#I am so tired from work but popping the BIGGEST bottles

[redrobin-detective]

Me finally getting some goddamned vindication on the dcmk theory I’ve been wholeheartedly supporting for a decade.

[hollywoodxwhore]

Ours | Chapter Seven

Colson x Presley (Original Female Character)

Synopsis: Presley and Colson fell in love accidentally, but they were meant to be. Now that all the obstacles have been removed, they're moving in together in LA. Now, they have all the time in the world for Colson to teach Presley all of the things he knows. This fic is the sequel to Mine, which can be found in my masterlist!

Warnings/Content: Discussions of a dead parent/abusive parent (Col tells Presley about his dad...it might not all be accurate so don't come for me), smut (18+), fingering, car sex, making loOoOve

Colson

Ever since I put a ring on her finger, I can’t bear to be away from Presley for long.

She’s been coming with me to the studio every day since I proposed. Just having her there is nice. I trust her opinion as a fellow musician. She has great ideas. Sometimes, she just chills and reads her book and other times, she’s engaged. I’m debating on putting a song on the album featuring her, but I haven’t brought it up to her yet. 

Today, it’s just the two of us in the studio. I’m making a few changes and fine tuning some of our songs that have already been recorded. Pres is curled up on the couch with her book, looking beautiful as always, and I just want to snuggle up to her, but I try to focus on my work. 

After a while, I feel Presley come up behind me, sliding her hands over my shoulders, and I spin in my chair so I can pull her into my lap. “You look a little tense over here,” she says, rubbing her thumb between my eyebrows. I hadn’t even noticed my brow was furrowed but as she rubs, I realize I have a slight headache and I relax my face, eyes closing.

“Just focused,” I murmur, realizing how tired I am all of a sudden. “I think I’m done for the day.”

“Yeah?” Presley says softly, replacing her thumb with her lips. I melt into her touch, feeling soothed, and wrap my arms around her. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Deal,” I say. “Do you want to go for a drive?”

“Sure,” Presley says, eyes lighting up a little. I smile and kiss her softly, then pat her ass so she’ll get off my lap.

An hour later, we’ve had dinner and we’re driving as the sun slowly sets. I’m not going anywhere in particular, just taking back roads until we’re ready to go home. We’re driving along the coast, and at some point, there’s a little side road with a view of the ocean. I veer onto it and park the car. 

Presley reaches for my hand, squeezing. “Hey,” she says.

“Hm?” I reply, looking over. God, she’s so beautiful. No makeup, hair messy in a claw clip, sweats and a sports bra. I love her just like this.

“Will you tell me about your dad?”

Surprised, I blink. “Uh, what do you want to know?”

She shrugs. “Anything. I know he’s a touchy subject for you.” She’s right. We haven’t discussed him since we’ve been together, other than a few mentions of him here and there. She knows how emotional I get every single time I perform Lonely, and I know she’s heard the lyrics about him in my songs.

I sigh softly. “We didn’t get along great when I was a teenager,” I start. “He was fine when I was a kid, but when my mom left, he hit the bottle pretty hard.” Presley listens closely, her eyes on me. Her smile is soft and encouraging. I swallow and go on.

“I was kind of rebellious as a teenager, if you can picture that,” I continue. Presley giggles and I can’t help but grin a little myself. “He would…he would hit me sometimes. Looking back, I deserved that shit.” Presley opens her mouth but seems to think better of it. I rest my hand on her thigh and squeeze gently.  

“He kicked me out when I was sixteen,” I continue, brow furrowing at the sour memory. “He found drugs in my bag and he’d had it. I got a job and moved in with Slim. We were distant for a while. Barely talked. And then…and then my aunt basically told me her dying wish was for my pops and I to get closer. I blew her off.” My eyes sting a little at the memory. It’s my biggest regret, hanging up on my aunt. “She passed the next morning,” I croak.

“Cols.” Presley’s voice is almost a whisper and she touches my cheek. Her jade eyes are glossy. I cover her hand with my own and sigh.

“It’s not easy to talk about,” I confess, meeting her eyes, “but it’s important.” Pres relaxes a little and keeps her eyes on me. “Dad and I finally reconciled. We never got super close but he started to come to my shows and stuff. I think we were on a good path and then…and then he died.”

A tear rolls down Presley’s cheek. I reach out and thumb it away. “It’s okay,” I say softly, my voice gruff. “He died knowing I loved him. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through. But then my mom and I got in touch again, and I’m doing okay. I really am. It gets easier every day. But god, I wish you could’ve met him.”

“Me too,” Presley whispers, squeezing my hand.

I take a deep breath. “That’s the short story,” I tell her, smiling weakly.

Presley considers me for a second, then leans over and kisses me softly. She starts to pull back but I put my hand to the back of her head, keeping her close. She pauses, then kisses me again, slow and tender. I slide my hand to her lower back and guide her into my lap. 

“Pres,” I mutter into her mouth. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, Colson,” she murmurs, pressing her plush lips to mine again. “We’ll create our own family, babe. You’ll know nothing but love for the rest of your life.”

My throat tightens and I study her face, listening. Does she mean it?

“You deserved better as a child,” she says. “You’re going to be an incredible dad someday. Okay?”

My eyes start to water and I swallow hard, trying to keep my shit together, but I just nod. If I talk, my voice will crack or shake. Presley nods, too, and then, at the same time, we surge forward for another kiss.

Before Presley, I had sex when I was horny. In a good mood or maybe pissed off. I never had sex when I was feeling vulnerable. I didn’t make love before Presley. But my emotions are raw right now, and somehow, my closeness with her is melting into arousal. I need her as close as possible, need to be inside of her to feel connected. But she gets it. 

She peels my shirt over my head and lets her hands wander my skin, tracing over my tattoos. She dips her head and gently kisses along my collarbone, making me shiver. I let my head tip back and close my eyes. I never would’ve let someone admire me like this. Of course I always made sure I came, but I put so much focus on my partner’s pleasure and never really my own. I do that with Presley, of course, but she doesn’t let me make my own pleasure secondary. And I love it.

I groan softly as she skims her hands down my biceps, kissing as far down my chest as she can reach. Her fingers graze over my happy trail and I shiver, hands tightening on her hips. “Love your body so much,” she murmurs into my flushed skin. She lifts up again and I push down the straps of her sports bra. I press my lips to her shoulder and she tips her head to the side as I take my time moving my lips over her skin. Pres gasps when I grip her breasts and press them up, kissing across her chest. 

Slipping my hands beneath the band of her bra, I lift it over her head and her perky tits bounce as they fall from the bra. I whine a bit in my throat and hold her breasts in my hands, grazing my thumbs over her nipples. She shivers and arches her back, brows knitting together. “Cols,” she wheezes as I bring her breast to my mouth, brushing my tongue over her hardened nipple. She whimpers and lets me take my time on her chest, switching sides before sucking a mark onto her flesh. I let my hands glide down her sides, feeling her soft skin, and as I hold her hips, my thumbs skim over her belly. She’s perfect.

Her eyes are dark as they land on mine, and I shove her over to her own seat so we can shed the rest of our clothes. I push my jeans and boxers down around my ankles and pull her back into my lap once her sweats and panties are on the floor of the car. “Lean back for me a little, baby,” I tell her, kissing her neck, and as she does, my hand slips between her legs.

She’s definitely turned on, radiating heat right where I know she wants to be touched, but I need to tease her a little, need to work her up until she’s trembling. I brush my thumb over her clit and her hips jerk as she whimpers. “Col,” she begs, gripping onto my shoulders. “Baby…” I bite my lip and watch her face as I dip my fingertips into her entrance, gathering her arousal and sliding it up to her clit. She shivers and tenses, biting her lip hard as I rub her clit in slow circles. She whines and her head falls back. 

I bring my fingers back to her entrance and slide my middle finger inside her hot walls, all the way until I feel her g-spot against my fingertip. Presley’s breath hitches and she clenches around me, her eyes popping open. “Fuck.” She shudders, her nipples getting harder as her pupils expand. I pump my single finger until her breathing deepens, and then I add my ring finger to the mix.

“Colson,” she moans, arching her back as I start to pick up my pace. I’m silent, just watching her come undone above me. I beckon my fingers inside of her and she cries out, hips jerking and legs starting to tremble. “Yes! F-fuck,” she whimpers, digging her nails into my shoulders. “J-just like that, baby,” she encourages me.

I growl and lean forward to kiss her neck hotly, loving how wet she is around my fingers. I want inside of her, but I want her worked up. I want her edged. So when I feel her start to flutter around me, when her eyes start to go glossy and her jaw goes slack, I slide my fingers out of her with an obscenely wet sound that urges a bead of pre-cum out of my cock. 

“Colson,” she whines, slumping a little. “Baby, please.”

“Come here, love,” I say gruffly, gripping her ass to pull her closer. She reaches down and grabs my cock, sinking down on me expertly. It’s hard to believe she was a virgin just a few months ago. We both moan together when she sinks all the way down, our foreheads pressing together. 

Presley starts to grind her hips and I nearly choke. My dick is absolutely desperate for her and my balls are already aching. Fuck, I need to keep it together. “Presley,” I rasp, pulling her closer. Her chest settles against mine and I pull her face close so I can kiss her. God, I love kissing this woman. I could do it until I die. I never used to kiss girls during sex. It felt too intimate. And that’s why I love it so much with Presley.

After a bit, she slows her hips and pants. “It’s hard to ride you like this,” she admits with a breathless chuckle. 

I nod in sympathy. The backseat is small, but I’ll make it work for her. “Get in the back,” I tell her. She crawls over and I carefully move from the driver’s seat to the back, leaving the door open. My legs are way too long to try and cram myself inside. I cover Presley’s body with my own and we both sigh in relief as I press back inside.

“Much better,” I say with a little grin as I start to rock my hips.

“Fuck,” Presley whines. “Y-yeah, so much better.” She clings to me, looking up into my eyes with so much love. I can tell it feels good for her, so good that she looks almost anguished. “Colson–”

“I know, baby, I know,” I say through gritted teeth. It briefly crosses my mind that we’re not exactly in perfect privacy and that a car could pull over any time, but I’m too far gone to think too hard about it. I don’t think I could stop even if I needed to.

“Ah, Colson, I’m gonna come,” Presley says urgently, and I can feel it, can feel how close she is, squeezing my dick hard. 

“Yeah baby, that’s it,” I moan. “Let go for me, c’mon.”

Presley’s eyes close and she wails, straight white teeth flashing as she comes, hips spasming against mine. Her thighs tremble against my hips as her orgasm rips through her. “Shit, doll,” I rasp, brow furrowing. “So good, Pres, fuck.”

Presley comes back down to earth after a bit, her glossy eyes meeting mine. She starts to meet my urgent thrusts, lifting her hips. I know I have to pull out; it would be cruel to come inside her and let it drip out all the way home, but it’s so hard to pull away from her, especially when I’m this close, my hips working almost of their own accord.

“Oh fuck,” I choke out, pressing my forehead to hers as my hips pull back just in time. I move my hand quickly as I come, covering her stomach in my release. It’s so good, so intense that my head spins a little, and I breathe hard as it finally starts to ease. “Oh my god,” I breathe, panting hard.

“You’re so sexy, Col,” Presley murmurs, pushing back my sweaty hair. She smiles softly at me and I smile right back, pressing my lips to hers.

“You too, baby,” I manage breathlessly. I pull away and reach into the glove compartment for some tissues. I clean her up carefully, then help her sit up. We dress as quickly as we can and get back into our seats. 

“Let’s go home,” she says. I nod and drive her there, her hand in mine the entire time.

We strip naked as soon as we’re home, crawling into our bed and finding each other immediately. I never saw myself being this clingy, but I can’t help it. I masked any emotion for so long and now that I don’t have to hide anymore, it’s all a little much. But Presley doesn’t seem to mind. She snuggles in close to me and I breathe in her calming scent, stroking her hair.

“Hey,” I say against her forehead. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asks, rubbing her hand gently over my chest. 

“For listening. For making me talk about my dad,” I say. She looks up at me and smiles softly. “I think it’s important that I keep talking about him.”

“Me too,” Presley agrees. “I’ll always listen, Col. Always.”

“I know,” I say. “Me too.” 

Presley is quiet for a moment. “Are you going to post our engagement online?”

I want to, more than anything. I want to show off Presley to the world. Our relationship is public but neither of us has posted anything about getting engaged. I rub her back and look down at her. “What do you want?” I ask softly. Last time we posted something about us, Megan dug her claws in. I’d like to think she learned her lesson but I know her better than that.

Presley shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says. “Eventually people are going to notice there’s a ring on my finger. You didn’t exactly get me a subtle ring.” She grins as she holds up her left hand. The ring basically takes up an entire third of her finger. Pres loves opals, so the main stone is an opal. Diamonds sparkle around the stone. She’s right, it’s a huge ring and it’s not exactly simple.

“Then maybe we should post about it,” I say. 

“If you want to,” Presley replies quietly. 

I take her hand in mine and kiss her knuckles. “Pres, I want to show you off,” I assure her. “I love you, baby. I want the world to know.”

I watch her face as she smiles, and after a moment, she nods. “Okay. You can post about it,” she says. 

I grin and tilt her face up to mine for a kiss. “Good. I will.”

Taglist:@triplexdoublex@jaxbreaker@mgklove99xx@jinx-on-mars-19xx@iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @anonymousme86 @whiteleoqueen @feroniakutenpuu@hxllywoodwhxree

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[breakerwhiskey]

108 - ONE HUNDRED EIGHT

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

Dear Harry,

You would hate Las Vegas.

There are so many places I’ve gone over the last few months that you’d hate. The cheap roadside motels, the kitschy tourist attractions, the dive bars I’ve frequented.

That’s something I haven’t been all that forthcoming about. I mean, there’s plenty I do during my days that I don’t talk about on here. Some of its mundane but some of it is…

Well, I have a ritual, of sorts. Before I leave a state, I find a bar—usually a dive bar, but sometimes I go for the really fancy hotel bars if I’m in a city—and I pick a bottle from the very top shelf and I pour myself a finger of whatever it is and I toast to all the people who have passed through that state, that city, that bar; all the people who are no longer here for reasons that I don’t understand and it’s…well, it helps keep me grounded, I think. Doing that in each and every state I go to. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to praying in a long time.

You’d like the hotel bars, I think. Maybe you’d find some of the stops I’ve made silly or unappealing, but there are things about this whole winding road trip that I think you’d enjoy. Fancy hotels being one of them.

I’m staying at Caesars Palace right now because…of course I am. It’s the most iconic hotel on the Strip and I don’t have to pay anyone to stay at it.

I’m actually not sure if it’s the most iconic, it’s just the first one I saw that I recognized the name of. As much as you would hate Vegas—and you would, you would hate it—I do think you’d appreciate just how plush the beds are and the soft hotel robes and the truly top shelf liquor they’ve got. My stately toasts aren’t the only time I pour myself a glass of something, obviously, so I will definitely be partaking tonight, once I’ve figured out how to route the power to a record player in this place.

I shouldn’t be surprised that the one place I’ve been to that has multiple buildings lit up in power is Las Vegas. Whatever grid they’re on, whatever generators they had running the lights and the slot machines and the stages, well, they’re clearly powerful as hell, because huge portions of Caesar’s has power. Currently, I’m talking to you from my hotel room. Well, apartment more like. It’s got a fucking staircase in it. A little balcony that overlooks the living room, where there is, I kid you not, a grand piano. And everything is really…pink, for some reason.

It is the biggest and nicest hotel room I have ever been to by miles. And there’s a record player here—with a huge, phenomenal sound system, but for some reason that’s not working, I think because some of the outlets in here are dead. Once I get off the horn, that’s going to be my project. Well, maybe my project for tomorrow, it is pretty late.

I took a big break in the middle of the day today and sat out on top of my car just…looking over the desert. Nevada really is something else, like being on another planet. And then to have Vegas just pop out in the middle of nowhere, like a mirage—it’s a real trip. Beautiful, in its own way, but weird. And weirdly exhausting too—you see Vegas long before you get to it, which makes driving down the road toward it feel like you’re not moving at all. You can see it, you can see your speedometer all the way up at eighty and the city isn’t getting any closer. It’s like you’re standing still.

All in all, it’s been a pretty tiring day. And I’ve got lots to explore tomorrow so…I guess I’ll go now.

Goodnight, Harry.

[click, static]

[jalousie-gd4]

experimental work ideas + research

***warning: sensitive material including self-harm mentioned in research below***

originally with the experimental work, I didn't have a clear concept of what I wanted to attempt. I mentioned possibly connecting it back to my thought of the bourgeoisie and how it could relate to my word, jalousie, with marie antoinette as an example (but have now completely changed the direction of most of my projects due to life events). i thought about attempting embroidery at one point.

i wanted to touch upon the real-life consequences of jealousy being such a powerful emotion.

i took inspiration from a song and who it's written about.

the song is called "1974 live" by devita (south-korean r&b singer) which was released during the pandemic and has been a favourite of mine.

video and lyrics linked below:

to which she confirmed on twitter/X that she wrote the song about christine chubbuck - an american news reporter in florida who was the first to d*e by su*cide on a live television broadcast in 1974.

a few articles I've looked over about her case:

it was speculated that one of the biggest reasons that could've led her to take her life was her lack of intimate relationships, including an unrequited crush on a co-worker who was fixated on one of christine's good colleagues, thus furthering her depression and self-deprication.

taking inspiration from a movie trailer made about her story, christine (2016), I plan on taking bits of screenshots, collaging them, and then sketching and painting it on a 16x20" canvas with acrylic paint.

the artist I am inspired by (and have been for a while now) is american painter james rosenquist, who helped further the pop art movement.

"silver skies" is my favourite from him and was heavily inspired by this piece for this project.

i particularly love how his work incorporates aspects of pop culture and advertising arranged in a surreal type of collage.

[peakyblinders1919]

Collection

“What’s all this?” Voice monotone, she only asked out of courtesy since she knew the answer.

He came home bearing gifts; it was never a good sign when he came home bearing gifts. A bouquet of beautiful red roses, pink daisies, wisteria, and a mix of her favorite wildflowers in one hand with a bottle of gold Champagne, a box of chocolates in the other. Anyone else walking in on the site would have assumed it was Valentine’s Day, but it was just mother Saturday. At least there was no velvet jewelry box this time, the biggest of mistakes always wrapped in the smallest, prettiest boxes.

“Can’t I just spoil my wife without accusation? I thought you’d be more pleased…”

“I am,” she replied through a forced smile. “The flowers are lovely,” she agreed once she smelt them, sending them off with a maid to prepare them to sit out on the lounge table for weeks until they rotted.

“I’ve got us dinner and desert.” He waved the champagne and the chocolates respectively, though little did he know dinner was an hour ago and either the whiskey heavy on his breath or the lingering sweet perfume was making her sick.

“How about tomorrow-“

“But I got us this for tonight.” He sounded adamant. She was tired, maybe if he had been on time… Popping the cork, he seemed to have made up his mind, pouring not one but two glasses. She had no choice but to accept with a smile, her ring glimmering in the light. “To love.” A bitter, sour taste was left in her mouth. “How was your day?”

“Good. Walked the gardens, had tea with the other wives in the neighborhood; it was my turn to host.”

“Ah, very nice. That must be why the house looks lovely.” It was a jab and a compliment all at once. His hand slipped around her shoulder somewhat unnaturally, and she worked hard to hold back the laugh in her throat at the thought that he truly believed the gifts made this night romantic. “How’s Mr. Williams’ wife? Is her health getting better?”

“She looks better but it’s hard to tell, she puts up a strong front.” Silence lingered. It was the same conversation day in and day out, talking about the weather and the business, and “how was your day” though neither of them really cared how it was. It was never, “you look so beautiful today” or other sweet nothings whispered into her ear that she craved, so she never gave it back, not that he wanted that. Not from her anyway.

She flinched at the sudden intimacy of him moving a loose strand of hair out of her face, a gesture that was once so warm turned unfamiliar and cold. She wanted it but she didn’t know where it was coming from. The three kids tucked away upstairs a sign that they once loved each other, but time had other plans.

“You know, it’s been awhile since I’ve got you a near pair of earrings…” he began, a shiver sent down her back as his hand moved to tuck the strand of hair behind her ear, admiring the diamonds sat there.

With a heavy sigh it was all confirmed, the flowers and champagne and chocolate and unexpected touch. “I don’t need another pair of earrings-“ she argued disheartened while he pulled out the box from his pocket. It was just another trophy to add to her collection; diamond raindrop earrings with a matching diamond necklace, a sapphire emerald cut ring surrounded by diamonds, a tennis bracelet encrusted with their children’s birthstones, amethyst necklace, string and strings of pearls from overseas. And now in the velvet box in front of her, Ruby earrings, a carat at lest, set in Art Deco gold fixtures. Of course any woman would have absolutely blushed at such a thoughtful, expensive gift, but the consistency in which this sort of thing happened eliminated any excitement.

“They’re lovely.”

“You don’t like them?”

“I didn’t say that, I said they’re quite lovely.” I’m sorry if I’m not outwardly excited, she thought, how could one be when there was another woman attached to it? Sometimes it helped to know, and other times it didn’t.

“What’s wrong then?” His bark was sharp, his bite was worse.

“Nothing.” She sighed, closing the box in her lap. “Do I know this one?”

He cocked and eyebrow, faking his confusion about her question. “Do I know this one?” She said sternly.

“No.” He answered after an elongated silence. She grunted in response, opening the box again to admire the blood red jewels.

“I don’t want these,” she attempted to hand them back but he refused, and when he did she had no choice but to throw them into the fire.

“What the fuck do you think you’re spring? Do you know how hard it was to find those? Let alone how much they cost?” Voices raising, this wasn’t a detached conversation anymore.

“You could have saved some money if you didn’t go around sleeping with other women all the time…”

“Keep your voice down, the kids are upstairs.”

“And if you were ever home you’d know they were sound asleep.” Now he was angry that she was fighting back, but that didn’t measure up to the list of reasons why she was beyond frustrated with him and his toxic antics.

“You’ve always taken them before, what do you want?”

“I don’t want material belongings! I want my heart back.”

“And what the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m tired of you buying my love with gifts. Thinking I’ll just forgive you. Every. Single. Time. It’s tedious. It’s repetitive. It’s fucking toxic!” She screamed. Her voice was raw. The kids upstairs were probably up if not having nightmares about it but they were the last thing on her mind. She rushed upstairs, him in tow. He watched from the doorway of their room as she devoured everything. Ripping through her vanity draws, priceless jewels rained down, scattered across the floor. A weight lifted off her to finally get rid of her little collection piece by piece instead of adding to it. “I want to be loved again. I want you to give me my heart back instead of owning it like some fucking peice of property and stomping on it over and over again. I never stopped loving you. But you did. You did the minute you had another woman in bed. This is it. Take everything you’ve ever bought me. Pawn it, chuck it in the Cut, give it to your many mistresses, I don’t care.” Her ferocity evidenced through the scowl on her face, tone in her voice, and the way the huge stones set into metal necklace pieces hit his chest with a powerful thud.

In a tangle of limbs, his hands were on her. Not intimately, not harmful, his hands found hers and made her stop, staring into his endless bright eyes.

“Y/N, listen to yourself. You're not in your right state of mind. You don’t mean it-”

“I do.” Her voice hollow now, she swallowed a sob while looking him dead in the eye, fully defeated. “I mean every damn word. I’ve got no more love to give to you. We’re done.”

[thegreatobsesso]

Characters Out of Context

THANK YOU @avrablake I LOVE THIS ONE!

Rules:

Include one character quote — of your choosing ⁠— from each chapter of your WIP (or as many chapters as you’d like).

Give absolutely no context, save for what’s between two parts of an  interrupted sentence, should that occur. You may mention who said it.

Have fun, no pressure!

Obviously I’m going with Callie, as if there was ever any question. I’ll take it all the way through book/part I. :) There’s a couple doozies in here, be forewarned, haha.

Chapter 1

“Are your guard dogs gonna keep this a secret, hmm? The cops must be on their way. You know you shouldn’t be alone with me, naughty boy.”

Chapter 2

“You know you shouldn’t trust strangers, right?”

Chapter 3

“Oh gosh. So sorry, ma’am, I’ll just-”

Chapter 4

“I am so close, and I won’t let you stop me. If you try again, I will kill you.”

Chapter 5

“I did it because I already have more power than any living magician in the world and I want more. I did it because I’m above him, and above you. I’m more. I’m special.”

Chapter 6

“You have to forgive me, your honor, it’s been a tiring couple days. But I totally did it, hundred percent, guilty of murder in the first degree.”

Chapter 7

“I like kissing people. I like having sex with people. I don’t care if they’re interested in me, so long as they’re interested by me. Last thing I wanna be is boring.”

Chapter 8

“So, every run-of-the-mill idiot gets to have their own cozy chat with the warden before they’re sent off to gen-pop?”

Chapter 9 

“Well, obviously, you’ve never fucked a telepath.”

Chapter 10

"And here I was, thinking we were friends."

Chapter 11

“No, go on. It’s bad for you to keep your feelings all bottled up, babe. Speak your truth.”

Chapter 12

“Give it back.”

Chapter 13

“Oh. Of course. I’ll hitch up my safari boots and get right on that. Shit, Anka, we’re in supermax, if you haven’t noticed. And why in the world would I care about some dusty old piece of shit buried in a cave that probably doesn’t even do anything?”

Chapter 14

“Hey, check it out, everybody! I’ve gone insane, and I’m gonna kill this girl for no reason unless Warden Prescott jumps out of a cake and gives me a lap dance!”

Chapter 15

[My god, Callie doesn’t speak in this one, haha]

Chapter 16

“Eat a metric ton of shit, you fucking sex predator.”

Chapter 17

“Hey, c’mere. I need something. Listen. I need one that tastes like, like what it feels like when there’s a flash of lightning, but right before the thunder, and like, you just know it’s gonna be so loud when it happens, but it hasn’t happened yet. Make me one that tastes like that.”

Chapter 18

“Oh, sorry. I was just enjoying the sight of the super villain herself without a plan.”

Chapter 19

“Right, you little bitch. I need you to work for me. No more fucking around. Please open.”

Chapter 20

“Magicians love old-looking shiny shit. A building dedicated to the preservation of the world’s biggest collection of old-looking shiny shit-pieces’ll be protected by keys, guaranteed.”

Chapter 21

[No Callie!]

Chapter 22

“I’m sorry. I just really wanted to see the look on your face.”

Chapter 23

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Can we just… see each other tomorrow?”

Chapter 24

“Oh my God, you’re gorgeous when you’re angry. Fuck me for real this time. I’ll be me and you be you, please, Riley, I want you.”

Chapter 25

“I’m gonna show you what it’s like to fly.”

Chapter 26

[No Callie dialogue 😳]

Chapter 27

“Take her.”

Chapter 28

[No Callie!]

Chapter 29

“If you were as shitty as me you’d do the same. All of you would. You don’t know. You can’t. You don’t know what it’s like to be this way.”

AHHHH THIS WAS SO FUN! I enjoyed this retrospective of Callie lines so much I don’t even have words. I tag @pandawriterstuff, @the-orangeauthor, @winterandwords, @blind-the-winds and @dontjudgemeimawriter to post as many quotes as they want, no need to go ape shit like I did!!! (unless u wanna!!!) 

[ktheist]

girls like you [don’t] run ‘round with guys like me | m

characters. popular!reader x shy!jimin

genre. college au. rich kids au. fwb au. eventual ceo au. eventual racer au.

words. 4k

warnings. 18+

note. this is a repost. tumblr messed up my exposure last time. this fic didn’t show up in search and it’s probably a third post of mine that ends up like this. this one probably won’t either but posting bc someone might see it and like it.

x

It’s easy to tell when Park Jimin is in love.

Unlike Kim Seokjin, his eccentric, dad joke-loving friend, Jimin would only wear the pastel pink when he’s feeling giggly and shy and mushy inside.

The source of said feelings being either the barista he goes to get his daily dose of coffee from, or the girl at the library he studies at during finals or well, right now it’s the girl he’s fucking almost every day of the week - you.

“What are you doing?” Seokjin looks at him like he just dumped a spoonful of salt in a broth that needs a little, teensy bit of sugar.

Or his face seems to say that as he goes on, “she’s a mean girl. She’s mean.”

Jimin isn’t sure if Seokjin’s aware that he’s just repeated the same thing twice.

“She calls you Chim!” The older man reiterates.

“Yeah, it’s…” Jimin trails off, the heartwarming image of you cuddling into him after yet another mindblowing sex, flashing at the back of his mind, “...her pet name for me.”

“Sounds to me like she can’t remember your actual name,” Min Yoongi interjects from the couch he’s claimed for himself ever since they got to their usual hangout.

It’s a penthouse Jimin’s parents bought him on his 18th birthday. Him and the boys would hang around there after they’re done with classes or just need a place to crash whenever they have problems with their girlfriends or boyfriends or parents or any sort of problem that renders their usual room not sleepable.

“I think we can just agree we have different wants,” Jeongguk - or the sanest of them all, as Jimin likes to call him - chirps in, taking a bite of the apple he got from the fridge.

“Exactly,” Jimin throws his hands up as if freed from his elder friends’ judge-filled eyes. The vibration of his phone in his lap gives him even more comfort to know that he finally has an excuse to slip away - he checks his phone, your name flashing in the bubble that says ‘hey, wyd?’

“I have to go, it’s ___.”

A series of groans and hollers equally erupts from the men in the room at the realization of what Jimin’s ‘having to go’ means.

And so it goes. Jimin finds himself under your blanket that smells like fresh laundry - it’s a nude green color compared to the pleated black and white from last time. Your head is on his chest and he’s caressing your hair like it’s the softest thing he’s ever laid his hands on.

Besides your boobs, that is.

“I was thinking… since we have Monday off… maybe we could-”

It’s the way you push yourself off him, eyes that are onto him gazing straight into his soul, “oh shoot, Monday’s a public holiday. I totally forgot! I have to meet my parents. My dad’s been nagging me to come back since I skipped Christmas and New Year.”

And there goes his chance to ask you out on a date.

“Oh yeah, what were you saying about Monday?”

Jimin wears the biggest fake smile he can muster, “just that… me and the boys are gonna hang out and we’re bringing our girlfriends and boyfriends and uh- doesn’t have to be someone you’re exclusively seeing,” he almost chokes at the almost-admittance that he has the fattest crush on you and wants to make it official by inviting you to a couple’s-only hang out, “but like, I don’t think I’m going, it’s boring anyway.”

He waves his hand dismissively, trying to play it cool.

You make a cooing sound, eyebrows knitting together as your lips pout cutely before a playful smile blooms on your face, “I know what you’re trying to say.”

“You do?” Jimin thinks he heard his heart dropping to his stomach.

“Yeah, you’re single and all the boys have someone special they’re gonna bring… it’s gonna be awkward as hell because they’re gonna act different because they’re around their special someone so you thought if I was there, it’d be more fun because at least you have a friend with you that’s not gonna act fake the whole time there but I can’t go so you decided you’re not going too like a minute ago.”

Silence lulls in after your analogy that you sound so sure of when, in fact, he has a whole list of things he’d do on the date which he may or may not have gone over a hundred times in his head.

Doesn’t matter now, since that date is a no-go.

He’s going to delete that list off his phone once he gets to his place and drink himself silly until he wipes it out of his mind.

“Yeah,” Jimin says a moment later, “yeah… I mean, girls in love are cute but boys in love are just… annoying.”

The week flies by without Jimin ever mentioning Monday and you’ve showed him the clothes you’re going to wear to visit your parents because apparently-

“It’s lunch at some five star Michelin restaurant and I think they’re gonna tell me they’re getting a divorce,” your voice drifts into the room from the open, walk-in closet.

“If they’re not in some long, dreadful battle on who gets the holiday house with the pool and the dogs - how do I look?” You step out, in a frilly creme sweater with a black ribbon tied around the collar of your white undershirt with a black pleated skirt that stops mid-thighs, just inches from your black stockings.

A glaring contrast to your collection of washed out skinny jeans, plain t-shirts and sneakers.

