understand. 

She’s not alone. She’s not in this alone. For the first time in her life she has people she can count on. People she can trust. She thinks of the smile Henry gave her when she let him know she wasn’t going to leave Storybrooke even though she could, of Mary Margaret’s pep talks, of shared hot chocolate and drinks and advice in their apartment, of Killian in that dank brig after one of the worst hours of her life - perhaps I would - of his words whispered in the quiet darkness of his cabin - I’m here. You don’t have to ask - of his confession echoing around them - until I met you. She does matter to people. She’s not nothing. She was never nothing. She matters and she has people who matter to her. 

Her whole body alights, the blood in her veins not blood anymore but something else, something powerful and she can feel it surging beneath her skin, pulled by a force as it rushes through her and towards that opening in her palm. The white of her light overtakes the green and Tink’s body jerks like the surge of magic is as jarring to her as it is for Emma. Tiger Lily gasps, the ground beneath them starting to glow, tendrils of golden light snaking towards them across the stone like rivulets. Their body starts to shimmer, the dusting of gold shining brighter until their skin is swallowed by it completely. 

Emma can feel sweat beading on her skin, the salt mixing with the tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying. She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep this up, the power coursing through her overwhelming. Tink’s hand is shaking in hers, both their palms damp and slippery and white knuckled and she can’t imagine how much more effort the fairy is putting in as the one actually channeling all of this. 

“There’s so much,” Tiger Lily says in awe. “We’ve forgotten so much.” Their eyes are glowing with the same gold that covers their skin, their mouth pulling into a smile even as tears roll down their cheeks. 

“I can’t -” Tink starts, but doesn’t let Emma release her hand when she tries to stop.

There’s another moment, the light engulfing the Constant almost completely, so bright Emma has to look away, before finally, suddenly, it stops. The three of them slump against the ground with a gasp of exhaustion. Emma doesn’t even turn when she feels hands on her shoulders, helping her to sit up, she knows it’s him. Wendy is at Tink’s side helping to support her as well as the Constant circle around Tiger Lily, all of them holding one another in a moment that feels beautiful and private as joy and heartbreak play over their faces. 

“Can you. Stop him?” Tink pants out. 

“I… I think so. There’s just - there’s so much. I need time to sort through it all.” 

“We don’t. Have. Time.”

“All of the secrets of Neverland, millennia’s worth, have just been poured into my mind. It will take me more than a few minutes to understand it all and find what will help us.” 

“How much time?” Emma asks. Henry’s already been here too long - too long without knowing that she’s here, that she’s coming for him. 

“I don’t… give me a few nights at least. Come back in three days. That should give me time to make sense of what is needed at least.” Their eyes are far away, like they’re not seeing the cavern around them but something far bigger and far more extraordinary.  

Emma nods. “Three days?” 

“Three days. And then we’ll rid this island of its false king forever.”

***********

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly  @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @batana54 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s  @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12   @anmylica   @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr @killiansprincss @goforlaunchcee

[falloutbradreviews]

Let’s Talk About Patrick Stump’s Solo Career: Soul Punk Is An Underrated Classic

Patrick Stump of the pop-punk band Fall Out Boy is my favorite vocalist of all time. I’ve had to think about that for many years, because there are tons of amazing singers out there from all genres. Rob Halford, Sam Cooke, Frank Sinatra, and many more are great singers, but Patrick Stump has always stuck out to me. His voice started off relatively rough around the edges on their early material, but you can hear the makings of a killer vocalist on 2003’s Take This To Your Grave. Throughout the next few years, his vocals would get better and better. They would finally culminate on 2007’s Infinity On High and 2008’s Folie A Deux, where he could show the world that he’s the best pop-punk vocalist and his vocals were frankly better than the genre. That’s why when Fall Out Boy went on hiatus in 2009, Stump pursued a solo career that a lot of people were somehow surprised by, but they shouldn’t have been surprised if you were paying attention – R&B, soul, and funk. Fall Out Boy’s last couple of albums before their hiatus had traces of R&B, soul, and funk, but Stump’s solo career went full-fledged into it. I wanted to talk about Stump’s brief solo career, because I’ve been going back to some Fall Out Boy records, and his solo material is something I haven’t heard in a long time. I just talked about 2008’s Folie A Deux, as well as posted a ranked episode of their albums that’s updated for the year of our lord 2025, but I kind of wanted to post retrospectives of almost everything. I’ve talked about Infinity On High a million times, so I don’t know if I’ll talk about that one again, but I’ve got From Under The Cork Tree, Save Rock & Roll, So Much (For) Stardust, and Take This To Your Grave left to talk about.

