#NO BECAUSE YOURE A FUCKING TRYHARD

[bleetusmcyeetus]

Not my dad saying my generation doesn’t want to do anything and will cause the downfall of the united states–

[randomravager]

this is fucking pathetic i see ONE instagram post and i spiral and when i ask my mother for validation and idk, COMFORT?! she's just telling me that i can practice over the summer and improve and thats WAY more than what ill need to do and just reinforcing the idea that im not good enough AS IT IS and its not realistic to be a fucking tryhard over the summer for something i will NEVER succeed at and im crying and snapping at everyone and my sister heard one snappy word and started yelling at me too and like cut me some fucking slack im never gonna be able to complain about this outside my home bc if i did complain it would be fucking selfish (and ACTUALLY selfish im not lying) and if i dont get in again i KNOW that its gonna fucking break me and i feel like a worthless idiot and im not good enough for this thing and im never gonna get in so whats even the point of trying again when itll just destroy me

[faroresson]

I'm finally dusting off my Eli Joins Philanthropy fic (I'll get to Homewards when I get there, Adam I promise I write a word or two every once and a while) and hm.

I keep making sure Liquid has like A Real Bad Time mentally (Being haunted but not knowing it, being forced to acknowledge he can be vulnerable) and like. thats a lot of edgy shit for a fic that started with "God it'd be so fucking funny if The Shit Twins actually got to interact for more than like. 10 minutes"

[cigaretteparfum]

BYE i hate when people try sooooooo hard to be "one of the good ones".

[blockedbykei]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎𝐖

🏐— tsukishima kei x f!reader

— synopsis: he hates your intelligence in classrooms and you hate his cunnigness at the court. both go at great lengths to defeat each other, but how is it that both of you were the only ones that can help each other be better?

— warnings: swearing, a bit suggestive, enemies to lovers (although kind of enemies)

You slam your paper on his desk.

Tsukishima barely flinches. He removes his headphones and hangs them on his neck, unbothered by your looming presence as he stares blankly at your paper. 96

The corners of his lips tug down, seemingly unimpressed. "Eh."

"Eh? Aw, is little Tsukishima disappointed at himself?"

He looks up at you, stares deeply into your eyes. And for a moment you'd think his domineering gaze would soften as he was overawed by you. But then he smiles, that annoying little shitty, narcissistic smile.

"Actually, not at all (l/n)," his smile is bright, almost genuine, but his sarcasm is radiating. "I got a 98. Not bad, though!"

You swear steam was coming off your body.

"96 at modern Japanese." He says. "Understandable."

"Understandable?!"

"Don't beat yourself up, (l/n). Not everyone's perfect," he leans back. "Not even me. I mean, I'm just being humble. But yeah, not everyone."

"I hate you," you take your paper off his desk.

"Flattered. Really, really flattered. Thank you for hating me, actually. I feel so honored to be hated." He puts his headphones back on and places his elbows on his desk, his chin resting on his joint fists. Tsukishima smiles at you again.

God, his smile is infuriating.

Tsukishima was someone you'd go to great lengths to defeat. He never bothered for your existence when first year began. He didn't even know your name; Didn't even look at your direction. He'd only known it a month later when you were paired to be partners and he decided to be such a condescending brat when he pointed out your handwriting.

At first you ignored it, took it by heart and started organizing your writings on your notes. Then he decided to put all his self-hatred on you and started to discreetly judge you.

Maybe he wasn't even judging you. Maybe he was just staring at your paper, scoffed to himself, shook his head and laughed because you got a better score than him and he was berating himself. But no, he laughed because he thought you were a tryhard and he was a prodigy.

Obviously none of those were confirmed. But he's a man and a man hates it when a woman's happy.

When he smirks you have the urge to rip his lips to pieces.

You walk away from him and sit on your desk, which was actually beside him.

His scent follows your flaring nostrils as you carefully shove your paper between the notebooks in your bag. Tsukishima looks out the window, hiding his smirk, his foot tapping lightly but never making sound. So you put your own headphones over your ears, in hopes to drown out his deafening aura.

🏐 —

"Shit!"

Tsukishima's knees bends the wrong way and almost falls onto his back as he lands on the ground. The ball echoes across the court as it ricochets off the floor. You laugh loudly, and everyone looks at you.

"You're too advanced for the block, idiot!" You say loudly. Yamaguchi giggles.

He rolls his eyes at you as he chases for the ball. Kageyama sits beside you.

"You know he plays horribly when you're here."

"Oh?" You raise a brow. "Is he not used to a girl looking at her?"

Kageyama scratches his nose. "Probably 'cause he hates you."

You laugh lightly. "Kinda nice that I'm here. I get to see him fuck up."

Kageyama snorts. "He feels pressured 'cuz you're here."

"Oh? He said that?"

"No. But I can hear him think."

You laugh and wipe your sweat off. "I'd play with you guys, but his remarks could piss me off and I might, uh, shove that ball up his ass."

When Kageyama laughs again, quite loudly, Tsukishima's head snaps at the bench where you're sitting. Heat rises to his head, his stance losing its usual strength, his arms weakening as he watches you—

Laughing, at some joke you said or Tobio said. Laughing heartily like someone just made the best joke in the world. The way your lips almost reach the wrinkles beneath your eyes. Oh, that's so funny Tobio. You're so funny you should quit volleyball and be a stand up comedian!

He knows you're talking shit about him, too. Idiot. Brat. Showoff.

He had the right to show off. He was better than you.

He was the better thinker; the better scorer.

Tsukishima is better than you.

I'm better than you—

The ball hits the side of his face, his glasses flailing to the side.

The first thing that reaches his ears—your sickening laugh. That monstrous, sadistic guffaw. Tanaka yells from the other side of the court and dives beneath the net to take a look at his face. Nishinoya hovers, hands on his knees, laughing.

"Pay attention, dumbass!" You cuff your hands over your mouth. "Stop daydreaming! It's embarrassing."

He bends to pick his glasses up. Alive, no cracks, frame not broken. He puts it on the bridge of his nose so that he could see your face clearly.

Hideously alluring.

"Do you think of scheming as daydreaming, (l/n)?" his voice, full of disdain, though hidden through feigned sweetness. "Like a child as always. Go back to middle school?"

"Do better at volleyball?"

"I ought to kick the both of you out this court," Daichi says loudly. "Oh wait I can't speak to (l/n) like that. S-sorry!"

Tsukishima sneers, his lips frowning. He approaches the rolling ball, watching as it hits the wall and propells back towards his awaiting feet. When he picks it up, he steals another glance at you talking to Kageyama.

The King and the Brat. The most annoying combination in the entirety of Karasuno campus.

Somehow, seeing you next to Kageyama and being given the nickname as if the two of you were a pair sends a tight rope around his chest that causes it to ache a little. Tsukishima huffs it out, an unsettling in his bones.

Please don't look at me.

The ball flies into the air, and his palm raises just in time to make contact with the ball.

He sees you watch from the corner of his eye, a blurried silhouette, but your figure was familiar enough for him to recognize you. His heart beats a little louder.

🏐 —

No.

Shit. Fuck. No

God damnit. 74.

Tsukishima stares at his paper in horror. In his entire life, he has always gotten two digits on his scores. However, they had always been ninety onwards. Never in the line of sevens. He doesn't know if his horror is displayed across his face. He prays it doesn't—he would die if you saw his expression.

He leans sideways to the right, his eye darting towards the side to peak at your paper.

98.

The english language was something that was easy to learn but never easy in exams. This—despite boasting that english was the easiest subject—was his weakness.

You're too preoccupied to notice his existence. Good.

He turns around to look at the green haired boy.

"Yamaguchi." He whisper-yelled. "Tadashi."

Yamaguchi looks up. "Yes?"

This was it. Years of built up pride, intelligence, boosted ego— down the drain. As soon as he'd ask him the question, it would forever alter the image of himself towards his friend. Tsukishima was no longer the brainy four-eyes of the Karasuno Volleyball Club.

He would now be Tsukishima, the idiot four-eyes.

Maybe I'm overreacting.

He stands up and sits beside the empty chair next to Yamaguchi.

"How- What's your score?"

Yamaguchi looks puzzled as he glances at his paper. "E-eighty eight."

God, this is depressing.

"Um," Tsukishima scratches the back of his neck. "Could you help me with English?"

There it is. His face says it all.

"Don't you even—"

"You, Tsukishima Kei, asking for my help?" He laughs incredulously. "Are you sure? What's your score?"

"Don't want to talk about it."

"Aw, c'mon Tsukki." He pouts playfully like comforting a weeping baby. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Tsukishima tells him in a low voice. He never thought he could hate Yamaguchi's laugh. But he did, right after he laughed at his score. It wasn't even a failing grade.

"You know who should tutor you though?" He puts his paper in his bag. "(l/n). She's good, y'know. I heard her speak english once. I thought she was from, uh, some foreign country or something."

"She's not even that good." Tsukishima takes off his glasses and wipes it with the corner of his uniform. "She's good with memory but she forgets it right after the quiz like a ditz."

Yamaguchi snorts. "She's the one who got the best score out of all of us."

"Yeah, no thanks. I'd never let her teach me."

"I think you're forgetting I'm right here in front of you." You turn around, placing your elbow and forearm on the back of your chair and look at Tsukishima. "I can teach you."

Tsukishima scoffs. "No thanks. I'd rather repeat freshman year."

"Are you sure?" you pout, placing your chin on the back of your hand. "I can teach you, little Tsukishima."

"I'm not little."

"Yeah but your brain is."

"Yamaguchi, help me out here."

He can't ask for your help. Never ever. Never will he ever ask for your help. Tsukishima can study this himself. He's always studied by himself. He's never needed anyone, and certainly not you. He was independent, cunning as everyone says. Tsukishima does not need tutors.

Up until now.

"Please help Tsukishima study," Yamaguchi looks at you. "He's too prideful to ask but he really needs your help."

Tsukishima stammers. "T-that's not what I meant!"

"Aw, is this true?" You're taunting him. He feels like a child.