“You… look…” Jimin knows he should stop openly ogling at your never-before-seen drip but there’s just something about the creme colored sweater.

“Like a good girl?” You offer with a smile Jimin couldn’t quite put a name to. Somehow he notices a trace of sadness in your eyes, but you disappear into the closet too soon.

“I’ll think about what to wear the morning I need to wear it,” you’re in the middle of pulling off the sweater when Jimin comes up behind you, kissing your neck and grabbing your boobs like they’re his.

The sound of your giggle is music to his ears.

That is, until his boner brushes against your butt and you gasp, “Chim! We just did it.”

“I know but you look so cute in that sweater.” He sounds exactly like Jeongguk. Like a fuckboy.

Like one of the boys you got tired of before you finally noticed him, the quiet, shy guy who’s friends with the outgoing, baby-faced Jeon Jeongguk whom - Jimin hates to admit it but he thinks about this every once so often and gets jealous all on his own - you’ve humped and dumped.

How you and Jeongguk still manage to stay friends and tease each other about the other’s choice of partners, Jimin doesn’t know.

It’s like a twin calling the other ugly.

He wonders if you and him will still stay friends after…

Jimin pushes the thought out of his mind. It’s not hard to forget everything when he’s with you - when he’s kissing you on the mouth like you’re the only girl he’ll want to spend the rest of his college life with and maybe his old days with together too.

“Chim, I can’t get my shirt creased,” you say but you’re already dripping wet and laying down in said shirt that’s half ridden up from him sucking and biting on your nipples.

He stopped you when you tried to take off your clothes.

“I’ll wash it and iron it for you,” he negotiates just as he rolls the condom over his length.

The sound of your giggle makes his heart skip a beat. Or maybe that’s the libido?

Either way, your mouth clamps shut when he pulls you down against him by the dip of your waist.

A different kind of hymn leaves your lips as Jimin throws his head back, relishing in the feeling of you around him.

When Monday rolls around, Jimin’s lying on the bean bag with his two legs sprawled over the floor. The boys are all out with either their significant others, working part-time or at a party.

The worn out baseball Jimin’s been tossing in the air and catching with one hand finally hits him square in the face when he hears the doorbell, signaling the presence of someone at the door and that someone being none of the boys because they would just punch in the code and strut in like they own the place.

Jimin thought maybe it’s Yoongi - the guy couldn’t even remember what he had for dinner and actually forgot the passcode to his own rental room once.

So he didn’t think to check who it was.

When your bright smile and slightly puffy eyes flash in front of him, Jimin thinks his soul just yeeted itself out of his body.

“Hey!” You sing song, holding up two plastic bags of beers and snacks.

It takes a moment for him to snap out of his stupor and grab them from your hands and then stepping aside to let you in.

“Is… everyone late or am I just early?” You sound increasingly confused as you step further into the center of the room, standing right next to the bean bag he was laying in just a moment ago.

“Oh-” he says once before he opens his mouth the second time, ready to spurt out another lie, “oh yeah… we decided not to ‘cause why hang out in a group when you can hang out with your significant other… you know, just the two of you… doing what couples do…”

“Huh,” you say, nodding though not quite believing him but you being you, easily lets it slide, plopping on the bean bag and grabbing the closest thing to you which is the ball that hit Jimin in the face - he’s sure he has a circular mark smack dab in the area on the top of his nose bridge, in between his eyes.

The dress you end up wearing is creme colored and riding up your thighs - Jimin swallows thickly and give extra attention to the bottle opener.

“So… how did lunch go?” He pops two beers open and hands one to you, taking a seat on Yoongi’s favorite couch and admiring how your dress is taking the shape of your body as gravity pulls it down.

“Oh, you know, everyone was being fake and acting like the perfect role in the family,” you put the beer down a few inches above your head so as to not tip it over with the ball you’re waving around but not throwing in the air like Jimin did.

“Sounds suffocating,” Jimin repeats a similar answer he gives whenever you use that dismissive tone while talking about your family.

“...are you okay?” Then he asks - and he’s genuinely asking - about your state of mind while casually downing the beer and feeling the bitterness lessen with every gulp.

The silence that lapses in between you is familiar.

“If I say no, can I get a hug?” It’s the look in your eyes, glimmering like the lake he used to go to in summer.

“Always,” he sets his beer down on the table next to the couch and goes over to you, standing on his knees before bending down and engulfing you in his arm.

You’ve always had a knack for picking yourself up.

When he sees you the next time, which is on instagram and a post of you having lunch with your friends, Jimin could hardly believe that’s the girl who asked him for a hug as if she’s afraid she’ll be putting him in an uncomfortable spot by asking for too much.

But there’s something…

Like an invisible wall made of ice that he can’t thaw through nor can he climb over to get to the other side where you are. Where you keep the people you love the closest. Closer than he’ll ever be.

Jeon Jeongguk is one of them.

In the picture of five people huddled close to fit in the frame, Jeongguk has his arm over you with a peace sign while you lean your head on his neck but not actually resting on it - like it’s an unconscious action you’d do because you’ve done that plenty of times.

Is it when you two were together?

Everyone he knows, knows that you and Jeongguk used to be more than just friends at some point.

Sometimes he still hears people talking about you two in passing.

‘Did ___ and Jeongguk get back together? I saw in Jeongguk’s snapstory - they were in a club or something.’

‘No way. There goes my chance of getting close with Jeongguk.’

‘Girl, with ___ hanging around him 24/7, do you think he’d look at girls like us?’

‘A girl can dream though.’

Jimin wanted to open his mouth and tell them they deserve way better than Jeon Jeongguk - though they’re not prettier than you.

He thinks you’re the loveliest girl on planet earth and if there was another life form on another planet, he’s almost a hundred percent sure you’d still be prettiest being in the universe with your obsession for skinny jeans and the way you’d unconsciously pout when he talks about how things weren’t going his way that day as if you would’ve exchanged your abundance of luck with his shitty one just because you’ve got that big of a heart and how you’d be walking with your friends, laughing and giggling and when you see him, you’d wave at him like you’re good friends.

Second only to Jeongguk and your friend group that you’re always hanging out with.

“Oh, ___? We were childhood friends.”

“Hmm… Gguk and I became friends because our parents are friends.”

The two of them say at different times and settings when Jimin asked, trying to play it cool. Like he isn’t just brimming with jealousy. Like he’s not half-way to losing his mind because the girl of his dreams just went to a retreat with his friend-of-a-friend-turned-actual-friend together when everyone else in the group who was excitedly planning for the trip - couldn’t make it.

The rooms at the inn weren’t even pre-booked. It was owned by Jeongguk’s family and they didn’t deposit any money for the trip for them to rationalize going on that trip anyway despite everyone else not being to go.

“The trip? It was fun, if you want we can go together next time.”

Jimin isn’t sure if you even mean that when he asked how the trip went after you’re glistening with the glow of after sex and scrolling through instagram, liking posts of everyone you know.

But then three months later, on your break, Jimin is hit with a ‘keep your schedule free next week for a whole week!!!’

Then he finds himself at a five star hotel by the beach with the most breathtaking view of the sea.

It wasn’t the inn owned by the Jeon’s but Jimin liked the fact that you brought him to a place - and he hopes his assumptions are true - your friends have never been before. Especially Jeongguk.

“Woah, this place is better than I thought,” a king sized bed lies directly across from the balcony where you’re standing, hair flying behind your back as the seaside breeze blows into the room.

“We can watch the sun rise and set from our bed,” Jimin comments for the sake of saying something.

He’s not sure what this means. He’s not sure if he should be having a boner at the thought of the two of you being together for a whole week without any other person getting in the way. He’s not sure if his heart should be thumping this fast.

For the first time since he’s known you, Park Jimin is the most unsure he’s ever been.

“You know what I wanna watch?” Your hands slip in his as you stand between him  and the open balcony door, “you under me, biting your lips because you’re still shy about the sound you make.”

So when you tug him back into the bedroom just minutes after checking in, naturally, Park Jimin follows like he’s been bewitched by your ungodly beauty.

Once the one week of nothing but heavenly morning wishes and passionate night kisses - oh, there was more than just kissing but Jimin remembers how your lips meld so perfectly together with his the most - Jimin is sure.

‘Something definitely changed.’

He thinks maybe it’s not impossible to dream of a future with you even after college.

“Jimin I-... I’m not at a point in life to be thinking about relationships,” you say, hand gripping your arm, head lowered as if your whole body is saying sorry.

“O-oh,” is all he says, he hearts his heart breaking and his chest caving.

All of a sudden, the lights in Gangnam city doesn’t seem so bright anymore.

You both live your last year pretending like the other doesn’t exist. He doesn’t look at you when he passes you and neither did you. Only talks to Jeongguk even though you’re right next to the aforementioned man - granted you were talking with your other friends like you didn’t even notice him there.

But Jimin’s never felt so invisible in his life than he does now.

Then, graduation rolls around and he thinks finally, he won’t have to walk through the hallway and pretend like he didn’t see you. Don't have to keep a five feet distance whenever you meet up for a group project.

Park Jimin doesn’t need to see your pretty face and starry eyes anymore.

“Jimin… do you have a minute?”

Or so he thought.

“So… congrats on surviving college,” you make small talk while standing just ten feet away from the boys whom he’s sure are speculating on what you’re talking about.

Jimin never got to prove to his friends that you’re not the mean, name-forgetting girl they all thought.

Jeongguk knows you’re not. He’s always backing Jimin up when Jimin’s debunking their passing accusations about you.

“Sometimes things just don’t work out between two people but doesn’t mean one of them is the bad guy.” Jeongguk's words put an end to their debate of whether Jimin deserved better than you or not.

For someone young, Jeongguk spoke his mind decidedly.

Jimin felt ashamed that he’d ever been jealous of Jeongguk’s relationship with you.

“I just… didn’t wanna leave things on a bad note. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings when I said no but I really like spending time with you - whether it’s sex or just staying over and cuddling for hours… I like it all.” You say the word sex and cuddle like they’re used interchangeably and Jimin thinks his heart just fluttered.

And you’d said it in public where your everyone can see or possibly pick up on what you were saying, at that.

Well, one thing’s for sure, you’ve got bigger balls than he does.

“My feelings are the same as six months ago and call me crazy but I don’t think you dislike me either.” He finally says and it feels like a deadweight has been lifted off his shoulders.

There comes that pout, as if something is bothering you and you always ever pout like that when that something concerns him.

“You kidding me? I can never dislike you.”

The Jimin from six months ago would have stared at you with disbelief and a dust of pink on his cheeks. But the Jimin he is now simply smiles, heart thumping in his chest. He nods.

“Thanks for telling me that,” and Jimin knows that’s the closest to an ‘I like you’ he can get with the girl who builds an ice fortress around her heart.

A whole year passes by and Jimin finds himself in different shades of grey every day, working at his dad’s company and attending dinner meetings. Life comes to a standstill while time passes him by.

“So, like, you have a sports car, right? Why don’t you come over to the race circuit after dinner? Everyone’s gonna be there.”

Jeongguk tells him over the phone.

And by ‘everyone’ he means the sons and daughters in the corporate world. It’s networking at its finest.

When he’s there, three cars are already racing in the circuit. The smell of burnt rubber and the sound of tires screeching against asphalt isn’t exactly his favorite but they have cheap booze instead of fine wine and he knows the people here are in for the same thing as he is.

An escape.

Away from the grandeur of fine wine and dinner dresses and the elders breathing down their necks and having to act like the next heir to the legacy they were born to carry.

“That Chevrolet over there,” Jeongguk comes, hand on Jimin’s back as his other one that’s holding a bottle of beer points at a red car that looks like a racing fireball, “everyone’s betting on that one tonight.”

Jimin doesn’t know there’s a bet.

“I’ll skip the bet this time ‘round. Haven’t seen the driver yet,” he shrugs dismissively.

Even in stock investment, he’d learned to study the market first before placing his best bet.

Jeongguk leaves his side when his friends - he’s got new ones now - beckons him over. At the same time, the Chevrolet passes the finish line seconds before the Ford Mustang and McLaren 720s, making it the winner of the night.

The driver seems like a show off with the way the car rolls up to the audience, the sound of its engines revving into the night being met with cheers of half-drunk young adults.

Arrogance is a man’s downfall.

Jimin’s about to turn around and head for the exit when the door of the car gets pushed open. The driver steps out, decked in black and red leather jeans and jackets that seem to match the car.

But it’s the smooth, silken hair that cascades past the helmet that catches his eyes.

Park Jimin’s seen many arrogant men in his life but he’s only ever seen one woman with balls and looks good wearing them.

“___! ___! ___!” The crowd starts cheering as you pull off the helmet, holding it underneath your arm and waist.

Your eyes are as brilliant as the night sky full of stars. They’re tinged with shock and then recognition. And finally, you smile that gorgeous smile that gets you misunderstood often as a woman who doesn’t need anything or anyone but uses them as they come.

But Park Jimin knows better than anyone, how wholeheartedly happy that smile looks when you see him.

Like meeting a good friend after a long time.

Seven months down the road, Jimin finds himself with just a blanket draped over his waist while you’re taking a shower in his bathroom to get ready to head to Hong Kong for a business trip.

He hears the sound of the shower head being turned off. The tapping of your foot around his bedroom as you pick up your clothes that are strewn all over the floor.

Then the bed dips ever so gently under your weight as you climb over to him, the fresh scent of shower get filling his senses.  Lips press a deep, lingering kiss on his. As if you don’t want to go to a place where he won’t be.

A few socials and midnight races after his first meeting with you after a long time, you asked him if he’s seeing someone.

“If I say yes, what will you do?” It’s playful at first, because Jimin didn’t want to get himself hurt the second time.

But it’s the way you tilted your head, a finger tapping on your chin as you pondered on his words, “that’s a problem because I don’t want to be that girl that steals another girl’s man,” then you looked at him like you know he’s the one you want to wake up to every morning and the last face you see when you sleep at night and if you can’t have that. then-

“Can you be mine… just for tonight?”

“I don’t think I can.” The crestfallen expression you wear makes his own heart break, even if it’s just for a split second-

“Because I’m not seeing anyone but I’m in that point in life where I want a serious relationship or nothing at all.”

But what he doesn’t tell you is how he doesn’t want a relationship if it’s not with the girl who still haunts his dreams even after all this time.

Just like how you’d turned him down because you weren’t looking to be in a relationship before, you’d courted Jimin like you’d want to spend your whole life with him now.

Flowers got sent to his office everyday until it smells nothing short of floral. You’d be there, waving at him like he’s your savior in that dreadful social you were both attending. Every week, you’d plan dinner dates under the guise of catching up.

Before you race, you’d look over to where he’s standing, as if saying ‘this one’s for you’ before slipping into your car and coming out first every single time.

As if you were making up for every month of the year that you’d let life pass you by.

Now you’ve won a total of 36 races since he met you and the metal band you gifted him on the night of your 12th win feels warm against his skin. As if it’s absorbed all the love and adoration you poured into it.

And you’re wearing that ring he got you on your birthday on your finger that’s resting on his chest where his heart is as he kisses you back just as reluctant to let you leave.

But Park Jimin knows wherever you are, wherever you will be - you will always find your way back to each other.

Back home.

[thegingeralien]

Thought I might share my “doing homework with adhd” tips in case the might help even just one person (because that would make me feel happy).

Who am I to be giving you advice? Good point! I am still terrible at studying and I’m 26 and at University for the millionth time. But I have studied A LOT in my 22 years of schooling with varying degrees of success.

I see a lot of people, especially teenagers or first year university/college students, with ADHD asking for tips on how to study. But if you do a google search most of the websites and advice that comes up can be extremely ableist. So I hope I can help someone!

TIPS TO HELP YOU STUDY WHEN YOU HAVE AN ADHD GREMLIN BRAIN!:

1. Chewing gum!

- This might come across as a weird one, but it has actually really helped me. I use it as a form of stimming to help keep me focused and concentrating. Other forms of stimming can potentially end up being more of a distraction when you actually need to be reading or writing - but they can help if you just need to be listening. Try not to get a bubble gum or fun flavoured one though - as they can end up making your mouth feel dry, lose flavour quickly, and just give your brain way too many sensory things to become distracted with.

2. Buying colour coded stationary!

- New stationary can make me really excited to start studying, but that excitement never lasts long and the act of buying stationary can sometimes become it’s own hobby. That’s not what we are going for here. I really recommend, especially if you are a visual learner like me, to buy colour coded stationary. This means removable page markers, different coloured post it notes, highlighters, sometimes even pens. This way if your mind jumps from one topic to the other, it doesn’t matter. Go with the flow. Forcing your ADHD gremlin brain to focus can be extremely counter intuitive. So pick a colour for each topic, and stick to that system to find organisation among your own chaos!

3. Buy a really cheap, boring year diary with hardly any writing inside.

- Not sure if your school/university has their own diary but they can be perfect for what I am on about. Generally you can find them for really cheap, soft cover, no writing or designs within the dates. Just dates, days, weeks and lines where you can write your homework. This helped me a lot in High School. I wish I had kept doing it in University, but I am good with giving advice, and not so much with taking it. I used to decorate the outside of it however I wanted. Some years I would redecorate the same diary every semester. In the public holidays or holiday days I would colour those lines in with different highlighters to make it look like a rainbow. But every assignment due date, homework, draft, rewrite, form I had to bring back, library book due date, school activity days, ANYTHING to do with school I would write in there with reminds and check lists. Important due dates would be highlighted, general homework and daily to do lists t(o help me not leave my assignments to the last minute) would have a tick box beside them (because ticking tick boxes is free dopamine). Try to not put birthdays or fun things in it. This is a small way to stay on track so it helps you actually stay on track with the big things when you’re home.

4. Big whiteboards stuck on the wall where you can’t avoid it.

- This is not something I had in school, but I so wish I did. I have been using this recently to keep on top of house work (as maintaining your own house is tiring) and my small business or other things I really can’t avoid. If I physically write it down (not just in my phone) it psychologically does help you commit it to memory. Again, physically putting a line through a task you just completed is a hecking great rush of dopamine. But the biggest reason I love my white board, I can’t ignore it. It is stuck to the wall and is never out of sight, out of mind. I can’t put my phone or diary down and then refuse to look at it until I’m past the due date. Again, I’m not a perfect person, there are days where I don’t do anything I have written on the white board. But the great thing is, I don’t have to continuously feel like I failure, as I can wipe it all off the next morning or week and start fresh. I also put important things I have to remember that I’m doing during the week so I don’t forget them.

5. Icky Medication.

- I know not everyone wants to be on medication, and I understand. I am not forcing you to. No matter what your opinions are, you lovely gremlin who is still reading this post, regarding medication, you are valid and I respect you. My personal experience with medication has not been the best. I have been misdiagnosed for a severe chunk of my academic life which has seen me trying to focus and maintain school work under some even worse states then I am unmedicated! However, since receiving my diagnosis and finding the right ADHD medication for me, I have the ability to get so much work done without having to unnecessarily struggle. It’s unfortunately not magic, it will not turn me into a robot that makes me do work and turn out incredible, noble peace prize winning assignments (as much as I wish that were possible). I still have the ability to be a lump, doom scrolling through tumblr, forgetting to eat, and ignoring responsibilities. But it really helps me when I sit down and start that thing that isn’t fun. Yesterday it helped me hyperfocus on cleaning my office which was a terrifying room to be in. So it’s pretty close to magic in my opinion!

6. Accessing Disability Support at your place of learning.

- Not all of you taking the time to read this will have either a) an offical diagnosis or b) a good disability support available to you wherever you are completing your studies. And that is okay. This dot point just won’t be for you right now. But keep it in mind for a time when it might apply to you, as it’s something I never thought I would need, but will never take for granted ever again.

- If you have an offical diagnosis and Disability Support, make an appointment with the disability support adviser. DO IT NOW! Get your psychiatrist to write a diagnosis letter outlining that you have <enter superpower that makes you hilarious here> and that you are receiving <enter x,y,z treatment here> and that you would benefit from receiving <enter what you have always wished you had on the days you can’t make your ADHD gremlin brain do the thing here>. Now these benefits can be, but not limit to: automatic extensions on ALL assignments, extra time on exams, extra breaks to walk around while taking exams, special consideration when marking assignments, my university allows me to take exams in a separate room with only the other students in my subject who also have disability support (occasionally I have taken an exam alone with only a tutor present) so I don’t get distracted, permission to take fidget items into class or exam (I have the option to wear headphones, as long as I can display that they are not connected to anything). Maybe you can come up with some great ones for you with your disability advisor or your psychiatrist.

- The disability advisor will often go through your course outline with you at the start of each semester or year. This is annoying and a great time for disassociating, but can be useful in hindsight because you are made aware of everything that will come up during your class so you are not surprised. Because lets be honest, it is unlikely you are going to look at the course calendar too often.

- Side Note: I make an appointment every semester with my disability support officer for my area of study to make sure I have my special considerations for the year. Now I may go through the whole year without ever using my considerations. However, the fact that I know they are there takes an insane amount of pressure off of myself. If I’m having an insanely screwy loony tune mental health moment, I can email my coordinator my disability plan and say I need an extension due to personal reasons, and WHOOP, there it izzzzz.

7. Dedicated one thing or a few things that have nothing to do with food/alcohol/other substances to reward yourself with for doing the thing!

- This may not work for everyone. It doesn’t always work for me. I used to reward myself with food, but that only reinforced my stimming with overeating and my already bad relationship with food. And I feel as though that would be the same with any other substance that can be linked with addiction. (Addiction is a tough word, cause what aren’t I addicted to, I have ADHD, but hopefully you get what I mean!).

-Now, boring try and not choose this aside, lets think of somethings that work really well as rewards!

- My partner likes to come give me a kiss and a hug when ever they have written and reread a paragraph, you might buy a book when you get a really good mark, you might want to go make a cup of tea and watch an episode of your hyperfixation after studying for <enter a good period of time here>, you might allow yourself to partake in an activity you usually do while procrastinating (but at least this time you know you aren’t putting something off), talk to someone who you know will tell you they are proud of you as they understand the mental struggle you go through to concentrate (if you can’t think of anyone, it is 110% okay if that person are the amazing people on tumblr or the adhd tumblr chats. We will freaking pop a bottle of champagne for you cause we get it!).

- Try and make what ever you choose be something in a different room or away from your working space. Getting out can really calm you down.

8. Don’t be afraid to ask for assistance.

- This is true for anything, but I don’t mean just asking your teacher to give you extra help understanding the task and marking rubric. Many people online, tutors, librarians at your school, past or present students offer assistance rereading and making small edits (they won’t make it magical unfortunately) to your assignments. If you are like me and once you have written or completed the dreaded thing, you can not imagine or force your gremlin brain reread or edit the thing. So it can help to just delegate this to someone else, who hasn’t read it before, so they won’t disassociate or skim read it. They will often notice things you never would have even if you were neurotypical as that is just what happens when you have been working on something for so long.

9. Repetitive music.

- It generally helps if this has no lyrics. Lo-fi is amazing. Classical is alright too if it works for you, but both my partner and I agree that it can really assist you to keep up pace and focus when the beat is a high and repetitive (almost meditative) tempo.

10. Limit your screen space.

- This is a tip completely from my partner @dr-adhd who also has ADHD, is an avid PC gamer and is consistently in a battle with their gremlin brain to focus on completing their PhD. They have discovered that it really helps them to limit their screen space - simply put, work on one screen only. They have done more work more easily when they have their one screen on their laptop to focus on. Whereas their office has multiple screens so they could be playing runescape, watching YouTube, listening to lo-fi and doing work - which never worked (shocking right hahaha).

11. At the risk of sounding like a Mum... Put your phone and other electronics other than the assignment necessary one, away.

- I am a Mum, but to a fluffy puppy dog, so I hate to sound like my Mum when I was in high school, but she was right. Mobiles are the single easiest and biggest distraction in ADHD history. I often, even at coffee shops, have to turn my phone over so that I am not consistently looking at it every time the screen lights up to say the pizza place has sent me a coupon, or a carpet place that has been having a sale since I was born is... still having a sale, or a friend from school wants you to watch this TikTok. Even though you might not want to ignore your friends, because people pleasing, difficulting making/keeping friends and RSD are hecking real things, but they can all wait. Trust me, none of them are urgent. That TikTok will still be funny in an hour or two. And I’m probably completely right when I say that whomever just messaged you, never replies as quickly as you want them too. So I doubt they are going to think twice if you are MIA to finish your thing.

My partner or I might add to this later, but at the moment I already know that I probably wouldn’t read this wall of words if I was the one reading it, so if you are still with me, THANK YOU and I really hope I might have helped you. Sorry for the mound of words, but maybe you can reblog, screen shot, or save this and read a dot point at a time or refer to it when you need. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, I promise what ever it is, I’ve asked the same thing once in my life or something MUCH stupider.

[hanniiesuckle17]

Ateez Reaction: Going Clubbing with S/o

A/n: so this was requested based off my reaction for SKZ which you can find on my m.list at the bottom of the reaction! i hope you guys enjoy it! <3

Requested by: @sleepyhead00i

Warnings: suggestive, of age drinking, maybe a cuss or two

Hongjoong:

“I’m picking you up in ten mintues right?” Hongjoong asked for the fifth time over the phone. The device was laying on your bathroom counter, your boyfriend talking on speaker phone as you finished applying your makeup up. You smiled at how cute he was, brushing setting powder away from your cheeks.

“Joong, baby...honey..., yes. Come early if you want. Just chill. It’s just a night out!” 

He sighed before agreeing with you and hanging up the phone. Hongjoong wasn’t the only one with a busy schedule. He was busy being the leader, producer, and composer for one of the biggest up-and-coming k-pop groups of the current generation. You were busy with college and a part-time job that was having you work almost thirty to forty hours a week. 

Your boyfriend was a planner. Never before in his life had he been one to schedule things or even make long term plans for his future. Then you came along and all he could think about was making time for you. Any time he spent with you, he wanted to be perfect. Hongjoong wanted to give you only the best. 

By the time the two of you got to the club it was already packed. Your hand was laced with his as he guided you through the lavishly decorated room. “They’ve got amazing bottle service!” Hongjoong shouted over the music. “Do you want to get a table?” He smiled as you nodded and flagged down a waitress. She reserved a VIP booth for the two of you and grinned as you pulled Hongjoong to the dance floor. 

“Do you like the music? I looked up this DJ. He’s really good. He only plays for like the top nightclubs in Seoul-” 

“Joong,”

“What?” 

Sliding your hands up his chest, you felt him shiver. Your fingers played with his dyed hair and you watched his eyes sparkle underneath the flashing colored lights and lasers. The many piercings in his ears glinted, catching the glare of gobos. “Relax, baby.” 

“I just want everything to be perfect. I want you to love tonight.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, but you continued to move to the beat. His eyes never left yours even as you guided him away from the dance floor and back to the booth. His dark mesmerizing eyes watched as you pushed him down onto the seat, lips curling up into a smile. As you leaned over him, Hongjoong pulled you down onto his lap, smirking as you played with the straps of his suspenders before snapping one of them on his chest lightly. 

Finally, almost when you thought he would stop breathing, you pressed your lips against his, dragging them slowly together. His hands gripped your hips, moving them over his own, lost in the solitude of your own private nook. “Just keep doing this and I’ll love every second of tonight,” You whispered against your boyfriend’s grinning lips. You laughed feeling him flip you over to lie on the plush velvet booth. Even in the dark corner, his smile glowed. 

“You drive me crazy, Y/n.”

Seonghwa:

Clubbing never really appealed to Seonghwa. Dancing and public events were part of his job on a daily basis so he didn’t really see the point of waiting in line just to do that in his free time. But, when he heard how much you wanted to spend the night at an up and coming nightclub, he figured he could put aside his opinions just for you. He also wasn’t complaining when he saw the dress you were wearing out. 

 Arm wrapped tightly around your waist the two of you entered the club, lasers and colorful lights flashing all around the space. Seonghwa nodded his head to the music as you both stood waiting to check your coats. The second an attendant took your jackets you grabbed your boyfriend by the wrist and practically dragged him onto the dance floor. 

“Don’t tear my arm off, babe!” He laughed.

The grin quickly turned to a smirk feeling you pressed up against him, moving to the music. “Still feel like going to the club isn’t fun?” His long hands attached themselves to your waist, tugging your back to be flush to his chest. Seonghwa’s hips moved to the thumping rhythm with yours and his head dropped to your neck, hair tickling your cheek in the most enchanting way. “Well, look at you, Toothless.” 

“Yes, look at me,” He whispered for only you to hear. 

Turning your head your lips met his in a kiss that made you feel drunk. Pulling away, the two of you smiled and danced with each other, savoring the moments when even you were surrounded by so many other bodies it only felt like just you and your boyfriend. 

Hours later you were sitting on the sidewalk, head feeling too heavy for your neck to hold up. You giggled to yourself at how funny your feet looked in the strappy heels you put on for the night. Sitting under the street light you stared at the ground and your silly looking toes. Another pair of shoes came into sigh and the person attached crouched down in front of you. 

A happy smile appeared on your lips seeing Seonghwa looking down at you. His own cheeks were slightly pink for the few drinks he had. “Drink this, muffin.” Your boyfriend handed you some bottle of something he got from the convenience store across the street. After drinking it, he gently lifted you up and maneuvered you onto his back. “Time to go home, Y/n.” You only giggled, pressing a sloppy drunk kiss to his cheek. 

“Onward my valiant steed!” 

Seonghwa, tipsy himself, neighed like a horse and carried you to the nearest bus stop he could find. The two of you giggled and poked each other until the public transport arrived to take you both home. 

Yunho:

Yunho was practically bouncing as the two of you waited in line. He was so excited. This all started when your boyfriend invited over one of the backup dancers he was close to. You had no problem with Yunho bringing friends over to your shared apartment. He could bring whoever he wanted as long as th eplace was clean and he texted you. 

But, the dancer would not stop going on about a new club that opened up in Hongdae. Normally when Yunho got excited about something he would be obsessed with it for about a week and then never thought about it again. 

You had been to this club not once, not twice, not thrice, but five times in the past three weeks. By this time the owner knew you and was saving a booth for you when you came. The bartenders knew you by name and what your usual drink orders. 

Despite the chilly air your boyfriend jumped up and down in excitement as the line moved forward. “Y/n! Y/n! Look! We’re almost inside!” Yunho grabbed your hands, swinging them as he bounced. 

“Bear, are you sure you aren’t tired of going clubbing?” 

He tilted his head in response to your words. “What? No. I love it! Don’t you, baby?” His lips pouted and your tall boyfriend hunched his shoulders. Quickly you shook your head. 

“Of course, bear! I just want to make sure you love it still!” You rubbed your arms feeling a particularly cold wind blow by. Seeing you shiver, Yunho shed his jacket and placed it around your shoulders, pulling up the collar to block the wind.

“Good.” The tall idol leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Let’s get inside.” 

Showing the bouncer your IDs, the two of you entered the club immersing yourselves in music that sent vibrations all throughout your body. “Get me a drink?” You asked, dropping off your stuff at a secluded booth. Yunho nodded and disappeared into the crowd towards the bar. 

He was only gone a few moments before you heard, “DRINKS ON ME EVERYBODY!” The familiar sound of your boyfriend’s voice floated over the crowd of people cheering at the opporunity of a free drink. Shaking your head you waited for your big loveable bear to return. He appeared with two drinks in hand,  a big smile on his face, and a wiggle in his hips. The vision couldn’t help but make you laugh. “Your beverage, my lady,” He bowed before handing you the martini. 

After finishing your drinks, your boyfriend pulled you onto the dance floor. He held you tight and made sure to show off his moves. By the time you left the dance floor, the both of you were covered in sweat with big grins and definitely a little tipsy. However, it didn’t matter. You loved seeing how happy Yunho was dancing and freestyling to songs that he wouldn't even remember the next morning. As long as it made him happy, you would keep doing it. 