Stump’s solo career is also incredibly interesting, because people were not receptive to it whatsoever, despite his debut solo album, Soul Punk, being one of my favorite pop records of all time. I haven’t listened to Soul Punk in quite a long time, but I’ve been going back to it recently, and it’s a killer record. Soul Punk is also a severely underrated record, but I don’t think fans were ready for a Patrick Stump solo album. Fans already hated Folie A Deux for some reason, and I still haven’t figured out why. Maybe it’s because it wasn’t a pop-punk record, but Infinity On High wasn’t, either. I think that album had just enough of their older sound to appease fans, but Folie A Deux went fully into pop-rock. Soul Punk, unfortunately, went further into pop, soul, R&B, and funk, and people just didn’t like it. Stump got so much backlash at solo shows, he eventually disappeared for a year out of the public eye, and penned a scathing blog post towards fans in which he said, “they liked him better fat.” It’s such an ugly display from fans, but like with Folie, fans have come around to the album. There’s a lot to really love and appreciate on this record, whether it’s Stump’s vocals, the lyrics, the instrumentation, or the production, especially because he did it all himself. This is a 100% self-made record. The only guest spot on the album is Chicago rapper Lupe Fiasco on a remix of lead single “This City.” I had never heard his verse until recently, because I decided to check out the deluxe edition of the album, and it’s okay, frankly. It’s a very simplistic verse from him, especially compared to his usual fare, but it wasn’t half bad. The rest of the album, however, is all Stump. He wrote, produced, and played on the record all by himself.

Because Stump is a producer and multi-instrumentalist, I’m not surprised that the instrumentation and production is fantastic here. This album is so full-bodied, and nothing gets overshadowed by anything else. You can hear his vocals just as well as the instrumentation, but I love it. The most interesting part of this album are his lyrics, because Stump was never a lyricist in Fall Out Boy. That was Pete Wentz, the band’s bassist, and he has such a unique and distinct lyrical style, but do Stump’s lyrics reach the same level of cleverness, memorability, and uniqueness? No, but he has a different writing style that’s a lot more direct, earnest, and straightforward, all the while still being memorable and enjoyable. Songs like “Dance Miserable,” “The ‘I’ In Lie,” “Run Dry,” and “Coast (It’s Gonna Get Better)” are pretty straightforward tracks, but the lyrics are very earnest and heartfelt. They express ideas that people can relate to, whether it’s sobriety, unfaithfulness, depression, or just staying positive. This record is also insanely catchy, as Stump has an ear for melody. He always has, especially with Fall Out Boy; albums like Folie A Deux and Infinity On High have some of their best melodies, but even on their post-hiatus material, a lot of their melodies are relatively strong.

While I like a lot of the melodies on 2013’s Save Rock & Roll and 2015’s American Beauty / American Psycho, 2018’s M A N I A and 2023’s So Much (For) Stardust have some of their strongest hooks, especially in the latter. So Much (For) Stardust is their best album since Folie, and it’s in my top three of Fall Out Boy albums because it reminds me so much of Infinity On High and Folie. It has that pop-punk spirit, but it also has the R&B, soul, and funk sounds that Patrick really liked back in 2007 / 2008, and it modernizes it for 2023. I just really love Soul Punk, because I had wanted a solo record from Patrick for years, but the one we got was a pleasant surprise. I hadn’t really listened to pop music at the time, but I credit this record and Michael Jackson’s Thriller with getting me into pop music. I first got into music at an interesting time, because pop music was in a weird place. The club boom was happening, and artists were making really generic, boring, and uninteresting dance-pop that appealed to the lowest common denominator. As a teenager at the time, it just didn’t interest me, so I had to go back into the past to get more into pop music. Patrick Stump’s Soul Punk was a perfect glimpse into the past, but still being modern and new at the same time. If anything, I think this album has aged like fine wine, because it has an 80s pop, R&B, and soul aesthetic that The Weeknd co-opted just a few years ago on Dawn FM, so I think Stump was ahead of his time in being influenced by Michael Jackson, Prince, and the like.