"I can study by myself. Fuck off."

You smile at him. In a way that he can't read. It was soft, almost kind, like you wanted to help him wholeheartedly and wanted his english to improve. Then he looked into your eyes and all the kindness in your smile had been washed away by this pity in your eyes that you enjoyed. Tsukishima huffs.

"No need to be shy about asking for help, little Tsukki," you coo. "We'll study in the locker room while everyone else plays. You're skipping practice today."

Tsukishima zips his bag and stands up. He towers over you, covering the sun that blinds you through the glass window. He looks down at your eyes—teasing, condescending eyes. His lips are turned to a frown, which makes you smile even more.

"I'm not skipping practice."

"Too bad. You are. You know, if you let me help you, you'd stop having that distraught face everytime you get your english paper." You take a step closer, neck bent backwards to look up at him. "Yeah, I saw your face."

Yamaguchi nudges his arm. "C'mon, Kei. Ask for her help. You know you need it. Don't be so prideful."

Tsukishima growls. He doesn't say anything yet, all the confidence in him washed away by a score that wasn't even a failing grade. His palm rubs the space between his eyebrows and mumbles:

"Help me."

You lean in, ear towards him. "Couldn't hear that. Sorry?"

"Help me study."

"Are you commanding me or asking?"

"Please help me study."

"Don't mumble, Tsukishima."

"Damn it!" He groans. "Please help me, dearest (l/n)." His voice drips in sarcasm, peering at you through his scratched lenses. "Help me get a better grade at english. Help me stop myself from strangling you! Idiot!"

You lean back, the bottom of your spine resting on your table as your left hand props you up. Tsukishima is almost seething, his eyes widened a little as his anger seethes through his nostrils. You hum, pretend to think, then slap his right cheek twice lightly.

"How kind of you to ask, little Tsukki." You wrinkle your nose at him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "See you at the locker room."

When you leave, his head turns to Yamaguchi who smiles innocently. Tsukishima almost strangles him instead.

🏐—

The boys are thirty minutes late to practice. Including Daichi.

"It's the sequence of the words, Tsukishima," you point your pen at his test paper. "The spelling's no problem. You're good at it. It's just with how you've formed them together."

They all sit behind the two of you, watching silently. Tsukishima is red from embarrassment as he ignores them.

"What's so wrong about this sequence? It sounds correct."

"Just because it sounds correct doesn't mean that it is correct."

Hinata snorts. Tsukishima's head snaps at it. "Don't snort, dumbass. Last time I checked you got a twenty at your exam."

"You hit a nerve there, Shoyo," Kageyama giggles.

You sigh and slap your hands at your thighs. "Sawamura-san, why are you guys even here?"

He stammers, his back straightening as he fixes his bag on his left shoulder. "Jus–Just wanted to make sure you two will be fine. Let's go guys."

When they leave, Tsukishima relaxes in relief. He stares intensely at his notebook, figuring out the correct answer. You try not to laugh at him, but the sight was entertaining; seeing him suffer brought your heart at ease.

"Figured it out, moron?" You bring your own notebook out, flipping it to the last page you'd written on. "It's really not that hard."

"Shut up, (l/n.)" he says. You make a small sound, similar to "okay!" As you begin to write down on a blank page.

And you're like that for a few hours.

Tsukishima answers the questions you've written for him, and when he asks you for help, you cordially help him without telling him the answers. Then you both go back to formidable silence, doing your own perspective works.

He almost enjoys this newfound environment created with you. Somehow, his body is more tranquil, but at the same time his mind is racing, because you're here. Tutoring him. Tsukishima has always believed that he was one step ahead of you, making sure you were unable to catch up with him. But now he's slipped from that step and you've caught up and you're deriding him.

Nonetheless, you're his only hope right now.

He looks at you.

Your hair is tucked behind your ears and your teeth are currently creating dents at the eraser of your pencil. You're concentrating, seeming like you've forgotten that he's sitting in front of you. And Tsukishima's eyes are extremely blurred, but when he looks at you through the gap between his glasses and forehead, your face was somehow clearer.

"Are you a dog?" he raises a brow. "Don't chew on your pencil."

You huff like you're being scold and place your pencil down. But the chewing didn't last a second as your bottom lip is now tucked between your teeth. Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

"Here," he flips his paper and shows it to you. "Did I do it correctly?"

You take the paper from him and read it. He hopes you're at least slightly impressed, that you're not arbitrating his answers nor think they're half-assed. When your red pen moves into a slant, the corner of his lip twitches upwards. But when you circle the number, he has this urge to shove that pen into your eye.

"Hm, not bad. But not enough." you flip the paper.

70.

Four points less.

"Damn it." You can tell he's disappointed at himself. "You suck at teaching."

"Excuse me?!" Your eyebrows furrow. "Hey, I've spent the past four hours teaching you here, stickhead. The sun's almost down!"

"Do you have to go home already?" He asks. You shrug. "Then we can stay here until they're done with practice."

"Tsukishima, I have freshly cooked doburi waiting for me at home. Do you know what donburi is? Do you know what it tastes like while it's still hot? Fucking donburi, Tsukishima." You whine. "Would you like to study at my place instead?"

You seem to not have processed what you've offered, but Tsukishima has. He's surprised at your comment, watching you look so desperate to get home and eat that "fucking donburi." He waits for a moment until you realize and you do, but it seemed like you didn't care when you lean back and raise a brow.

"Well?"

"Sure."

His quick, almost unhesitant compliance surprises you. Tsukishima adjusts his glasses and brings his headphones out as you both head out the door. You lock it behind you, with Tsukishima already walking ahead.

You pass by the gym. "Sawamura, everyone, we're heading out!"

Tsukishima appears beside you. "We're going."

"To where?" Yamaguchi approaches you both. "Are you going to eat out? Ooh, can you bring food back here?"

"We're going to her place to study." He answers. "We can't come back."

The others seem to hear what he said, because Hinata yells: "What kind of studying are you going to do, Stingyshima?"

"Something that your tiny shit-for-brains can't comprehend." He retorts. "Focus on your receives, squirt!"

You wave to everyone and catch a glimpse of Yamaguchi's smile. You roll your eyes at him and poke your tongue out.

🏐 —

The way home was quieter than you expected.

Mainly because Tsukishima had his headphones on and all you hear was your un synchronous footsteps on the stoned sidewalk. You take small looks at your peripherals to see what he's doing. And, well, he's walking... like every other normal person.

But you're walking side by side and there's this space between you that's so close but also so far away. You feel his heat touching the fabric of your shirt, his hand twitching and just barely grazing yours. Then he speaks:

"You walk like a penguin," he says. "Why are you like that?"

"Why are you so annoying?" you roll your eyes. "I don't point out how you walk."

"That's because there's nothing wrong with my walk," he puts his headphones down, hangs them around his neck. "What? Got a stick up your ass or something?"

"I'll stab you with that stick."

"Gross."

You turn a corner and he follows suit like it was normal for him to follow you around. When you stop in front of your gate and unlock it, he bore no unhestiance as he removed his shoes and entered your home.

There was no one else around. And as soon as Tsukishima entered, you disappeared in his vision. Although, he hears you yell from afar: "Set your bag wherever. Stay in the living room though!"

He assumes you're either changing your clothes, getting a bowl of donburi, or both. He obeys, sets his bag on the floor and sits cross legged on the carpet of your living room, taking his notes out. He sees the sun inching away behind the roofs of the houses near by, waiting for you patiently.

And then his eyes roam to picture frames.

Never would he think that a picture of you smiling would be so endearing. That smile of yours, painting you an angelic aura, like people would never expect that you'd be the devil's descendant. Nonetheless, you were still beautiful.

The picture was you in a ponytail, face doused in sweat; the background, although blurry and dark, looked familiar. But Tsukishima was more focused on your gleaming smile, the way your eyes are almost closed and your lips were pale and your teeth were shiny.

"Hey, douchebag," you sit beside him despite the free space on the opposite of the coffee table, setting down two bowls of donburi. And yes, you had changed your clothes into something comfier. "Let's eat and study."

He never expected that you'd get him a bowl, thought that he'd have to ask or drop hints of him wanting donburi. He takes it though, and it is freshly cooked. He now understood your eagerness to go home.

An hour passes by.

The bowls are empty and set aside. Tsukishima's notes are scattered, hair disheveled from him constantly running his fingers through them. That string of hatred between you has been put aside as you both seem to tolerate one another through this session.

"Tsukishima," you say, almost sternly, placing two cartons of strawberry milk on the table. "It's easy to determine an adverb in Japanese. It's no different in identifying it in English."

"I know that, dumbass. What are you, a consciousness?" He takes his box, taking the plastic off the straw and shoving it on the circular foil. "Gimme yours."

He takes your carton and shakes it before doing the same and handing it to you. You blush vehemently, murmuring your gratitude and wrapping your lips around the paper straw.

Tsukishima's eyes wander out of boredom, tracing every corner and every ridge of your home. Until his eyes land on the sliding door to your backyard and catch a glimpse of that familiar blue and yellow ball.

"You play volleyball?" he queries, both his eyebrows raising.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Back in middle school."

"Bet you were shit at it."

"I was a middle blocker."

Tsukishima's back straightens, staring at you in hidden surprise. "At that height?"

"I'm not that short! Asshole," you throw your pen at him. He catches it with ease, setting it beside his notebook.

"Why aren't you in the women's volleyball club, then?" his brow raises. "Too short? They didn't take you? Failed the tryouts?"

You look down at your fingers, covered in peeled up skin and charred fingernails. You feel embarrassed, avoiding his eager stare. You sense his want to know your reason, radiating off his eyes.

"Not saying," you push yourself up, now standing in front of him. Tsukishima's eyes follow you, trailing uo from your thighs up to your neck, his irises darkening until he meets your gaze. "Get up. Time to go home."

"Let's play."

You stammer. "W-what? It's late."

"And I want to see you play." Tsukishima stands, hovering over you. "It's only nine in the evening."