Yeosang:

The second you walked into the club Yeosang made a beeline for the booth and flagged down the nearest waiter. Wooyoung just shrugged and dragged you onto the dance floor. The next time you looked over Yeosang was surrounded by at least two orders of chicken and one burger. Each had bites already taken and your boyfriend was happily chewing on a drumstick. 

He saw you looking at him and waved to you before returning his attention to the piece of fried poltry. You sighed but continued dancing with Wooyoung. Maybe you were crazy, but when you suggested going clubbing to Yeosang, you didn’t think you would end up dancing with his dongsaeng while he pigged out on good bar food. You had dressed up for fucks sake! You made sure you looked like a hot ass bitch and Yeosang was more interested in a chicken leg. 

Wooyoung made sure you were happy. He danced with you. Blocked off weird guys from getting to close. Even held your drink when you went to the bathroom. Wooyoung was acting more like your boyfriend than Yeosang was! 

Two hours passed and you finally decided to confront him. Wooyoung trailed behind you like a puppy as you approached the booth that housed your boyfriend. Shockingly, the table was now filled with not only another basket of chicken but also quite the assortment of drinks, none of which had been touched. “Kang Yeosang!” You scolded, hands on your hips. He looked up at you, handsome face looking even better under the purple and blue lights. “Why am I dancing alone?”

He shrugged. “Babe, you aren’t alone. Wooyoung’s here. That’s why I asked him.” He said motioning to his friend. The boy awkwardly waved before sitting down and taking one of the untouched cocktails. 

“Where did all these come from?” You asked, getting frustrated. 

“I don’t know. The bartender keeps sending them.” Yeosang continued to eat chicken until the bone was clean. “Says they are free though, so take one.”

You scoffed, tongue prodding at the inside of your cheek in annoyance. Looking around the venue, you were met with many pairs of eyes belonging to beautiful scantily dressed girls and a few men who were all staring at your boyfriend. Your boyfriend- of course- was staring at the perfectly fried chicken leg in his hands. 

Taking the nearest blue colored drink, you downed it in one go then slammed the glass on the table. Woyoung jumped at the sound. Before Yeosang could take a bite of the new piece between his fingers, you pulled him up by his collar smashing your lips against his. Hearing a slight thunk you assumed he had dropped his precious drumstick. Regardless, he kissed you back with a fiery passion running his fingers threw your hair. 

“You’re dancing with me.”

“Okay.” Eyeing every person staring at your boyfriend you took his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, but not before he managed to sneak another piece of chicken with him. “You have what you want now, kitten?” He asked dancing with you, one hand creeping towards your ass and the other holding his fried chicken. 

“I’ll take what I can get,”

San:

“San......SAN!” 

“Yes, what?” 

Your boyfriend was walking down the street with you, excited and bouncing as the both of you made your way to a club a lot of idols went to. This was no time for excitement. Not for you anyway. You and San had only been dating a few months. It wasn’t that you were shy...it was just that San was very territorial. Out of all seven of his bandmates you had only met two. 

Hongjoong you had met unfortunately after he walked in on you and San when your horndog boyfriend thought the dorms were empty for the day. You were still trying to get over the embarassment of looking that man in the eyes and not remembering he had seen you naked already. Wooyoung you had also met, with clothes on (Thank the fucking lord). Him being San’s best friend it didn’t make sense for you not to meet. 

“What if they don’t like me?” You questioned. There was only a block standing between you and the club. “What if they hate me, San?” He stopped and turned to look at you, eyes softening. 

Walking back, San took your hands in his. “Y/n. You’re mine. Therefore, they will love you.” Taking a deep breath you let San pull you the rest of the way and into the nightclub. San was like an anchoring, keeping you tethered and focused as you maneuvered to the back of the venue. As you approached a view of seven extremely handsome men were all seated in a round velvet booth. “Guys, meet Y/n- the most attractive person on the planet besides me.”

All the boys were very kind, getting up and greeting you warmly. Hongjoong hugged you, and Wooyoung tackled you. “You’re pretty.” A willowy man stated matter of factly. 

San nodded, hand on the small of your back. “That Yeosang. Yunho made sure he had a couple drinks before you met so it’d be easier on you.” You nodded in understanding, mouth shaping into an ‘O’. After a few minutes of awkward conversation all seven idols dragged you out onto the dance floor. 

Dancing with seven men who did it professionally was definitely an experience you were not going to get used to. The entire club watched the tree you remembered as Yunho freestyle in the middle of an open circle that had formed at one point. 

Throughout the whole night San stayed by your side. His hands were almost always on your ass, but he was by your side. You got surprisingly close with Seonghwa, dancing and talking with him most of the night. The other boys were very welcoming, pulling you into dance with them, twirling you around and jumping around you when a particularly good song came on. 

San and Wooyoung at one point during the night bribed the DJ to play one of their songs and the boys were shocked to see you doing the choreography along with them. You could see in your boyfriend’s face that this was what he had planned all along. 

He knew that if he kept both him and you sober and brought you to a neutral environment to meet with the boys, you would get along. He probably saw it in a video about introducing a new pet to your other ones knowing San. Around three am you were helping Seonghwa and Hongjoong stuff a drunk Yeosang and Mingi into the group’s van. 

After saying goodbye, San took your hand as you walked to the nearest subway station. “See that wasn’t so bad. They loved you!”

“Next time don’t treat us like cats, babe.” Your boyfriend laughed swinging your hands back and forth. “I’m hungry. You want to get some food?” You asked, seeing a pizza place across the street still open

“Fuck yes. I’m starving.”

Mingi:

Your best friend just got dumped by her boyfriend and you knew only one way to distract her. So, you gathered up you other two best girl friends and Mingi then dragged them to the club with the most attractive guys and strongest alcohol you could find. F/n whipped her hair around as the four of you jumped around on the dance floor. Three shots of tequila and one strong cocktail made you at least think you were the greatest dancer in the entire club.

Deciding you needed a break from a very creepy guy trying to grind on you, you manuevered and wiggled your way off the dance floor. Your eyes landed on the tall glass of water that was your boyfriend, who sat at the bar. With a tipsy gait you walked over and draped yourself over his shoulder. 

“Hi, baby!” You greeted, sloppily kissing his cheek. 

Despite your slightly drunk antics, Mingi smiled holding onto your arms that tightly hugged his shoulders. “You look like you’re having fun.” He laughed as you hiccuped in response. “Wow...you’re cute.”

Blushing from both the drinks and your boyfriend’s words, you held onto his large hands. “Thank you for being our driver tonight, Mingi.” He smiled and handed you the glass of water he was drinking from. His long fingers pushed the bottom of the cup to tilt towards your lips. 

“Of course. In fact the only reason I got my driver’s license was so I could watch creepy horny guys hit on my girlfriend and then drive her and her friends home.” As if the universe wanted to make a joke, the bar tender approached with a cosmopolitan in hand. 

“For the lady, from the guy at the end of the bar.” 

Mingi’s sarcastic grin quickly turned into a scowl as the both of you turned to look at the sleezy but semi attractive man who was waving at you. Your boyfriend wasn’t one to get angry, but when he did he was scary. Mingi’s eyes darkened and his long arms wrapped around your waist protectively as if to claim you as his own. 

Smirking, you picked the vessel up by the rim and took a sip of the drink before grabbing your boyfriend by the jaw and smashing your lips on his, still holding the gifted cocktail. Standing between Mingi’s long legs you dragged your teeth over his bottom lip. “I think he knows you’re mine.” 

“Just cause you’re driving doesn’t mean you can’t dance with me.” Mingi laughed as you pulled him from his seat. 

“I thought this was a ‘Girls-Hate-All-Guys-Except-For-The-Random-One-F/n-Goes-Home-With-Night’?” 

You shrugged, lacing your fingers with his. Surpringly, your friends greeted him excitedly. Mingi started dancing with you, enjoying the knowledge that every guy who looked at you that night was jealous you chose him to grind on. At the end of the night Mingi drove you and your friends back safely and put you to bed in your shared apartment. He kissed your forehead before climbing into bed next you. You were so thankful to have a kind and patient boyfriend willing to put up with not only drunk you, but also your drunk, sad, crazy friends.

Wooyoung:

Sweat dripped off your forehead. Between Wooyoung’s hands on your body and the music thumping and vibrating through the floor and up into your bones you couldn’t help but feel like you were floating. Not only was your boyfriend one hell of a dancer on stage, but moving with him on the floor of this club that you couldn’t even remember the name of was a thrill you wouldn’t trade for anything. 

“I'm thirsty,” You whispered into his ear, lips brushing his skin.

“Oh are you?” A smirk played at his lips, fingers holding tighter onto your hips. 

You rolled your eyes, still presssing against your boyfriend. “Liquid thirsty. Not you thirsty.” Lauging, Woouyoung took your hand in his and brought you to the bar for yet another drink. It had only been an hour and the both of you were a little more than tipsy. “Sidecar please, babe.” He nodded, flagging down a bartender all the while his hand stayed firmly gripping onto your ass.

“One sidecar and four tequila shots please.”

“Four?” You asked, pulling on his shirt sleeve. Wooyoung nodded like it was the most clear and obvious knowledge in the world. “I have a feeling I’m going to be carrying you home.” He just laughed and turned back to the bar. 

Two hours later and your feeling was turning out to be correct. There was nothing you could do but stare as your boyfriend danced like a stripper ontop of the bar. At first it was funny. Then you stopped laughing when Wooyoung started unbuttoning his shirt. “Babe, get down!” You shouted over the cheers and music. He couldn’t hear you. He was way too drunk and having way too much fun. 

“I am Jung Wooyoung! I am a sex machine! And that person,” He pointed to you, eyes clearly not focusing well. “THAT ASS IS MINE!” 

Before you could respond, two very big men in black shirts lumbered through the crowd. Now it was your turn to laugh as the two buff bouncers grabbed Wooyoung by the arms, one struggling to get your boyfriend’s shirt back on, and lifted him off the bar. “Who does this hooligan belong to?”

You raised your hand, squeezing through the pack of young people. “Me. He belongs to me! I’ll take the hooligan.” Despite claiming your overly intoxicated boyfriend, the bouncers carried him outside, you trailing behind. 

Wooyoung’s feet wobbly reached the ground and he stumbled onto the street. “Y/n? Y/n where are youuuu?” He said giggling. “Love of my liiiiiifffeeeee!” The bouncers shook their heads before turning to you with serious faces. 

“Yeah, he’s not allowed back here.”

“Noted.”

“Y/NNNNNNNNNNNNN! BAAABBBYYYY!”

Turning, you saw the idol once again free of his shirt and hugging a street sign. “Babe, babe- that’s not me. I’m over here.” Taking his arm and pulling it over your shoulder you started walking away from the club. “Wow, you are way heavier than I thought.”

“DON’T FAT SHAME ME!”

“Woo- please don’t yell.” No response came from the man you were carrying. Turning you saw him completely pass out on your shoulder. “There’s never a middle ground with him is there?” You mumbled, dragging your unconscious and heavy boyfriend to the nearest bus stop.

“Stop calling me fat, you jerk.”

“I- I didn’t- Just go back to fucking sleep.”

Jongho:

Jongho was not excited. This was the last place he wanted to be. He watched you happily walk in front of him with Mingi and Yunho. Jongho wasn’t the jealous type and he knew you loved his friends. Mingi was already a little drunk so your boyfriend watched as the other tall man and you attempted to keep him from stumbling, laughing the entire way. 

Your group was currently walking from the first club to the second. The boys had gotten an entire weekend off and Yunho had proposed the amazing idea- only to you and Mingi- of going club crawling. Even though he would rather being doing practically anything else, Jongho tagged along because you were so excited. 

As you entered the second venue you were greeted by what Jongho sweared was the exact same song the first club was playing when you left. You squealed, hugging onto your boyfriend as he and your friends squeezed your way to the bar. While your boyfriend was never one for PDA, he kept a hand on you at all times, gently letting everyone in the building know that you were off limits. 

“LET’S SHAKE OUR BUTTS!” Mingi shouted, throwing you over his tall shoulder and running off with you to the dance floor. You waved to your boyfriend who stayed seated at the bar. “WOOOOOOO!” Your friend cheered, putting you down and immeditaley spinning you around.

Yunho tapped Jongho’s shoulder. The younger turned before being handed a beer. “If you aren’t going to dance you should at least loosen up. Tonight is supposed to be fun. For everybody.” Yunho tried to coax him onto the dance floor but failed, leaving Jongho at the bar taking tiny baby sips of the drink.

Everytime you looked to the bar, you were met with your boyfriend’s eyes staring back at you. He would give you a small smile, one that made you feel like a total bitch for leaving him by himself. Having enough, you walked away from your dancing bafoons and towards the handsome man waiting for you at the bar. 

“You want a drink?” He asked, hand finding your waist once more. Nodding, you rested your head on his firm chest, breathing in his smell. You were drunk enough to get away with being clingy but sober enough to remember that the only reason your boyfriend was here was for you. “One manhatten for the lady please,” Jongho said to the bartender. 

You were quickly passed your drink, pecking your boyfriend’s lips as a thank you. The drink left a pleasurable burn as it slid down your throat. “Darling, I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back. Hold my drink?”

“Of course.” He kissed your cheek and covered your glass with his hand when you set it on the bartop. 

When you returned he was still protecting the glass like it was his singular purpose in life. He practically looked like a dragon, ready to bite off the head of anyone who even came near it. He even glared at you when your hand touched his shoulder, but his gaze quickly softened eyes turning into that of a puppy.

The two of you talked and finished your drinks. Yunho and Mingi were still in full control of the dance floor when you checked. Suddenly you got an idea. Leaning over so only Jongho could hear, you whispered a large incentive he might receive when the two of you got home. 

“Well come on, Y/n! Let’s dance!” He cheered, pulling you with him towards his friends, dancing along the way.

Masterlist

[gummygowon]

finger paint | choi san

word count: 1.3k 

genre: fluff

established relationship!

warnings: san just makes a sex joke but that’s it 

request: hello hello could i request san with an artist!reader? like they're dating but he's also her muse and she paints him and hfjsjfjd pure fluff ig? also congrats on 100!! deserved

a/n: thank you!! <3 i hope you enjoy! ps. thank you for helping me with literally everything lol

“choi san!” you scolded your boyfriend as he kept moving wayyy too much for you to sketch his body.

“i’m sorry, i can’t help it. but you gave me something really boring to do.” san apologized as he motioned towards the english textbook you gave him. 

you sighed in annoyance thinking of other ways to occupy your boyfriend enough for him to stay still since you current art project was to capture someone in the act of doing something. so of course, you choose to paint san since it was another excuse for you to marvel at your boyfriend plus you got to spend even more time with him and get your schoolwork done. it was a three birds one stone type thing you know?

at first, you asked him to dance for you. letting him freestyle to whatever song was playing. if i’m being honest, you spent the first five minutes just watching san dance. you were absolutely entranced by the way he moved his body so effortlessly and smoothly. 

san had caught on to your staring and teased you for it. “are you gonna start drawing or are you just gonna keep your mouth open? because i’ll give you a reason to keep it open.”

your immediate reaction was to throw whatever was in your reach at him. your weapon of choice was an eraser that hit him square in the forehead. 

“ouch.” he pouted as he rubbed the targeted spot.

“that’s on you.” you defended as you picked up the eraser he threw back at you, your cheeks a pretty pink. “can you get back to dancing now please?”

“you sure? because i-”

“san!” you shouted at him as you pointed your pencil at him threateningly. 

“ok! ok!” he said immediately as he jogged back to his phone to hit play again.

as the music went on, the more you realized it was hard to capture a single dance move. you were getting frustrated each time you had to erase your page. 

“baby, is it okay if you can do something else?” you shyly asked him, feeling bad that he has to switch activities for you.

“sure, of course. what do you have in mind?” he asked you as he lowered the music.

this is how you were left with a twitchy san, who wouldn’t sit still while you tried to sketch him. he always changed his position every few minutes or so claiming that he couldn’t get comfortable. finally, you got tired of san changing positions which led to you slightly snapping at him.

but then a bright idea popped into your head.

there was an art sale at your local target which resulted in you buying some mediocre art supplies for your art students that you had lessons with during the week. you rushed into your storage closet, digging around bins and bags looking for the five-color finger paint set that you never used.

“where did you go?” your boyfriend asked as you returned with a palette and the bottles of paint in your arms. 

“i had to get something.” you answered as you sat back down on the floor, cracking open the paint, secretly praying that they weren’t dry and chunky. fortunately, your prayers were heard and the paint squeezed out the bottles with ease. 

“what’s that for?” san asked pointing to the paint bottle in your hand as he crouched down, “i thought you weren’t done with the sketch?”

“i’m not.” you handed the palette to him, “this is for you.”

“but where am i supposed to paint?” he asked you as he dipped a finger into one of the blobs of paint. 

“good question.” you replied back, motioning for him to sit. you didn’t have any spare canvases to use since you were already on a tight budget plus regular printer paper would just bleed through. you thought carefully about what other surfaces san could use to paint. a white board could work or maybe a-

“what the hell-” you shouted as you felt something touch your knee. you looked down to see san slowly removing his finger from your body, a glob of blue paint still stuck on his finger where a half drawn smiley face was left on your knee.

“i’m sorry.” san replied quickly as he removed his finger and went to go wipe it off. 

“wait.” you pushed his hand away from your leg. if you didn’t have any surfaces for him to paint on, then why don’t you become one? the paint was washable since it was made to be on skin plus you aren’t wasting any more art supplies. 

bingo

“you can keep painting-”

“on your legs?” san interrupted, giving you an odd look. 

“yeah, they’re fingerpaints it’s okay.” you smiled at him before picking up your sketchbook again. 

the pink haired boy shrugged his shoulders and picked up the palette of paint before returning your body. the first thing he did was finish his smiley face on your knee. then he started to dragging his finger around your calf after quietly asking you for to raise your legs, which created a long green line that wrapped around the bottom part of your leg. next, san used his middle finger to dip it into a pretty red color to make a flower right on top of the green line and then he dipped his pinky into some yellow to create the middle of the flower. after alternating between colors and fingers, san had managed to create a pretty vine that had a different colored flower every few inches. he also threw in a few small bees around the plant. 

before continuing to paint the other leg, san had stolen a glance at you. he felt a smile form on his face as he watched your hands glide against the paper smoothly and skillfully with your bottom lip tucked underneath the top one. sunlight falling on you, making your skin glow. san could feel his heartbeat quicken, the longer he stared. he never imagined being able to date someone as lovely and amazing as you. someone who was able to love him but also be his best friend. someone who he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life. 

you could feel your boyfriend’s gaze on you which slowly made you look up from your sketchbook, “what?” is there something on my face?”

“huh? oh no.” san answered as he watched you perked your head up, making eye contact with him. he could feel his heartbeat even faster when your face broke into smile. fuck. he really was in love. 

“what is it?” you asked, a laugh escaping your mouth as you looked at your flustered boyfriend.

“nothing, i just love you.” he replied, gaining some composure. 

now it was your turn to get flustered. you could feel heat rush to your cheeks for the twentieth time today. damn, the things this boy did to you. dating san was full of surprises, cute cuddly moments turning into heated ones. but the biggest one to you was the thought of spending your futures together. he was your only partner that your mind really brought up about spending the rest of your life with someone you love so much. now it was a clearer answer. 

yes, you would spend the rest of you life with choi san. your best friend, boyfriend, and muse. the person who would have your back for life, no matter what. 

“do i not get a ‘i love you’ back?” san pouted with his fingers still covered in paint. 

“yeah.” you teased him, an annoying smile plastered on your face as you dipped a finger into the paint. it was quite obvious that you loved the pink haired boy back but you wanted to mess with him after he wouldn’t sit still. 

“whyyy? that’s not-”

you cut him off by poking his cheek with the finger covered in a bright blue.

“hey!” he shouted at you before reaching to grab a leg but you got up so quickly and sprinted away from his touch. “come back here! i want my ‘i love you’ !”

[rizumary]

Like A Soda Pop (part.2)

This was the highest peak of Hajime Iwaizumi’s delicate springtime of life—according to Tooru, who definitely didn’t have any say in Hajime’s love life. At all. (Or, the one where Iwaizumi got overwhelmed by a kouhai’s not-entirely-unwelcomed romantic advances and Oikawa did have any say in his love life, after all.) [Iwaizumi/OC; confession fic]

Writer: nutteu | AO3 version [part 1] ー [part 2]

There were days that felt like Akeno; soft, airy cotton candy days filled with wondering eyes and quick-silver heartbeats. Where his hands trembled with the confusion of wanting to hold Akeno’s hand or to punch the wall because he was too overwhelmed by her.

But, there were also days when Hajime felt like he ached so deep within his marrow. The cramp from their latest bout of harsh practices, the looming threat of competitions, the painful anxiety of losing, of not being able to play a little bit longer—just a little bit more—

For people like Tobio, like Ushijima, even Tooru, the ache must have been filled to the brim with growth and potentials. But for Hajime, it felt like bone deep weariness and fear. That it wasn’t enough, that he didn’t try hard enough, that eventually, he wouldn’t be able to catch up no matter how hard he worked for it. He was neither the gifted nor the talented. All he had was his love for volleyballs, and the stubborn, unmoving desire of reaching the pinnacle of championships with his team.

On those days, he smiled less, hit the balls harder than ever, took every cramp and ache in his muscles. He came early, went home the last. On those days, there was nothing he would like to do but scream, and practice until his legs give out; nothing but staying away from everyone and curl up and cry. The juxtaposing needs made him tired, so tired.

Tooru knew, of course he knew. On those days, he gave as good as he could; teased less, and pacified the other members when they were worried about Hajime’s unusual walls he erected around him. They all got used to it, in the end, letting him vent out his frustrations instead of coddling him. Joked around and acted like he didn’t run himself to the ground just the day before. They didn’t ask, because there were certain things that couldn’t be shared unless they were awake in the middle of the night, or too tired to pay attention properly after a rigorous training camp.

Akeno Hana brought a change to that—abruptly, with her brand of awkwardness and earnest intention.

When everyone else had left, she waited in the gym for him, sitting on the polished floor with a terrifying focus on her delicate face. Hajime almost jumped in surprise when he realized that he wasn’t alone. The irritation was fast to catch up to him. Tooru really needed something to gag his stupidly big mouth. A fist, preferably.

As if reading the hard lines on his face, Hana shook her head and talked first to soother his fraying nerves. “No one told me, they wouldn’t. No one sells you out, Iwaizumi-senpai. Although, they’re as worried as I am. I just—“ she hesitated, and Hajime let out a long sigh. It wouldn’t do anything to snap at her just because she was on the wrong place, at the wrong time.

He reached for his bottle of water and towel, and sat next to her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t mad at you. Things are just… difficult for me sometimes,” he said. He didn’t know why he bothered explaining this to her. He never did, not even to Tooru; not even to his mom, though she probably understood anyway. Maybe it was the way Hana just showed to him that she perceived and paid attention more than anyone thought, maybe it was the patience he saw in her eyes, maybe it was because—

Oh, God, he thought, heaving a deep sigh that suspiciously wavered at the end. He was tired, he was so tired. Worrying about his passion, the continuation of his education, his career path—it all built up inside his chest, and in days like these, he couldn’t rationalize it, couldn’t clear his head enough to control his mind and emotions.

Hana nodded, and took the box of something that he assumed was a bento. She unwrapped the cloth covering, and he noticed, out of his will, that her hands was delicate, pretty. Acutely in contrast with his calloused, blistered hands. He wanted to try holding her hands, he thought, and shook his head to banish the thought away. Hana didn’t seem to notice, thankfully.

“I, uh, I made this,” she started, sounding shy and proud. “I remembered that you mentioned you like these, and—and you made me chicken karaage too when I was sad. I wanted to help you too, senpai. But I don’t know if I can do something that actually counts, so I thought—maybe at least I can cheer you up with these?”

Hajime looked over, and was stunned to silence. On the red bento box, alongside the regular assortments, were agedashi tofu that glazed so beautifully Hajime was reminded of his hunger. But above the dish, and the fact that he hadn’t eaten since lunch, the fact that she remembered, that she cared enough to try to cheer him up with this—Hajime swallowed, his throat felt dry all of the sudden. He forgot how to speak, for a moment.

“I—“ he croaked out, and was startled to realize that his eyes were watering. She must have been puzzled as to why he looked like he was about to cry right now, because she suddenly rambled in frantic manner, gesticulating with her hands as her small face scrunched up in worry and panic.

“Of course you don’t have to eat these if you don’t want to, senpai!” she hurried to explain. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude or to patronize! I swear, I just—“ she bit her lip, and looked at him with pale, pleading eyes. “I just wanted to help. Please, let me help, Iwaizumi-senpai.”

He managed a small smile, and took the bento from her hands; felt an electric current ran through his fingers when they brushed against hers. “No, this is more than enough, Akeno. Really,” he said, when Hana still looked unconvinced, “you’ve helped a lot by just being here.”

And that might be too honest, contained more implications than what Hajime would be willing to admit right now, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it back or play it off as something mundane when Hana flashed him the most brilliant smile, happiness etched into the creases around her eyes. He smiled back, stronger, more sincere this time. They were silent after that, but it didn’t feel stifling. Just a comfortable silence to fill in the scant inches of distance between them.

On days like these, Hajime usually wore himself out until he couldn’t think, couldn’t stay awake long enough to let the fear consumed him. But this, he thought as he looked over to Hana’s still smiling face, it felt nice, too.

Hana confessed, out of the blue. Or not so much out of the blue for literally everyone.

It seemed like, Akeno still had one last surprise for him. The biggest, most unexpected surprise that actually felt like a massive, enormous bang in Hajime’s heart: a confession.

(Or maybe, just maybe, Hajime was too busy being conflicted with himself, too busy being enamored by Akeno Hana’s soft, sunny, enveloping charm, to notice that once again, Tooru was right. Hajime really was too dense about romance.)

At first it was like any other day. Of course, it wasn’t any other day. In his defense, Hajime rarely ever got the chance to marvel and enjoy the full extent of Valentine’s Day. Mostly because Valentine had no business at all in the volleyball court. It didn’t matter whether the whole school was in tizzy from the hormone buzz, if coach said lapped until they collapsed, then they’d lapped until they collapsed—Valentine’s Day or not.

Which was probably why Hajime didn’t suspected anything when Akeno walked alongside him, wrapped in her winter uniform and a pink scarf. It suited her, he thought, glancing down at the top of her head. She seemed… nervous. Or maybe she was just cold. She insisted on coming with him to the club, and it was pretty early in the morning. Maybe he could offer her his jacket, too? Yeah, he could do that.

When he opened his mouth to offer, however, Akeno ran ahead of him, before stopping, and extending something on both hands. For a moment, the world stopped. Hajime lost the words forming on his lips as he stared, open-mouthed, at the small, blue box in her gloved hand. She was bowing, her hair falling into curtains and hid the majority of her face, her voice though was as clear as the sun after a rainy day.

“I like you, Iwaizumi-senpai!”

For a heart-stopping second, there was nothing but the faint sound of the students in the distance; the echo of Akeno’s confession ringing in his mind; his accelerating heartbeat beating drums in his ears. He stood there, stock still, too shocked to wrap his head around the situation. Did Akeno… just say that she liked him? Like, the girl who had been charming him left and right and leaving him feeling warm and fuzzy, was actually here, offering him a box of chocolate, and confessing to him? What?

Unfortunately, his mouth only caught up with the last part. “Uh,” he croaked out, hesitant, bewildered, overwhelmed. “What?”

Akeno looked up then, and Hajime suddenly had the epiphany that her reddened face since they met this morning wasn’t just from cold. But because she was holding this in. She looked—afraid, but determined.

“I fell in love with you since the first time we met, senpai,” she said, her voice wavering for a little bit, before strengthening. “I have heard things about you from Kyoutani, but the first time we met, I was immediately taken by your charm. You were so kind even when I was embarrassing myself, you were patient with me, you helped me a lot, you paid attention to me, and you—“ she stopped to take in a breath, and powered through, as though if she didn’t get this out right here, right now, she wouldn’t be able to let out everything in her chest. Her eyes were bright with affection and determination and shyness, but her next words carried on without a hitch.

“You made me feel welcomed. You made me feel accepted and protected, cared for and cherished. I’m so happy when you asked me about things I like, when you mean it, when you hold me as I tripped, when we played together in the arcade. Every day we ate our lunch together, I felt the happiest because I could sit by your side and get to know you more. I’m thankful, that you let me know you in return, and that you trust me enough to open up to me.” There was a small smile playing on the curve of her lips, almost shy, full of happiness as she recalled her memories of them together. “I—I know that there are other girls who you like better than me, but senpai, I, too, wanted to shine in your eyes because in mine, you are the only one I’ve ever had the eyes for.”

Their breaths puffed out in small rush of fog, eyes wide as they stared at each other. Hajime, every so slowly, took the box of chocolate from her hands, and stared at it in amazement. Akeno’s previous words played in continuous repeat inside his head. He was—surprised, extremely so. But his chest felt so warm, despite the weather. It was just that he didn’t know what to say, didn’t trust himself enough to talk properly.

Akeno must have translated his silence into objection, because she seemed even more flustered than before, and her words started to jumble together. “And! I just thought—I thought, I wanted senpai to know about my feelings. Because they feel like they’re about to burst from my chest. Like—like a soda pop! I just wanted you to know, that I like you, senpai! And that you are very precious to me, and I’m thankful for all your helps as well, and that you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. So—so um—oh my god, what am I doing—“ she squeaked at herself, and looked up at Hajime with pleading eyes. “so—I just want to say—I like you so much, Iwaizumi-senpai.”

When Hajime still didn’t move, or say anything, Akeno visible gulped, and grinned stiffly. “Um, anyway. That’s all I wanted to say.” She laughed, awkward and very much still high on nervous energy. “Have a nice valentine!”

As she left him, he could faintly hear her murmur, “a nice valentine? Does that even make sense? Stupid Hana!” as she hit her head with her hand. Hajime took a long ass minute standing there, looking at her retreating back, and back to the box that he was pretty sure contained chocolates on his hand.

Everything was happening too fast for him to comprehend, and it almost felt like a dream. But it wasn’t. It didn’t feel so. Because the weight of the box was real, and Akeno’s swaying hair was still in his sight as she left, and the warmth that slowly spread inside him despite the coldness on his face was very much real. This wasn’t a dream. Akeno had actually confessed to him. As in, she liked him.

“Oh my Gods,” he whispered out brokenly after long minutes just staring at the spot where Akeno disappeared. “Oh my Gods she likes me too. Holy shit.”

The revelation, the sudden intensity of happiness, the giddiness that made him lost his breath. Hajime laughed, in disbelief and slightly hysteric because—he just couldn’t believe it. She liked him, as in liked him. . A romantic type of like, the one with fast heartbeats and the unbearable urge to hold their hands, or spend time with them, or smiling when they talked excitedly about their passion. The type of like that now had become one of the spotlights in his delicate springtime of life.

And then, he realized that for the entirety of the confession, he just stood there looking like a dead fish. “Oh my Gods,” he groaned, frustrated and panicked. He hoped Akeno didn’t make the wrong assumption. But then again, she might have. He didn’t even deign her with any answer whatsoever. Which, was fair. She didn’t ask him out or anything back there. So… so it was fine right? Right, it was fine that he didn’t answer because there was never a question to begin with. She just confessed her feelings, and then—and then Hajime could talk to her about his feelings too, and maybe then, he could ask her out. Yeah, sure, he could do that. He just needed to calm down first, and tried to wipe the giddy grin on his face.

(He didn’t meet Akeno for the rest of the day, but Tooru had seen the box of chocolate in his bag, and was so insufferably smug that Hajime had to punch him. He ate the chocolate at home. It was a tad bitter—she probably took the wrong type of chocolate—but it warmed his heart nonetheless.)

Akeno didn’t come to the club anymore after that. She avoided him in the hallways, didn’t come to their usual lunch time, didn’t reply to his messages, didn’t pick up his calls, even Kyoutani was at loss. Hajime was, to say the least, panicking. No, it wasn’t right, he was an absolute wreck.