I also went ahead and listened to the deluxe edition of Soul Punk, because I had never listened to the bonus tracks before, and while I can see why they’re bonus tracks, I still really enjoyed them. It was just great to hear Patrick on his own for once, but you can’t deny the magic that the four members of Fall Out Boy share when they make music together. It was still cool for Patrick to make a solo record, and out of the solo work that the members put out during their hiatus, Soul Punk is my favorite. I will say, though, that drummer Andy Hurley and Joe Trohman had a heavy metal band with members of Anthrax and Every Time I Die called The Damned Things, and that was a close second. Their debut from 2010 is an absolute banger of a record, and their follow-up in 2019 was pretty solid, too. Soul Punk is easily my favorite of the solo projects that the band put out when they were separated, but it’s an underrated masterpiece, nonetheless. Like with Folie A Deux, I don’t know why people hated this so much. Maybe it was since this was unashamedly a pop record, but why is that a bad thing? I think fans were so used to the band putting out pop-punk stuff, they didn’t like the fact that they were moving forward and moving out of that scene. Some bands can make it work by playing the same type of music throughout their whole careers, such as Blink-182, New Found Glory, and some other mainstays of the scene, but Fall Out Boy were a cut above the rest by wanting to expand and experiment. Sure, their post-hiatus material is very much pop-rock and even leans into Imagine Dragons-level arena-rock / pop-rock by American Beauty / American Psycho, it was different and not just retreading the past. So Much (For) Stardust was a great culmination of everything they did prior to that, even including some of Soul Punk, but Soul Punk itself is such a great record, and it’s criminally underrated, even 14 years later.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Shine Bright

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Star!Reader

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: fluff, angst, being kidnapped and almost killed, but then fluff again

Summary: Hydra wants to reign eternally, and the best way to do that is to eat a falling star's heart. They knock you out of orbit but didn't expect the Avengers to find you first.

Squares Filled: stars (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: This takes place during or after FATWS, but I've made John evil, and everyone who died post-Endgame is alive and well.

I am absolutely in love with the movie "Stardust", so I decided to base this story on that! The picture down below DOES NOT represent the reader at all, I just wanted to showcase the movie.

x

The sky above is still and peaceful. There isn’t a cloud in sight that allows visibility to whoever looks up at it. John Walker looks through the telescope and positions it on the star Hydra is targeting. If he wasn’t on a mission right now, he’d appreciate the stars shining brightly for their human audience.

“John, is everything in position?”

“On my end. What about yours?”

John looks at his coworker who is in charge of the missile they plan on using for this mission. The man tweaks the numbers and aligns them with the correct star.

“We’re ready.”

All eyes turn to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. She is in charge of this whole operation under the assumption this is for the CIA. She sits at the large desk in the middle of the room, leans back, and rests her hands in her lap.

“Fire away, gentlemen.”

John and his coworker turn the machine on and launch the missile at the star. John rushes over to the telescope and watches as it flies into the sky, breaks off into tiny pieces, and zooms straight into the heart of the star. Instead of blowing it up like most missiles do, it knocks the star off its orbit and sends it straight down to Earth. Whatever John is seeing through the telescope, everyone can see on the monitors in the room so that Valentina can see what’s going on.

Everyone watches it fall straight to Earth to a place they don’t know. They can’t predict the crash site for something as big as a star but it won’t be hard to track it down. Once they figure out where it is, they’ll have so much fun dissecting it for what they truly need it for.

It was Tony’s idea that the entire team kick back and relax after a hard working week. Sam and Wanda brought out the board games that can account for a lot of people since everyone lives at the compound. The only one not here is Thor but that’s because he has duties to complete on Asgard.