You purse your lips, arms going limp on either side of your tired body. Though despite being worn out, you walk towards the door and slide it open, being greeted by Miyagi's brumal air that raises the hairs on your body. Tsukishima tugs on the sleeves of his sweater, covering half of his fingers, before following you out.

Barefoot in the evening, with the moon casting a pearlescent glow on your enervated bodies, the thump of the leather ball is in sync with your beating heart; and at each thump, it seems to wake Tsukishima up more.

"Tell me why you're not in the women's volleyball club," he sets it towards your direction.

"No." Your wrists join, your right fingers placing themselves on top of your left fingers, both thumbs settled side by side as your wrist ricochet the ball towards him. "It's none of your business."

Tsukishima catches it with ease. "You're lame."

You scoff, returning the ball. "I am not."

The blue and yellow ball floats into the evening air, the bright colors darkened by the stygian sky, only luminated by the moon and the lights outside your backyard. Tsukishima sets it to you again. "Listen, I don't really care about whatever your reason is. I just want to know."

You huff. There's no harm in telling your enemy a secret of yours, right? It's not like he was popular enough to go on and tell people. And like he said, he didn't care.

The ball comes in contact with your wrists. "I got injured. Well, not seriously injured. I can still play but I'm not as good as I used to be." Tsukishima catches the ball and rests it on his hip, listening to you explain. "I actually got a surgery at my calf."

You lift your pajamas just below your knee, showing the healed scar at the back of your calf. "The bone got dislocated 'cause one of my teammates smashed onto my leg when she was trying to save the ball. She got injured too, actually."

"Obviously," he retorts, now staring at your calf. Something about Tsukishima staring at your scar seemed too intimate as it should be, staring at your bare skin. His blonde hair drapes over his forehead, glasses glinting in the moonlight. "So where do you struggle?"

"Blocking. I can't jump properly." You scratch the back of your neck. "I can set though. Just, it's not in my heart."

"It's just a club," he says. "Play whatever position you want." Tsukishima sets the ball to you again.

"Just a club, huh?" You smirk. "Why'd you fail your test?"

"Because I was thinking too much of what I was gonna do when I'm at court again."

"And it's just a club."

"What's it to you?" He snaps. "At least I'm in the Volleyball club. Have I taken your dream?"

"You're a child."

"Yeah yeah. Join the club or whatever. Don't care if you don't or you want to."

You set it back to him again. "I want to."

Tsukishima senses your melancholy longing for the sport, sees your disheartened look as you think about all the chances you've lost. His heart twinges just the slightest, holding the ball between his slender hands. He almost pities you.

"Tell you what," he sets it to you. "If I pass the retest tomorrow, I'll help you with your blocking. If not," he shrugs, catching your return, "good luck with your life."

"You sound like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." You roll your eyes.

Tsukishima hopes he passes the retest tomorrow.

Mainly because it was import to him to ace it. Partly because he wanted to see you on court.

🏐 —

100.

You read Tsukishima's answers. In the fluorescent lights, his neat handwriting presents to you all the knowledge he's obtained from your chaotic teachings. He scoffs proudly, resting his lower back on the edge of his table.

"Not bad, nerd." You hand his paper to him. "And you beat me by two points."

"That's because you're an idiot," he sits down on his chair, though still facing you. "See you at the gym later."

Your brows furrow. "The gym's closed. Coach Ukai said today's rest day."

"But I'm not Coach Ukai," he fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "It's just for today. And only today."

"Fine," you agree. You act like you're forced to say yes, but deep inside the vessels of your heart and every part of your brain, they throb with excitement.

So you meet Tsukishima outside the gym after class in a white shirt and gym shorts. He meets you there, clad in the same outfit, heat radiating off his body that warms your always cold flesh. For a moment he admires observes you, your attire unfamiliar but nevertheless appealing hideous.

When you enter, the court seemed bigger without the boys rousing around the court. It was quieter, no shoes squeaking, no balls slammed, no eager yelling. You set your bag down on the floor and see your untied shoe laces.

"Fuck," you mutter.

But before you could bend down, Tsukishima has already knelt in front of you.

His knee rests on the tip of your shoe, fingers ribboning the laces of your rubber shoes. Your eyes widen, body stiffening, and it felt like forever as he tied it (it was actually only 10 seconds).

"You're a dumbass for leaving your shoelaces untied." He makes no comment as to why he's decided to tie your laces, but you swear you see his ears turn a twinge of pink.

Tsukishima takes a ball and goes to the other side of the court. When you stand opposite from him, he rolls the ball to your direction.

"How long has it been since you've played?" he asks, loudly, voice echoing across the empty gymnasium.

"Uh, a year and a half." The ball bounces between your palm and the squeaky floor. "I'm a little rusty."

"You are rusty. Your receives were shit last night."

You growl at his tease.

"We're not gonna start with the blockings. We have to start from the beginning." Tsukishima positions himself, knees bent and apart, his hands on his knees. "Serve it."

So you do. You toss the ball into the air, your hand striking as it meets the ball, and it flies across the net. It goes outside.

"Idiot." Tsukishima laughs. "First, don't try to aim it to me. You don't want your opponents to save it. You have to aim it at an open spot inside the line. Second, don't serve too hard it goes outside."

"Okay!" You yell. And you serve again.

The ball grazes the net, but the momentum deems the ball to be inside the line. Tsukishima catches it and receives it back to your side.

Shit.

You race after the ball, joined wrists hitting it back to him. He dives, the back of his hand coming contact with the ball and it goes back to your court.

And it's high in the air, so you take the chance to bend your knees and jump, spiking it to his court.

Tsukishima blocks it.

He laughs. "You're horrible at this."

"I don't exactly have a libero to save it, don't I?" You retort.

Tsukishima smiles a little, laughing at your loss point. "Give me the ball." You roll it to his side. "I want you to try and block me."

"The net is higher than it is for girls, you know." You approach the net. "I'll have a hard time."

"The higher you jump, the better you can block the ball. And you'll even have an advantage against your enemies since you're practicing with a higher net, (y/n)." He dribbles the ball.

Tsukishima called you by your first name.

Not your surname, not some insulting nickname. Your first name.

Your knees weaken at the sound of his voice dropping the phonemes of your name.

But when he flings the ball upwards, you feel your body go rigid. And just before his incoming ball passes through the net, you jump, fingers stopping the ball.

But the ball doesn't go to his side, instead it falls down below the net, at your side. You land clumsily on your feet, ankle bending but not painfully.

"See, you got it. You just have to jump higher."

"Shut up, you stilt walking clown." Your leg throbs, shaking. "Hit it again."

"See this?" Tsukishima brings his hands in the air, his arms and hands bent inward. "You block like this. Don't straighten your arms. It sets the ball upwards and they get the point since you're last touch. Block me again."

You kick the ball to his direction. Tsukishima springs the ball into the air once more, his arm flinging back when he jumps and strikes the ball towards you.

Filled with adrenaline, you jump as high as you could, your chest as high as the edge of the net, arms and hands bent inward as you block the ball and ricochet it towards him.

He doesn't do anything and watches the ball roll outside the court. Tsukishima's eyes shoot up and look at you, the corner of his lips bent downwards in amusement.

"Not bad. Try harder though."

You snarl at him.

Hours pass and you're both drenched in sweat. His shirt sticks to his chest, his hair damp across his forehead. He's wiping his face with a towel and his glasses rest on top of his hair. You drink from your water bottle.

The sweat drips down the tip of his nose, golden eyes drowsy yet vigorous with adrenaline. His lips are parted to pant out tired breaths, his adam's apple bobbing, the veins of his arms protruding. And he's sitting at the same bench as yours.

You swallow the liquid in your mouth.

"One day of practice isn't enough to get me into the club, Tsukishima." you say, wiping your mouth. "Thanks for teaching me though."

Tsukishima sets his towel down. "It's whatever. Your receives are go-fine, anyway. And you're really not that tall enough to block. You're hopeless."

"I wish Hinata was here to say that so he could yell at you."

Hinata. Tsukishima feels something uncomfortable rise to his chest when you mention his name.

And it seems as though you have summoned that tiny tangerine devil.

"Oh, Kageyama! The lights are open, someone must be here," your head turns and see that Hinata's hair pokes out the door before his head fully goes in. His eyes roam around until they find you. "Oh! (y/l/n)-san!"

"Hinata," you smile kindly. "Why are you guys still here? There's no training today."

"Tanaka-san said we can train for as much as we want as long as we don't tell Sawamura." he hops inside, Kageyama following suit behind him, unzipping his jacket. "What are you doing here, Stingyshima?"

"None of your business." He replies, irritation dripping off his sharp tongue from the nickname. "What do you think we were doing? Playing kendama?"

"I wouldn't mind playing kendama," Hinata looks at Kageyama, who shrugs. "Can we join?"

"Hopeless child," Tsukishima rubs his face with his towel again. "It's getting late. We should go home."

His usage of plural rather than sigular denotes that his usual selfishness has been decreased due to your unwavering presence, having been spent multiple hours with you for the past two days than usual. Tsukishima has easily adapted to include you in whatever he was going to do next.

We should go home.

"Aw, well, can you leave us the keys?" Hinata asks you. Tsukishima shoves the keys in the small boy's hand. "Thank you, Stingyshima!"

Tsukishima slings his bag over his shoulder, approaching the exit. He looks at Kageyama. "Fix your sets, your Majesty. You wouldn't want to clip the wings of Karasuno now, would you?"

You can see the smirk formed in his face. Kageyama is fuming, his fists clenching. "You– I...– You piece of shi– Hnmgh– You dumbass! Hinata!"

"Why me?!"

Tsukishima walks away without waiting for you, although you follow suit behind him. And when you reach the school gates, he turns right rather than left—and his way home begins with him turning left.

Yours was to the right.

"You gonna walk me home?" You joke, finally catching up behind him. Your weary legs has made you walk slower, though enough to now keep up with Tsukishima's tired pace.

"Yes."

Tsukishima doesn't spare a glance at you. But you look at him in shock. Then you shoot him an upsidedown smile, humming.