He was worried about it to the point of considering just ambushing her after classes, but she would just squeak and run as she did these past few weeks. The other players had been asking about her, too. “Did you guys get into a fight?” they asked, or something like, “There’s finally a problem in the paradise, huh?” which would get a glare from Hajime, typically. He couldn’t exactly tell them that it wasn’t a fight; it was a confession, which was mutual, but they both were too dumb to deal with it properly.

It went on for about a month, before Hajime finally snapped, and turned to Tooru.

That motherfucker laughed. Of course he did. He spent his sweet ass time rolling on Hajime’s mattress, after eating Hajime’s cookies, laughing at Hajime’s misery. It hadn’t even been five minutes and Hajime had regretted this decision, very much so.

“So, in conclusion, she confessed to you, but was too nervous to ask you out and just hightailed it out of there?” Tooru asked, after calming down and wiping tears from his eyes.

“Yeah,” he replied curtly, frustrated and was five seconds away from throwing Tooru out of the window.

“And you were so shocked that you didn’t even say anything? And then you just stupidly thought she’d come around after that?”

He wanted to punch Tooru for that, but in the end, he just conceded with a defeated, “Yeah.”

Tooru exploded into another bout of obnoxious laughter. “Oh my Gods!” he wailed, “oh my Gods, Hajime, this is precious! I can’t believe it!” he dissolved into another giggle, as Hajime groaned and rubbed his face with both hands. He should have never asked Tooru, this just increased his blood pressure and made him consider murder.

Finally, though, Tooru took a pity on him, and said, “Iwa-chan, hana-chan is a simple girl, you know? She likes cute and cool things, she forgets anyone else is in the room when she talks to you, she cries eating your bentos, and she makes you handmade chocolate on valentine. You don’t need grand gestures, just give back what she gave to you—sincerity and clear affection.”

Hajime was stunned for a moment. He actually half-expected Tooru to joke about this and didn’t actually give a useful advice. But he was surprised yet again. He considered it for a moment, and Tooru left him to it after some more teasings.

Something simple, something she liked, and something he knew meant a lot to her. For the first time in weeks, Hajime might have a clue about what he should do. He just hoped that he was right, that it would be enough to win Akeno back.

It was almost six in the morning, and Hajime barely slept a wink last night. He stared at the ceiling in his room hard enough to make himself dizzy, as if he could drill a hole through it. After spending ungodly hours at the arcade yesterday, and quite possibly losing his pocket money for two weeks and several blood vessels from anger and frustration at the crane machine, he finally got the god forsaken thing that thought—wished—would help him and his ironically comedic, disastrous, wonderful crush on Akeno Hana.

He managed to sleep at ten, and then woke up at one am, thinking about ugly things that might transpire when he confessed. He tried to calm himself down, but the thoughts of what if she lost interest, what if she got heartbroken, what if she—kept him wide awake until 4 in the morning. Finally, the memories of spending time with her, the soft curve of her smile, the shine in her eyes when she talked about arts and her dream, the way she looked so sincere, so pretty on the day she confessed, calmed his nerves down. Enough to catch a little bit of sleep.

It didn’t last long, though. He was sleep deprived, was running on nervous energy, and his stomach felt like a knife had been twisted into it. When he finally couldn’t take it, he took his phone from the charging station, and, before he could lose the short burst of bravery, dialed Akeno’s numbers. He knew that girl had a habit of running late to school. This might the only time when she wouldn’t be aware enough to reject his call.

As he predicted, the call connected, and Akeno’s groggy voice greeted him from the other side. She sounded like a child abruptly woken up from a nap. It was cute, but Hajime wasn’t going to be distracted by cute things. Regardless if the said cute things came from the very person he liked. Whom he was going to confess to. Today. In just a moment. Oh Gods, he wanted to throw up.

Instead, he strengthened his resolve, and said, “Go get ready. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Akeno sounded more awake then, cautious. “But… why, senpai?”

Why indeed. But Hajime couldn’t just back off now. He didn’t want to. A month filled with uncertainty about their relationship and the abrupt absence of Akeno in his life, was enough to fill his courage. He didn’t want to go through that again. “I really need to see you, Akeno.”

There was a soft hitch of breath, and then Akeno’s trembling voice. “Y-yeah—uh, I mean, yes, I’ll get ready. Um, take care on your way here, senpai.”

Akeno was already waiting on the front porch when he got there. She looked nervous, but there was a hesitant happiness that peeked through her pale eyes. Her mom waved at him from the door jam, and he bowed, nervous and awkward all at once. They parted with a knowing look from her, and walked to the nearest bus stop that Akeno usually took.

They walked side by side in silence, the both of them too nervous to break the tension between them. It was as if they were waiting on the edge, and Hajime felt like throwing up again. Even playing in tournaments didn’t feel nerve-wracking, even if both the tournaments and Akeno Hana were just as important to him.

Akeno was the first to break the silence, however, by tripping on the side of the road, over nothing. Hajime’s quick reflexes prevented her from falling over and scraped her knees on the pavement, and she shot him a grateful smile. “Thank you, senpai.”

And maybe it was the familiarity, of holding her like this when she was about to fall, of the words he hadn’t heard in a month, of the smile he hadn’t seen much these days, that he just blurted out, “you’re so clumsy. If you got any clumsier than this, you might trip and lose your head, you know?”

Akeno, affronted, choked on air and replied, “Hey!”

He chuckled, and straightened her up. He started walking again, and Akeno followed his lead. Still looking ahead, he started pouring his heart out, so his gut could finally stop twisting, and his heart could finally calm itself down, and he could breathe once the truth was out.

“You’re so clumsy, and you easily got lost if someone didn’t hold your hand. You’re such a crybaby, and sometimes you’re either embarrassed too easily, or entirely too shameless. You look adorable either way.” Next to him, Akeno let out the trademark squeak of protest.

“You have no sense of personal space, and yet I like it when you’re close. Your eyes look the prettiest when you talk about your art; I just realized that you give your whole attention to me when I talk—and I like that as well. You always wake up late, you got these crazy eyes whenever you’re playing crane games, you cook well but you suck at making confectionaries. You are such a mess of genuine feeling and wonder, and I like you too much to even think about a proper confession.”

Next to him, Akeno had stopped walking completely, and instead was staring at him with wide, wide eyes. So he turned, and smiled, and said, “I’m sorry it took me so long to figure this out,” he pulled out the item from his pocket, and keeping his fist close around it, he offered it in front of her. “Happy white valentine,” he said. “I got this for you, and you better like it because I didn’t just spend my time torturing myself in that cursed machine, and not getting a wink of sleep because I was too nervous.”

“Too nervous for what?” Akeno finally spoke after being shocked still for so long.

“To ask you out, of course,” he said, and it felt so easy, sliding off his lips in light cadence. It felt alarmingly natural on his tongue, like it waited his whole life to reach this delicate springtime of life to finally say it. “Instead of, you know, running away after the confession.”

At that, Akeno finally snapped out of the trance and pouted at him. Even pouting like that she still looked unfairly cute. Hajime was indeed going insane. Simp, he faintly heard Tooru’s voice whispered viciously in his head, complete with the shit-eating grin.

“Hey! It’s not nice to embarrass people like that!” she yelled, high pitched and patting her cheeks to alleviate some heat. They looked appropriately reddened. “I was nervous, okay. You know I do stupid things when I’m nervous, senpai,” she whined, and he chuckled low.

He stepped closer to her, and slowly, carefully, brought his hands to where Akeno’s were and wrapped them around bunny plushy he had tried so hard to get, her soft smiles in mind every time he failed to get it. Hana’s eyes widened, pale irises recognizing the object in her hands immediately, and held back a sob as she realized that Hajime remembered. “So, how about it? Will you go out with me? I promise I’ll make you karaage any time you like, and I made really good confectionaries, and you can steal all my jackets as you like and we can get you all the bunny plushies in the world and—“

And Akeno was laughing, crying, taking the bunny plushy from his hands and rushed forward to envelope him in the tiniest, warmest hug he had ever received in his whole life. “Yes,” he heard her saying, then, more clearly than ever, like a ringing bell in the foggy morning, “yes, I’ll go out with you, Iwaizumi-senpai!”

And really, if people looked at them weird because they were hugging on the side of the road, crying and sniffling and giggling like middle school girls, Hajime could honestly give less than half a shit, because he was too busy wrapping his head around the unfathomable happiness that filled his heart to the brim. Oikawa was going to be insufferably smug, Hajime was too happy to even feel frustrated though.

Because they were shyly holding hands on their way to the bus stop, the bunny plushy safely strapped to Akeno’s bag, and her smile was bright enough to light the whole world. Hajime’s world, at least. And as he looked at her, smiling softly at the radiant joy on every line of her face, he felt his heart beat so loud he could hear it in his ears. Like his feelings and happiness and sheer force of affection for Hana was about to burst.

Like a soda pop.

[docholligay]

An Overwatch Christmas Carol: Stave III---The Second of the Spirits

Hello there! The third part of this is up up up, and at 11,000 words I know it’s long, so if you wanted to read it in parts that’s great and okay! I worked hard on this and I hope you like it! 

Her alarm struck, though she had not set it, and she felt at her own body as she awoke from the horrible nightmare. 

Ana, like most people of her ilk, believed herself ready in any moment for any sort of thing that came her way, that she could master it, and tolerate it, and come out victorious. So have all of us, in a moment where we are very courageous in our own homes and beds, said that same. And so despite the harrowing nature of what she had just experienced, it seemed to Ana Amari that anything between a children’s choir and an army might have been just as expected. 

But what Ana was most unnerved by, and utterly unprepared for, was nothing. The alarm sounded, and still it stayed dark, a cold, and quiet, just as her room had always been, and no matter how many times she looked over to the clock, at five, ten, or twenty minutes, still the same nothing answered her back. This was enough to make her brave, as it might us all, and so she spat her words into the darkness. 

“Ridiculous.” 

There was a light from the other room, at that, peeking and shining under the door with a brilliance Ana did not know.. The apartment in Brixton was tiny and dark, and would never have been accused of any manner of warmth by anyone, and yet now the light coming from the living room was golden and warm, dancing light firelight on the walls despite there being no fireplace anywhere near the building. 

“Right then!” There was a chipper, high voice from the other room, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!” 

Ana stepped out of bed, creeping toward the door. There had been Jack, and there had been Reinhardt, and despite herself, it was getting harder and harder to pretend that it was all something in her mind. And she knew that voice, had known it for more years than semed reasonable, when she reflected upon it. 

She turned the corner into the living room. There was a tree brightly festooned with ornaments and tinsel, and while it might not have been the finest tree in the world it had clearly been dressed with great enthusiasm. There were stockings hung from the edge of the window, carefully nailed in, mismatched and well-loved. The room rang with an echo of laughter, almost as a chorus, but one voice above them all. 

And, on what had been her coffee table, now grown long and covered with a white cloth, a grand feast, ham with a rich, shiny, glaze, turkey overflowing with stuffing, rich turnip and parsnip gratin, dripping with sauce, bowls full of roasted potatoes and mashed potatoes, pigs in blankets, Yorkshire puddings, and mince pies with brandy butter. 

Tracer sat cross-legged on the end of it, in a bright green sweater, which looked thick and soft even from this distance, a crown of red and green gold star tinsel, mixed here and there with  jingle bells, on her head. There was a Christmas pudding in front of her, and she popped a bit into her mouth before she looked up and saw Ana. She swallowed, licked the fork, and grinned. 

“Right then.” She set down the plate, and leapt to her feet, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!” 

Ana opened her mouth to protest, but if she had to hear another lecture about narrative structure and known mythologies, she was going to lose whatever was left of her mind. Besides, she had little belief that Tracer would care much about her own feelings on Christmas, and even smaller still was that small pang of regret, the part from last Christmas still dancing in her mind. 

“You already said that.” She allowed. 

Tracer stood up straight for a moment, and considered, hand at her chin. “I did, didn’t I?” she laughed. “Was right both times!” 

Lena Oxton had died. Ana knew this. She knew it in the same way that she knew Jack had died, and Reinhardt had died, and she had attended their funerals, and she had seem them burned or buried. But Tracer’s death was newer to her, having been an interruption to the month of November, the dirt on her grave not quite settled. 

It was as, well, unsettling, as her encounter with Reinhardt had been. The room seemed to respond to her, the lights twinkling when she laughed, the smell of the Christmas feast following her about the room like a cologne. The flames seemed to dance and she bopped about the place, and it was only in that moment, Tracer’s eyes glittering brightly, that Ana noticed something. 

She wore no chronal accelerator. Ana never would have remembered her without it. 

Too much. Draw back. 

“You look fairly good, for someone who has been dead for six weeks.” Ana snorted. 

Tracer’s eyes narrowed, and the cheer left her face. 

“Don’t get smart with me Ana, not in the mood.” She scowled, “Doing this for Jack, because I said I would, so I did, and I’m a woman of me word. But don’t think I particularly feel any sorrow over the idea of you spending the rest of your life alone. I don’t, not a drop.” 

Ana opened her mouth for a moment, and then reconsidered. The image of Jack in her mind, of him somehow gathering this group of people beyond the grave to help her, the constant reiteration that this was her last chance, somehow for once in her life, Ana Amari could not come up with some sharp rebuke. 

She looked straight ahead, and frowned, adjusting her scarf. “The night will be over before you know it, so, let’s go.” 

Tracer nodded. “Right then.” She snapped her fingers, and the two them exploded into sparks against the night, rushing off into the present. 

They were outside as the morning sun shone brightly through the streets of London, even the fog feeling it must cast away into the night and not disturb the sacred joy of that beautiful and crisp day. There was the smallest dust of snow on the ground, though you would have been forgiven for thinking it was so much more for the delight in children’s eyes as they gazed out of their windows. 

Tracer ran down the sidewalk, jumped, grabbed onto a pole and swung back toward Ana, all in one swift motion, landing right in front of her, eyes glittering. 

“Christmas morning!” She gestured grandly, London caught in a sort of pause, the hurry Ana was used to at seven am only a distant memory. “‘appy Christmas, London!” 

Tracer rushed over to where a bunch of pigeons were cuddled on the eave of a window, and pulled two large handfuls of birdseed out of her pockets, tossing it all in front of them. 

“‘Appy Christmas, little ones!” 

“Did you just have that--” 

But Tracer was already off, running through the sidewalks and stopping wherever she found someone to greet. A happy Christmas to the little dog with a biscuit, a happy Christmas to his owner with a box of tea, pulled from that same pocket. A happy Christmas to the nurse just walking to home, hoping her husband could distract the kids long enough so she could see them open presents, a gift card to the Pret by the hospital pressed into her hand even as she looked confused. A happy Christmas to the bus driver with a bottle of scotch, rested by his side with bow. . 

Eventually, Tracer seemed to realize herself, and broke into a laugh that seemed to ripple through the street, the lights glowing a touch brighter as she did it, even the icy lace on the windows seeming to glitter just a little more brightly as she dashed back toward Ana. 

“Right, right, I,” She dramatically paused in front of Ana, “Love Christmas. But you don’t ‘ave to!” She interrupted Ana’s protest, “For that isn’t the real point, not ‘ere, is it?” 

“Giving people all these things, but,” Ana shook her head. “Is the point that people will be driven into debt over it? That it’s an excuse to press honest people into working more and harder, and later? The Christmas spirit, for sale at Mark and Spencer’s.” 

“Marks and Spencer, but I’ll allow it.” She rocked back on her heels. “There are plenty of people who don’t understand the meaning of what Christmas is, and often they’re the ones with the biggest trees, and that’s the God’s honest truth. What I show you ‘ere? Ought to be in every day. Every where. Because it isn’t about any ‘oliday, or turkey, or nothing. Is it, Ana Amari?” 

She drew something out of her pocket, a small gold book,, maybe the size of a credit card, and she flipped it open before pressing it into Ana’s hand. A picture of her and Pharah, Pharah only a baby, long ago and oh so far away. They both looked so different. So full of promise. 

“Come on, Ana, there is just so much to see.” 

She looked up from it only to realize that they were inside someone’s living room, parents looking at each other with tired eyes as a little girl ran happily around a dollhouse, placing the furniture in this room or that. 

“Up all night constructing it, they was,” She shook her head, the bells tinkling, “but it ‘ardly matters. Was all she wanted, right?” 

Tracer drew something out of her pocket, and knelt down next to the girl’s dollhouse, nearly nose to nose with her. Ana, whatever Reinhardt might think, had listened to him, and assumed the same was true here, that they could neither see nor hear the two of them, but the girl paused and looked in Tracer’s direction with such intensity that Ana wondered for a moment. Tracer put something in her palm, and closed her hand around it, smiling. 

Tracer jumped back up next to Ana and threw an arm around her, Ana shrugging it off just as quickly as the little girl opened her hand. 

“Look! Mummy! Daddy! It’s a kitty just like Patch! I didn’t seen it before oh it’s just like her!” 

Her parents looked confused, each looking at the other, but the little girl was radiant in that moment of joy, and though Ana refused to look over at Tracer, she could feel the happiness pouring  off her. 

“I don’t know what you--”

“Next!”

But Tracer’s fingers snapped again, and they found themselves back in Brixton, outside of Ana’s apartment building with the falling, tattered awnings over crumbling bricks at windows. It was nothing to look at, but at least it was a place to sleep, and that was all the more Ana thought of it. It looked particularly dreary, if she were being honest, today, where she could see the scraps of Christmas trees in windows, and plenty without, people like her who didn’t participate in the nonsense of Christmas, who were fully cognizant that nothing changed on one day, no matter when that day was. 

“Up she goes!” 

Tracer grinned brightly, jumped on top of a dumpster out back, and grabbed onto the drainpipe, the tinsel in her hair shimmering in the dim morning light, throwing off stars into the daytime. She quickly began to shimmy up, humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” as she did so. 

“Tracer,” She crossed her arms and stared up at her, “I have a key.” 

“...You better not pout, I’m telling you why,” Another pull up the pipe, “Lena Claus is coming, to town,” she looked back down at Ana and shook her head merrily, “No you don’t! Left it in your room, then, didn’t you?” 

She did not wait for an answer, simply started back up the pipe, as Ana felt for a pocket that she realized wasn’t there. 

“Tracer.” 

“What?” She turned around, swinging out with one arm, “Bit too old for this, Amari? I could do it all day.” 

Ana huffed, but scrambled up onto the top of the dumpster and grabbed the pipe. 

“Death has done wonders for you health, but not your attitude, Oxton!” 

Tracer nodded. “That IS true.” 

Ana began to climb behind her, grumbling as her hands tried to gain purchase on the cold drainpipe, her hands aching with the swell in her knuckles. Feeling her age, a bit, but also feeling a bit of something else, something she could not quite place. She looked up at Tracer above her, still climbing, toward the third floor, occasionally giving a bit of a bounce, or a swing. 

Perhaps it was a bit....bad. It was true, that Tracer was well in a way Ana had not seen her in more than a year, and that was all she had said. But there was a sudden realization that Tracer so loved this moment, with a glowing smile and a song on her lips, because she was still basking in the joy of what it was to have her body obey her again, just as it had for years. It felt unkind, even if it wasn’t unfair, to criticize her for it, and she could not remember having had the feeling much before, least of all with Tracer. 

“....Just you wait, poppet, got all her gifts ‘ere in her back trouser pocket, Lena Claus is coming to town…” 

Ana struggled to pull herself up, slipping a bit on the iciness of the pipe. 

Maybe not that bad. 

“That doesn’t rhyme!” Another small slip, and a scowl as one of her slippers dangled off her foot. 

“Slant rhyme, innit?” Tracer looked in a window, “Good enough for Shakespeare, good enough for me. ‘Ere we are!” She cocked her head and laughed down to Ana, her nose wrinkling, with its spray of freckles gathering like bunches of holly, those lights in all the windows bouncing again, along with her. 

Ana slipped again, and felt her foot give way, but with a snap of Tracer’s fingers, they were inside a beige-walled apartment much like Ana’s, same layout, same unloveable carpet, same cheap seaming at the windows, but oh, so much more crowded. Not that it was particularly hard to do, but Ana looked at a man and a woman, sitting on their small threadbare couch together, a toddler sitting on the woman’s lap as the two of them directed the three other little children around the tiny apartment, with only a small smattering of toys to distract them. 

Despite this, the apartment felt warmer than Ana’s own ever had, more filled with light despite the bareness of the walls, and maybe it was only the smile between the parents and their children, or maybe it was the chatter in a language Ana did not know, but knew the feeling of without having to understand the meaning, but somehow she felt a certain twinge of what she had felt all those years ago in that miserable military camp, all those Christmases ago. 

She resented it. 

“I suppose I’m supposed to be amazed it’s Christmas here, too?” She glanced sidelong at Tracer. 

Tracer jumped up onto the back of the couch and sat there, cross-legged, shaking her head. “Ana, s’not Christmas here, they’re Muslim, don’t you notice anything? Thought you was,” she made her hands into claws, “the Shrike!” 

Ana glowered, unable to decide if she were more annoyed at herself or at Tracer, and glanced around. Of course she would have noticed, if she had a moment, if she hadn’t been waiting for whatever lesson Tracer meant to lay upon her. 

“Our point in being here, isn’t Christmas at all, as I said.” Tracer pointed to the both of them. “Inconvenienced by Christmas more than anything, they are. All the schools closed, all the meal programs off or offering a bit of ‘am, nothing really to make them keep the slightest bit merry in all the world. But...look at them. ‘Appy to spend the day with their little family.  New to London, right, and filled with something like the Christmas spirit. And that, Ana, is ‘ope. That, Ana, is universal.” 

Ana huffed. “They have nothing.” she pointed her chin to the kitchen, where daal and rice cooked, spiced carefully and beautifully, “Such a meager feast.” 

“But very appreciated!” Tracer jumped off the back of the couch and shuffled toward the tiny corner of the apartment that served for a kitchen. “She’s been working plenty ‘ard, for the meal they ‘ave here. Everyone knows it.” 

The family chattered happily, even as the father had to rise and place a sweater in the sill of the window to keep out the chill from the cold wind that dared to slip inside, and even as the mother smiled sadly toward the large pan on the stove, her eyes full of wishing for something else. But neither of those small, tiny regrets seemed to be able to steal the joy they had at simply being with their children, despite missing a day’s work, despite missing out on the childcare, despite all the things Ana might have laid, not unfairly, at Christmas’ feet, a sense of pleasantness seemed to endure, like cider hanging in the air long after the drink is gone. 

“I--” Ana began to say something, something in the back of her mind, and then shook it away. 

Tracer nodded, as if knowing that the bounds of this room had been reached in their capacity to teach her student. 

“Need to see something a bit more familiar, don’t you? Come on then!” Tracer walked over to the door, and opened it, ushering Ana through, who came along, though grumbling. 

Tracer reached into her pocket and materialized a large cardboard tray, laden so heavily with delicacies that Tracer had to catch it with her other hand. Biryani chock full of meat, paratha so decadent that it looked as if it might melt under the simple wave of Tracer’s hand, sweet rice smelling richly of cinnamon and raisins, and things Ana did not even know, but made her feel a pang of jealousy and hunger all the same. 

Tracer went to knock on the door, thought a moment, and as a sparkle fell from her fingertips, she drew a Christmas pudding out of her pocket, sauce dripping over the sides, nuts and fruits bright on the top. 

“Just so as to welcome them to the neighborhood, try something new, as well.” 

She set it down with the rest of the food, and then knocked. There was a call from inside and the swiftest patter of feet as a little boy rushed and opened it, even as his father rose from the couch to call after him. At seeing Tracer, his eyes grew wide, but Tracer smiled as she put a finger to her lips, and with one last slip into that pocket, took out a 100 pound note and tucked it next to the pudding. 

She turned and quickly went down the hallway, giggling as the father looked all about the place, unable to see anything at all, while the little boy broke into a bright smile himself, and waved. 

Ana found herself waving back, and then stopped herself when she saw Tracer, hands in her pockets, grinning with such a luminosity that Ana would have sworn the hallway was brighter than it had ever dared to be. 

“So you are what, Noel Baba now? Must be nice, to be so easily loved.” 

“Oh!” She slid down the bannister, and at the end, let herself fall into a somersault and popped back up to her feet in one smooth motion. “I’d love to be Father Christmas, really! But of course, no, there’s no real Father Christmas, so near as I know, but, we all sort of are, right? Father Christmas, and all of us spirits, can only come once a year, and so how lucky and powerful can we be? You, on the other ‘and, ‘ave seen that family at the little mail cubbies for six months now, innit?” 

And did not reply, but it was certainly true, that she had seen her. That she had noticed the mother trying to wrangle to children, and the father’s long hours, and the mother has once admired, in halting English, Ana’s scarf, seeming slightly shy of the ragged edge of her own. She had told Ana her name. 

Ana could not remember it. 

“Always ‘ad the power to do what I did, on any given day, right? Could ‘ave given them all that, but didn’t. Could ‘ave given the bus driver what takes you every day a gift, as well. You’ve ‘ad enough chance to be that bearer, Ana. You waste it, and you can’t pin that on me, not rightly.” 

Ana walked down the stairs after her. “I live on the next floor, you have taught me enough--” 

But as she stepped down another stair, her foot plunged into the snow on the sidewalk, and she looked up. On a simple street, still being rebuilt after the Battle, but about half redone with a grocery store and several apartment building patched back together. But even the ruins were decked with lights here and there, a bit of English humor at the edges of a healing misery. 

“Things like that,” she felt compelled to defend herself, “are only patches on, on a bigger problem.” 

Tracer stopped her walking and turned around. “Right then, so you go about with an ‘ole in your trousers til you can buy new? Mustn’t bother with a patch, of course not.” 

She looked over Ana as they stood, nearly nose to nose. Tracer’s eyes did not linger, and never had so long as Ana had known her. They flitted, instead, like a hummingbird, from moment to moment and bit to bit, but somehow you got the sense that she was taking in all of you, whether you particularly wanted her to or not. In her eyes, Ana saw reflected bright lights of gold and white and green, though she did not recall there being lights so near. 

She was still smiling, had never stopped, and this perhaps annoyed Ana worst of all. 

Tracer cocked her head, and she took a step back, looking up and down at Ana. 

“Like there’s no point in apologizing, right?” 

“I tried--” 

Tracer burst out laughing. “Oh, right, right! When you told ‘er that it wasn’t as if your mum were there for you, and so she might as well get over it and see a therapist? Some apology, I’ll say.” Tracer spun around in a pirouette, but than turned back. “And still--” 

“Fareeha is a military woman. More even than me. To the good.  She works things out in probability, in risk, in order. What would be the benefit of sentimentality, for all that? She does not do things that don’t benefit her. She hasn’t since she was a child. She had a plan, even then. She does what needs doing and I--there’s no reason I would fit into that.” 

Tracer looked at her moment, and gave a confused shake of the head. “You really don’t know her at all, do you? No more, at least, than any clerk in the new office, and that’s the truth.” She did not give Ana a chance to respond, to argue. “Come on, then! Let me introduce you to your daughter.” 

Tracer threw her arm around Ana’s shoulder, and though she took a deep breath and tried very calmly not to sock her right in the jaw, she had to admit that the warmth she had felt in those other rooms, she wanted to feel in Pharah’s home. She wanted to know what it might feel like to have the warmth of Pharah’s love, something that had been lost to her for so long. 

Ana had never been to see the apartment they moved into after the Battle for London, and nearly paused for a moment as Tracer let go of her and jumped on the railing and then through the window, but the snap of her fingers gave no moment to think more of it. Their old place, she knew, had been destroyed, parts of it simply cratered in, Pharah rifling through what they had to try and reconstruct their belongings. Mercy, of course, had gone to pieces, by Ana’s measure, some memory of childhood bothering her enough that she kept her distance. The new place had been built of an old shell, like so many things in London, and Pharah had taken pains with the layout. It was a lovely place, bright and welcoming without being devoid of a certain peculiar charm, seeming less like a new-constructed box and more like it might have been in London all this time, even from the inside. 

The furniture was new, and tidy, and Ana nearly laughed to see what she assumed could only be her daughter’s way of making sure everything had its place, and was put into it. Little cubbyholes built in by the door for shoes, books organized by subject and alphabetized, a few lying on the dark coffee table near where Mercy sat, reading one of them. But it was not without its hominiess, the smell of Mercy’s coffee in the air, and even Ana was not immune to it, walking to the mantle over a small fireplace, where a few framed pictures nestled among bright silver and blue garlands. 

“A bit personal innit?” Tracer looked at the mantle herself, ‘Not quite the barracks you imagined.” 

Ana let her fingers rest on a picture of Pharah and Mercy at their wedding, smiling under the chuppah, the pink roses and daisies in Mercy’s hands blooming brightly. Pharah’s hair was in a low ponytail, tightly held and shining, but she wore still the small gold charm in her hair, as she had for so many years. No longer, of course, not after everything that had happened between them.

Ana gave a mirthless chuckle, “All Angela’s, even before she was punishing me.” 

Tracer grabbed at the picture. “She built that chuppah herself, you know. So it’d be a piece of her that was also Ang’s dream. Didn’t put it that way, of course, Fareeha, but that’s what it was.” 

There were other pictures, crowded family tables and smiling faces in different locations--bright beaches and a ski chalet, even one at Disneyland Paris all of them squeezed into the frame together. There were, of course, none of Ana. 

Tracer pointed to one at the edge of the mantle, Pharah and Tracer side by side as comrades they could not have imagined becoming, everything bright and green around them, both smiling, Tracer holding onto an iron gate, but her other arm firmly around Pharah. Pharah wore her usual deep blue, and Ana found herself jealous at the tightness of her grip on Tracer, the way they grinned at each other, Pharah’s other hand at her shoulder. 

“She cared for me, you know.” Tracer said, tapping at the edge of the picture. 

“Yes,” Ana rolled her eyes and turned away from the mantle, her voice brisker and more cold than even that wind outside “I know, she preferred you to me, because she preferred anyone to me, if this is your point I can just go home, because--” 

“Bloody ‘ell, Ana, it’s not what I said!” Tracer scowled, the lights in her eyes near to bursting with the heat of lost patience. “You are so bloody lucky I owe both Rein and Jack a bloody fucking SCORE of favors--” 

“--Well, you don’t owe me any, so you can just--” 

“God no, you’d ‘ad to ‘ave done something kind for me even once for me to owe you--” 

“--Oh, poor pitiful Lena, as if you don’t have enough adoration, you attention hou--” 

“--You meanspirited little desert rat, ought to let you rot, I ought--” 

“--You don’t know the first thing about--” 

“SHE’S ‘OLDING ME UP IN THIS PICTURE!” Tracer had taken it, and held it in front of Ana’s face. Angela looked up from her book, around the room for a moment, confused, and both Ana and Tracer fell quiet. “Didn’t notice, did you? When you looked? But she is. Was just after me last birthday. Couldn’t really stand on me own much.” 

Ana took the picture from her and looked down at it. Of course it was clear, looking at it now. Pharah's arm was at her waist, and her thumb was looped into Tracer’s belt loop, holding her close to Pharah’s solidness. Her other hand was at Tracer’s shoulder, steadying her, as Tracer did her best to hold herself up. She should have seen it. 

Tracer took it back from her and placed it back on the mantle. “Not many people see that, when they look, because that’s way with Fareeha, right? I meant--and you never knew this--she literally helped take care of me.”

“No benefit to ‘er, mostly a drain on ‘er already limited time, being as she was running all of Overwatch herself. But from the time I started to need a bit of ‘elp, now and again,” she passed a hand across the pictures, and small whirls opened, showing she and Pharah together, in a park, in Tracer’s bedroom, out on Winston’s patio, poring over paperwork, simply sharing a lunch together, “Every Thursday, eight to eight, she did. Earlier, it was Overwatch paperwork,” she touched the edge of that whirl in its frame, and it came alive, she and Pharah arguing playfully over a stack of papers, “Pretending it was on business. Got to be more and more, of course. Took the pressure off Em and Win, when I couldn’t ‘ardly do nothing for meself. Cooked, did the washing,” she touched the edge of another photo, and the two of them were in a dark pub, Tracer in a corner chair with the table tucked up close to her, “Got me out the ‘ouse, when she could. When I could, honestly. And,” her voice got soft, “at the fag end of it all…” 

She touched the edge of a silver frame, the whorl opening just a little more to show Pharah feeding Tracer, Tracer’s body trembling. 