“Okay, this time, don’t cheat,” Tony says to Sam.

“Hey, that was one time and I was trying to get Steve.”

The game they’re playing is Cards Against Humanity, something they all love to play—adult edition. What’s a good night in with alcohol and friends if not for an inappropriate game?

“Bucky, you in or not?”

“Yeah, pass me some cards.”

With everyone on board, the game can get started. The first few rounds were hilarious and the next couple was causing a lot of people to drink. Tony loves to put a spin on his games. If he can get people to drink, then a lot of people are getting drunk. By the tenth round, everyone is relaxed and willing to kick things up a notch.

Tony brings out a Truth or Dare drinking game when something bright lights up the night sky.

“What the hell is that?” Clint asks.

Everyone gets up and gathers around the window to watch it fall to the ground. It lands not far from the Avenger’s Compound but far enough to where they can’t see it.

“Tony, Sam, let’s check it out,” Steve says seriously.

Tony and Sam get suited up while Steve fetches his shield. Steve catches a ride with Tony to travel two hours from the Compound in Madison County. There is a big crater on the ground from the impact of the white light, and the three men tread carefully over to it. Steve’s shield is in front of him ready to protect him, Sam’s drone, Redwing, flies next to him cautiously, and Tony’s repulsors are ready and waiting to be fired.

Tony expected to see some kind of weapon in the middle of the crater but instead of a thing, it’s a person--you. You’re wearing a white dress that goes down to your feet, and you have a white glow about you. You groan in pain just as the light dies down and you look up at the three men staring at you.

“What the hell happened?” you ask.

You look to the sky to see your sisters shining in the night sky. How the hell did you get from up there to down here?

“Who are you?” Steve asks.

“My name is Y/N. Who are you?”

“Steve, Tony, and Sam. What happened here?”

“I don’t know. One minute I was shining in the sky and the next I’m down here and in pain.”

“Shining in the sky?”

“I’m a star. I was minding my own business and someone knocked me out of orbit.”

Steve, Tony, and Sam walk down the crater’s walls and toward you cautiously. They still don’t know if you’re good or not until you get up and reveal what’s been behind you this whole time. A shell of a missile that has the Hydra symbol on the side of it.

“We need to get her inside. If Hydra wants her, then she must be special. We can’t just leave her here.”

“Leave me here? What the hell is going on here?”

“If Hydra wants you, it’s for a reason. We should get you inside before they come looking for you.”

Going with them beats sitting here and waiting for someone bad to find you. Everyone who was left behind waits eagerly for the men’s return, and they’re shocked when they return with a gorgeous woman. You’re scared of the many unknowns of your situation: who are these people? What do they want from you? Who is after you? Are you in danger? Will these people hurt you?

“Who is this?” Natasha asks.

“The white light.”

“Here, sit,” Steve offers, and you take a seat away from everyone else. He knows you’re scared so he’s trying to make this as easy as possible for you. “She’s a star.”

“A star?” Bucky asks with two eyebrows raised.

“As I said to them earlier, I was living peacefully in the sky when something knocked me out of orbit.”

“Hydra knocked her out of the sky. They must want a star.”

“Why? What’s so significant about a star?” Bucky asks.

“There’s lore around shooting stars,” you explain. “For centuries, people have tried to get stars to fall to Earth for their hearts. If our hearts are consumed, it’ll grant the person a sort of immortality. No one can live forever, but our hearts can extend life for centuries. Many of my sisters have fallen and died because of it.”

“Hydra must want to reign for a long time,” Steve theorizes. “Listen, why don’t you stay here until we can figure out how to get you back into the sky.”

“Can we even do that?” Natasha wonders.

“There’s a way. It’s complicated but there’s always a way.”

“Bucky, why don’t you show her to the room next to yours.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you,” you sigh and follow the man with a metal arm. He’s very quiet and doesn’t talk much which you relate to. “I appreciate your kindness.”

“Sure. Let me know if you need anything.”