"No longer Stingyshima, I see."

"I ought to leave you here and get kidnapped." He states bluntly, finally looking down at you through his peripherals.

"Why are you walking me home then?"

"Because I want to take a long walk."

"Yeah sure, whatever." Your hands meet behind you, hitting the top of your bottom at every step you take. "You wanted to take a long walk. Could've gone to the park, could've roamed around your street. But yeah, you're walking me home so you could have a long walk back to your home."

Tsukishima tuts, his arms crossing. "Are you implying something, (y/n)?"

Your first name. Again.

"Oh, I'm not implying anything!" Your eyebrows raise, looking fully at him. And Tsukishima turns his head and looks at you as he walks. "I'm just stating what I've observed, Tsukki."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay!" You turn to your gate. When you reach inside the small box and pull on the lever of your door, you sense that Tsukishima is still standing behind you wth his hands in his pockets, watching you intently. So you turn around when the gate unlocks. "Yes? Do you need to use my bathroom first? Want a carton of milk or something?"

"No." He says. "Get in already."

You rest your back at your gate. "Tell me the real reason why you walked me home."

"No."

"So you lied to me earlier?"

"N-no."

"So what is it?"

Tsukishima sighs. Then he takes a few steps, approaching you and bends down so that his face would be equal to yours.

His scent is sweet, like freshly picked strawberries. And his lips, though thin, was soft and pink. And the tip of his nose grazes just above yours. And his golden eyes narrow to gaze at every speck of your irises. The corner of his lip turns upwards.

"That shut you up." He says. You blush, and he seems to taunt you. "Still want to play volleyball?"

His breath is hot fanning over your cold face. You can't help but nod. You swallow thickly from the close proximity that Tsukishima has created.

"Okay. Well, I still need help with english. And you obviously still need help with volleyball. So you reap what you sow. We'll help each other."

Tsukishima says those words like they're a command. Like they're being read from sacred scriptures. An event waiting to be happened for a prophecy to be fulfilled. Tsukishima's tone was flat but his voice deemed importance.

"Okay," was all you managed to let out through a breath. "See you tomorrow?"

Tsukishima stands up, eyes you up and down. Then looks into your eyes again and you swear that his gaze softens.

"See you tomorrow."

🏐—

A few weeks pass by.

At mornings, Tsukishima has come to pick you up and you studied on the way to Karasuno. You spend your lunches together, along with Yamaguchi, as well as Hinata and Kageyama who—while also bickering like children—listen to whatever you teach Tsukishima.

After classes, you find yourself joining the boys at the volleyball club, with Tsukishima helping you practice your blocks and receives. Though you notice that the boys take their strengths down a notch, which you are somewhat grateful for — because they truly are strong, and you're not ready to catch up to their level yet.

And at nights, Tsukishima walks you home with a milk carton in hand and sharp remarks in his mouth.

There's still a thick smoke of hatred that covers the both of you, that string of annoyance wrapped around your fingers. Yet as days pass by, that smoke has been thinning at every civil interaction. Albeit that annoyance still lingered.

And until today, that smoke has turned into this very light fog, until you begin to question why you hated Tsukishima in the first place.

Your phone vibrates.

tsukishima. Where are you? 8:32am

you. almost there. forgot my bag at home. 8:33am

tsukishima. Hurry up. It's cold outside. 8:33am

you. will do. sorry :| Read at 8:34am

Tsukishima is standing outside the gates of Karasuno, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed as you quickened the pace of your walk.

"You're so slow it's annoying," his eyebrows furrow. "Why'd you forget your bag? Idiot."

"You pressure me, douchebag." You flick the bridge of his glasses. He yelps. "Hurry. I want to study already. We have a quiz at 9."

When you and Tsukishima sit on your respective seats, you quiz each other with lazily scribbled flash cards. He seems to have absorbed the passed on knowledge and had answered the questions with ease.

So after the quiz, he seemed content; confident.

"How well did you think you did, beanpole?" You zip your bag.

"Well enough to beat your ass," he replies. Then, he does something new.

He smiles at you.

It wasn't a bright smile. Not energetic, but radiates some kind of light happiness. Seemed like a smile of gratitude.

You feel your cheeks flare.

After classes, you meet outside the gym as always, both of you changed into training clothes. Then you spend hours and hours jumping and tiring your wrists out, squeaking your shoes off the floor.

By the time the sun has set, Tsukishima was waiting for you again.

"Let's study."

Your eyes widen and you look startled. Tsukishima looks bored. "I'm pretty sure you got yourself covered for the rest of the year, Tsukishima."

"And I don't think you can train by yourself in volleyball," he adjusts his bag. "Let's just study. Reap what you sow."

"You keep saying that."

He ignores you. "Let's study at my place."

"E-excuse me?"

Tsukishima begins to walk to his direction. And despite your reaction, you follow him either way. "Let's study at my place for a change. I'm sick of your living room."

He says it like he's spent years hanging out in your living room. Your feet runs on the cobblestone to catch up with him. "But- What else are we gonna study?"

"Whatever I want."

His house wasn't actually that far from the campus. When you've turned a corner, he opens the gate and lets you in. When you enter his home, it's warm and clean, so you set your shoes aside and walk in your socks.

No one's home.

Tsukishima could've led you to their living room. Instead, he goes directly to his bedroom. And when you don't move, he looks at you through the door with a raised brow, as if to say "well? why aren't you getting in?"

So you do.

You sit on the edge of his bed, watching him unzip his jacket and set it aside. You decide to stop acting so wary and let you back fall to his bed, taking your phone out.

"So when are your tryouts?"

You look at him, placing your phone on your chest. "Next week. Michimiya was nice enough to let me try this late into the school year."

"I'll be there." He sits down on the other side of his bed.

"Oh," you're stunned. "Okay. Um, what do you want to study?"

You pull yourself up until your whole body is on his bed, sitting up and resting your back at his headboard. Tsukishima brings his legs to the bed, resting them beside your socked feet.

"Chemistry." This is new. "Can you run me through it?"

And you do. You take your notebook our and run him by all the lessons discussed for the past week. Tsukishima's pretends to listen but he actually doesn't.

Instead he's staring at your scar at your leg, up and down your very exposed thigh, but mostly at your scar.

You notice this immediately. "Tsukishima, why are you staring at my scar?"

"It's Kei," he looks at you, his hand resting just beside your calf, index finger twitching to trace the ridges of your scar. "Call me Kei."

Kei.

"Okay, Kei."

Your voice, filled with dulcets, his name sounding mellifluous as it rolls of your tongue. Tsukishima's heart beats wildly, and has decided to come with the terms that he hates you— because he likes you.

"Your scar looks... cool..." his index finger finally sets on the soft skin of your healed wound. You shiver at his featherlight touch.

And he's so near you now. As near as that time he walked you home and bent down to your height. And gods, he was so handsome. Even with his scratched glasses. Your mouth gapes the slightest, shaking hands reaching to remove the spectacles off his nose.

Tsukishima lets you. You see sweetness of his stare, all that hatred you used to see seemed to have melted and dripped from his sweat. This kind of Tsukishima is new– foreign, yet seemed right. Seemed destined to happen.

"Kei," you murmur. "What are you doing?"

"Is your skull too thick to process your environment?" his laugh leaves him in a huff, smirking.

"You're so eager for me to teach you something you're already good at so you could keep training me," your brows meet in the middle the slightest, a crease on your forehead that Tsukishima wants to wipe away. "Why?"

"Because you're good, (y/n)." He declares. "Your injury isn't stopping you to perform your best. You're just scared."

"Then why not just train me without me having to tutor you?"

"Because I don't want to lose these kind of moments." he whispers. "Jesus, (y/n), I like you. It's why I brought you here, for fuck's sake."

His lips are warm compared to his cold hands.

You gasp, though eyes fluttering shut, and your eyelashes tickle his soft cheeks. Your fingers wrap around his wrist as he holds your delicate face in the palm of his hands, careful not to hurt you as his lips remain planted on yours.

When Tsukishima pulls away, he's not far from you. His lips hover over yours, breathing your air, his forehead resting just slightly on yours. Your fingers come up to tangle themselves on his silky hair.

"Lose moments like what, make out with me?" you giggle. "If you wanted to make out, Kei, just tell me."

"You never shut up, do you?"

His lips meet yours again in an open mouthed kiss, his tongue unabashed to graze your shy muscle. You hum in surprise, feeling yourself fall backwards when he gently cradles your head to rest on his sweet-scented pillow.

Somehow, you did meet up with your end of the bargain, only with something better.

Something better– like his hips slanted against yours as his mouth spreads shameless ardor across your body.

Something better– like how he whispers your name against your lips like a sacred prayer before he kisses you again carefully.

Something better– like a newfound relationship with Tsukishima Kei, someone you swore was your enemy, but now was someone you could spend your days with in his bed getting warm in ways fire couldn't.

Tsukishima looks into your eyes, tells you his secrets through his dilating pupils. His calloused fingers push your hair behind your ears, and then he kisses your forehead, followed by silk petal kisses on the plump of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and then your lips.

His hands wander beneath your shirt, palms no longer cold as they're heated by the fervor of your body.

"You're so pretty."

"What a sap." you tease. "You're in love with me."

"I am." His nose rubs against yours lightly. "I so am. I'm in love with a dumbass. My ego has exploded."

You hit his face with a pillow.

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 7: The One Where the Queen Asked, “Did That Go the Way You Thought It Was Gonna Go?”

I’m probably one of the few people in this fandom who find Antonia entertaining.

Goddammit – put down your fucking pitchforks!

I didn’t say I liked her – I simply said I found her entertaining.

If Antonia’s existence bothers the fuck out of you, you’ll likely enjoy my commentary here.

*And, right about here is when I’ll slip in my disclaimer: this is my opinion only; merely speculation based on information that is out there in the public realm.

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes, Antonia. I don’t find her entertaining because I think she’s a great dancer. Is she? You tell me. I mean, I have two left feet so just about anyone is better than me.