Ana looked at the photos, and then over toward the window, where a soft morning snow was falling, so heavy in the drifts that it was easy to forget that it was built of delicate individual lace. Had she been gone from her daughter’s life for so much of that year? She had known that Pharah had assumed the duties of Overwatch, that she was often too busy to be seen, but she had pictured something so much different. So much more in the ways that Ana had isolated herself. 

“You know,” Tracer passed a hand over all the frames, bringing the photos back to themselves, and put her hands on her hips, “I ‘ave had a bit more fun in me life, than that particular bit of it, that much I’ll say. Don’t much like to think about it, though really, you get so much of life, and only, what, two percent of it, maybe three or four at the outside, is all that bad, than what is there to fuss about? But,” She pointed to Ana, “Much as I ‘ate it, you need to know it. You ‘ave to learn to ‘ear Fareeha, love. You must, if there’s any ‘ope at all.” 

Tracer walked away from the mantle, and away from Mercy, and hustled toward the kitchen, small but well-appointed, and laid out in a certain unmistakeable logic that could only have come from Pharah’s own mind. She had put so much of herself, Ana thought, in this home, even as soft as all the furnishings were, and even with the Shabbat candlesticks and kiddush cup tucked into the corner of the kitchen. It was as if Mercy was the rose and Pharah the trellis, growing around the things that Pharah had made. 

Pharah was studying a cookbook carefully in the kitchen, her eyes narrowed as she read the same recipe over and over again, flipping back and forth. She had, on her kitchen island, a very large ham, and several ingredients in front of her, everything examined and re-examined as she quietly mouthed the words of the cookbook to herself. It was silly, to see it as another rejection of Ana herself, and yet she felt herself bristle at it. It was one thing, that Ana knew she kept no particular part of her Muslim heritage particularly close, but it was another to see something so plainly in front of her. 

Ana watched her with such rapt attention that she did not even notice Mercy come up behind the two of them. 

“Is that a ham?” 

“Yes.” She did not look up from the cookbook, but looked back to the ham, and then at her book, flipping through to another part, scowling at it all the while. “I understand how to make the bacon my father sends. I have learned how to make a fry-up. This seems like it should not be that difficult, but...it’s entirely new to me.” 

Mercy stood silently for a moment. It had never been stated, but she thought that somehow it had been agreed by them that though she understood Pharah was not religious in the slightest, and sometimes a bit aggressively areligious, depending on her mood, Mercy herself was, and the idea of using her cookware to make pork turned her stomach, just a touch. Was she being unreasonable? Pharah did all of the cooking and never asked anything of her, and--

Pharah’s head snapped up, as if she could read the thread running through Mercy’s mind. “This is disposable.” She touched her hand to the aluminium roaster the ham sat in. “For Christmas.” 

Ana turned to Tracer. “You came to show me what, that without my guidance, my daughter is going to forget herself entirely? Become some soft Londoner full of pig fat? I should expect a Christmas tree next? I know that, that is why--” 

“Ana,” Tracer looked over at her, “You ever just think of...shutting up, every now and again? Watch. Learn something. God’s sake.” 

Mercy thoughtfully touched at the edge of the counter. 

“Fareeha. I am Jewish, you are Muslim.” She looked at her wife. “We don’t celebrate Christmas.” 

“Oh!” Pharah laughed, the fierce concentration of her dissipating immediately as she looked to Mercy, “Yes! No, no, Angela this is not for us. I was--” She closed the cookbook. “Tracer loved Christmas, very much. I thought that Emily and Winston, that they probably wouldn’t--Emily loves the ham, especially--that it would be hard for them. I thought I would bring Christmas to them, in some small way. I can’t--” she looked back down at her glistening pink ham, “I can’t give them, what it is they want, of course. But a ham, I can give. After what happened,” her face grew dark, and serious, “after what was done to her…”

Mercy looked at her with great love, gave an adoring huff of a sigh, and smiled. “What a beautiful idea.” 

Pharah pulled herself from her red cloud, and nodded happily. 

Ana stared at the couple, both chatting now about the ham, side by side, neither of them having any particular clue what they were doing, but the room was filled with their love of their friends, and for each other, and their child, so much so that Ana could almost smell the dinner they planned to cook. They glowed completely in the light not of what they were given, but what they were giving, Mercy inelegantly pointing out side dishes, Pharah noting what might be in the well-stocked and organized fridge. 

“My father!” Pharah exploded in the thought, an excited light in her eyes Ana had not seen for many years. Had she missed all the times it had flashed? Had she only seen her daughter’s cool, collected gaze? Pharah looked at the aviator’s watch on her wrist, and then up at a small clock on the side of the cabinet. “He should be awake by now. He would know how to make this, though I think Rebecca prefers a turkey for Christmas.” 

Ana could say nothing, merely took a step toward them, mouth agape. 

“That’s right, Ana,” Tracer got up from leaning against the wall, “Despite your very best efforts, she grew up ‘uman. Despite your very best efforts to make ‘er something like you, she ‘as a bloody ‘eart after all, and friends, and a family, and she takes care of them, when they need it. Must ‘ave been Sam’s influence, I think.” 

Ana felt a flash of guilt, and pain, and then anger, and she whirled around to punch Tracer, who jumped to the side as Ana’s fist plunged through the wall but did not stop her pursuit. Tracer dodged again as she came, Ana frustrated by her age, and Tracer’s grin, humbled by the fact that it had never only been her ability to blink that made her a terrifying opponent, angrier yet still.  Until Tracer stopped in front of her, and let her hit. Ana put her full force behind it, wanting to take away everything this smug little Englishwoman was saying, because if she could simply hit Tracer, make her stop, it would not be true. 

She hit. 

The fist went right through her. 

“I’m a GHOST, ANA.” Tracer erupted into a fit of laughter so hard it took her a minute to recover, which was not nearly long enough for Ana’s taste, and put her hands on her hips, affecting an exaggerated accent, ‘You look fairly good for someone who has been dead six months, forgot that awful quick, didn’t you then!?” 

Ana let her fists fall to the side, though she did not unclench them. “Take me home.” 

“Cut a bit close, that did?” Tracer peered into her face. “You know why I put up with you” 

“Jack--” 

“No, though you do owe ‘im a bit of kindness, for ‘is work in the ‘ereafter for you. But that isn’t it, Ana.” She looked over to where Mercy tenderly touched her belly as Pharah talked on the phone, wishing her father a Merry Christmas, beginning to measure out something for a glaze. “Jack believed in you, and I owe him my field career, and that’s the truth. Reinhardt believed in you, and he was always kind to me. But none of that is why. I’m ‘ere because Angela Zeigler did everything she could for me, from the day she met me, even to the end, and so if I have to spend one day in your miserable company, I will do that for her. Because she is a woman what believes in mercy above all else, and still thinks you deserve it, no matter me own leanings. Think on that, Ana Amari. You’ve done nothing but spit in ‘er face, going on years, and she still ‘olds out ‘er ‘hand so you can do it all over again.” 

Ana crossed her arms, but did not take her eyes off the couple. “And you want me to admire this?” 

“No, don’t expect that much from you, but I do want you to be cognizant of it, at the least.” She nodded back to Pharah and Mercy. “Some people don’t count the cost.” 

Mercy smiled as she backed away from Pharah for a moment. “I am having a wonderful idea. Just wait.” 

Before Pharah could say anything, Mercy had her coat on and was running out of the house, and before Ana could even think to protest, Tracer had the two of them zipping after her. The door to the neighbors was right across from theirs, and Mercy knocked on it aggressively, and then looked at her watch, and then knocked again, perhaps deciding it was a perfectly acceptable hour. 

A man, in a warm Christmas sweater, his slippers still firmly on his feet, answered. 

“Angela? Is everything all right?” 

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she grasped his hand in both of hers, “But I am wondering, if you have any Christmas decorations you aren’t needing? You see, we have friends, and it has been a very lonely holiday for them, and Fareeha and I have nothing to give.” 

“So she’s going to bother this man and his family on Christmas Day.” Ana laughed, “The Christmas spirit. Togetherness. Poor planning. If family love can be made by cheap tinsel, than what is it anyway?” 

“Shut up, you, and watch.” 

The man startled for a minute, but then nodded his head, “Of course, of course, I know you had some unpleasantness this year, and, I’ll never forget that night you came over, when Camilla was sick.” 

Mercy shook her head, as if it had been nothing, and walked in the door, following him as he looked in closets and pulled out garlands and took some ornaments off his tree, and put them all in a box. He bent down to explain to the children what they were doing, and a little girl ran off to the fridge and brought back a fat santa made of paper plates, a little boy with a stuffed dormouse with antlers. 

They chatted happily to Mercy, and she thanked them profusely, dropped the box right inside her door, and continued onto another house, where there was a tangle of lights given and a bag of tinsel, and then the next, where Mercy was given a large plateful of cookies and other sweets from a little old woman, on and on until Mercy could hardly carry any of it, stacked up as it was. Some of them took it oof their own trees, out of their own kitchens, a spare stocking was taken off the mantle here and there. None of it matched, and all of it was secondhand at best, but it seemed to glisten and gleam with joy. 

As Mercy went to round a last corner, Tracer pulled the two of them into small street that would have been called an alleyway in any civilized city, and pulled out of her pocket a tiny tree. She set it on the ground, and blew on it, and it grew to a fine height, not too large, nothing like the giant affair Winston had set up every year in his home since he’d been in London for Christmas, but smelling freshly of pine. She regarded it, and then threw a strand of tinsel here or there on it, so it would look properly discarded. 

Mercy saw it out of the corner of her eye, backed up, and her eyes grew wide as she took it all in, something she never could have imagined. She clung the little box she had closer, running best as she could toward the house, calling Pharah’s name. 

Ana stood for a moment, the snow falling softly still around her. It was snowing quite a bit, for London, off and on, or maybe it was only Tracer’s wish that this represent Christmas as best it could that made it so. She went to open her mouth, once, twice, but could not bring herself to say what she meant to, what she wanted to. 

“She’s done nothing but help the people around her, be kind to them,” Tracer supplied, “So why wouldn’t they, the one time they get the chance, return it? Come on,” She took Ana by the elbow, “night’s coming on fast.” 

Tracer pulled the two of them down the alleyway, and they turned the corner into what might have been a wall but instead was just another street, in a different part of the city, the darkness having fallen in the moment it took them to slide between the bricks. 

Around them, the warehouse and odd converted apartment buildings rose, lights in this window or that, a tiny balcony with a number of rowdy revelers on it, drinking some hot rum thing that Ana could smell even from the street. Tracer bopped down the sidewalk with her, drawing this thing or that out of her pocket for a stray cat, smiling as she looked into the windows, and then they turned the corner, and her smile faded, just a bit. 

It was the same street she had seen with Reinhardt, and yet it lay so still as the last of the light faded from the city that it hardly seemed that it could have been that same place that had been so fresh and alive, every building like tombstones in a row. 

The house was quiet outside, and so grey. Where before, Ana could have ignored that it had once been a simple shipping warehouse, there was no mistaking it now, the cool metal of it tinny and burnished as the streetlights began to fly on. There were no bright sounds of cheer, or games being played. No lights trimmed the bannisters, no garlands played in the windows, and even the small dashing of snow seemed greyer than Ana had remembered when she had visited with Reinhardt. There was no doubt about the quietness settled over this house, and the darkness of it, just one lone lamp lit, the window before it dimming and greying even that. 

She should have expected it, and yet, somehow, it came as a surprise to her. 

“No point in the, ‘narrative structure’, if Tiny Tim is already dead. As I already told Reinhardt.” She looked over at Tracer. “Aren’t I supposed to turn over a new leaf, and prevent your death?”

Tracer shook her head. “No one could do that, love. If love could have saved me, I’d ‘ave lived forever, and it wouldn’t ‘ave been you that did. Just ‘ow life is sometimes. Sometimes, in life, you lose, love, and that’s the bitter truth of it.” 

“So what’s the point? Exactly.” 

Tracer bucked up her chin and smiled. ‘Come on then! And I will show you, what it is you’re meant to see.” 

They slid through the doorway, Tracer not even attempting any manner of gymnastic endeavor to do so. The smells of fresh baking and cinnamon and apples no longer permeated through the house, and Ana looked about for the giant tree with its bright lights and collection of ornaments, the tinsel hung in garlands around the windows and down the stairway, the music playing, and yet there was nothing, just one lone lamp where Emily sat, even the brightness of her red hair dull in the shadowed light. 

She was reading a book, curled up in the corner of the couch by herself, her hair hanging over the side where the light might have touched her face, and Ana noticed that her eyes ran over and over the same page, as if simply playacting at reading while the whole of her mind was somewhere else. 

The door opened, and a cool deep wind flushed in as Winston came in the door, removing his fogged glasses and wiping them on his sweater. 

“Emily.” He gave her a weak smile. 

“Oh,” she set down her book, page still unread, “I wondered when it was you’d be coming home.” 

She rose to her feet, slowly and quietly, and started toward Winston, who just as quietly took off his shoes and put on his slippers. There was none of the laughter or raucousness that Ana had felt in this room, before, and suddenly, not crowded with a group full of Oxtons, it felt so large. So empty. So silent. 

“I’m sorry, I--” 

“Oh no,” she tightened her sweater around her, “no, don’t be.” 

“I went to--” He hung up his coat, and stared at the wall a moment, “I went to take a wreath, to where she was--well--where she is.” He tried to smile. “One of the silver tinsel ones, with all the rainbow colors and bells? She always--” He took a breath.

“Oh aye, she loved those. Would like that, that you did that, I think.” 

“There are some lovely trees, there, I think in summer it’ll be---she loved green--” Emily touched his arm gently, “--it’s a nice place-- brushed off the stone a little bit. For the wreath.” 

Emily nodded. “Was good of you. I have, well, there’s a ready meal in the oven.” 

They stood there, simply looking at each other, until Winston nodded sadly and slowly worked his way over to the kitchen, opening the oven and taking out the meals inside on their little cookie sheet. Emily had bought several, for him, and he took a large bowl out of the cupboard and dumped them joylessly inside, mixing the mash and what passed for a steak braise all together. He poured himself a large glass of wine, and passed the bottle to Emily, and they sat across from each other at the small table, saying nothing as they quietly ate their food, or picked at it, rather, only a few errant bites here and there. 

“It’s the job.” Ana said, barely convincing herself, the Christmas of the past in this same house still dancing in her head. “We lose people. Good people.” 

“Didn’t bring you ‘ere because I thought you’d care about Em and Win.” Her arms were crossed, and she leaned against the wall, looking at the two of them, her eyes glistening. Then she shook off her sadness, the jingle bells in her hair ringing as she did it, and smiled again. “Ana, did you just call me a good person?” 

Ana  chuckled. “Don’t get a big head.” 

There was a knock at the door, and a robotic voice rang out over the house, echoing in the emptiness of it. 

“Angela is at the door.” 

Winston looked puzzled, but rose up to meet it, trying to pick his feet up a little and put on a brave face, giving an unconvincing smile as he opened the door. Mercy’s cheeks were rosy as she bore the ham in her arms, covered with foil but smelling like a dream, salty and sweet and rich, garlands wrapped around her as she struggled to carry them, her eyes bright with the joy that she was determined to bring with her. 

“Happy Christmas, Winston!” She came in the door without even being asked, “I was wondering, if maybe Fareeha and I could join you? For the cheer?” 

Pharah came up behind her, lugging in the tree and hardly swearing at the pine branches in her face, that same snowflake sweater on in that same bright blue, a red bow jokingly tied in her hair from the decorations they had brought. She looked to Winston, and then took a tattered but convincingly repaired wreath off her arm and stuck it to the door with an adhesive hook, and nodded. 

Winston moved to the side as Emily rose to meet them, Mercy embracing them both and hurrying to the kitchen as Pharah rushed back out to the taxi, bringing in boxes and quickly trimming up the home as neatly as she could with the materials she had been provided, doing an impressive job with the few boxes of scattershot decor. 

And as she worked, the room began to change, even so slightly. Emily began to put ornaments on the tree, and WInston asked Athena to play some Christmas music, and in a few moments the room was not as it had been on that night, but it began to take on the glow of a surviving candle, one that might light others, one that might let this place know warmth again. 

“Fareeha worked--” Ana sighed and walked to where she was decorating the mantle seriously, adjusted each bow, “She worked very hard.” 

“Right, she did. Fareeha is like that, as I’ve said. She took care of me, with not a word. Wouldn’t let me protest it, neither. She’s here for Win, and Em, in their time of need, because Fareeha is nothing if not a rock, right?” 

“She is very practical.” Ana continued to say these things, but they felt further disconnected form her, as if she was a ghost herself, simply saying the things that she had said before, over and over again, in a loop, ever so softly. “No,” she chuckled, just as softly, “Zeina. Not me. Sam. But not me.” 

Tracer faced her, arms crossed, but the look on her face was no longer angry, or cruel, but simply searching. 

“You talk and talk over ‘ow an Amari shouldn’t ‘ave to say nothing, and Fareeha never does, but with her actions. But you still never could speak ‘er language, could you? That all being true, what do you think she’s saying? And what did you say to ‘er, running off all the time, never telling ‘er when you’d be ‘ome, or if, wondering if you’d died until one day, it was true? Or, you let it be true. Even to ‘er.  No Ana, you say Fareeha should speak your language, but she always ‘as. You spoke perfectly bloody clear, to ‘er. 

“L--” 

The thought was interrupted by another knock at the door, a door that did not wait to be answered, but simply opened, and a flood of people came in, all bearing various small things; a Christmas pudding here, a roast there, some garland, gallons of drink. The Oxtons came in, chattering and laughing, and kissed Winston and Emily on the cheeks, and told Mercy how she was glowing, and Mark clapped Pharah’s shoulder and told her what a wonderful job she’d done, and sorry that they had taken a bit of time, but the family was a bit like herding cats, wasn’t it. 

Dva and Brigitte walked through the door to calls of ‘hallo’ and ‘happy Christmas’ and an older woman spotted at Brigitte’s hand as she went toward the kitchen with a large bag of rum and brandy and sweetness. 

“That a ring, Miss Lindholm? Thought we might miss it?” 

Brigitte laughed like a little girl, a blush rising to her cheeks, and flashed its brightness. “I never think you miss anything. She asked me today.” 

Dva shrugged, but in that way that indicated she was quite pleased with herself. “Lena’d give me a hard time for doing it on Christmas.” 

“Oh she would! She was wicked!” an aunt laughed, “But I think it’s beautiful. We would ‘ave invited you personally, but expected you back in the Nordics, we did.”

“We would have,” Dva nodded, “but we thought…”

“Of course, of course, love, say no more, it was right kind of you to think of it, and we’re delighted to ‘ave you! Oi!” She called back to the room, “Guess who’s getting married!” 

There were cheers and jokes and a dozen questions thrown at the happy couple, as cookies and plates of food were passed around. Pharah was complimented on the quality of her ham, Mercy was told how beautifully she glowed, a few children hung off of Winston and asked him to tell the story of how he beat Doomfist again, though he always looked a little sheepish when he told it. Emily was rapidly pulled into an animated conversation over the best of the Christmas puddings, and the tree was lit, twinkling brightly if a bit patchwork. 

Ana would have been lying to say that the room took on the same festivity of the year prior, as there was still the sense of something missing, like an empty spot on a curio shelf, where all the dust and all the space let you know something belonged there, but it was warmer than it had been, and it took on that same glow, even if slightly smaller than the years prior. There was laughter, even if there were a few tears wiped away, a few reassurances that the first year is always the hardest, and didn’t Lena do us all such a favor by bowing out so close to Christmas that the sadnesses seemed to roll together? But still the laughter, the warm, the closeness pervaded, and the rum punch was poured, and they banded together, the lights seeming to grow brighter as they did so. 

Parvati jumped up on the back of the couch, and went to hit the side of her glass before thinking better of it and simply whistling loudly, the room turning to her, and, after a bit, deciding to quiet down to a few muttersw, and listen what she had to say. 

“Happy Christmas, everyone. Know that we all ‘ave a bit on our minds, this year. Not the first time we’ve ‘ad it. Won’t be the last.”

It sounded so much like Ana’s practicality, and so little, and she felt something inside of her pull, some realized notion that to know the facts of the situation and to wield them cruelly were two different swords, than there had been so many people around her that had always known this, and it hd been Ana alone who refused to see. 

“Life’s made up of meetings, and partings, and that’s the way of it, innit?. We’ll carry Lena with us, always.” Parvati raised her glass, “To Lena. I’d say may she rest in peace, but, think we all know that’s the last thing she’d want.” 

Everyone took a drink of whatever they had in their hand, the moment not dark at all, but not because everyone in the room was looking away from the shadow. No, they all clearly knew that shadow, and had sat with it, but they brought their own candle into it, burnishing the pain of the loss with the memory of what had been.

Despite herself, she was taken by the notion. Despite herself, she smiled. 

Tracer leaned in close to her. “You miss the love of it, Ana, and that’s your tragedy. You don’t see how love can make something beautiful. You see the reality of it, but you don’t see how love can make a hard reality somehow bearable.”  

In the back of her mind, London stood, bombed out once again and rebuilding, the patchwork of it stronger and better than what had came before. Hadn’t Egypt done the same? And wasn’t she a daughter of Egypt? How horrible, to know that Tracer was right. 

A man began to sing, not a Christmas carol at all, for Ana was beginning to allow the holiday to melt away and see the truth behind it, the core that came together in a million different worlds, some of which had never seen a Christmas at all, and as his voice raised above the din, they began to join him. 

“...pretty bubbles in the air, they fly so high, nearly reach the sky….” 

 Sniffles and tears mixed in, wiped away with a joyful punctuation. 

“...Then like my dreams, they fade and die!” 

Arms were drawn close around each other, the entire room a tight knot of human light against the darkness, as their voices rose even higher.

“FOOOOOOORTune’s always hiding! I’ve looked everywhere, I’m forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.” 

There was a collapse of laughter, admissions that Lena would have considered it the fittest hymn and carol and battle song of all, and another round of spiced drinks passed around in pitchers. 

“No matter what, nothing sinks them.” There was admiration in her voice, now. 

Tracer’s voice lowered. “Soft Londoners, full of pork fat.” 

She whipped around to look at Tracer. “Don’t MOCK me.” 

“You mock yourself, “ Tracer snorted, “acting as if it’s some manner of courage to push away every kind thing what comes your way the whole of your life.” 

“I--” Ana stopped herself. 

If she valued honesty, what was the lie in what Tracer was telling her? The whole of her life, she had believed that sentiment came to nothing, and it was only encouraging weakness to pad things for herself, for others. How could she ever have thought it would be so simple? She looked at Pharah, sitting alone at the edge of the room, smiling as she drank at her mug, but still somehow disconnected from it all, rubbing at the edge of her watch with a distant look in her eye. 

“Fareeha,” Ana watched her, “Tracer, tell me she will be happy. Tell me I haven’t ruined her the way I ruined myself.” 

“I live only in the moment, Ana. Future’s not me domain,” She gazed over at Pharah and considered a moment. “But I see something...Fareeha, if you look carefully, you can see a red light about her. You can see a shadow on her face. I see an anger, a rage, deep within her, and if these shadows do not change, I fear for what I see in her. I’m only the ghost of the present, and can’t tell you rightly, of course. But you must remember her getting arrested in Dublin, after I died.” Tracer shook her head. “You turned cold, but Fareeha? Puts lines around everything because she knows what’ll ‘appen if she doesn’t. Fire in her may burn down every good thing in her.” 

Ana could not draw her eyes away from Pharah, could not stop seeing the reflection of red light about her, kept telling herself over and over again that it was just from the tree so near, that there was nothing mysterious about it at all, and that every way she had taught Pharah to make an island of herself had not ruined everything. 

The party continued, Pharah eventually being drawn from her chair and brought into the games, Ana convincing herself that her eye was old, and failing her. The warmth of the party continued, drawn close and near with laughter and joy, kisses on the cheek and close hugs, questions about Dva and Brigitte’s plans, stories about Tracer, all coming together into a mulled wine all its own. 

“Right, then.” Tracer said softly. 

Ana looked back to her, a spirit with sharp words and sharper powers, but very much again a woman Ana had simply known, looking at her family with a sorrowful gaze, wishing she could touch them, sing with them, love them. Tracer was like Ana, in that way, she supposed. 

No. Because her family would delight to hold and kiss her again, to hear her voice ring over the room, to see her smile. Ana’s family would not. Pharah barely looked at her. Mercy hated her, after her actions this morning. Her grandchild would not know her. She felt that same pang of jealousy and hunger that she had in the tiny Brixton apartment, deeper now, and more keen. 

Worst of all was the realization that she had chosen this for herself, over and over again, in every word and action. That she had built the walls so high and so well that no one could hope to scale them, that she had laid the broken glass of her own personal miseries across the top and never for one moment realized that her daughter had the strength to not attempt to climb it any longer. That she would urge others never to try, and show them the scars on her palm from her own failures. 

“Can’t stay much longer.” 

Ana noticed the party beginning to get quieter, the lights in Tracer’s eyes beginning to fade, and a sudden panic began to grip her, the sense that she might lose everything she felt she had only begun to grasp, that she was on the verge of something great, slipping through her fingers. 

“You can’t already go. There’s so much more to teach me.”  

Tracer shook her head, somehow growing thinner, and smaller. “I was never meant to be long in this world, Ana. It was always meant to be brief.” 

“I have,” Ana began, and then cleared her throat, and looked to Tracer, “I, I was wrong, not to come to your Christmas party. To your birthday.” 

Tracer leaned against the wall, and the party faded from view, the golds and reds and greens fading into the greys and blue of the city, Tracer now leaning against the wall of an underground station, cap on her head, leather jacket pulled in close. 

“If I could do it over again, I would not have missed your last year.” She paused, “If I could do it over again, I would not have been myself.” 

“Why didn’t you, Ana?” 

There was no anger in it, not this time, just a hanging sadness as she shook her head and leaned against the wall, some annoucement Ana could not quite make out coming over the station. A chill ran through her, in that moment, only the two of them standing there, the hazy glow of fluorescent lights overhead dimming the world in a way Ana could not quite understand, but knew intrinsically. 

“We wasn’t friends, not really, but…I was dying.” 

Ana opened her mouth to protest that this was in the past, that it was not Tracer’s realm. That there was nothing to explain, because it was past now, and so what did it matter, she could not go back and have attended either. She opened her mouth to say that no one would have wanted her there anyway. She opened her mouth to say that she was jealous Tracer had so much of love. She opened her mouth to say, that she had been too proud to admit she was lonely. 

There was a rumble, down the tracks, the train speeding its way toward the station. She could feel the rush of air coming from the tunnel, the lights in darkness, coming. 

“Was dying, Fareeha was trying to bear up under it for everyone, and you couldn’t even--not for neither one of us--not for anyone.” 

The train began to screech into the station, and Ana had the horrifying realization, all in one moment, that it was here for Tracer, and surely enough, as she glanced up to the clock, that horrible long shadow of a hand was drawing toward midnight. 

“I should have gone,” she barked out as quickly as she could, but that terrible, terrible screeching echoed all through the station, shrieking high and loud as she tried to take Tracer’s hand, only to find that it was fading away, “I never hated you, I only, you were allowed to be light-hearted, and I wasn’t, and I was so--” 

Tracer shook her head, her eyes dull with exhaustion, “Can’t ‘ear you, love. ‘Ave to go now.” 

“I can do it different!” She reached out again, “I can learn to be different! I should have been, and I wasn’t, but, Tracer--” 

The doors to the train opened, and Tracer looked at them with a smile, even as her hand shook. “That’ll be me train. I trust you to the spirit what’s coming round next. You must see that spirit, love, no way round it.” 

“What was the point of Jack sending you if I can’t undo any of this!?” She stood in front of Tracer. “I have learned, now, and so you need to send me back, and I’ll do it better,” Tracer’s body passed through her, and she stepped into the car and grabbed onto a pole, glancing back, “LENA!!!”

The doors slammed shut, and Ana pulled and pulled, but she could not stop the horrible droning of the announcement declaring that they were pulling away from the station, and however she screamed and pounded, Tracer could not hear her, but simply looked up at the advertisements on the side of the car, lost in her own world. The train pulled away as quickly as it had come, speeding into the darkness, the only sound in Ana’s ears her own throbbing heartbeat. 

The photo of she and Pharah was cool in her hand.

[sif-the-tsunami]

Of fathers and daughters

This is a Coffeehouse!AU with a one word prompt brumous (adj.) - of grey skies and winter days; filled with heavy clouds or fog for @its--fandom--darling​ 1000 follower celebration!

I don’t know when I’ll really feel like mixing up some word salad again so I’m throwing myself in this one. This is probably the last Henry piece I’ll work on for a while so, might as well, right? Henry takes his daughter to his favorite little coffeehouse and gets some help when he least expects it.

Warnings: talks about a very difficult pregnancy, PPD, and new parent struggles. aside from that, ITS SO FLUFFY YOU ARE GOING TO DIE!!! Also mom jokes, which are like dad jokes. But they cute you to the core.

Not beta’d: all you can eat typos.

“Hush, my darling. Lets give Mummy some time to nap, sweet girl.” Henry said in a soothing tone to the baby as she whimpered in discontentment. The infant was just so tiny as he held her against his warm chest. The diaper bag was on the handle of pram, a cozy blanket was readily available as was a snuggly puppy stuffy that looked just like Kal. A fan had hand stitched it for the growing family shortly after the Cavill clan announced the pregnancy.

The tiny manifestation of he and his wifes love for each other loudly protested her sudden change of scenery and cold air on her face as soon as they walked out the front door. The motion of the buggy seemed to calm her. “I know, my love, we wont be outside for long, I promise. We are just going to go see Auntie Sif. She’s just down the street.”

The sky was a dark grey as they trekked down the road to Henry’s favorite coffeehouse. It perfectly matched his mood for the afternoon. Being parents to a baby that after everything was said and done the doctor was even surprised made it full term had been emotionally taxing. Her umbilical chord had only one artery, and the increased hormones made his wife miserable practically as soon as implantation even happened. It started with an aversion to eggs and just got worse from there. 

They were both exhausted, but his wife definitely didn’t have the easiest time. If his love could cure what ailed her, there would be no bad days. But depression just doesn’t work like that.

Arriving at the coffeehouse, the warmth and laughter inside welcomed him. The smell of soup and the occasional notes of espresso greeted his soul. 

“Well hey there, stranger!” A bright voice called out from behind the counter. “Oooh, you brought my littlest sweetheart to see me! Where is Momma?”

“Hello, Sif. We are on a daddy-daughter adventure so Mummy can take a nap. My god does it smell good in here.” The tiny woman came up and hugged him hard. She then pivoted immediately to look at the pink wrapped baby laying down in the pram. 

“Good man, and it smells so good in here because I made your favorite soup today.” She said, smiling, her eyes teared up a little at the little girl wiggling.

“You didn’t even know I was coming.” He laughed. When they had gone to 

“You go take a seat, darlin’, I’ll get you set up. Your usual, right?” Her vaguely southern accent popped out when she was really happy. He looked around the space. Her husband was in the corner teaching a younger patron how to play Warhammer. He never remembered his name, but in his mind he called the red bearded man Thor. He looked up and waved at new dad.

“For coffee, yes. Can I get the soup and sandwich thing you make me?”

“Of course.” Moments later, Sif came out with a tray in one of her hands. She placed a steaming bowl of soup in front of him with a heel of a fresh baguette from a local bakery. The sandwich was so big he almost couldn’t wrap his lips around it. The latte was perfect, but like always, she made the foam look like a dick.

As soon he dug into the sandwich, his baby started screaming until her face was bright red. Henry tried everything, checked her wants, needs, but the crying continued. Before he could run through the mental checklist again, he looked up and saw Sif walking over. “Oh no, sweet girl, are you giving Daddy a hard time? How can I help, Hen?”