Bucky leaves you alone in the room and you sit on the bed in thought. You never sleep at night and allow yourself to rest during the day so you’re not tired at all. Bucky looks at you before he leaves but pauses. You look so scared and nervous that he can’t help but walk back into the room to be with you. He sits next to you on the bed and wipes both hands on his jeans.

“I was once new here. I didn't know anyone besides Steve. I’m gonna help you figure out a way to get you home.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

The rest of the night is uneventful but right before the sun rose, your eyes started to droop. All of your sisters are sleeping as you’re supposed to be, but the Avengers are so loud you can’t fathom sleeping with this noise. If Hydra wants you then they must have a base somewhere to hold the equipment to knock a star out of orbit. All that equipment will take a lot of money to acquire and a lot of space to hold, so they all come up with places that can be potential bases.

“Ah, there she is. We need your help,” Tony says and waves you into the room.

“What are you guys doing?” you sigh and slump over to them.

“We’re trying to figure out where Hydra’s base is. If we can, then we can plan an attack before they try and come for you.”

“Great,” you sit down and place your chin in your hand.

All of them start talking over one another creating a small headache to form.

“Y/N, I know you’re tired but can you remember where the missile came from? If we can get a sense of direction, we can narrow potential places significantly.”

“I’m not tired, Steve, I’m exhausted. I never stay awake during the day. I need to sleep and rest but you’re all being so loud,” you sigh.

“Come with me,” Bucky offers.

Bucky leads you past both your rooms and to a wing of the compound that rarely is used. This place is the farthest from where anyone is gonna be. There is a spare bedroom down here that Bucky takes you to, and he opens the door for you.

“You’ll be able to get some sleep here. I come here when I want to be alone. It’s quiet.”

“Thank you, Bucky,” you smile.

Your entire body shines slightly to show how happy you are but Bucky doesn’t think much of it. You’re a star. You’re supposed to be shining. All he does is give you a friendly smile and leave you alone to rest. It’s easy for you to fall asleep and you stay asleep for the whole day. When the sun goes down, your body wakes you up to start shining. Then you remember where you are and your glow dims.

You’re ready to take the night on and wander until you find the majority of the Avengers. They’ve been working hard all day to figure out where the Hydra base is and are now taking a break to watch a movie.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Tony says when you enter the room.

“Got room for one more?”

Bucky moves over so you can sit next to him, and you blush slightly when your leg brushes up against his.

“Did you find out where Hydra is located?”

“No. They have defense walls that aren’t coming up on our radars, but we have Friday constantly looking for a way in.”

“Who’s Friday?”

“My AI,” Tony answers.

He turns the movie up so everyone can hear it, and you turn to Bucky with a shy smile.

“Thank you for letting me use your space,” you whisper.

“I don’t mind.”

“What movie are you guys watching?”

“Dumb and Dumber. They love it.”

You try to get into the movie but you’re not connecting to it as much as you hope to. Everyone laughs at the same time when something funny happens but not you. You’re not sure if you fit in well with this group. Humans have always been part of your fascination but you only know of the evolution of them, not them personally.

“Excuse me,” you whisper and get up.

Bucky watches you walk off toward our room without another word. He knows more than most what trying to fit in feels like and how bad he can feel when he doesn’t. He leaves his friends and follows you to your room. You’re sitting on the balcony and staring at the night sky where your sisters are.

“I promise I’m coming home. I’m figuring out a way to do that,” you sigh.

They twinkle to let you know they hear you.

“Mind if I join you?” Bucky knocks on the balcony doors.

“No.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not really a group person.” Bucky sits next to you on the lounge chair. “I’m more of a loner. I didn’t have any planets orbiting me, and the closest star to me is my sister Vega. She’s such a sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I’m more of a loner, too.”

“My sisters are the only ones I can count on, and they’re watching over me right now to make sure I’m okay.” 

Bucky looks up and they twinkle so he can see where they’re located.

“When you were in the sky, could you watch over humans?”

“It was my favorite thing to do. I’ve watched humans grow since they first arrived. I see the value in human life because it ends. They’ve come a long way from where they first started.”

“I’ve never met a star before. You’re pretty nice and beautiful.”

Your body shines a bit at his compliment.