And, I have never seen a picture or video where she’s made me “like” her as a person. In fact, she comes off more like a villain, but not a brilliant villain (I might like her, then). She’s more like an Iago to, say, Deux Mois’ Jafar.

I just find her so fucking reckless, but in the most amusing way possible. If she were a movie, I’d give her 4/5 stars. The movie would be a low-budget comedy, of course.

In my opinion, she loves to troll the fandom and I’m convinced she must have notifications turned on for Nicola. The patterns started patterning early on during the World Tour (and probably before). The problem is, she’s just not great at trolling. Her attempts always fall flat, and she ends up making herself look like, well, a tryhard (hence why her movie only gets 4/5 stars).

I’m not sure what Antonia ever was to Luke but, at a minimum, I will (begrudgingly) say they dated. I know some people don’t want to hear that, but she was a player in this game for a reason. Rumor also suggests she, at the very least, squatted in Luke’s flat (and I don’t mean in THAT way).

That said, I believe she was officially taken out of the game at the end of July. However, that doesn’t mean she wasn’t still making noise from the sidelines.

One of the most humorous (in my opinion) “rah rahs” Antonia pulled was on September 28 when she posted some stories of herself at a theatre. I’m not sure if she could have been any more obvious when trying to show us her phone screen. The screen was lit up, her thumb pressed against it, and angled almost directly at the person taking the picture.  We get it, honey. You want us to see what’s on your screen. Not surprisingly, it appeared to be a blurry ass picture of Luke.

Big whoop, right? Well, actually it was because the Conscientiously Stupid took this as confirmation Luke and Antonia were together (again) and the Sincerely Ignorant swallowed their cyanide pills without water (again). And, the Fact Finders, while trying to resuscitate their dearly beloved Sincerely Ignorant friends foaming at their mouths, immediately called “bullshit” (again). The picture appeared to be old and, to be honest, it was too blurry to tell who was on the screen – although I will concede it could have been Luke. In fact, I tend to believe it was an old picture of Luke based on what happened next.

The problem with Antonia’s play style is that she doesn’t seem to catch on to the rules. She moves her pawn two spaces because she can, not because it advances her game. She has this nasty habit of ignoring, say, the opposing party’s pawn, which is in position to en passant her overly confident pawn.

Nicola had been living high on life throughout the month of September, which, in my opinion, is quite possibly the reason why Antonia seemed a bit unhinged by the end of the month (jealousy can make us do crazy shit). Among other things, Nicola had the Emmy’s (and the Wordle), the Gucci show, and, on October 1, she was presenting Simone with a Glamour Award. By this point, I believe Nicola had had enough of Antonia’s gameplay. The phone screen had struck a chord.

So, what does Nicola do?

She plays the game right back but not like she normally does with Scrabble boards, Dewy Skin Creams, and BTS wedding footage dropped at the perfect moment. This time, she does it with a power move that left her hands virtually spotless.

On October 3, Halley Brisker, Nicola’s frequent hairstylist, posted a set of four pictures to his Instagram grid, three of which showed Nicola casually posing for the camera and one showing Nicola in the process of having her hair done. It was the latter picture (#3/4 in the slide deck) that perked every Lukolas’ ears.

Low and behold sat a man, his face conveniently covered by a hairdresser’s arm, but his hands in full view. Hands that, at this point, we (embarrassingly) know too well. To date, no one has debunked the theory – more like, assertion – that the man in the picture is Luke.

Nicola liked this post by Halley, and even commented, “You legend [red heart emoji].” You’re welcome to read between the lines on that one.

I’ve always believed this Halley Brisker photo dump was Nicola’s very clever, albeit indirect, way of telling Antonia, “Checkmate, bitch.”

The point of this entry is not to convince you that Antonia is a red herring (she is), or that Luke is in the Halley Brisker photo dump (he is), or that Nicola plays the game better than most (she does). No, the point of this entry is to tell you Antonia’s game is over (because it is). Antonia lost.

So why does she remain on the roster?

Because, collectively, we as fans keep her there, sitting along the sidelines in her collapsable camp chair making noise with her cowbell. We pay attention to what she posts. We talk about what she posts. We argue over what she posts. We panic about what she posts. WE keep her in the game.

How about we don’t?

Why not start off this week with a positive change? And, not just for the USS Lukola, but for yourself as well.

If you’re following Antonia on social media (for sinister reasons) – stop. Meander over to Instagram, X, Tiktok, whatever, and unfollow her. Don’t look back. Stop checking her page. If you see or hear she has a new post, ignore it. Move on. The first day will be hard. But, the second day will be easier. You know where I’m going with this…

I mean, Luke can’t quietly unfollow her if we’re constantly looking in that direction, right?

P.S. If you need more convincing that Antonia’s shelf life has expired, I have a CliffsNotes response for that: https://www.tumblr.com/threeacttragedy/767137910999957504/great-blog-but-if-all-was-not-good-with-l-and-a?source=share.

P.P.S. Moving forward, I don’t give two boiled rabbits about what Antonia does. I will most certainly refer back to her in a historical sense (she does fill in bits and pieces of the Lukola timeline), but if she posts a crockpot tomorrow, don’t expect me to comment on what could be in it.

P.P.P.S. If you have any understanding of what the little chessboard I’ve dropped in to my picture means, I salute you.

[raihann1]

PLAYING MM2 WITH THE CREEPS🔪

---------------------------------------

Feat: Jeff, Ben, Masky, Toby, Clockwork, Nina.

NINA THE KILLER

Forces you to team with her.

Uses either heartblade or classic knife.

Shares a earbud with you as you listen to Spotify while playing :)

If she dies first she'll spectate for you.

Always yapping.

Gives you free godlys ♡ (your her favorite person)

Match with her!

Definitely hates icewing users.

Does not have voicechat

HATES. HATESS SMALL AVATARS

"Bro my hitbox"

---------------------------------------

MASKY/TIM

Deadass does not know how to play.

Actually got addicted.

He's not buying you anything

Accidently broke your ipad once because he didn't know how to shoot.

Yeah no don't play with him. 💀

---------------------------------------

JEFF THE KILLER

Classic knife or icewing user.

Camper 🧍‍♂️

LOVES making little kids mad.

Will curse out kids in the loudest fucking voice.

He got banned several times

"FUCK"

"MY HITBOX BRO"

scams little kids aswell.

He gave you a chroma once and said it took 30 minutes because the girl had to ask her mom for permission 😐

Don't team, if you lose he'll blame it on you.

---------------------------------------

BEN DROWNED

Definitely a exploiter

Loves fucking up peoples games

He'll only team if he feels like letting someone else win

"EZ"

A "tryhard"

Let me spoil you bbg, with my 300+ godlys of everytype 😼

Definetly kills you when you team and blames it on your hitbox.

---------------------------------------

CLOCKWORK

FUCK

Spam jumper

Camper

definitely uses the godly "clockwork" 😐

Like jeff, absoluetly kills little childrens ears when shes screaming curse words at them.

Buys you shit when she feels like it 😼

A rager

Hates icewing users.

Yeah your gonna have to have a timeout for her.

---------------------------------------

TICCI TOBY

Is the most lagggiest fuckjng player ever.

Lagged so much he cant even load in the game 🙁

Definitely uses traderie because he wanted to find a knife that looked like his hatchets

Will absolutely have the most terridying mood swings.

Almost broke your computer.

"GET OUT!"

oh, he'll definitely match :)

Hes broke tho.

---------------------------------------

[illubean]

Valorant Protocol as Highschool Stereotypes

Characters: Chamber, Gekko, Iso, Jett, Killjoy, Neon, Phoenix, Raze, Sage, Skye, Viper, Yoru Type: Headcanons

HAHA help me valorant brainrot >.< also this is based off of my hs experience soooo yeah

Warnings: none

Chamber

your typical pretty boy

all the girls love him all the boys hate him

well...most of the girls love him

they follow him around to classes or offer him gifts or ask to sit with him at lunch etc.

and he eats up the attention every time

he's lab partners with Viper in Environmental Sciences and he likes trying to flirt with her

she actually hates him btw

Gekko

canonically he skateboards

but honestly? I can see him being on the dance team

he's so high energy, he needs some sort of outlet

he never misses an opportunity to show off his dance moves

homecoming? prom? he is the center of the dance circle

like Raze, he doesn't know how popular he is

he's just happy to have so many good friends that it doesn't even actually occur to him that he's considered "popular"

Iso

he's an ap art kid

like he walks around with a big ass sketchbook every day

always talking about his portfolio

Iso baby ily but please shut the fuck up about oil paints <3

he probably volunteered part of his summer break to come in and paint a mural for the school

I think he'd also take a piano class as like a schedule filler but he actually gets crazy good at it

Jett

pe tryhard

if you end up on the opposite team as her while playing dodge ball good luck 😓

she's always picked as team captain because literally no one else is excited as she is

she's sorta like Hairo from Saiki K 💀

she gets a lil mad when her teammates don't try

Killjoy

she's in robotics club

she's not very popular but that doesn't bother her at all

she heads straight to and from every class and spends her lunch period in the workshop unless Raze drags her off somewhere

not a lot of people actually know who she is, and if they do they just know her as 'Raze's Friend'

i think she'd remind the teacher about the homework and hit you with the "erm actually 🤓" tbh

Neon

she's on track and field/cross country

after every meet you can find her laying on the floor somewhere ready to puke bc she tries so hard to win 😭

she always ends up top 5 tho

she complains about practice but joins the team every year anyways

she carries her bag around all the time and if you open it there's like 10 water bottles in there

#hydratedqueen

Phoenix

theater kid DUHH

he's probably drama club president or sumn

bro will NOT let go of a specific song from a musical he was in his freshman year and it wasn't even his song 💀

he's been in every show every year and somehow he manages to land every role he wants

he's insanely good at the game 'bang' (mostly because he's louder than everyone else...)

he probably plans/hosts the cast parties too

Raze

she doesn't care much about her grades

she does the bare minimum and gets straight Cs

she's just here to have fun

everyone likes her because of her approachable personality

she doesn't think she's popular but she is

Sage

she's in the medical assistant class

she takes it very seriously, as she plans on going to medical school

even before taking the class she carries a first aid kit and other essentials everywhere she goes

you need a bandaid? ibuprofen? a pad or tampon? she has it all

she's also ASB president

school events literally would not be able to run without her

lets just say her college applications/resume will look REALLY good...