“I don’t know what she wants, her nappy is clean, she didn’t want the bottle.”

“Maybe she just needs a new view, can I hold her?” Henry nodded. “Alright, Chicken, come here. Daddy should be able to eat his lunch while it’s hot, right?”

“Did you just call my daughter a... a farm animal?” Henry asked between mouthfuls of soup.

“My Grammy used to call my sister Chicken and I was Chicken Little. I think it’s a Massachusetts thing. Or Irish, her grandmother used to call her Chicken too. I call my daughter it occasionally.” The woman stood up and started rocking back and forth and pacing a little. Soon the little girl was snuggled into her chest, perfectly content as long as she could see her daddy. In a smooth voice, almost musical, she rubbed the two month old’s back. “See, everything is alright. You just relax, my littlest sweetheart, that way my biggest sweetheart can take good care of you once he’s eaten. Yeah, does that sound like a good idea?”

Before long the baby drifted back to sleep so Sif leaned her back to hold her more comfortably, Thor walked up to his wife with his car keys in his hand, chuckling. “Before you get any ideas. No.”

“No, I know. I like my babies these days the way I like my library books, returnable.” His wife said. “Getting the wee shebeast from school? Drive safe, my love.”

Continuing to rock back and forth with the expertise of someone who has helped many babies fall asleep, Sif hummed gently. Henry finished his food as quickly as he could. “I appreciate how good you’ve been to us, Sif. The Missus loved the cookies you baked her.”

“I am happy to make her more whenever she wants them. You both have been far kinder to me than I could have ever hoped for. You told all your friends how much you liked our place and honestly that made a huge difference. I wouldn't have made some of the friends I have without you, and I can’t thank you enough for that. How is your wife doing?”

“Its been rough, but she’s been hanging in there.”

“Well, give both of you some grace. I know you will get a million people telling you that you should enjoy every minute because they are fleeting. And I’m sure you will get more people who will give you a hard time for not being grateful for every sleepless night. But I’m going to tell you this, as an unsolicited veteran parent to a new one, sometimes babies are hard. You don’t know each other yet and you don’t understand what the other wants. They have no idea of patience, or object permanence. Whenever something go wrong for the first, like, I don’t know, eight years of their lives, try to remember that it could very well be the worst thing that could have ever happened to them so they will react accordingly.” Sif gently stroked the soft hair on the babies head. Looking at the little angelic face in her arms, “So much hard work, so much heartbreak. But, if you do the right by her, you’ll make the world a little bit better. But you know that, you have nieces and nephews. You guys are doing great.”

Henry nodded taking the baby back into his arms. “Thank you, Sif.”

“I’m going to go package up some soup for Momma, give you guys one less thing to worry about tonight.” She said, squeezing his shoulder gently. She came back a few minutes later with a container with some supper for his wife. 

“We’ll see you soon, my friend.” Henry said, tired still but ready to go home. He leaned down and hugged the small woman. “We love you, thank you again.”

“Be safe, give Kal some love for me.” 

[beskarhearts]

Intrigued (Din Djarin x oc/reader)

gif credits: @bestintheparsec​

Recluse series pt. 2

Pairing: Din Djarin x oc!bountyhunter/f!reader hybrid (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: pre-season 1, cursing, mentions of sexual harassment, drinking, mentions of prostitution/sex workers kind of, canon typical violence/death (let me know if I missed any!)

Word count: over 10.5K

Summary: At every step and turn, Bullet served as a reminder to Din of why he didn’t work with others. But it still didn’t stop the inkling of curiosity he had about her, which just seemed to grow more and more.

Notes: I am honestly not sure if anybody is enjoying this series so far, but I am enjoying writing it and have some ideas so I will keep going! Please let me know what you think, I always love to read your reactions and opinions. And if you want to be added to the tag list, let me know!

Previous Part _ Next Part

______________________________________________

When Din woke up, he had almost forgotten about the previous days events. It wasn’t until he realized he was sat in the cockpit with a creak in his neck that it hit him. He let out a small grunt and began to sit up, slowly rolling his neck as it let out a series of cracks and pops. Sleeping in the armor was necessary but it didn’t make it any less painful.

“You snore. Sounded like a damn starfighter through your modulator.”

The sound of her voice spooked Din. He wasn’t used to someone being there when he woke up and someone talking to him so early in the day. In fact, he wasn’t used to people speaking to him at all, speaking most of his days alone and with zero human interaction. Din rolled his head to look over at the woman, who looked how he felt. She must of not gotten a good nights rest as well, some bags under her eyes and a tired expression on her grumpy looking face.

“Sorry.” Din muttered softly and she shrugged.

“I’m just glad you’re awake. I need to piss.” She stood from the seat, using the arm rests to pull herself up as she trudged over to the ladder. She didn’t look back at him as she climbed down it, a loud noise ringing out as she moved the item in front of the fresher door, tossing the weapons out of the small room, and then slamming the door shut.

Din also made himself rise from his seat to make his way down into the hull, his body aching from the position he had slept in. He made his way down to the hull, sparing a glance at his cot with a small expression of want. He turned over and as he expected, his weapons had been unceremoniously tossed on the floor outside of the fresher door. He bent down and grabbed them all before attaching them to himself, feeling instantly more at ease. He had just finished attaching the last piece when the door was torn open, Bullet standing in the door way of the fresher. She looked at him and Din found that her weapons were also back on. “When will we get to Tatooine?”

“Should be landing soon.”

“Good.” She muttered and brushed past Din, into the body of the hull. “Our best bet is going to be Mos Espa. It’s the most highly populated place so easier to hide in and it’s where all the gambling and credits are.”

Din nodded. She was completely right. A man from Coruscant was most likely want to find somewhere that slightly resembled the city landscape he was used to. And even though Mos Espa was small, it was still the biggest city by far on Tatooine, perhaps the only one Din could recall. It would be a prime area for a man with lots of credits to go to, whether it be for gambling, betting on podraces, or anything else of the sort. The type of activities a man who stole credits would most likely take part in.

“Sounds good.” Din said.

“I have a couple ideas of where he could specifically be. One in particular.” She said, standing to face Din with her hands on her hips. She seemed focused and on stand-by, ready for action. 

Din tilted his helmet slightly. They haven’t even stepped foot on the planet and she already had a place in mind. He would usually land on a planet, inspect the area, and then come up with possibilities for where the bounty could be. He had to put himself in the shoes of them, try to imagine what he would do if he was on the run in that place. “How do you have a place in mind already?”

“Think about it.” She countered but when Din didn’t respond, she sighed. “We’ve got a man from Coruscant, with loads of credits. He needs somewhere to lay low, a place where people don’t care who you are and at what your name is. But he also wants to use his credits for something good, continue to feed off the thrill of stealing them. That leads to three options: gambling, a bar, or women.”

Thinking about it, it all made sense. Perfect sense actually. Din nodded slowly. “Mos Espa had loads of those types of places.”

“Yeah, but I know a place with all three. They will either know something or he will be there.” she stated. Din was kind of at awe by her confidence. He could sense that she had an innate feeling that the man they were hunting for was there. It made all the sense in the world to her and she was already formulating a plan - Din could see the gears grinding in her mind. 

Part of Din felt a spark of annoyance course through him. He hadn’t even had a moment to contribute his thoughts to their plan of action. She was laying down the rules before he had the chance to think properly. He felt like he had been one-upped and was off his game. He blamed it on his space being intruded on and having to work with another individual but a part of his mind couldn’t help but to question if it was possible that this woman was better than him. After all, he couldn’t even be too annoyed because she hit the mark. Everything she said was sound and logical. He couldn’t argue against it unless he just wanted to do so for purely selfish reasons. “Okay. We will stop there first.”

She nodded, satisfied that he hadn’t questioned her authority or ideas. “Good. You land us and we’ll be off.”

___________________

Tatooine, and Mos Espa in particular, was the same it had always been. The double suns of the planet beat down on him, warming his body even more than it always was under all the armor. The town was busy, full of merchants and workers, as well as loads of questionable personas that all gave Din weary looks as he passed by. Bullet was taking the lead, Din following closely behind as she winded her way through the people. She seemed familiar with this place and Din swore he even saw a few people give her a nod of recognition. 

It only took them a few moments before she led the way to a building and stopped in front of it. “This is it.”

Din inspected the building and was unimpressed. It was completely lack luster with no defining features besides a single sign that red Oppa’s in deep red writing. No people hanging outside of it, no windows, no signs to indicate what the purpose of the establishment was. “Are you sure?”

She let out a snort at his question, as if she found it funny he was questioning her. “Absolutely. Check the fob.”

Din fished it out of a pocket and looked down in shock to find it blinking quickly. The bounty was nearby, incredibly close for that matter. He looked up to see the woman giving him a cocky grin. “Told ya.”

Din pushed the fob back into his pocket, feeling disbelief course through him. She had been right. Not only right, but incredibly precise in just how exactly right she was. She didn’t just know what city he’d be in, or what type of place he’d be at. She had narrowed it down to the specific place. Din wanted to ask her how but he just let out a grunt and gestured towards the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Hold on, big boy.” She said, making Din stop in his tracks. She began to back away from the door and towards an alley along the side of it. Din hesitantly followed her as she continued talking. “You can’t just walk in there. Everybody would be out the door before we had a chance to get to this guy.”

“What?” Din asked.

“This place is full of the type of guys who would have bounties on their heads. If a Mandalorian walked in, they’d all shit their pants and run. And then the ladies would be out of business.” She stopped at a small door at the side of the building, this one not even having a sign. Just a small entrance whose door matched the color of the sign at the front of the building. “I’m honestly surprised you’ve never been here for a bounty before.”

“How do you know this place?” Din asked.

“Used to work here.” She muttered, the distinct sound of bitterness winding around her words. Din didn’t have anything else to ask but he wouldn’t have even if he had a moment to before she opened the door and walked in, Din following her movements.

They had walked straight into a kitchen that looked empty and showed no signs that it had been used. Din had to guess the place had been a restaurant before it had been converted into whatever it was now. The sound was muffled, but he could hear music coming from what must of been the main area of the building. The bass of it was loud and pounding, the kind of music that typically gave Din a migraine and was a good indication that this was not his type of place. He saw a small door leading from the kitchen to the main room, only a small window giving the smallest view into it. He couldn’t see much except that the building was dark besides fluorescent lights and what appeared to be a stage in the center of it. 

Bullet didn’t walk through the door, instead walking over to a bell that sat on one of the countertops. She hit it three times in quick succession and then walked over to the fridge that sat in the corner of the room, peering into it before deciding to grab a bottle of spotchka from it. 

The door in the kitchen opened and Din’s hand flew to his blaster, just to find a scantily clad woman to enter the room and let out a small squeak as she saw the Mandalorian. “Calm down, dude.” Bullet exclaimed, looking over at him with annoyance as she saw the blaster clasped in his hand. She rolled her eyes before looking over to the woman.

“What the fuck, Bullet? You bringing Mandalorians around just for them to aim blasters at me?” The woman said in a high, pitchy voice, one Din couldn’t tell was her natural voice or due to fear. She finally stepped further into the room to stand besides Bullet, grabbing the bottle from her and taking a big gulp from it while her hands shook slightly. Din put the blaster back on his side, feeling an inkling of guilt for pulling a blaster on the woman. But he always had to be on edge, prepared.

“Don’t worry, Kira. This wasn’t my idea. Karga made me partner up again.” Bullet responded and the woman laughed, all fears seeming to dissipate with it as she looked between the two in disbelief. 

“Oh shit. Does he know what happened to the last one?” She said through laughter.

“Yeah.” Bullet said, grabbing the bottle from the woman and taking a big gulp from it as well. “So far he isn’t a pervert like that one though.”

“Did I not teach you a thing? All men are perverts.” The woman, Kira, spared Din a glance and gave him an awkward smile. “No offense.”

Din just let out a small sigh and looked back at Bullet. She was now propped against a counter, harboring the bottle of spotchka. For the first time since she had joined Din, she seemed relaxed. Her shoulders weren’t held back as much, her body seemed rid of tension, and she had a small little smile on her face that wasn’t overwhelmingly big but seemed genuine. He didn’t know anything about her but she clearly knew this woman and trusted her. 

“I need your help.” Bullet finally said and Kira redirected her attention back on her.

“Of course you do. Let me guess: another bounty?”

“Yep. A big one.” Bullet responded with a greedy grin.

“We’ll help you out. I need you to deal with a problem while you are here anyways.” Kira said, pulling herself up to sit on the counter.

“What is it this time?”

“This ass keeps coming in her, requesting dances with the girls, threatening everybody, and then not paying at all.” 

Bullet let out a dark chuckle, shaking her head. “He doesn’t know how it works here?”

“Nope. He is new around these parts. Thinks he is hot shit cause he is from Coruscant. Clearly doesn’t know people around here don’t care if you come from a big city.” As soon as Kira finished speaking, Bullet’s head whipped over to look at Din. She gave him a knowing look, a grin still spread across her lips, but a bit of fire consumed her eyes. Kira seemed to recognize the meaning of it, giving the two of them a sly smile. “This is your guy?”

“Yes.” Din responded.

“Now we know our guy is dumb, running around telling people he is from Coruscant.” Bullet said, directing the statement towards Din. He nodded back, feeling relieved at the bit of information from Kira. If this guy was running around trying to brag about where he was from, he was an idiot not used to hiding and being subtle. Made him an easier catch for the two of them.

“Makes sense someone would want him. He is a real tool.” Kira added.

“Is Lu here today?” Bullet asked, now turning her back to Din and looking at Kira. 

“Yeah. I actually think she is being pestered by the creep right now.”

“Bring her in here. I need her help.” Bullet said, throwing another sip back before placing the bottle on the counter. She shrugged the jacket off her shoulders, revealing some of her skin as she tossed it on the counter as well. Din looked over her, taking note of the small scars and scrapes that littered her skin. Those were the accessories of any bounty hunter, especially one who got down and dirty. He himself also had skin littered with the small markings of the profession. He took his gaze away from her skin, now looking at her face as she she leaned back against the counter. 

Kira let out a loud laugh and looked down at Bullet with a sparkle in her eyes and a knowing look. “Are we sure that’s a good idea?” The woman tilted her head towards Din and Bullet looked back at him. It took her a moment before realization spread on her face and she let out a chuckle of her own, her face breaking out into a big grin. 

Din looked back at the two women who both looked at him and felt uncomfortable with the attention. “What?”

“Let’s just say our friend Lu is fond of Mandalorians.” Kira teased before slipping off the counter and towards the door. “Let me get her.”

“What does that mean?” Din asked Bullet who still was smirking. 

“Oh, she just has a thing for the helmets and the silent, brooding type.” She threw him a wink and Din let out a grunt. The first time Din finally saw this woman crack a genuine, full smile and laugh at something, only for it to be at his own expense. He suddenly grew very flustered and annoyed, wanting to just barge into the building. grab the man, and leave. 

They stood in silence for just a few more moments before a smaller woman walked in, her hair pulled into intricate braids and a big smile beaming on her face. She didn’t seem to notice Din, her bright eyes landing on Bullet and widening. “Bullet, about time you show your face around here!” 

She made her way over to the woman, giving her a giant hug that seemed to asphyxiate the woman. She didn’t embrace the smaller female, just bringing a hand to pat at her back as her head leaned away from the hug. “Good to see you, Lu.”

“Oh man, I am so glad you are here. What is up?” Lu exclaimed emphatically, throwing her hands up in a very theatrical manner. She turned around, moving to sit on the counter when her eyes landed on Din and she froze. Her smile dropped, except for one corner of her lips that remained quirked up. “Please tell me this guy has something to do with why you’re here.”

Bullet chuckled, clasping a hand on the womans shoulder forcefully, making her stumble a little. But her eyes still remained on Din and she batted her eyelashes a little. Din cleared his throat, suddenly wanting the ground to swallow him whole at the way she was looking at him. He turned his helmet to look at Bullet who just chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint, but I didn’t bring a Mandalorian for you to marry.”

“We are here for a bounty.” Din added, wanting to make it clear he was only here for that and nothing else. 

Instead the womans eyes widened and she looked over at Bullet with flushed cheeks. “Why tease me with a Mandalorian whose voice sounds like that!” 

Din immediately regretted speaking, feeling his face heat up under the helmet even more than it had from the temperature of the planet. Bullet shook her head. “Karga gave me a partner for this bounty. Speaking of which,” Din let out a sigh of relief, thankful for the change in conversation “I need your help.”

“Which one is it?” Lu asked, immediately switching gears and seeming to understand what Bullet needed immediately. Din tilted his helmet, wanting to know more information about what Lu would be doing but also wanting to not speak.

“The one from Coruscant.”

Lu let out a groan, her body sagging as disgust rippled through her. “That sick pervert was just trying to rub up on me.”

Bullet grabbed her jacket from the counter, reaching into the inner pocket of it and pulling out a small satchel. She tossed it over to Lu, who grabbed it. “I think this will make up for it.”

“I’d do it for free, for you, but I guess I won’t say no to some compensation for my services.” Lu jokingly said, giving Bullet a small smile that indicated she wasn’t upset with her. “Give me a few minutes.”

The woman bounced out of the room, giving Din one more fleeting glance before walking through the door. The Mandalorian suddenly let out some air he didn’t know he was holding in and looked over at Bullet. “What is she doing?”

“Don’t worry. She has helped me with this kind of stuff before.” the woman said nonchalantly, giving him a plain expression. 

“Has she helped you with bounties worth this much?” Din asked, placing his hands on his hips. He didn’t like being out of the loop.

“Listen, all she is going to do is bring this guy to a room we can sneak into and then tie him to a chair.”

Din’s jaw dropped within the helmet and he looked at the woman in astonishment, not that she could see. “What?”

She must of heard the concern in his voice but she brushed it off, just seeming exasperated by it. “I’ve trained all these girls on how to defend and protect themselves. Need to with a job like this. Lu is the best. She has done this before quite a few times.”

“I can handle this.” Din sternly said, hearing his voice get deeper.

“I’m sure you could. You would barge into that room, grab the dude by the throat, and stuff him into your carbonite freezers. But then all these customers would run off, tell their friends that this place is harboring bounty hunters, and all my girls would be out of jobs.”

Din bit his tongue. She was right. That was usually how he did things because it usually worked. He didn’t feel the need to be sly or make things harder than they had to be. He liked to just get in and out, using his brute strength and cunning mind to get his bounties. But this woman didn’t do things like that, at least not in this case. “Why do you care about this place?”

“Sappy reason is cause I’ve known these girls for years. Logical reason is cause I own the place.”

Din paused. “You own this place?”

“Yeah. Bought it a little while ago.” She shrugged, as if the information she had revealed wasn’t of any importance or interest. Like it was just something everybody did. 

Din hated to admit it, but he continually found himself impressed by the woman standing before him. She was hard and rough around the edges, and seemed to barely have a nice bone in her body. But Din didn’t mind that, honestly saw those qualities within himself. He had no false allusions that he was any better than her when it came to his personality. But her work ethic and the way her mind worked was something else, downright impressive he might say. He had only gotten a glimpse at how she played but it was smart, tactile, and she was proving to be very accurate in many of her assumptions. Adding that she owned a place like this only made her more interesting. “Most women don’t own places like this.”

Din didn’t even know why he was talking to her. This was unlike him. He was the type to stand by silently and make people uncomfortable with his lack of verbal communication. But the statement had spilled from his lips before he had a chance to think it over. He half expected her to ignore him but she gave a small shrug. “Yeah. Usually. The person who ran this place before was a man, same one who was around when I worked here. But he stole from all the ladies and was a overall piece of shit. So I took over.”

She didn’t explain how she took over but Din felt he understood the message. He didn’t need her to say it out loud to understand that she hadn’t just bought this place in a peaceful business transaction. But Din didn’t mind. If what she said was true, which it most likely was considering the type of folks who ran places like these, then the women who worked here were probably for the better. The two he had seen had embraced Bullet with wide smiles and seemed to trust her.

Din looked over at Bullet, who now was playing with a loose string on her jacket with her nimble fingers, not looking at him. It gave him the opportunity to look her over. She was rough, no doubt about that. Not in the way men would typically say a woman was rough looking. Din didn’t mean it in any offensive or derogatory way. She just looked like a woman who could take care of business, get her hands dirty, and didn’t dwell away from the tougher things in life. The scar that ran across her face told him she had a story of her own, probably not one of happiness. Her toughened expression that seemed to always be on her face perfectly encaptured the wall she had up around her. Din couldn’t help but to wonder if she would think similarity about his own face if he could see it. A lot of Dins own qualities could be seen in her, and if he wondered if he had the kind of face that reflected that.

Suddenly, Din was hit with the bizarre thought of her working here. The two woman he had seen alone had appeared to be very unlike her. Nothing wrong with them. They were both beautiful in their own ways. But very different from Bullet. He couldn’t imagine her in an outfit like theirs with her hair and makeup done up. He didn’t want to intrude and ask but he felt compelled to. “You used to... work here?”

He didn’t need to fully explain his question for her to understand what he was getting at. “Bartender.” was all she replied with before chuckling to herself. “I wasn’t pretty enough or nice enough to be one of the girls.”

Din only nodded in response, refraining from speaking any more.

It only was a couple more moments before Kira popped her head through the door and both Din and Bullets heads whipped over to look at her. “You can head up. Lu has it under control.”

Bullet gave her nod before the woman walked off. She strolled over to the opposite side of the kitchen, walking to what Din originally thought was a pantry only to realize it was a small, narrow stairway. Before she began to climb up it, she turned around and looked at the Mandalorian who stood closely behind her. “I know you want to go in there and tie him up and leave, right?” Din only nodded. “Just give me a few minutes with him before we do that, okay?”

Din paused. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like waiting or giving his bounties the time of day. They didn’t need to do so. They had him secured already. Din felt like he hadn’t even done a job and this might of been the easiest credits he’s ever made. Part of him felt thoroughly dissatisfied and wanted to quell the thirst for the hunt by barging into the room and dragging the man away as he yelled. But he saw her eyes. Saw the way that she appeared to be for the first time asking permission. Din realized this was perhaps a little more personal for her. This man was not only in her territory, but disrespecting it. Looking back on it, Din should of said no and stormed past her into the room and frozen him in some carbonite. But instead he gave her a short nod which she returned before making her way up the stairs.

The stairway led to a small door at the top which she pushed open slowly, looking into the hallway it led into and stepping out once she realized the coast was clear. She quickly but quietly made her way to a door at the end of it, knocking two times quickly as her head continued to whip around. Din also looked around, making sure no one was walking up.

“Come in honey.” A voice called out and Bullet opened the door, shuffling it and closing it just as Din walked through it. He looked around at the room and was impressed by the cleanliness and environment. The building looked like nothing special on the outside. But this room was painted a nice warm color, with a collection of elegant looking furniture in it, including a sofa which Lu was sat on. It took Din a moment to take everything in before his eyes landed on the main attraction: the man sat in a chair in the middle of the room, tied back and with a cloth over his mouth. As soon as the man saw Din, his eyes widened and he started to whine as loudly as he could, but it was muffled and relatively quiet. Immediately, Din saw how he looked like a creep just as the girls had kept calling him. His face was covered in a thick sheen of oil, hair that was equally as shinny was slicked back in what Din guessed the man thought was a good look, but very much wasn’t. The only good part of his look was the clothes he wore, which looked expensive and made out of finer fabrics than most wore.

“Watch out before you take the gag off. He is a talker.” Lu warned, about to step out of the room but Bullet held her hand up, indicating for the woman to stay. Even though she was doing so to Lu, her eyes remained trained on the man before her and Din once again saw that fire in her eyes blaze. It was primal and dominant and she looked like a predator staring down at her prey.

She gave the man a good look up and down as he continued to whine, his line of vision now landing on her. Fear was already apparent in his eyes but when he saw her it seemed to grow even more. Bullet gave a small nod, as if she had finished assessing the situation and come up with a course of action.

“I’m going to take your gag off. If you scream or yell, I’ll break your jaw.” The sounds the man made ceased to exist after Bullets threat. He gave a small nod and she walked over to him, yanking the cloth off aggressively.

“Please don’t kill me.” The man begged and Din rolled his eyes. He was used to this. Used to the begging and pleading. This was just the usual soundtrack of his life now.

“Do you have credits on you?” Bullet asked, ignoring his pleading. Dins eyebrow quirked up but he kept his helmet aimed steadily at the man, not showing that he didn’t know where this was leading.

A fire seemed to grow in the man as his face twisted in annoyance. “I’m not giving you my money.” He hissed.

“I actually don’t think that money is yours. Hence the bounty on your head for stealing them.” The man rolled his eyes in response but his cockiness seemed to subside a little as Bullet bent down, now eye level with him. “Now answer me. Do you have credits on your right now or did you walk into here empty handed?”

“I’m not telling you shit.” The man spat and Bullet stood straight up. “Who are you anyways?”

Bullet looked over at Din and nodded. “Show him the fob.”

Din dug the fob out of his pocket, which now blinked in a rapid succession. “Shit.” The man muttered, his concerns now being confirmed with the appearance of the fob. Din pushed it back into his pocket.

“Now, your friends want you alive. Lucky you. But before we turn you in, you are ours.” Bullet said, her head moving to look at Din who simply nodded in agreement.

“I’m not telling you a thing.” The man hissed once again and Bullet let out a grunt. She turned to look at Din.

“Do me a favor?” She asked and Din only nodded. “Please punch him in the face.”

Din paused before giving a slight nod, walking over and lifting his fist up. Before he had the chance to bring it down, the man let out a whimper. “Fine! Fine! What do you want?”

Din kept his fist raised but looked back at Bullet, who gave him a small nod that gestured he could move back. He dropped his fist and back away slightly. “Do you have credits on you?” she repeated for a third time.

The man now slowly nodded, seeming like he wanted to hold out from giving up their location. “In my pocket of my jacket...”

Bullet walked over, digging her hands into his jacket and pulling out a hearty satchel. She looked over at Lu and tossed it over to her. “This is your payment for these girls who you neglected to pay for their work.” Bullet said to the man who let out a grunt, clearly annoyed with being forced to pay. Bullet gave a nod to Lu. “Make sure all the girls who had to deal with these creep get their fair share.”

“Yes ma’am. It was good seeing you, Bullet.” Lu said, giving her a soft smile. She looked over at Din one final time and gave him a wink. “And I hope to see you again.”

The woman slipped through the door, now leaving the two bounty hunters alone with the man who now looked even more nervous than before. Sweat now began to drip down his face and his clothes became patchy in areas with the moisture. Bullet turned to Din. “You can go wild now.”

Din was ready to grab him and drag him away when the man began to plead. “No! No! Please, I’ll do whatever you want!”

Din ignored him, accustomed to it. He had been doing the job for long enough that he had heard almost of it. He had been offered credits, free labor, even sexual favors from men and women alike. But he had never taken the bait. It was against the Creed he swore. He was here for a job that required him to follow the rules and bring him back in one peace. So instead of even giving his pleading the time of day, Din began to untie the rope around his arms only to cuff him right after. Bullet seemed to follow his lead, ignoring the man until a certain offer fell from his lips. “I have all the credits in my room at the inn I’m staying! I’ll pay you!”

Din continued to ignore him, honestly think Bullet would do the same but he froze when she looked over at the man and propped her hands on her hips. “How much?”

The Mandalorian froze, his helmet tilting to look up at her but she either didn’t notice or neglected to acknowledge it. What was she doing?

“I have two-hundred thousand credits. I can give you some. Pay you more than they are willing to.” The man offered, relief seeming to wash over him just the most minuscule amount, sensing that Bullet was intrigued.

“How much?”

Din interrupted before the man had the chance to speak, rising from where he had been kneeling. His hands clasped on tightly to the man as he finally pulled him up from the chair. Din was ready to go. He didn’t want to deal with this and didn’t know what she was doing. “Bullet, no.”

Once again, the woman spared him not even a glance as she kept eye contact with the bounty. “How much?” she repeated and Din let out a loud sigh, clearly expressing how upset he was.

“Twenty thousand. Each.” The man offered.

“Not interested. Let’s go, Bullet.” Din said, his helmet tilting down at her as he began to drag the man towards the door, whose feet were dragging along.

“Speak for yourself, Mando.” The woman spoke.

“Dank farrik. What are you doing?” Din hissed, feeling his heart begin to thud. Anger was coursing through his body. He didn’t sign up for this. He should have ran in the opposite direction of Bullet, never taken a job with her.

“Can’t tell me twenty thousand credits doesn’t sound appealing.”

“This is not part of the job.” Din nearly yelled. He usually was a well tempered man, exceptionally patient. If he ever got too annoyed with someone, it was usually a bounty whom he just froze in carbonite to shut up. He usually didn’t see red and feel his body heat up. But Bullet was pushing him and she was teetering on a dangerous line from him having even the smallest amount of respect for her from him wanting to freeze her in carbonite himself.

“Don’t worry.” Bullet said but Din let out a grunt.

“We need to turn him in.” He insisted.

“If we say it was a false lead and he could be anywhere, it is fine.” Din couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Maybe it was silly considering he had know this woman for only a day now, and had barely uttered a word that wasn’t purely work related to her, but he didn’t see this coming. She didn’t seem like the type to entertain an idea so stupid. A plan so risky. She obviously valued credits but letting this man go for some more? It seemed ridiculous to Din, though he supposed people didn’t stupid things when it came to credits.

“I’m not doing that.” Din countered but she brushed him off.

“Shut up, Mando.” She finally looked up at him, making contact with his T-Visor and Din felt himself suck in a breath when she made direct eye contact. He felt like she could see through the helmet and to him. She gave him the smallest, almost undetectable nod and a knowing look in her eye. Din didn’t know how he understand, but he immediately did. She had something else planned. He still didn’t know if she was actually considering his offer, but she wasn’t revealing her true intentions to anyone, nonetheless to the man stood between the two bounty hunters. “Twenty thousand credits?”

“Yes! Of course!” A sick smile began to creep on the man’s face as he started to get a taste of the freedom he was bargaining for.

Bullet nodded slowly, looking to Din. “Take off the cuffs.”

“Bullet, I am not-”

“Do it or I’ll do it.” Bullet sternly said. Din let out a loud sigh. He couldn’t do this. This was against everything in his very nature. This was wrong. But even with all the thoughts running through his head, he took off the cuffs. Because he deep down wanted to see what her plan was. She nodded at him when the mans arms dropped and he began to cradle his own wrists. She looked back at him. “If you try to run away or do anything besides take us to your room, I will aim my blaster at that stupid head of yours and pull the trigger, you understand?”

The man nervously looked back at Bullet as her hand ghosted over the blaster on her hip, his eyes following their way to it and he nodded quickly. “Yes. Of course.”

“Good.” 

Din couldn’t help it. He grabbed Bullet’s arm and pulled her to the side of the room where they could keep a close eye on him but hopefully speak quietly without him hearing. He hovered over her, watching as she looked up at him plainly. “What are you doing?” he spat, trying to whisper as best as he could through the modulator.

“I’ve got a plan.” she whispered back, not offering any more details.

“You said we would come in here and grab him and go.” 

“Maker, Mando. It’s fine.” She said, seeming like she didn’t understand where his frustration was coming from.

“No, it’s not. You have made every decision so far but this is one I am not willing to go along with.”

Bullet paused and looked straight into his visor. “Then go back to the ship and I’ll meet you there in a little while.”

Din paused. Maybe that was the best option. Maybe he should go to the ship and wait for her. Or hell, maybe just leave her behind. Leave behind all the stuff she was stirring up and let her deal with the consequences. Go to Karga and tell him it wouldn’t work out and to never give him a partner again. Go on with his life and ignore this hunt which was becoming a disaster. It was probably for the best.

But he couldn’t. He needed to know what her plan was. If he didn’t follow her, he would always wonder and he didn’t know why the thought of that was bothering him so much but it was. He desperately wanted to know her intentions. “I’m coming with you.”