“Thank you. Stars are pure and innocent despite the violence and horrors we see on a daily basis. We represent everything good about the world. We represent beauty.”

“I can tell,” he smiles.

Your body shines a bit more the more you are happy being here with Bucky. The stars in the sky shine a bit brighter when they see their sister happy.

Hydra hasn’t made a move against the Avengers over the course of the following week because they’re not sure how they can approach the situation. Valentina knows exactly where the star is and she can’t charge in like she normally would. The Avengers are powerful that deserve careful planning and strategy to overcome.

 Meanwhile, you and Bucky have grown closer. When you’re not sleeping, you’re spending as much time with Bucky as you can. There is only a short amount of time you can spend with him before one of you needs to sleep. In the beginning, you were only allowed a couple of hours to be with him, but now you’re spending half a day with him. You’re slowly starting to fall asleep later in the morning and waking up later in the night. It’s something you’re willing to change in order to be with Bucky.

“Tell me something,” Bucky says.

You two are lying on the roof of the building admiring the night sky which is sure to come soon. Your skin is glowing brightly that if whoever were to look up at the roof, they’d see nothing but a white glow.

“What?” you ask and look at him.

“I know that stars shine but do you get to choose when you get to? I’ve seen you with and without.”

“I shine when I’m happy,” you say with a bright smile, “and I’m happy right now with you.”

You and Bucky stay on the roof until there is no more sunlight left in the sky, and you yawn tiredly.

“Tired?”

“A little bit.”

“Let’s go back inside.”

You and Bucky head back inside your room to get ready for the night, and you look at your bed in thought.

“You know, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve been transitioning into sleeping at night so I’m still struggling a bit. I might be able to sleep better if it were next to you.”

Bucky holds his flesh hand out, too scared to use his metal hand for fear of breaking you. He takes you to his room where you two get comfortable underneath the sheets. He’s shocked he can sleep with you shining next to him but it gives him a sense of comfort knowing you feel safe enough with him to shine.

The next morning, you wake with a smile on your face and your skin glowing.

“This is the first time I slept through the night.” You look beside you but Bucky isn’t there. The brightness dims on your skin until it looks normal. “Bucky?” You get up and walk around the compound in search of Bucky, and you find him in the main room where the other Avengers are. “What’s going on?”

“We found Hydra’s base. Nat’s gonna stay here with you,” Tony declares.

Your eyes immediately find Bucky’s.

“You’re not gonna stay here with me?”

“I know Hydra like the back of my hand. I have to go with them.”

“Oh, okay.”

Tony, Steve, Bucky, Wanda, and Sam get geared up to go while you and Natasha stay behind. She’s decked in her gear just in case something happens. She has the capabilities to keep you safe since you’re not a fighter--you’re a lover. You don’t think you could fight even if you wanted to.

“So, how long have you been with the team?” you ask.

“Too long.” You look away in thought and bounce your leg nervously. “Look, I haven’t known Bucky for very long but he’s trying. He used to be one of the bad guys but he’s doing a helluva lot more good to make up for the bad. He knows how to handle Hydra. He’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” you nod with uncertainty.

You and Natasha make conversation for the next couple of hours when the alarms start blaring inside the compound.

“Stay here.”

“You’re leaving me alone?” you gasp.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Just stay here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Natasha is gone before you have a chance to question her further. You wait nervously for her to come back because you have no clue where she is, what’s going on, and who is inside the compound. After an hour of waiting around, you get up and look out the window. Everything seems normal as if there isn't an intruder inside. Footsteps near the room you’re in, ad you turn to the door waiting to see Natasha.

The door opens and you smile.

“I was beginning to worry.”

The smile is lost when you see a strange woman with four soldiers around her.

“So was I. The easy part was tracking you down. Stars have a bit of… aura about them that is easily tracked. The hard part was infiltrating this place. I had to make sure I had all my bases covered. You’re coming with us.”

“No,” you stand your ground.

“No? Emilio.” One of the men takes out a tablet from one of the pockets and flips it open. He presses a few buttons and shows you what’s on the screen. All your friends are tied with Hydra soldiers all around them. Of course, you’re worried about all of them but you can’t help but look at Bucky. “Either come with me or your friends will be killed.”