Skye

she also took medical assistant but was less crazy about it than Sage

she just follows her friend's lead

she thinks the skills are useful but she doesn't see herself making it her career

but also I think she would play volleyball

she's a well rounded player but specializes most in defense

still, don't underestimate her bc this girl can SPIKE

Viper

she took every ap science class offered without taking the general ones first

she complains about getting any grade below an A...

"What are you talking about? That test was easy"

sorry not everyone is as smart as you Sabine 😑

she spends all her free time at chem tutoring (even though she doesn't need it)

Yoru

he thinks he looks cool and mysterious when he walks down the halls but he doesn't

everyone just thinks his mad all the time and stay out of his way 😭

randos try to pick fights with him bc he "looked at them wrong" (Yoru wins every time)

he's not exactly a 'quiet kid' but he does lay low when it comes to the social part of school

despite his 'bad boy' look, he has pretty good grades

he's also probably one of those guys that a handful of girls have a crush on but he has no idea

[idolomantises]

Have you watched Murder Drones, and if so what’s your opinion on it?

Also your art is great, keep it up.

Thank you!

And uh. Man. I may make an enemy out of another indie fandom because I don’t really like this show.

I actually loved the pilot and thought episodes 1-3 were incredible, if a bit too fast paced. But episode 4 was kind of a breaking point for me and I dropped off after that.

I don’t think it’s very funny. I think it relies too much on Bathos and it makes it hard to take its cast seriously. As a black comedy it mostly worked for episodes 1-3, but 4? No.

It does this thing I really despise in media where it has themes of genocide but like… heavily deprioritizes it and often portrays it like a comedy. It’s supposed to be funny when innocent characters are murdered because they’re just goofy side characters but when it’s a major character suddenly we have to care, and I don’t like that at all. The main character has a meltdown over finding out that murder drones are sent to kill her people at the end of the pilot, and then in episode 4 she’s murdering her classmates and crying because a boy she likes might think she’s weird. I actually find it pretty frustrating that the robots are portrayed as incredibly cowardly because they’re slowly dying off and scared to die and then they’re hanging out with V who casually murders random children and nobody reacts to it.

I actually do like the idea of a character who’s not reformed but is kind of forced to stick around but when I see her murder characters, traumatize children and then go “haha I just have mental problems” and everyone just… moves on, I just cannot bring myself to care. It causes such a massive dissonance and not in a fun way.

I think it’s very frustrating and unengaging when a story about people doing the right thing and trying to help others has no interest in helping those they’re trying to save.

I think the female cast is solid but I did kind of raise my eye a bit when the only major female character that was killed off was a victim of genocide while the other genocidal characters, two of which gleefully murdered her fucking parents, are just allowed to hang out with the rest of the cast. Uzi especially lost a lot of sympathy for me when she was more emotional about freaking out N than murdering her classmates. Like yeah, they weren’t the nicest to her but it’s weird to establish a character wants to end genocide and then… barely reacts when they also indulge in that genocide.

I don’t really like the characters at all. I don’t like Uzi, I found N irritating and boring (and gives me anime harem protagonist vibes), I thought V was a tryhard and I couldn’t really care for the rest of the cast. I liked Doll but lol, you know how that turned out.

It also has this problem of having an overloaded cast with very little breathing room. I really wish the show just had one, low stakes episode, so we can actually get to know these characters and collect their thoughts. It’s actually one of my concerns for TADC, because as much as I do like that show, I think “no filler” with constant story is going to make or break the show for me. It’s too fast paced and no, I don’t think it’s good that you have to rewatch an episode 4 times to understand what’s going on. I don’t watch indie shows to play where’s Waldo, information should be explained to the audience in a way that feels digestible and natural.

The animation is incredible and the stuff that came out from the finale was insane, but at times it just felt like jangling keys in my face. Like don’t pay attention to rushed story, underdeveloped characters and bizarre tonal whiplash, look at the cool fights. I dont think it does horror well either. In fact I kind of cringe a bit when characters a big wide grins and giggle evilly and it’s mean to be intimidating and it just. Doesn’t work. Feels a bit juvenile honestly.

And. This is a very personal thing. I don’t like the robot designs.

[yuri-is-online]

I imagine Deuce!Yutu is either A. The Ultimate Honor Student with perfect grades and a plsmile that makes old nannies and mothers swoon (Yutu: "Thanks, its because me and my parent are the local "weirdos" I had to overcorrect and become a golden child (':") OR B. just as bad as pre-NRC Deuce was, a gang member who'd jump anyone who'd look at him wrong (but still cried until he was sick when he watched My Girl (1991) behind Yuu's back. They told him not to because they knew it was sad, he didn't listen).

I imagine Yuu's main memory of Deuce to their Yutu was how much Deuce believed in self-improvement and redemption, always trying to be a better man, which either version of Yutu can't help but admire or respect, despite their complicated feelings over their absent father.

Upon meeting him in the "current" timeline as a student, A or B either can't help but give Pop's an A for effort, despite missing the goal sometimes or finds him a little cringe for being such a tryhard.

I had to google the movie you mentioned and got jump scared by it taking place in Pennsylvania. Pretty sure I have driven through the place it's supposed to be set before... and fuck just reading the synopsis made me cry I don't think I could watch it ;-; poor Yutu should have listened to his parent.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here.

I feel like I have read too much Tokyo Revengers because... we can have both: an honor student with a delinquent mean streak sounds like a good set up for Deuce! Yutu. Not that I think he would behave like Kisaki does exactly, but still. Dylla mentions in the White Rabbit event that she wasn't on the best terms with her mother when she was a teen, and we know about how Deuce was in middle school, so the idea of Yutu having a bit of a temper and rebellious streak to him does make a degree of sense. Sadly, I think that extends to his interactions with Yuu... so things are about to be angsty on two fronts today.

Much like Deuce, Yutu was just the cutest baby. He loved all things cute and fluffy. Bunnies, kitties, puppy dogs, he was such a sweet little kid who really loved chasing around butterflies in the great outdoors. He really loved to read, and learned how to do so at a very early age. When Yuu was having a bad day he would pick out one of his favorite books and insist on reading them a bedtime story so they could take a nap without any nightmares. If he was especially worried he would bring his favorite nightlight with him.

Not that anyone would ever dare to suggest it given what Yutu is like now, but he was very afraid of the dark as a child. He still is, there's just something about the void that exists in the darkness that screams danger to him. When he's isekaid to Twisted Wonderland it evolves into an extreme fear of blot and phantoms. I'd like his unique magic to have something to do with light or stars, something inspired by the Second Star to the Right from Peter Pan? I think it would be cute for someone afraid of the dark to be able to provide their own light.

When Yutu reaches middle school there's a noticeable change in his relationship with you. He's still polite, still bringing home good grades and unoffensive comments from his teachers. But he's a bit cold, as if he is purposefully putting emotional distance between you. His friends all treat you respectfully, but you just have a feeling, left over from somewhere, that you know what is likely going on but you can't put your finger on what. He gets angry when you try to ask questions, yelling something about how you just don't understand, maybe even throws in something about this being your fault...

I wrote about Riddle! Yutu having some fights with Yuu, but Deuce! Yutu's fights are so much worse. While Riddle! Yutu typically comes out of his room blubbering big fat tears ready to apologize, Deuce! Yutu feels the need to double down and save face. He does believe his parent has amnesia, he's seen how they act, but what he does not get is why they insist on feeling so fond of his dad and refuse to move on. In his mind their life could be a lot better if Yuu was willing to be honest with themselves about who his dad probably was. Yutu is very hung up on why Deuce felt the need to be redeemed, focusing on self improvement is all fine and good if you are someone worth redeeming but he's not around for Yutu to judge. And Yuu doesn't remember...

He's young, stupid, and angry, and he takes it out on anyone who looks at him wrong. What's worse for authority figures who want to help is that he's veeeery smart about how he does it. When he jumps someone you can bet there won't be cameras around to see it. When the police start troubling Yuu about what he's doing it's mostly just in the hope that they'll be able to talk some sense into their kid rather than to arrest Yutu or anything like that, but it doesn't work. Yutu gets to see the same thing that his dad did all those years ago, his parent crying because of his behavior but there's no grandparent Yuu is asking advice of. Since I am in the mood to be extra cruel, let's say the day that fight takes place, the day Yutu sees Yuu crying is the day he hears a very important name for the first time.

Deuce. His father's name is Deuce and the reason why he wasn't around was because he was from the other world that came to swallow up him and his parent the instant they began to remember. He doesn't get time to cover up the signs of his rebellion, or really a chance to say sorry. He has to look Grandpa Crewel in the face and admit that he made Yuu cry and added to the overly stressed mess their life had become. Everything they said about Deuce was true, and what's worse he was like him.

I feel like Deuce would be the sort of person who wanted to make a lot of home videos. Cater probably would be too, but he'd store most of them on his phone and I think that would be lost to time by the time his Yutu came home. Maybe it's because of the ghost camera, or his desire to be an "honor student" evolving into wanting to be an "honorable husband and father" but Deuce totally bought a video camera to take cheesy videos to show Yutu as he grew up. Instead the kid gets to see fragments of a life he could have had as he listens to his dad tell him about his life and how he met Yuu.

"Honestly I have no idea why they said yes." Deuce is a dork. A complete dork who looks so... young and life like in the video. He knows what features he took from Yuu but watching Deuce talk, he can pick up on the ticks, the way his mouth sets when determined. The look of shock that always made Yuu laugh, it bursts into view when he hears Yuu laugh as they enter the frame to snuggle into Duece's side, to press their face against his cheek with a happily contended sigh. "Y-yuu you're making me look uncool in front of the baby."