Bullet nodded slowly, seeming fine with him coming along or going off to the ship. She leaned into him slowly, her voice dropping even lower as she whispered so quietly he swore he wouldn’t have been able to hear if it weren’t for how his helmet could pick up sound. “You will get your bounty in the end. We needed to find the credits anyways so I promise you, this will work out. Just...trust me.”

Din didn’t know this woman. He knew more than he did yesterday but the amount of knowledge he had about her was so limited. He still didn’t know what kind of person she was or what kind of morals and standards she held for herself and others. For all he knew, he was falling for this genuine response and would be caught in the jaws of defeat once she revealed her true intentions. She could be planning Maker knows what. But as he looked at her face, all he could see was a more reckless version of himself for some reason. So he nodded slowly, an action which was reciprocated by her. 

He turned around and looked down at the man, who had been watching them intently but seemed to hear nothing they had spoken about. “Everything good?”

Bullet looked at him and scowled. “Another rule: don’t talk unless I tell you to.”

____________

The room that the man was staying seemed to be more consistent with the rest of Tatooine. It was a shady little place, with rooms that reeked of drugs, spotchka, and sex. This place bared more resemblance of places where bounties usually hid out than Oppa’s had. As the man led them forwards in a dingy little hallway, Din saw various, unidentified stains litter the carpets and walls of the establishment. He figured the man could afford better, but this place probably didn’t require he present identification or even his name. The perfect hide out place for a man who was wanted. 

The man finally paused at a room, digging a card from his pocket that he held up. A beep rang out into the hallway as the door creaked open and Bullet pushed past the man and walked in. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed and Din walked in after her.

He immediately saw the reasoning for her reaction. The room was filthy, even more so than he suspected the room had already been. Bottle upon bottle of liquor was discarded around every space in the room, along with wrappers and half eaten foods tossed about. The bed was stripped down, the sheets and covers balled up in a corner. The room had a potent smell to it, one that Din couldn’t identify but repulsed him. “What the fuck did you do in here?” Bullet yelled, looking at the man who looked rather embarrassed by her reaction.

“Drank, ate, sleep, brought some company over...” He muttered, looking away from her burning gaze.

“Maker. This is disgusting. Show us where the credits are so we can leave.” Bullet demanded.

The man rushed over to the bed, beginning to flip over the mattress. The man seemed to struggle but Din and Bullet made no move to help him. They both just watched as he took several moments to finally flip it over completely. That was when Din saw the big cut in it. The man pulled it back, to reveal bag upon bag of credits. Din couldn’t help but to the look over at Bullet’s reaction, whose eyes had widened. He had never seen that many credits in person and he assumed neither had she. “Told you I had them.” 

He looked back to find the man happily smiling. “How many is in each bag?” Bullet asked.

“Ten thousand.” 

“And this is all of it?” Din asked.

“I mean, I spent some on a few things. Food. Drink. Gambling. Probably about five thousand. And then the money you gave the girls today was probably another five thousand.” The man explained.

Bullet nodded and Din looked over at her. This was the time where he would finally found out what ulterior motive she had. Was she going to grab a couple bags and leave this man be? “So, we get two bags each and then you are good?”

“Yes! Thank you!” The man responded triumphantly, the grin only becoming bigger on his face.

Bullet nodded. “One more thing though.”

“Of course. What?”

Bullet didn’t speak but Din saw her hand flash to her side and whip her blaster out. The man didn’t have a moment to scream before she pulled the trigger, causing him to drop dead immediately. The room fell silent as Din looked over at the man on the ground. “What was that?”

Bullet shrugged, looking over at Din. “There is your bounty.”

“He was supposed to be alive.”

Bullet rolled her eyes. “C’mon. I’ll come up with an excuse. Say there was no other option.”

“You don’t think they will be suspicious since you have a habit of killing people.” Din spat, feeling anger fill him. He should of left her behind. He should of stormed off to the Crest when he had a chance.

“Oh, please! They were going to kill him anyways. All they really cared about were the credits! Which we have now!” Bullet yelled back, her own face twisting into anger. “I don’t know why you are so upset.”

“This was not the job.” Din sternly said, stepping towards her. But she took no notice, not seeming intimidated in the slightest.

“You are telling me you’ve never killed a bounty before when they were supposed to be alive?” Bullet asked plainly.

“Yes, if I had to!” Din hated how upset he was getting. He was always calm and collected but something about Bullet pushed his buttons and her doing this really just got to him. He didn’t know why he was allowing it or why he cared, but he did and it made him even more flustered.

“Well, I had to. He messed with my girls and it doesn’t really matter.” Bullet hissed. She turned over, looking back around the room and finding a duffel bag in the corner. She emptied the contents of it and put it on the bed, beginning to fill it up. “C’mon. Let’s do this.”

Din walked over, grabbing at one of the bags of credits and dumping it into the bag. Each bag was heavy and large, each ringing with the sound of credits clanging together. Nineteen bags in all should of been there since the bounty had used one up. But when Din put the last bag in, he looked over to find it short of one. 

“We are short.” Din looked up to Bullet to see her holding one of the bags at her side. His eyes darkened as he straightened up. “Bullet, what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it.” she huffed, pulling the bag closer to her.

“You can’t steal credits. They will put a bounty on your head next.”

“They won’t find out. We will say he spent it and they will believe it.” Bullet explained, giving him a plain expression.

“You want me to lie for you so you can be a little richer.” Din said and Bullet scoffed.

“Get off your high horse, Mando. You’ve never done something you aren’t supposed to do?”

“I follow the rules. I get the bounties and turn them in.” 

“Well, good for you. You are such a good boy.” Bullet spat.

“Don’t-”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Bullet hissed, looking up at him. “The credits aren’t for me.”

“Who are they for?”

Bullet ignored him, closing the zipper of the bag and pushing it towards Din to carry. “Let’s get these to the Crest.”

“What about the body?” Din asked.

“I’ve got him.” 

___________________

Once Din froze the body in carbonite and all the credits had been stored away, he began to stomp towards the cockpit. He was in a foul mood and he wanted to get to Nevarro as soon as possible. He wanted to be done with this and rid himself of Bullet. She may have been competent but he didn’t like the way things were being done in the slightest. And this was why he didn’t work with people. They only made things a hassle and a pain, even more than life already was.

“Wait.” Bullet called out.

He had nearly forgotten she was there. Ever since they left the shady hotel, she hadn’t said a word and let him take the lead from there. Din had been grateful for the silence, worried that if she said a word he would snap at her. But hearing her finally speak caused him to let out a grunt and turn to her slowly. “What?”

“I need to stop somewhere. Before we go.”

Din shook his head. “You can come back on your own time. We have the bounty. Let’s go.”

Bullet let out a huff. He could see how she was annoyed but appeared to be trying to hold it back. He wondered if she was doing that for her own sake or for his. “C’mon. It will be quick. It’s really close by.”

“What is it?” Din asked. He had no intentions of stopping but he would at least entertain the notion if it sounded like something necessary.

“I just got to drop the credits off somewhere.”

Din let out another grunt, his helmet tilting at her. It was probably better she got rid of the credits now, instead of leaving them to possibly be found by Karga. Din considered trying to convince her to not take them, but he knew it would be fruitless considering how stubborn she had already proved to be. “Where? Oppa’s?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s only like a two minute walk away. I’ll be back in no time.”

Din froze. He could say no, maybe risk her getting caught with the credits once they returned to Nevarro. And while the idea just slightly made him smile, he knew that what would result from her being caught would be more than a slap on the wrist. “Fine. But I am coming with you.”

“Shouldn’t you stay on the ship? All the credits are here.” Bullet asked.

“No one saw us. I’ll just lock the ship and it will only be a few minutes. Anyways, I don’t-” Din froze, stopping himself mid sentence.

Bullet’s eyebrow quirked up slightly. “You don’t trust me.” she said, giving him a small nod. She didn’t seem annoyed by it or angered by it. She actually seemed to understand. 

Instead of saying anything else, she began to walk down the ramp of the Crest. Din followed closely behind, closing the door to the ship briefly before catching up to her. At this point, it was well into evening, the double suns beginning to skirt the horizon as a deep orange bloomed in the sky. Din took note of it, taking a second to look and appreciate it before he continued to follow the woman. 

She hadn’t lied. The place was only a couple minute walk away, and Din didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it earlier. It was a bigger building but looked run down, even more so than things on Tatooine usually looked due to the sand and sun. Outside of it, a group of small children played in the sand, chasing each other and causing fits of giggles to pop out of their mouths. Bullet froze before they got to close to it, looking back at Din. “Just stay here please.”

Din felt a bit of shock course through him. He hadn’t heard her say please once. It seemed like a word so unfit for a woman like her. A woman who demanded, not pleaded. But he heard her say the word and saw the way her face had softened considerably. Din gave her a short nod and she turned, beginning to walk towards the building.

The children looked up, seeing her and began to run over. Din couldn’t hear much but saw the way they all reached up for a hug and shouted gleefully. Din tilted his helmet. He couldn’t imagine the woman he had been working with being good with kids, nor liking them for the matter. But he watched as she gave each of them an individual hug, crouching down to talk to them for a moment before a woman walked out of the building. Bullet rose, looking over at her and talking for a minute. Din watched as she handed her a bag and he recognized it as the pouch of credits. She hadn’t lied. It really wasn’t for her. 

The woman threw her hands around Bullet, giving her a tight hug before she pulled away. She called something out, resulting in the kids rushing inside. Bullet gave one final nod before walking away, back towards where Din stood, studying her. Once she made her way in front of him, she gave him a small nod. “Thanks.”

Din nodded and began to turn away. He had no plans to make conversation but he wanted to know what that place was. Why she was handing over ten thousand credits to them. “What was that place?”

Bullet stayed silent for a minute and Din worried she wouldn’t respond, that he had possibly crossed an unspoken line set in the sand. “An orphanage.”

Din looked over at her, but she kept her eyes trained in front of her. He shook his head, not asking any more questions. He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt a strange inkling of respect for her. She hadn’t lied about not keeping the money. In fact, she had given it to something that needed it far more than either of them did.

And while Din didn’t agree with breaking the rules, nor taking the money for themselves, he couldn’t help but to think the money would be much better in the hands of an orphanage that needed it rather than a bunch of men from Coruscant that were already richer that one could even fathom. Once they made it into the ship, Bullet paused and looked back at Din. He couldn’t read her expression when she stared at him. Instead of saying anything, she just began to take off her blasters and her knife, handing them over to Din.

The Mandalorian froze, just looking down at the weapons but making no attempt to take them. Bullet let out a sigh and pushed her hands towards them more. “I am going to sleep. Take them.”

Din looked up at her. She did look exhausted. “Why?”

“I trust you won’t kill me in the middle of the night. Maybe that’s dumb but I have a feeling.” Bullet said, shrugging lamely as her hands remained held out. “And you don’t trust me so... here.”

Din tilted his helmet at her. He began to walk away, leaving her hands outstretched but not taking the weapons from them. “Keep them.” He made it to the ladder that led to the cockpit, sparing her one last glance. “Just sleep down here.”

Bullet’s hands still held the weapons but she looked up at him with a curious expression. She didn’t ask why he hadn’t taken them, which Din was grateful for because he didn’t even understood why he hadn’t done so. She had offered willingly but it felt wrong to do so. 

Instead of saying anything, she gave a small nod and dropped down to the ground, leaning against a stack of crates.

Din looked away, traveling into the cockpit and punched in the coordinates for Nevarro.

___________________

When the Razor Crest landed on Nevarro and the two bounty hunters made their way down the ramp, they were met with the smiling face of Greef Karga. He held his hands out as he saw the two, looking triumphant like he himself had caught the bounty. “Glad to see you are both here!”

“Yeah. We didn’t kill each other.” Bullet said. Din couldn’t tell if there was a hint of sarcasm or if she was being literal, but either way it made him smirk a little.

“That was impressively fast. Everything go smoothly?” 

“The credits are short. He spent about twenty thousand of them on liquor, gambling, and woman so...” Bullet trailed off.

Din held his breath, looking over at Karga would let out a small sigh. “Yeah. The client expected that. No worries, I am sure they will be happy you got the rest of them.”

Bullet slowly looked over at Din and to the naked eye her expression would make no sense. But he could see the small glint in her eye, telling him ‘I told you so’. Instead of saying anything, Din just turned back to Karga as Bullet began speaking again. “Oh, and he is dead.”

Karga now froze, his smile dropping from his face completely as he looked back and forth between the two. “He was supposed to be alive.”

“I know but complications arose.” Bullet tried to justify but for the first time, Din saw Karga roll his eyes and look at her in annoyance. Din couldn’t think of one time he had seen the man look angered, but he understood. Bullet seemed to do that to people.

“Dammit, Bullet. You can’t keep doing this. I can’t save your ass every time.” Karga hissed at her, sparing no attention to Din. Din watched Bullet’s expression drop slightly.

“It couldn’t be avoided.” Bullet countered but Karga shook his head.

“I don’t believe it.” Karga said.

“I killed him.” Din said, shocking himself as well as Karga and Bullet, whose heads both whipped over to look at him. Bullet raised her eyebrow just slightly. 

“You killed him?” Karga asked, a bit of disbelief written on his face

“He was attacking Bullet. There was no other option.”

Karga froze before nodding his head. “Okay. Fine.” Somebody caught Karga’s attention and he walked to them, leaving the two alone.

Bullet put her arms over her chest, looking up at Din. “Why did you do that?”

Upon thinking about it, Din had no clue why he did it. He means, he knew Karga would believe him more than her considering her track record. Wouldn’t be upset with her and she wouldn’t face any repercussions. But Din didn’t know why he cared whether or not she did. He could of shrugged it off, disregarding it because he had no plans to see her ever again. But saying it was him felt like the right thing to do.  Instead of explaining all of that though, Din just shrugged and looked away from her to watch the people who began grabbing the bounty and credits from his ship. 

“Thank you.” Bullet said, giving him a softer look than she ever had before. 

Din cleared his throat, looking away from her. “You may want to stop killing your bounties, though.”

“Duly noted.” Bullet responded and this time Din could definitely hear a hint of sarcasm. 

They stayed standing in silence until Karga returned. “Okay, your awards have been delivered directly to your ships.”

“Good.” Bullet said and Din nodded in agreement.

Karga looked between the two, a small smile forming. “How did working together go?”

“Fine.” The two both said at the same.

Karga let out a chuckle. “You two are very similar. Was curious how it would work out.”

Bullet shrugged. “Yeah, yeah. It was great. Thanks for setting us up.” she muttered, seeming to revert back to how she normally was. “Give me some bounties.”

Karga looked at her in slight shock. “I just gave you my biggest bounty.”

“And I did it. Hence needing more bounties.” Bullet responded plainly.

Karga let out a sigh. “Maybe you could take a break.”

“Funny joke.” Bullet plainly said, no hint of a smile or laughter on her face. “C’mon, big boy. Give me them.”

Karga rolled his eyes and looked over at Din. “I assume you will want some too?”

Din only nodded and Karga reached into his pocket. “Don’t know how you two do this. Y’know, taking breaks is actually healthy.”

Bullet scoffed. “Screw off. We are your best hunters. Wouldn’t last a week without us.”

She held her hand out as Karga dropped three fobs into them, doing the same to Din next. “I only have three for each of you. And I am not giving you more when you just got a very generous bounty.” 

“Fine.” Bullet said.

“Okay.” Din nodded, looking down at the three fobs in his hands.

“I’ve got some business to attend to. You two have a good time.” Karga said, giving them one last grin before walking off.

Bullet and Din both stood side by side for a moment. Din was the first to move, stepping back and giving her a short nod. “Goodbye.”

Bullet gave him a small nod as he made his way towards the ramp of his ship. He had nearly made it all the way in when he heard the woman call out for him. “Hey, Mando!”

He turned around slowly, looking at her as she gave him a small grin. “What?”

“You are a good bounty hunter.” Din didn’t know what to say, standing still as she continued. “So am I. How about some friendly competition?”

Din froze. He didn’t do competitions, especially with people. It wasn’t his thing because it required communicating with them and interacting with them. He also never felt the need to prove anything. So he wasn’t one for ‘friendly’ competition. But as he saw the woman smile up at him, a slight glimmer in her eyes, he was intrigued. And he hated how she always seemed to make him feel that way but so far, she had proven to be interesting at every turn. And maybe after all, Din needed just a little bit of excitement in his life. “What is it?”

“We both have three bounties. Whoever gets all three in quickest gets a portion of the loser’s winnings.” 

Din considered the idea. He had always gotten his bounties in quickly, but also on his own accord. He never rushed to try to get them in fastest or worried about someone else doing better than him. It wasn’t his way. But maybe, just maybe... he could do it this once. 

He probably should of asked her why she wanted to do it. Because for him, he didn’t really care about the credits he could possibly win. And if it wasn’t about bounties, that meant it was either for the thrill of competition or because he wasn’t opposed to the idea of seeing her again, if only to just rub in her face that he could win. But why had she offered it? Just for bounties or did she also not mind the prospect of crossing paths with the Mandalorian once again? Instead of inquiring as to why, Din gave a sharp nod and her grin grew even bigger. 

“Well then, good luck.” she said teasingly.

“Good luck.” Din said but Bullet let out a chuckle.

“Oh, I am not the one who needs it here.” Din didn’t have a chance to retort before she began to jog away, giving him a wink before she disappeared.

Din closed the door to the Crest, leaning his back against it for a moment and taking in a breath. He didn’t know what he was doing. It all felt like uncharted territory. And he hated to admit it, but it was just the tiniest bit exciting. 

Din marched up to the cockpit, slipping into his seat and punching in the coordinates of his first bounty. 

He hadn’t even realized it, but for the first time in a while, Din felt a little excited.

[seijohsfairy]

you’ve been in love with kuroo tetsuro for years, silently supporting from the sidelines. it’s where you feel comfortable, felt- comfortable. so now that kuroo finds out you’re his most loyal fan?

.wordc. 9.5k tw manipulation, degradation!, corruption, bullying, dubcon/noncon, coercion, yandere kuroo, fingering, oral, Kuroo is on the world’s biggest ego trip

.author’s note. I finally finished this monster after struggling for so long ( ɵ̥̥ ˑ̫ ɵ̥̥) inspired by fanatic by @/jackrrabbit​. if you want to read an amazing bullying smut, it’s seriously perfection

+

An obsession. If someone asked, you’d never call it that. An appreciation of the sport maybe, or of the hard work and dedication of the players. But an obsession might’ve been more accurate, as you have been a fan for years now. At least you can admit it to yourself. Not a day goes by where you forget to think about volleyball, and more in particular, him. It’s not your fault it makes you so happy… It’s not at all, and yet—

You’re able to watch the young men through the open doors of the gym, the resounding bangs of spikes flattening against the polished floor filling the building. You huff out in the afternoon sun and hide under the sun-bleached, red parasol as best you can, before wiping a bead of sweat from your temple. Soon everyone will be pouring out of the classrooms, which brings a smile to your face. But for now, you spare another look inside the bright hall, following the red jerseys as they move swiftly around the court. The speed at which the balls connect with the floor have always impressed you, but your eyes are instead on the middle of the group, tracing the number one mindlessly.

“Senpai, are you alright?” your junior squeaks out. You flinch in surprise at her question, almost dropping the drink you’re holding in the process. Her short brown hair sticks to her face where a wide-eyed expression marks it, though a small, unsure smile stays in place. You quickly bring out a laugh though, waving off her concern.

“Oh, yeah! Sorry,” you put down the glass can and press your cool fingers to your forehead, smiling, “the heat just makes it hard to actually pay attention. Could you repeat that, please?”

“I’m just so glad you suggested this, s’all!” she beams, putting the last of the lemonade out on the table, each can in between ice packs. They’re already dripping, coming summertime close to unbearable. “My big brother always talks about the fanclub at home and that other teams don’t have a fanclub near as good as ours!” You smile at her while you pour chunks of ice into the white wine, putting it out too. The entire table is decorated with the team colors, flyers to one side, donation jar and cash register on the other, with all the drinks, ice pops and watermelon slices in the middle.

You even made all of the small, red cat charms that hang from the parasol yourself. A bit overkill perhaps, but no effort really feels big enough when you’re as dedicated to a team as you are, even if it’s embarrassing to say. But well… you’d do just about anything to support Nekoma and the man you’ve been crushing on for years now. While you peer up at the windows of the classrooms, mentally keeping track of just how much longer you’d have to wait for the rest of the fanclub to join you, you miss the proud look the younger girl sends your way. Yui, the libero’s younger sister, pulls her hair up in a tiny ponytail. “You must be so proud since you started it all by yourself.”

You look back down at her, flushing. “Of course I am proud of the fanclub, but I’m even more proud of our team. Y’know, I’ve been watching some of them since middle school and they all seem to enjoy it so much. It makes me want to support them in any way I can.” You’ve taken the requests of the team to heart to the best of your ability. Hopefully you can sell a lot, they’d really need new cleaning equipment and some of the shorts and jerseys could definitely be replaced with new ones.

“Of course Nekoma’s angel would say that,” a voice giggles, the black haired girl strolling up behind you. All the others walk close behind, right when the bell indicating the last class rings. The rest of the fanclub waves politely, many of the girls with their own healthy flush. “Make some space, Mrs. Kuroo, everyone will be getting out in a minute or so.” You give the other third-year a little poke in her side, looking down at the menu as you pick at the corner of the laminated sheet. It’s so silly, but the nickname makes you all warm inside. How nice it would be to actually be… well. You shouldn’t think so far ahead, or not ahead at all, since Kuroo Tetsuro has absolutely zero interest in you. The overflowing amount of love you have for him isn’t making up for anything.

“Don’t call me Mrs. Kuroo. It’s embarrassing,” you tell the raven-haired girl, glancing back inside the hall for just a moment to watch as said man gulps down his water, sweat drenching his hairline and dripping down his chin. “Even if I like it, he doesn’t know I exist.” Some of the girls coo at your admission, all of them at least aware that you’ve looked up to the Captain for years. Your friend sends you a knowing look, before cracking her fingers and getting to work on the cash register. She’s been trying to get you to say something for months, and with the last few weeks of high school growing closer and closer, you can’t even blame her.

But what would you even say to the guy you’ve crushed on for so long? After all, you’ve been in his class for three years now and he never once spoke to you directly either. He’d probably be creeped out by your dedication to him. Before you can think of any more, bunches of students start pouring out of the buildings, looking tired out by the day. When they see your stand, many of them light up, already taking out their wallets to get some cool lemonade. You clap your hands and look at the girls surrounding you, before nodding. “Alright, let’s do this! We’re going to sell everything out today. Yui, you get that side?” You turn to the first few customers and put on your best smile, handing them a menu. “Welcome to the Neko Outdoor Café! Would you like a drink?”

///

“Captain!” Yamamoto calls, pout more pronounced with each passing second. “Please let us take a break. Please.” He’s about to get on his knees and beg. “Come on, man. I need this.”

The raven haired man just lifts a brow in his direction, before turning his attention back to the bench so he can tie his shoelaces properly. “Shut up, you’re being noisy.” He doesn’t care to ask what the guy is on about, already more than annoyed at having to practice in this sweltering heat. Every movement feels slower than usual, it’s pissing him off.

“They’re going to sell out and leave, Captain!” the other tries again, tugging at the edge of Kuroo’s jersey like a child. In fact, he looks like he might burst into tears. The Captain ignores him.

“I’m sure they’re keeping some extras for us,” Yaku tries, smacking Lev’s hand away from his water bottle and downing the last of it.

Kenma hums. “You know they wouldn’t leave us with nothing, they’re all so thoughtful.” The setter is already trying to soothe a teary-eyed Yamamoto, while Kuroo straightens out to wipe himself down with a towel. “They probably have a whole pack of ice lollies stored away for after practice. Our cheer squad leader wouldn’t be caught dead forgetting about anyone.” At the mention of your name, the Captain frowns, the sound unfamiliar. “She even remembered to bring some mango for me last time, and I don’t even remember telling her I don’t like watermelon that much.”

“Who now?” Kuroo frowns. He pokes out his tongue to wet his lips, following his team’s gazes to outside the gym, where rows of students are lining up. He can just see the edge of a red table, curiosity peaked.

Kenma’s face blanks when he looks over at his long time friend. “The leader of the fanclub? She’s been to every one of our matches since like… eighth grade or something. How have you never noticed her?” Some of the boys turn to him in confusion too. Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest, before chewing on his answer. It’s not that he ignores anyone on purpose. But your name doesn’t ring a bell, neither does the description.

“Pretty sure she really likes you, too,” Lev suddenly says, getting up from his spot on the floor to bound closer to the door to watch past it. “She always wears clothes with the number 1 and your name on it. She’s very nice, she bought me chocolate milk after our last game.” He stares out the door for a moment longer, before perking up and waving for his older teammates’ attention. “Ooh ooh, she has ice creams for us, she’s calling. Can we please take a break, Captain?”

Everyone turns to the third year. Even Kenma is giving him an unspoken question with his expression. “Fine, whatever,” Kuroo just sighs, giving into their antics. “But after that we’re getting back to spike training and you better all jump higher than I’ve ever seen you jump.”

While waiting in line, he asks to point you out. You’re busy smiling at every single student that comes by, colored shadow falling over you because of the sun shade that is just as red as the rest of the table. Just as red as your flushed face, and as red as the shirt that you’re wearing with his name on it. You look kind, with a childlike joy on your face, innocent in the way you beam out warmth. And after staring at you for a while, you do start to look a bit familiar. Huh. So this is what his biggest fan looks like. He’s not let down, not exactly, though he does wish that you’d focus less on the lemonade and more on him as he waits in line with the rest of the team. But it’s understandable, you’re just trying your best. Even he can see that.

Suddenly, you look up from the cash register, having been shoved in the side with an elbow by your friend and in the split second he catches your eyes, he can see several emotions flash in them. The last one before you look away is definitely wide-eyed mortification though. You look away from him and turn to your friend, whispering something in her ear as your cheeks grow red-hot. You blank at her answer, before biting your lip. It’s strange, but something in the things you do are cute to him. How you nervously toy with the edge of your shirt. How you try to keep your eyes on the ground but glance back every so often anyway. How you put on a smile. You must really, truly like him. And he can’t say he doesn’t like at least that. That innocent expression on your face is to die for. Really.

After a minute or so, you seem to gather your wits and look up to walk from behind the stall. “Guys, you don’t have to wait in line. Come up here,” you wave them over, not looking at him at all. Somehow, this only makes him giddier, wanting to see you flush even harder. Maybe you’d pass out if he talked to you. Maybe you’d cry. Would you even be able to handle it if he got any closer? The smirk that clings to his lips is one of ego-filled happiness, he can’t help himself. Something about you makes him feel like he’d be able to break you with the slightest of pressure, and though he’s never quite wanted to control someone like that, he can’t say it doesn’t feel exhilarating.

Everyone moves out of the one line to skip to the front, as you busy yourself by glancing under the tables to pull out an extra cooler, opening it swiftly. That way your skirt pulls up insanely high, though you try to keep it down with one hand. Oblivious to what you’re doing, surely. His cute, little fan. He’ll have to give you a lesson on proper manners, but not now. All in due time. When everyone starts thanking you, you just rub your neck, straightening back up.

“How much are they?” Kenma asks, “I’ll pay. Is it alright if I get the money to you after practice though?”

“No, no!” you beam, “they’re free for you guys! I could hardly let our own team pay for some stupid ice pops and lemonade.” You don’t hesitate to smile at Kenma. Kuroo holds his tongue from breaking into your conversation for now, instead taking one of the watermelon slices and biting into it. You seem to sink into yourself a bit when he turns back in your direction, almost as if you’re trying to disappear into the background entirely. Would be hard though, with that bright a shirt. “We also have wine if the adults want any,” you continue, shooting Kai and Yaku a guilty glance then and trailing off. “Though that might not be a good idea if you’re still practicing.”

You still have yet to look back at him, creating a void of something in the pit of his stomach. Why don’t you want to look at him as much as he wants to look at you? “Are there any strawberry pops?” Lev asks, probably aimed at you but Kuroo’s already taking a step towards you before you can answer.

This way you’re not able to ignore him any longer. Your eyes are so big and stunned when you glance up at him, tilting your head back just so you can look him in the face. There you are, he thinks. You pull a lip into your mouth, cheeks burning with color. Your chest heaving up and down, heart clearly pounding so hard he swears he can hear it. And Kuroo is living for it, the thrill of making you so affected by his presence undeniable. He wants to be the one to make you so flustered, wants to be the one to taint it too. He does know that’s probably not normal, but it’s so tempting. He smiles down at you, watching when your lips tremble softly. Cute. He softly calls out your name, grinning wider when you seem to mellow for a moment at the sound. “Did you do all this yourself?” he asks, enjoying the starstruck expression on your face.

You have to take a moment to get yourself back on track, clearly. Understandable. “Mhm,” you manage though, looking anywhere but him again when you realize you’re staring. “W-Well, everyone helped plan it, of course. I just made everything they planned out.”

“Yeah?” His smirk has yet to leave his face, but if it could grow any wider, now would be the time. You give a shy nod, looking back up at him for a moment. “The lemonade looks good. The watermelon’s good too.”

You’re practically glowing at his compliment, taking a step back to roll yourself back and forth on the balls of your feet. He wants to place his hands on your shoulders to keep you still, but really, you might just faint if he does so he holds himself back. “T-thank you s-so much! I’m glad you like it. I hope you’ll be able to use the funds well, but if you ever need anything else, you can always ask me,” you lift your shoulder and smile at him for just a moment, blush still raging on your face. You blank then, quickly adding, “or any of the other girls! We’re all here to support you, so… p-please keep working hard and doing your best a bit longer!” You’re stuttering like crazy too. He’ll have to work that out of you.

Before he can say anything else, someone calls for your name, so you quickly bow and rush back to your spot behind the stall. The girls giggle and poke at you, some of them hardly subtle in their whispering and cooing. And Kuroo smiles, because he might have just found something new to peak his interest.

///

You couldn’t have known. Not really. You couldn’t have known the full extent of his anger and definitely not how it would turn on you. So why does it feel like you made a horrible mistake? As you are sweeping the last of the hall, you hear the familiar, resounding echo of volleyballs smacking against the smooth surface. It’s a sound that’s long grown near and dear to your heart. Still, you put the brush to the side to make your way to the gym door where it stands swung open. It’s a Friday. The Nekoma team doesn’t play volleyball after school hours on Fridays. You frown as you peek around the cold, metal door into the otherwise vacant hall. As the class representative this term, you’re basically expected to be the last one here.

The man causing the constant butterflies in your stomach is facing away from you, frustration seeming to radiate off him in angry, black swirls as he throws balls against the wall, making continuous tosses to himself. You wait for a moment longer, glancing back into the school building as you debate your options. Though you were unable to watch the end of practice, you saw the beginning. Kuroo was anything but the collected player he normally is, the sight of it making your heart ache. Very hesitantly, you knock your knuckles against the metal. You rather wouldn’t be putting yourself in his proximity by choice, last time enough to make you so flushed and flustered you were stumbling all over your words.

Still though, you just want to help him. Maybe you could make him feel just a bit better. “Kuroo-san?” you try softly when he doesn’t react. He catches the ball at your call, pausing for a second. Then he turns to you. A shadow on his face, tall shape seeming to loom over you even from afar. You dig your nails into your own palms at the sharp glare that’s sent your way, his eyes flicking over your entire body, coming to rest back on your face. He doesn’t say anything, so you try to gather your courage and clear your voice, taking a step into the gym. “I- Sorry, I heard you still practicing. Are you- I mean- I don’t want to assume or anything, b-but- you don’t normally practice on Friday.”

The brief flicker of courage you had soon sinks deep within the pit of your chest as the silence continues. He bounces the ball on the floor once before catching it again, lifting one of his brows. Still with that gleam in his eyes, the one set off by the darkness cast around him. Then he sighs, and in a second his smile is plastered back on. The smile you’ve grown so used to seeing from afar, but it doesn’t feel quite right. It certainly doesn’t reach his eyes. It looks a bit off too, lopsided like he’s trying to convince himself to keep it up. “You— Ah, you’re the… fan club girl,” he nods. He tosses the ball up a few times, seemingly thinking, before he clicks his tongue. His deep voice resonates through the empty hall. “Yeah, sorry if I’m bothering you. I wanted to get some more practice in.”