You have no choice but to go with her.

The woman, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, leads you through the large Hydra base to a big room with a staircase leading up to a small landing. A large table is on the landing with a  medical cart next to it. There is nothing but different sizes of knives--knives that will be used to cut your heart out.

“A shining star’s heart is the way to go, but I’ll settle for your scared little one any day of the year.” You’re only doing this because you’re scared of what these people are going to do to Bucky if you fight back. You’re forced onto the table where Valentina straps you down so you’re not tempted to leave. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure to make it quick and painless.”

She grabs one of the sharpest knives and walks over to you. You close your eyes and send a quick prayer to your sisters in hopes they can hear you. She raises her knife when the double doors slam open. You both look to see Bucky storming in with his deadly gun.

“Bucky!” you smile and shine brightly at the sight of him.

“Get him!” Valentina orders.

A dozen guards make their way into the room and start shooting at Bucky who is more than prepared to handle them. Bullets fly as your concern for Bucky grows. However, he seems to beat every single one of them as he makes his way closer to you.

“Emilio!” Valentina yells.

The big guy who was with her earlier steps into the room with two charged electric gloves. His metal armor makes him immune to the bullets Bucky is firing at him, and he gives him an uppercut when he reaches him. Bucky goes flying across the room and uses his vibranium arm to slow his descent down the walkway.

Emilio and Bucky meet in the middle as they fistfight for your honor. There is no way Valentina is cutting your heart out now. She wants to see how this fight is gonna end. She is pretty confident that her soldier is going to win against the Winter Soldier, but oh how wrong she is. The double doors bust open and Wanda comes in with red magic at her fingertips. Tony and Steve are behind her ready to fight whoever they need to in order to save you.

Red magic encases Emilio to hold him still while Bucky delivers a deadly punch to the bottom of his jaw. Emilio is thrown across the room and knocks into a mirror, and he slides down it unconsciously. Valentina sees the urgency of the situation and raises the knife.

“Tony, heads up.”

Steve rears his shield back and throws it in Valentina’s direction, and Tony shoots his repulsors at the shield to make it fly the rest of the way. Valentina tries to escape but is hit before she can find coverage. She falls to the ground completely knocked out. Bucky runs up the staircase and over to you with an easy smile.

“You really thought I’d let you get sacrificed?”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Bucky undoes your ties and helps you off the table, and the both of you run down the staircase to the other Avengers. Before you can reach them, all the doors that lead into the room slam open. Dozens upon dozens of guards come in with their weapons, weapons that can kill everyone here. There are too many guards for Wanda to control and too many for them to take on.

They might not be able to but you can. You pull Bucky into you and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hold onto me and close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“What do stars do best?” You pull him down so that his face is nestled into the shape of your neck. “They shine.”

Your entire body shines with the intensity of a real star. Your teammates cover their eyes to protect themselves but the same thing can’t be said for the Hydra soldiers. Your light kills whoever dares look into it, and the soldiers in the very back leave as quickly as they can before they can succumb to your light. You pull away from Bucky and dim your light knowing that these soldiers aren’t going to hurt them anymore.

After Valentina is apprehended and taken back to the States for punishment through the CIA, Bucky returns back to the Compound with you by his side. There is a lot of paperwork that Nick Fury has to fill out, and Tony and Steve offered to stay behind to scour through the base and see what kinds of things Hydra has been up to.

The night sky is shining brighter than normal because your sisters are happy for your safe return.

“They say thank you for saving me,” you say to Bucky.

“No problem,” he says to the sky before looking back down at you. “She’s worth saving.”

“You know, these last two weeks with you have been amazing. If I’m being honest, I’m having second thoughts about going back. I don’t want to leave you.”

“I don’t want you to leave either.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and he pulls you in closer by your hips.

“Maybe staying here for a while longer won’t be so bad.”

He slides one hand up your body to your jaw which he cups. He leans down and kisses you with such intensity that causes butterflies to erupt in your stomach. The stars twinkle in the sky as your own light shines brightly for all to see.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)