"He's not here yet!" You giggle and for the first time in a long time Yutu feels himself choking up as he watches his dad get all silly looking at the thought of his arrival.

"We're really looking forward to meeting you kiddo. I promise, nothing will ever happen to you. I'm not going anywhere."

"Well. Technically kept that last promise didn't you." He tries to play it off like a joke, but Crewel isn't laughing and neither is Yutu.

Gets put in Heartslabyul, but isn't exactly determined to be an honor student like his dad. While Deuce enjoys a good fight or the feeling of the wind in his hair... Yutu mostly got into fights because he was angry and needed someone to take it out on. Because of that temper he struggles with learning and controlling his magic but he still does pretty well with the practical academic side of things. He's proud of his ability to understand these things, and takes a lot of comfort in knowing his dad would be excited at knowing he was good at things like math and science.

Like with the other Heartslabyul boys, he had to fight his father's phantom. He sees putting Deuce to rest as part of his penance for how he treated Yuu in the years leading up to getting isekaid. He refuses to go back in time until he's able to lay this version of his father to rest next to Yuu so he can promise both of them, to their faces, that he'll create a world where they all can be together and live as a family.

Deuce is extremely friendly to Yutu! He wants to learn as much about Yuu's world as he can so he can help them feel as at home in Twisted Wonderland as possible. He makes sure to let Yutu know that extends to him too once Yuu warms up to having him in the friend circle, Uncle Ace is much less enthusiastic but it's clearly from a place of care towards Yuu. He starts to warm up when he sees Yutu trying his hardest to tutor Deuce, though he claims it's because he just thinks it's funny but really it's because Ace wants to see Deuce succeed.

Very correct on his feelings about Pops. His dad is so wildly cringe it's unreal. His effort is inspiring until he starts getting embarrassed for losing his temper and stuttering, or seven forbid you look at his grades. The more he interacts with both of you the more certain he becomes that Deuce would never have abandoned him... and that he is so getting grounded when Deuce learns about how he treated Yuu. And what's worse is that Yutu sort of wants him to.

Surprisingly that's not what happens at all. When Deuce learns who Yutu is, whether by sleuthing or through a violent confrontation with a monster from the future, when the whole story is laid out before him and his son bows to beg for his judgement it doesn't come at all. His Pops yanks him up by the collar and turns him towards Yuu.

"Say all of that again to your parent." Deuce's voice is as stern as it is serious. Yuu looks distraught, not quite to the point they were on the day everything changed but getting there as Yutu immediately breaks down and chokes, crying and begging for your forgiveness and saying he's sorry as Deuce brings all three of you together into a strong embrace. "I'm not the one you need to make things up to, but it's ok. I know exactly how you feel and we'll work through things together."

Deuce doesn't feel like he can be overly angry at Yutu for taking after him. He does feel the need to apologize to Yuu, profusely and in private, for putting them in so much danger and not being there to help Yutu work through his temper. If I was writing this as a story, I'd make Yuu sort of afraid of Yutu's feelings? I could see them blaming themselves and things being a bit awkward within their relationship with Yutu where they had been very good before the reveal. With Deuce being the loving and understanding partner that he is, the bridge is once again mended and the whole family gets to indulge in hobbies that aren't beating the shit out of other people.

Yutu gets back into reading, and starts looking up manuals and histories of blastcycles so he has something to talk to his dad about. He was right about his dad being extremely proud of him for being smart, he's that classic mechanic working class dad who can't stop talking about his kid who went to college and has pictures of him in his garage he makes sure to point out to everyone who comes in. Said person is really just Ace who really wants to make fun of Deuce and Yuu for being cringe together but is too focused on this whole world ending thing and wants everyone to be more focused on that.

Deuce promises that he is, he has a lot of confidence in the ability of your little group to be able to win against stacked odds. You've done it before you can do it again. Yutu couldn't have picked better allies, he's really determined to show him that and be a dad his son can be proud of. He repeats his promise to Yutu that he's never going anywhere, even though the kid never told him anything about the tapes because he really means it. He wants that world little Yutu dreamed of and older Yutu swore to fight for to be a reality, and it's his job as an honorable dad and future husband (he gets so flustered when he says that) to be the one on the front lines of fighting for it,

... just please please please do not tell Yutu about the egg incident. He doesn't think he could handle that embarrassment.

[queenlua]

hey lua what decks do phoenix aceattorney and miles aceattorney play in magic

PHOENIX WRIGHT

once upon a time, a friend bullied me into going to a Pro Tour Qualifier, which was probably the largest Magic tournament i’d ever been to at that time, right?

i was happy to be bullied, to be clear, but the problem was… i hadn’t played standard-format Magic competitively in about 2-3 years.  so my knowledge of the current metagame, what deck archetypes were popular, and what the current cards even were, was staggeringly limited.

“it will be fine,” said my friend.  “here, take this spare deck i built.  it’s super-straightforward and easy,” he lied.

he said this to me approx. 8 seconds before the first round began, so uhhhhh, i sure was playing a game of magical cards without ever having even looked at the damn deck before!

so, lo, literally in the course of playing the deck, i was learning how this shit was supposed to work.  “oh!” i’d exclaim with delight, halfway through my turn.  “THAT’S how those two cards are supposed to interact.  oh that’s super clever.  what a neat combo.”  and then i’d proceed to shiftily look at my opponent over my cards, riffle those cards a lil bit, and then say “pass” with as much of an enigmatic vibe as i could muster.

meanwhile, my opponent was Actually Prepared, and they were Trying To Win, and they were pissed.  they threatened to call Slow Play on me because i was taking so fucking long reading all the cards.  as in, he literally called a judge over, who stood there watching me the whole time, in order to determine if i was being Criminally Bad At Magic versus just A Regular Amount Of Bad At Magic, and i was sweating bullets the whole time because i didn’t know this deck or their deck or any of those cards and AHHHH why is the judge staring at me!!!

….which only served to make it EXTRA-humiliating for this poor fuck when i proceeded to eviscerate them 2-0.  hahahah get dunked onnnnnnnn nerd!!!

and then i also proceeded to eviscerate my next opponent???

sheer dumb luck.  i cannot overstate how ill-prepared i was for this tournament.  i absolutely did not deserve these wins.

meanwhile the friend who gave me the deck was having a much worse time with their deck, and they were like “what the fuck. you weren’t supposed to win. how are you winning with that shit, my deck’s so much better than yours”

anyway.  i think that’s the kind of scenario Phoenix would get into if he were an MtG player.  dude Gets Himself Into Situations And Then Uses Cleverness + Bullshit + Luck To Get Out Again.

(AA4-era Phoenix seems like he’s doing the same thing… but, in reality, he’s actually been meticulously crafting his deck in secret for the past six months.  he’s not even aiming to win the tournament, he’s just exploiting a known weakness in the opponent-matching system that lets him know with certainty who he’s going to get matched up against (spoiler: first round is Kristoph), and he’s hyper-optimizing his deck to beat Literally Only Those People.  meanwhile, Apollo, who built a tryhard hyper-optimized variant of Red Deck Wins, is lowkey annoyed that Phoenix's seemingly-random pile keeps vaulting him just one table above him in the standings, because Apollo knows his deck is better. he knows it!!!! just let him go 1v1 and prove it aaaaughhhh!!!)

((also, in case you want Actual Concrete Cards And Colors And Stuff: in general i think Phoenix prefers limited play (draft, sealed, "anything where you open booster packs on the spot & throw a deck together") to constructed play, because he doesn't like being tied down to any one game plan. when he does play constructed, i think he's less attached to a specific colors and more attached to specific mechanics. in particular: he's not a combo player exactly, but he likes mechanics that feel like bullshit. dude saw Madness for the first time & his eyes lit up & he was in LOVE, "you mean i'm discarding the card but then i can cast it for free??? hell YES." he absolutely ran a poison counter deck during New Phyrexia. ah fuck i just realized he was probably a huge stan for noted awful expansion Battle for Zendikar, i think i gotta cancel him now, sorry))

((and i think Phoenix also has a touch of Timmy in him! like, i went to a huge state tournament once with a bunch of really skilled players, and there was this one dude in our car who had a really solid deck, clearly adhered to a lot of the trends in the meta at the time... but his win condition was a Shivan Dragon. which wasn't a bad card at the time, it was a reasonable win condition, but it was... slightly suboptimal? not at all the obvious pick? sort of random? and multiple people asked him "why is that your win condition" & he shrugged and said "i like dragons." so the dragon stayed & that dude ended up getting second place in the whole tournament so FUCK optimal play, bring a dragon. i think Phoenix would sneak in a dragon now and again. just 'cause))

MILES EDGEWORTH

this one is trickier!!!

young!Miles is just going to play Whatever The Meta Deems To Be The Best Deck, right. the von Karma perfection thing and all. it's all very boring & micro-optimized to be the Best Deck Of Its Kind & he pours over the results of the big name tournaments week after week & does some math or whatever to hyper-optimize his own build of the Obviously Correct Deck. there is no soul in any of this, purely Executing On A Formula.