You wring your hands into the front of your shirt, mindlessly bunching it up in between your fingers. When his eyes are back on you, you have to fight yourself from taking a step back. “No, you’re not bothering me at all, I don’t expect any less from our team Captain.” You swallow. Then, barely louder than the thumping of your heartbeat against your ribs, a thought tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “Would you like me to help you practice for a bit?” It’s a little thing, so small, and you’ve done it for Lev and Kenma plenty of times. But your hands shake when you ask.

Kuroo’s eyebrows pull tightly together, his expression looking so off-putting even when you normally think everything about him is beautiful. You think he’s perfect, even drenched entirely in sweat and with grooves dug deep under his eyes, exhausted to the bone, so why? Why does he glare at you this way, and how can you make your heart stop wavering in your chest? You briefly stand there to think about what you just said, trying to figure out exactly what you did wrong to make him feel even more shitty, but come up blank. He must have misread your tone of voice, or maybe you had a dumb expression on your face. Just some stupid mistake you made. That’s the only explanation you have why amazing, gorgeous, perfect star player Kuroo is acting the way he is.

“Do you even know anything about volleyball? You don’t look like you do.” The sharp comment feels like a slap to the face, and you take in a little breath as you attempt to rid the unsettling tension between you two. Maybe soothing him isn’t the way to go, but you know Kuroo makes himself feel better with practice and that is something you can do. For him, you could for hours.

“I— I can… serve alright,” you hesitate, looking from his face to his shoes instead. “I know a l-lot about volleyball and though I- I might not be the best, I’d still help, right?” His sharp eyes are still on you like an accusation, and no, no, no, this is all wrong but you don’t know how to fix it.

“Aah,” Kuroo coos then, chuckling to himself as he passes the ball your way, “you want to help me.” You barely catch it, clutching it close to your chest as he motions you closer with his hand. “O‘course you do.” With sheepish steps you make your way toward him because he asked, staying an arm’s length away for your own poor heart. Last time you were this close to Kuroo, all you could do was give some mindless encouragement, even though you were trying. You just couldn’t help get flustered back then. A cold shiver makes its way up your spine though, and you fight the pressing feeling to run. This is your favorite person in the world you’re looking at, and you’d do anything for him. You would, really. “Because you’re my fan, aren’t you?” he echoes your thoughts, and you bob your head in reply.

Your voice is barely above a whisper now, throat closing up when he leans in as if to inspect you more thoroughly. “Yes, of course, Kuroo-san. I’ve been a fan since I first saw you play a match back in middle school.” You wince at your honesty. Don’t tell him that, your mind screams, but it’s too late. All you can do is bite your lip to keep more from tumbling out.

“Yeah, yeah, so I heard.” He gleams, petting your hair and you try to keep your elation to a minimum, because his eyes are still just as sharp as they were when you first walked in, but butterflies flutter in your stomach. His fingers linger for a moment, the weight of his hand making your heart jump. It’s gone soon enough. “You in my class?” You nod eagerly, but while you do he’s already speaking again. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You’re my biggest fan, huh?” He’s leaning closer again, closer, too close, almost like he’s going to kiss you and you might sink through the floor if he gets any closer.

You try not to let the faint smell of his cologne overwhelm you, his face flushed at the edges of his cheeks because of the exertion. You open your mouth to figure out a response again, but Kuroo is faster. “You come to each match, hoping I’d notice you, right? Begging for my attention like a little kid, wearing my name on your body like that. Don’t you feel embarrassed?”

It takes your brain a while to unfilter the words, playing and replaying them now that you take a step back. “Aren’t you embarrassed to be so obsessed with me? Such a cute, little fangirl, just begging for a look your way?” No. It’s not like that, you are not like that. You’re not obsessed, you just care a lot about him. About the entire team. “Pretending to be into volleyball so you can talk to me, right? Do you talk to Yaku’s sister so you can get to me? Do you talk to Kenma so you can get to me too?” You want him to stop talking, why is he still talking? Why is he acting this way at all?

“N-No, it’s not like that,” you bring out, flushing when his hand wraps around your one shoulder to keep you from backing away from him. He straightens out to his full height, towering above you and as you follow his tall body up to his expression, you hate how he is smiling. A loathing, off-centered smile that gleams on his handsome face. The feeling to run grows so strong in your mind that for a moment you can barely ignore it. There’s something wrong. But of course you remain, you just want to make him feel better. “It’s not like that at all. They are my friends. I love volleyball.”

“You love me, Y/N-chan?” he asks then, dark eyes glazing over.

“I— I’m your biggest fan,” you settle on responding. Wouldn’t it be too much to admit you love him, even if you do? He doesn’t seem to take it, looking down at you with thinly veiled irritation now. The fingers on your shoulder tighten, though you’re too distracted to notice. “I mean- Of course I… love… you, but not in an obsessed way! I just have a lot of respect for how hard you work,” you drawl out, throat closing up when the gleam on Kuroo’s face seems to drop in favor of something softer. Something like admiration. You used to love how he would wear his emotions on his face, but now it’s too much. He’s still not satisfied, you can see it. “And I’d do anything to make you feel better so-”

“Hah. Aren’t you just incredibly sweet,” he sighs, finally letting go of your shoulder. You can feel the weight of it long after it’s gone, warmth trailing down your limbs tentatively. You’re so glad you let out a trembling puff of relief. He takes a deep breath, before he smiles again. Softer, familiar, and your heart slowly comes back to life. This is how it’s meant to go, this is how you always imagined it as Kuroo leans down to brush a strand of hair away from your face back behind your ear, sweet and tender. Hair that you keep longer than you’d want because you know Kuroo likes it that way. You’re sure your stress of earlier was showing on your face, cheeks burning for attention. “You’re so pretty like this, my little fangirl. Mine.”

You don’t miss the drop in his voice, a possessive tone that seems misplaced. As he brushes a knuckle past your cheekbone, tingles pool in your belly. “I’ve had a really tough day today, you have no idea. But I’m glad you’re here now. I think I do know how to fix my shitty mood, actually!” He takes your hands in his then, enveloping them with soft traces of his fingers. He pulls you toward the side of the gym, dragging you behind him. Kuroo Tetsuro is holding your hands. It feels too quick, sprung on you so suddenly it makes your head spin, but they are just so warm around yours like you hoped they’d be. The dark-haired man looks back over his shoulder. “You said you will help me, right?”

“Mhm,” you smile, watching him, how his shoulders move under the red volley jersey and his hair waves softly with each step. And he’s still holding your hand. This must be a dream. You’re on a mindless path until he walks you past the lockers and the damp feeling of the shower air hit your face. That’s when you slow your feet and pull against him a little, blinking out of your daze to glance to the side. Kuroo turns to face you. “Hey, this is the boys’ room.” Your obvious statement makes him chuckle, one hand coming up to cup your cheeks and though it’s insanely overwhelming, you don’t have the heart to pull back. He squishes your cheeks together until your lips turn into a cute, little pout.

“You’ve never been in a boys’ locker room, sweet thing? You’re just that good, huh?” Kuroo stares you down with his pretty, golden eyes while you fail to answer. Isn’t being good supposed to be a positive thing? But he says it like it’s something dirty, like you’re not quite right and you can’t help the sinking feeling that fills you to the brim. He pushes the door to your side into lock, the loud clang making your heart race. When he turns back to you, the darkness in his face is what scares you most.

Cats don’t eat cats, do they—

He doesn’t hesitate to grab you by the shoulder and shoves you up against the lockers, your back connecting with the cold metal sharply. You wince, his hand still around your cheeks. It’s so much bigger than you, you realize, he’s so much bigger than you. That never scared you before, but now you’re painfully aware of the looming shape and the way he’s able to look down at you like this. You swallow and keep his golden gaze. But he releases his hold on your face to hold the back of your neck, long fingers splayed across the soft skin, before leaning down so far into you, you can feel the tremble of his breath on your face. “Would you like me to kiss you?”

Your eyes are wide, unbelieving. Of course you do, but… You wait for what feels like a lifetime, his warmth too close to you. You can’t say no, can you? So you nod and drop your shoulders, eyes fluttering closed. If he were to kiss you all those uncomfortable feelings swirling inside would surely vanish. Kuroo hovers his lips over yours, you can feel them so close, but no more than that. And he chuckles, tilting your head to the side with two fingers instead. “No. You don’t deserve it yet. Don’t you think you have to work a bit harder for it? I know you’re good at that.”

He walks toward you until you’re fully pinned to the cold locker in between his legs, as he connects his lips with your neck. His lips are so hot, like steaming coals on you, and you can’t help but grab onto his bicep for support. It flexes under your touch. He kisses down your throat and jaw, lips dragging trails of kisses and tongue carving paths down to your collarbones and to the edge of your shirt.

And you’re so overwhelmed that the person you’ve loved for so long is actually touching you, that you don’t notice how tight his grip is wrapped around your neck, fingertips pressing ovals into the expanse. “You just wanted this the whole time, huh,” he coos, voice sickly sweet. But when he looks up at you from under those lashes, the gold in his eyes has the sharpness of a blade, daring you to reply. You shudder when his hand drops down to drag your shirt up. “Bet you’ve had so many guys hoping that one of them would feel and taste like me.” He unceremoniously shoves it up from your body, over your shoulders. You look to the side where it drops to the floor, your school uniform a crumpled mess.

“Kuroo-san,” you bring out, self consciously wrapping your arms around yourself to cover up. You don’t like this. You don’t like him telling you that you’ve had people just to prepare for him, don’t like him eating up the sight of you like you’re a piece of meat and you definitely don’t like how he presses his thigh in between your legs to pin you up to the locker. “W-what are you doing?”

He huffs in amusement, tangling his fingers into the hair at the top of your neck to tug back your gaze towards his. “You can drop the politeness, silly girl,” he says again, letting go to brush softer circles into your skull. His lips brush over yours as you stand there, trembling, unsure what to do. How can you say no to him if he’s here, so close, with you for the first time in ever? He taps his fingers on your hands to make you release your hold on yourself, which you do with a bit more coaching. Maybe you just think this is going way too fast because it is him. The boy that offers his friends water before drinking himself, the one with the loud laugh that rings through the halls and makes your heart thump. The guy you’ve been head over heels with. That one.

This is okay, you say to yourself, calm down. His other hand traces along the bottom of your bra as soon as you drop your arms to the side, slipping a finger under just enough to lift it from your skin and you shiver. “You gonna take this off for me?” he asks, rubbing his thigh in between yours more. You can’t answer because you’re dropping your head back against the locker, overwhelmed and unsure still, with the lack of oxygen getting to you all you can do is let out a little whimper. You don’t know a lot about this, you’re sure he does. The hand around your neck drops so he can flip your skirt up, chuckling at your cute panties. You look down in embarrassment and attempt to shove the plaid fabric back down over your thighs but then he lets out a growl, holding it in place. “You wear my name on your body like my personal whore. Don’t play too shy to follow through.”

His long fingers trace over the edges of the panties, where you take deep breaths to calm down. You can’t help but push your waist down on his muscular leg for some friction, looking to the side when he chuckles. “You really are a little slut.” This time you shake your head though, pouting at him.

“I’m not, Kuroo.”

“Liar,” he breathes, pressing his nose to the crook of your neck. “You act like a well-mannered princess but we both know you want to be put in your place.” Not waiting up for a response, he lifts you by your thighs up higher, so he can bury his face into your covered chest, dragging his tongue over the one cup. You can feel the wetness of his tongue seep through the lacy fabric onto your skin. It’s warm and uncomfortable, his breath cooling your skin down instantly. “If you’re not going to take it off, I will,” he gleams, looking up to check your expression again. Ever so slowly he starts pushing the fabric up, not bothering to unhook the piece of clothing. Instead he toys with brushing over your pointed nipples, kissing up your sternum. His eyes flick to yours continuously, like he’s making a show of undressing you. He licks his lips, leaning towards you again.

“Kuroo,” you manage to mumble, resting your one hand on his shoulder to push him away from you. You stumble when you land back on your feet, looking down at the floor. Burning heat covers your entire face, from your cheeks up to your ears. It’s physically painful to be so near him, and the tight grip on your thighs isn’t helping. Your heart is pitter pattering so hard it might break through your ribcage. Despite how much you dreamed about falling in love with him, it wasn’t like this. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I have to lock up the halls and go home.” Your friend’s voice rings through your head then, something about bad guys and the way they prey on kind girls like you, creating cold goosebumps along your arms again. Kuroo Tetsuro can’t be one of those guys, you’ve looked up to him for so long. If he is, what would you even do? “I want to—”

“Don’t lie,” he interrupts, glaring up at your disapproval, “don’t ruin this for me.” Without hesitation he locks his mouth onto your exposed skin, rubbing his knee against your covered center, hard. It sends a spike of heat down your body. You breathe out at the rough laving of his tongue, only soothing after he sucked and bit the tender skin. His one hand reaches up to pull down your panties from under your skirt as soon as you’re closing your eyes, and though you open your mouth to stop him he shuts you up by pinching your thigh sharply between his long fingers. “I told you to stop lying to me. Whatever comes out of that pretty mouth next best be the truth.” He trails his digits up and down a few times, the slightest soothing to your anxiety.

“I… I just don’t—” you swallow, looking away from his eyes to focus on the shine of the lights. They make your eyes burn, but at least you don’t have to undergo his vicious glare this way. It really feels like he despises you for even breathing in his direction, though then why would he be kneeled in front of you. The conflict makes you nauseous, more insecure than you’ve ever been around him and your throat closes up a bit. When his stroking stills, you push through the words anyway. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

He laughs. A warm, bubbly sound against your thigh. “No one’s ever stuffed you with their fingers before?” He looks gleeful, nuzzling your hip in a too-intimate gesture. You’re his fan, but he barely knows anything about you. You slowly shake your head, cheeks warming. His hands start moving again as he shuffles closer between your thighs so his mouth is level with your chest. As he eyes you up and down, he giggles to himself. “Did my slutty fan get herself off on the thought of me? D’you beg for me when coming around your useless, little fingers?” You bite your lip, eyes flicking down at him when he calls your name. “I’m waiting for an answer~”

“I don’t—,” you bite out, flustered and feeling small. He must hear the edge in your voice. With a quick flick of his wrist, he brings his down on your thigh, pinching you hard for good measure. You yelp and grab hold of his head to steady yourself, before quickly pulling your hand away again. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Wanna try again?” he mumbles though, trailing two fingers up and down the crotch of your panties. It feels warm, and really good, but you’re still cold to the touch. Is this really okay? You doubt it. When he starts licking at the edge of your panties you shudder, letting your weight fall into the sturdy locker for support. “Hm, d’you get off to me?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth. You might have touched yourself down there once or twice, but in your imagination that was always long after he’d gotten to know you. In your imagination he was gentle, caring. Nothing like the impatient trailing of his fingers, like he can’t wait to play a game you never agreed to. At his golden gaze, you let the truth spill. “Sometimes,” you breathe, immediately hiding your face in your own shoulder from embarrassment.

“That’s what I thought, dumb girl.” He pushes your panties unceremoniously to the side to collect the slick there, grinning. You didn’t even notice you were getting wet while trying not to anger him. He doesn’t waste time taking advantage of this fact though. He spreads your bottom lips open with his fingers, looking up at you easily. His deep voice feels loud in the pressing silence of the abandoned gym, and you can’t help but wonder how much trouble you’d get in if anyone found you here. “Listen, brat,” he calls, pushing his lips to the top of your thigh to bite the plush skin. You jerk away from him with a cry, but he doesn’t let up.

“I’m gonna push my fingers inside that filthy cunny of yours, stretch out your little hole so you can actually fit something in there. ‘Cause I know you’re a good girl, so you’re probably gonna go braindead if I fuck you like this.” He chuckles at your hitched breathing. You can’t even begin to understand. The person you love more than life itself wants to fuck you? Well, his fingers are still playing down there, slowly pushing into you and they are thick, much thicker than yours. You can’t believe it. Kuroo Tetsuro wants to fuck you, in the boys locker room of the school gym while you should be long on your way out by now. No, you can’t. But you don’t find the words to speak up under his gaze, not wanting to disappoint him. If he notices your mental struggle, he doesn’t show it. “Then you’re gonna help me out like you promised by sucking my cock, right?”

You freeze up. You did say you’d help him, you said that didn’t you… But you didn’t know it would be like this, if you did you would’ve said ��no’. You curse yourself for saying anything at all, trying to calm your heart as best as you can. You’re feeling so overwhelmed. By his touch, his presence, the situation, the stress put on your poor, frazzled brain. When two of his digits are halfway inside you, you let out a whimper. That’s at least three of your own, you already feel spread so thin. Your fingers find purchase in his soft, raven hair, needing anything to cling to. “Say, ‘Yes, Tetsuro’,” he coos, pressing a row of kisses over the front of your panties, chuckling at the little bow. But the sweet tone is taken away as soon as it comes. “Say it.”

“Y-Yes… Tetsuro.” He hums happily, shoving his fingers inside you in one swift move until his palm is against your center. Your legs almost give out at the feeling. “Ah- ah! S’too much, Kuroo.”

The raven haired man grins at that, curling his digits inside you and pulling them out just as quickly. Like striking a match. You reach up your hand to bite into it, hoping to contain your sounds. Your slick sounds ring through the empty locker room as Kuroo slides them back in and out at a punishing pace. “My dumb, pretty baby really is clueless, huh,” he sighs, long fingers sliding under your knee to place it instead on his shoulder.  It only debases you even more, struggling to stay upright as he brings his face in between your legs. When you whimper in embarrassment, calling his name, he scoffs. “You should let me play this how I want to, since you clearly don’t know anything.”

The curl of his long fingers brushing up against the soft, spongy part of your walls makes your brain numb. His words hurt. You don’t want them to, you wish they didn’t. “My dumb slut,” he hisses, before the harsh lines of his mouth are buried between your thighs. His tongue sweeps out to deliver a long swipe from his pumping fingers to the top of your slit, before swirling around the nub making you tremble. Your belly tenses, coil in the pit of your stomach growing irritatingly tight as he grinds his face against your pussy, obscenely slurping at the wetness. Your fingers twitch in his fluffy hair, attempting to comb through it best you can as your eyes flutter closed.

“Kuroo, ‘m close. Really close.” You can barely raise your voice enough to make it be heard over his motions, though he looks up at the call of his name. “I want to cum,” you say, “please.” He doesn’t still his fingers, but the twitch in his brows seems to indicate disaster, and you quickly bite your lip to think. “C-Can I?”

“D’you think this is about you, Y/N-chan?” He grins at your blown out expression, relishing in the wide eyes and bobbing lip. He uses his thumb to continue putting pressure on your clit, as he tuts his lips. “I’ll decide if or when you cum, because you’re mine. And when I decide to stuff this cunt you best consider yourself lucky, baby, that my cock is breaking open your perfect, little body.”

“Y-yes, but—” you bring out, ignoring the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You can’t hold it if his fingers only speed up their devouring of your body, mouth wrapping around you to suck hard.

“Don’t cum yet,” he mumbles, going so hard it’s making your vision sway. His tongue and mouth go harder, despite his order. And with mindless pleas you come around his fingers, shutting your eyes tight at the white splotches. Legs flexing and fingers tightening in his hair. You let your head drop as he works you through the feeling, until you’re pushing him off from overstimulation. Your cheeks feel akin to a forest fire when you open your eyes to his huff, tracing the lines of the hardwood floor under your feet. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you can feel some of the slick drip down your thighs and you instantly burn brighter.

But you don’t get to think about it, because Kuroo is straightening up before you, back to his overwhelming posture above you. He stares at you for a moment, before he leans in. Out of instinct, you lean back, away from his face when he wipes it. The glint in his eyes is a scorch mark on your sanity, his face so close to yours. “Can’t you listen to what I say, or are you just that cockhungry and stupid?” Your head is shaking side to side before you can stop it, hoping that you’ll be released soon. But you said you’d help him and if you don’t, Kuroo might hate you. You don’t think you could handle that. Rejection would’ve been better, after all. “Get on your knees and make it up to me.”

You choke back a sob at the order, looking up at him with big eyes again. You don’t want to, you don’t want to sit on the cold floor of the locker room where teenage boys drag their sweaty bodies— Kuroo seems to soften slightly at your expression, lowering his palm to your crown to pat your head, gently brushing over your temple. “You’re my biggest fan, aren’t you?” The low rumble of his voice right next to your face, his warm body so close and the curl of his pretty lips, everything makes you so docile. Dreamlike. “You’re really helping me so much,” he coos, and before you know it his mouth is on yours. His mouth… is on yours. And he tastes like you, and he’s kissing you. You freeze, not stopping him as he grabs your hands and loops them around his neck, his own picking you up to melt into an embrace.

Like two lovers in a painting, he claims your mouth with his tongue and curls your feeble body into him. So strong, with hard lines of his body that make your heart swell under your ribs. His hand on your thigh, the other on your neck, he kisses you and you think the stars might be exploding around you. He pulls back for a moment enough to breathe, before peppering another few kisses on your agape lips until you could turn black and blue from the bruising weight of your adoration. Kuroo brushes your hair away as you look at him, chest heaving against his each swell of your lungs. He starts peeling his lanky body away from you. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought that you were my biggest fan, but if you don’t—”

“No, I am!” you squeak, grabbing onto his jersey to keep his warmth close.

The noirette gives a faint smile, shaking his head. You don’t stop to question him acting so different from before, since your greedy brain clings to every word. “It’s okay,” he mumbles, “I’m used to being taken advantage of by girls.” His eyes shift to the side, lips dropping into a downturn. “They tell me how much they care about me so that I’ll have them, then leave me. I know my teammates are always the favorites anyway. So I understand that you don’t want to do anything more, it’s okay.”

“No Tetsuro, I want to, I swear!” you blurt out, grabbing his large hand despite the jitters in your system. He gives you a slight raise of his eyebrow. “I want to— s-suck you off.”

He chuckles, gaining back some of the brightness to his eyes. “You can’t even say it without stuttering.” The hand on your neck slides to your shoulder, slowly pushing you toward the ground. You hesitate for another moment, before dropping to your knees when the pressure becomes too heavy. When you’re eye level with his shorts, you swallow, bringing up your hands. The fabric is pulled taunt, showing off your effect on him. Ever so slowly, you pull the elastic of the red shorts down, taking his boxers with them in the process. You push them down until his hard cock is freed, curving up towards his belly and twitching with anticipation. Kuroo just bites his lip when you look up at him. “Give it your best shot, baby.”

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, tip glistening with precum. You slowly start moving your hand down his length, but you’re clearly not going fast enough because his hand is back in your hair, yanking you closer to his dick this time. He presses the tip to your lips, and you whimper out as you open your mouth. He’s quick to grab hold of himself to push inside, too quick and stretching you painfully. He’s big and wide and you immediately know you’ll ache once this is done. But as he starts working himself deeper, your eyes fluttering at the feeling and focusing on not choking, he makes pretty grunts that you tell yourself make this worth it. He reaches the back of your throat with plenty to spare, and you bring your hand up to hold yourself on his thigh. It stings.

But he doesn’t stop, even when you whimper around him and push at his leg. “Take it all the way,” he grunts, cocking his head back. The noises you make only make him more vocal, but you’re fighting through the feeling of panic in your chest. Each time he pulls back more saliva messes up your face, keeping Kuroo’s attention on the pretty way you take him. “You think you deserve my attention? My dumb, useless little bitch wants my approval?” He grunts when he hits the back of your throat again. “Because if you can’t even take my cock in your mouth without drooling all over yourself, I don’t think you do deserve it.” He slows his hips when you make a throaty sound, fingers tangled tight in your hair as he pushes in until your nose is pressed to his skin, before letting you back. You gasp for air when you’re finally let up, holding a sob that threatens to crawl out of your throat.

“Kuroo, I can’t,” you bring out, wiping your fingers under your eyes to get rid of any tears, but he doesn’t let go. Your voice is already raspy, grating against your tender throat.

“Yes you can, you’re doing well.” He pushes his cock back to your lips and though you’re more prepared for it this time you’re still shocked by how big he feels. Spit seeps out along the edges of your mouth, tongue being pushed down and your lungs struggling. He moves your head up and down his cock over and over, barely leaving you enough time to take a couple deep breaths. He slowly starts fucking your face when the tears spill over your cheeks and clump your lashes, hissing when you gag on him. “That’s how you suck a cock, idiot. Can’t do anything right without my help, can you?” His words just make you cry more. He bruises your throat until you can’t take any more, pulling out of his grip despite the pain and falling back onto your butt.

“Kuroo,” you cry out, losing control over your own tears. Your voice sounds double, like it’s been split in two. “I don’t like this.” A little squeak falls from your lips, airways painful and ragged. “I want—,” this time you can’t hold back the sob, “I want you to be nice to me.” You sound so pitiful, even to your own ears. You’re crying. But the man you’ve looked up to for so long is calling you all these names, making you feel so dumb. Are you really that dumb for liking him, supporting him, being his fan? “I don’t wanna do any more.” Tears are flowing, wet and warm down your cheeks and neck. Stop, stop crying. You reach a hand up to smear them away, but in their place new ones still come. “Please, I wanna go home.”

“Shh, shhhh,” he hushes, petting the top of your head like you’re a well-behaving pup, and you hate how you lean into it. The idea of yourself makes you sick to your stomach. Why are you even letting him walk all over you like this? Is this really the amount of self respect you have? Kuroo peers down at you between his legs. “You’re doing so well for me. You’re the best fan I could ask for. I’m sure you can take a bit more.”

“No,” you squeak when he reaches for your face again, “it hurts and I don’t like it.”

Kuroo stills. Regards you with a long, drawn-out breath, before humming in what you pray is understanding. “Alright,” he helps you up from the floor, steadying you in his arms and moving you both to one of the benches instead. “I wouldn’t want to hurt my number one fan, would I?” He sits down on the bench first, pulling you to sit on his thighs facing him. You wipe the mess of tears and saliva away as best you can, watching as Kuroo slides you closer to him without a care in the world. And you want to be mad, you want to push off him and do anything other than sit here and take it, but you can’t. You can’t, because you’re weak. You can’t, because you’re an idiot fangirl, and he’s been everything you’ve wanted since you were thirteen.

“Push your legs together,” he orders, squishing your thighs and reaching down to slip his cock in between them. He fucks your legs with the last of his restraint, pace from fast to punishing, kneading the doughy expanse between his fingers and pressing his forehead to your shoulder. You can feel the warmth of his breath, the shudder down his spine and the tensing of his legs below you, but you don’t process it. Everything feels far away. And then he calls out your name, and cums on your thighs, spilling white all over your panties and skin. He kisses your neck, and your lips after that. And you just stare at the tiles of the boys room showers before he slides you off of him.

Your legs tremble. He quickly uses a towel to clean himself up before tucking himself back in, and smiles down at you. “Thank you so much, baby, that was perfect.” He leans down to press a kiss to your temple as he hands you the towel. “Clean up?” The fluffy towel with the red cat embroidered on it is stained with the cum you clean off yourself, as tears roll down your face. You loved him so much, but now you just hate him. Embarrassed, hurt, useless. Kuroo’s bright face as he talks is another slap in yours. “Lighten up, I’ll lock up the gym for you, okay?” He smiles when you lift your eyes to his figure in the doorway, your crumpled skirt bunched in your hand. “And don’t even worry about it, I’ll walk you home. It’s the least I could do for my fan.”

It is the least he could do.

You nod and put up your most convincing smile.

///

thank you so so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed. did this have to be so long? probably not. did i make it that long anyway? yes. mean kuroo will live rent free in my brain for the coming six months.

[suzuki-violin-school]

First I Love You HCs

First “I love you” headcanons !

Content: fluff, I Love You, bakugo throwing a temper tantrum, very cheesy, nicknames, bakugo insulting someone, getting caught passing notes in class, spiderman

Denki Kaminari

his: he short circuited and between all the mumbling and wheeeeee,,

“jkafbhe did you know i love you? ...wheee ukbajhfgdt”

honestly it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever seen 

you’re laughing as you give him a water bottle but neither of you actually address it

yours: snuggling up to him in bed when you’re half asleep

he’s awake though

he’s stroking your hair all comfortingly and you just hum contently

“mmmm i love you”

“yeah... right back atcha”

Eijiro Kirishima

his: after an intense water balloon fight in the summer

everyone’s wet and while everyone is congratulating deku on winning bakugo is throwing a tantrum about losing

kiri takes your hand while everyone’s distracted

biggest smile ever

“that was so fun! you were great! i love you so much!”

all the water on your face evaporates as your cheeks heat up

yours: you were working out together in his man cave very manly room

super tired, sweaty, fatigued, already sore and dreading tomorrow

he’s sitting on the floor and you’re laying down, still panting

“god... i love you, but you work me way too hard sometimes”

Fumikage Tokoyami

his: actually it wasn’t him, it was dark shadow

you were both sitting on his bed, reading quietly

tokoyami was looking up at you every five seconds and you definitely noticed but didn’t say anything

then dark shadow popped up out of nowhere

“FUMI REALLY LOVES YOU”

“JESus you scared me! ...lol, fumi”

yours: the two of you were having a tea party mad banquet of darkness

you wound up behind him at some point and put your hands over his eyes

“guess who!”

“...kaminari.”

“What? No, try again.”

“...hagakure.”

“No! It’s the person who loves you more than life, you idiot!”

“...dark shadow.”

Hanta Sero

his: spelled it out in tape on one of the walls in the common area of the dorms

that’s it

yours: you stood in front of his door playing a cheesy love song on your phone

but you only sang along when the lyrics said “i love you”

Izuku Midoriya

his: he did it during lunch, sitting in his usual spot surrounded by friends

because they all had his back, right? they were supportive, right? that’s what friends are for, right?

stuttering the whole time

“h-hey y/n? i-i uh, well, um, i-i wanted to s-say that i uh l-love you. a whole lot.”

everyone cheered

legends say he’s still blushing

yours: lyrics prank over text in the class 1-a group chat

hagakure and ashido were in on it and definitely helped

they were the backup singers !

the rest of the class thought it was really cute excluding bakugo

even aizawa supports you two

Katsuki Bakugo

his: he just said it straight up

instead of saying bye when you were going out with some of the others, he just

“i love you. see you later.”

“OH MY GOD THAT’S SO CUTE!!!”

“Shut up you invisible cunt!”

yours: passed a love letter to him in class

“roses are red, violets are blue, this is the stupidest format of poetry in the world and it’s so overused. anyway, i love you, time bomb”

he’s usually pretty chill but jeez he was flushed

aizawa saw you pass the note and asked bakugo to read it to the class, and he did so very proudly, followed by “and i love my girlfriend/boyfriend/date mate a lot right back!”

Mashirao Ojiro

his: okay, so you know spiderman?

he was in a tree and he grabbed a branch with his tail and dropped down in front of you as you passed

you grinned because what is he doing now

he was also grinning (nervously) because what am i doing this is ridiculous

upside-down kiss !!

“love you.”

and then he disappeared back up into the tree

yours: at the end of a date !

as you both parted ways afterwards, you kissed him on the lips and said it plainly, like in the movies

Shoto Todoroki

his: very straightforward

he walked up to you, completely unprovoked, said i love you, and then walked away to go do whatever it was that he was already on his way to do

“...what”

yours: very soft

you walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist

(he was talking with deku at the time)

you rested your chin on his shoulder

(he rested one hand on yours and reached up with his other to caress your cheek)

you whispered it right by his ear

your breath sends shivers up his spine and he stiffens

“todoroki? are you okay?”

“y-yes, fine midoriya”

you thought it was really funny and he was very flustered for the rest of the day

Tenya Iida

actually you both said it kind of at the same time

you were both sitting on your bed

he was holding you from behind while you studied

“i love you, y/n”

you smiled softly and turned around to kiss him

“and i love you too, class rep”

then he died, the end