...but then he experiences Character Growth & has his big gay crisis & now he has to pick up the game again. he opens the latest tournament results... clicks around some win % stats for various cards in a desultory kinda way, and... his heart's just not in it, right?

enter 2-4 era Miles. 2-4 era Miles is playing some utterly unhinged Five Color Good Stuff thing. there's a lot of Planar Chaos cards in there, because that whole set was about Weird Shit & cards doing Stuff You're Familiar With (But In The Utterly Wrong Color!!!) & all that is resonating with Miles more than he'd care to admit. he cannot possibly talk about his unnecessary feelings but he can make a weird noise rock album about them. and by noise rock album i mean this fucking Magic deck.

and he's playing this deck with a 100% straight face, as though this is the exact same behavior that won him the Junior Super Series five years in a row & not a desperate cry for help from a madman. everyone else is like Miles... are you playing fucking singletons... in a fucking standard deck... you know your deck will be more consistent with four-ofs right... and then he gives a cool fish-eyed stare & taps out to cast some arcane bullshit legendary creature & gives a single rap of his knuckles against the table to indicate that he's passing the turn.

and it works, is the thing! all those years of training to be the Spikiest Spike Ever have paid off; this Five Color Good Stuff thing relies on some pretty clever insights to make the mana base work, and parts of what he's doing eventually get adopted by the larger metagame to become an Actual Serious Deck. but, like. it's still a monstrosity. any skilled players watching are still definitely wondering Are You Okay, Dude.

after 2-4, i think Miles settles back into playing something more normal. he still cares about winning, but he's going to do it with a touch of class. he wants a game that involves dialogue, some actual back-and-forth, because just trying to combo off is lame coward behavior.

aw yeah baby we're talking counterspells!!!

he's a blue player at heart & he's happiest when he's updating the autopsy report shutting down whatever his opponent's plan is. he'll splash other colors as the occasion calls for it, but he'd be happy running mono-blue the rest of his life. like, i ran a pretty fun Legacy deck back in the day which consisted of:

every kind of counterspell i could get my hands on,

propaganda because FUCK creatures,

thieving magpies for the card draw,

and a few silver wyverns to, y'know, actually win the game

...and i think Miles would appreciate that deck. just play counterspells until the opponent runs out of steam & then cruise your way to victory with a couple birds. simple. elegant. classic. doesn't involve any of this modern Planeswalker bullshit (Miles regards most developments that happened to MtG post-Time Spiral block or so as affronts to game design).

(i do think Miles has a secret fondness for sagas as a card type, however. they remind him of all that Character Growth, but in an abstract/subconscious/nonthreatening way. too bad most of them are a bit of poor match for the kinds of decks he likes to play)

FINALLY: i think Miles hates playing Commander with every fiber of his being & Phoenix loves it & this is a pretty serious point of contention in their relationship. poor dudes

[bountycancelled]

house of cards (a challengers au)

requested: no, but send challengers reqs I BEG !

warnings: none :)

content: tension I guess? readers kind of a go with the flow typa gyal, but the flow is sometimes manipulative and evil so... tashi and art both play (different games but they still play) patrick is a loser, but he's my loser so it's okay lowercase intended, unedited.

a/n: back after like a half year hiatus, and im on my challengers bullshit, hope you enjoy this cuz I wrote in a day lol

¤

¤

"you know, sometimes it feels like you hate me." the words leave your lips before you can stop them, coming out of your mouth with the kind of instantaneous honesty you learnt during your many years around tashi. admiring her, envying her, loving her, and hating her all the same.

she raises an amused brow, the sides of her mouth quirking up in a half smile. she probably thinks it's funny, your train of thought. you're in her dorm right now, laying on her bed with your head rested against her shoulder while some episode of some show serves as background noise. and yet, you seem unsure that she even wants you here.

but the one thing you can count on tashi to know, is what she wants. so if she's sure that she doesn't hate you, you should be too. "I don't hate you. I love you, more than usual, honestly."

that shouldn't make your stomach flip in the way it does, but you've always been a little like a hungry dog waiting to be thrown a bone when it came to affection, from anyone really (a problem that you thought you were working on effectively, you weren't.) but mostly tashi, who's affection was about as rare as the sight of her not playing tennis. well, maybe that comparison was in poor taste after the injury, but anyway.

"why is that?" you hope you don't come off as eager as you are to hear what you've done to further place yourself in her good graces (you do, but don't worry, tashi thinks it's cute.)

"you're the only one who still plays tennis with me. real tennis." she nudges you off of her shoulder as she speaks, forcing you to look at her, leaving you to tackle that feeling that always seemed to arise whenever she was close. a feeling that would rather die that put a name to.

god, you were such a tryhard when it came to her. you let her tell you about her escapade with the notorious 'fire and ice' duo, art and patrick. you assured that it was totally okay to pit two friends against each other for the prospect of getting her, you nodded along when patrick came out victorious, and you comforted her when she eventually broke it off.

and the cherry on top of this absolutely miserable sundae of yours, you played exactly the same way you used to play with her, because you knew it was what she wanted, and anything she wanted, you'd give it to her.

and she knew that, of course. one of the reasons she kept you around.

she brought her face close to yours, so close, closer, closer... before turning your own face to plant a kiss on your cheek, deciding to pay attention to the show you two had put on her laptop, completely shattering what you thought had been a moment between you and her. not the first time she's done that, not the last time you'll think that.

you inhale and exhale deeply, willing yourself to not spend the whole night picking that last ten seconds of that interaction apart, trying to analyse if you were running on pure delusion, or if something had been there, between you two.

but you do anyway, and you don't come to a solid conclusion. when it comes to tashi, you never do.

¤

¤

your run in with patrick is unexpected, but what is expected is just how fucking miserable he looks. you debate just leaving the diner all together, finding another place to eat. hell, not eating at all would be better than whatever conversation you could possibly have with the ex boyfriend of your best friend. the poor thing is still wearing that grey 'I told ya' shirt, and it's evident that he isn't taking any of this well.

you understand both of them, patrick blames himself (it's not his fault, at least not to you) and tashi needed someone to blame. there's a small part of you thats just glad you weren't the one that she chose, but it's small, and the bigger parts of you just want to pull patrick into a hug, but you're unsure of how appropriate that would be. unsure of if he would even want that from you. because you're not actually on his side, you'd never be on the side opposing tashi, and patrick knows that.

that doesn't stop his eyes from lighting up in hopeful recognition as he spots you awkwardly lingering by the entrance, and now you have to go and sit with him because you are not about to kick a dog while it's down. you flag down a waiter and order for yourself, turning to face him with a pensively worried expression.

"are you... okay?"

patrick laughs at your words, not because he thinks it's funny that you ask. (even in the event that you're just pretending to care, he's just thankful that you humoured him by sitting down) he laughs because he knows that you know that he's not. even if the two of you were strangers, you'd sense his misery from the second you entered and took one look at him.

"never better. foods here." he changes the topic swiftly, and you're starving, so you don't try to redirect it, stuffing your face almost as unapologetically as he is. but once the food finishes and you await the bill, you take another long look at him, and the sadness in his eyes make your heart ache.

you don't owe anything to patrick, but for whatever reason, you find yourself reaching for his hand, holding it in your own and giving it a comforting squeeze, smiling back at him sympathetically when he flashes you a grateful half smile.

maybe it's the unique circumstances of the breakup, or his sad brown eyes, or that one time you two played a "friendly" game right before him and tashi got together (the looks he gave you from across the court would be misplaced, but tennis was intrinsically sexy, and so was patrick, so you tried not to overthink it. tried.)

or maybe it's the emalgumation of every look that would make you squint curiously at him, every casual touch that would last too long because patricks patrick, every tipsy kiss on the cheek, or shoulder squeeze, but after you two leave the diner (he pays, and you feel bad about it, but don't comment further.) but when you face each other outside the establishment, the sunset painting the sky, you pull him into a hug.

the hug feels... far too intimate for two friends (were you still friends? you weren't sure.) but, whatever. he's hurt, grieving the loss of someone that would surely break you if you lost them and the loss of his own best friend, so you're not gonna judge. he wraps his arms around you slowly, hiding his face away in the crook of your neck, holding you so gently that a passerby would think that you're the one being comforted.

you tell him to call you if he ever feels lonely, immediately regretting your language because it sounds like you wanna fuck him, but he understands what you meant. and then, you say your goodbyes.

you don't tell tashi about that interaction. and you don't think you will.

¤

¤

your run in with art isn't intentional, but he's grateful for it.

he knows that you and tashi usually run drills together at the courts on saturdays, its not crowded since everyone is in their dorms trying to piece themselves together after a shitty week. but he also knows that tashi needs to rest right now, so you'd most likely be alone. but he doesn't strike then, the racket in your hand will make you too focused, he knows that all too well. you'd be giving him one word answers, barely paying him any mind and probably wanting him to fuck off as soon as possible.

so while he's wracking his brain, thinking of another opportunity to find a way in with you, because being closer to you meant being even closer to tashi, he's seconds away from getting on his knees and praising the gods above when he sees in the cafeteria, alone.

him being there for her when the injury happened was simply happenstance, and he was lucky in a roundabout sort of way, getting to comfort tashi and hopefully building a good image of himself in your mind, because you were there too, of course.

but that wouldn't cut it. he needed to be truly in with you, and he needed a new best friend anyway, he'd basically sold his last one off, so this was a two birds, one stone kind of situation.

you don't look up when art sits in front of you. because one, you know its him, he has the nervous kind of energy whenever he's around you, different to the kind of nervous energy he has when tashis around, but you can still sniff him out regardless. and two, you're still feeling shitty about that whole... thing with patrick, too shitty to care that blondies over here in front of you, trying to get in with tashi.

"they stale or something?" he asks, his smile stupidly warm and inviting as he points towards the cheese fries on your plate, completely untouched. you shoot air through your nose, smiling despite yourself before giving him a response. "no, I'm just grappling with the fact that I'm a shitty friend, and maybe even a shitty person in general."

he hums, holding his hand towards your tray as a silent question, and you push it towards him nonchalantly, letting him take what he wants. he feels way too good about a simple tray, but something about you sharing your food gives him hope that you haven't completely ruled him out.

"well, think about it this way. the average person needs to have at least one of these traits in order to be liked. talent, kindness or looks. you're a fucking beast on that court, and you're gorgeous, so you don't even need to worry about being a good person." it's easy to butter you up a bit, because the words he's saying are true, and he had a feeling that telling you what he honestly felt was the route to go with.

you roll your eyes at his words, but the compliment makes you bite back a smile. you're only human, after all, and not even you are invincible to the charms of one art donaldson.

but you keep your cool, waiting for the inevitable of him bringing up tashi, with the obligatory acting like that wasn't why he sat with you in the first place. but it comes later in the conversation than you thought it would, he asks if she's doing any better, and you answer with an honest 'no.'

maybe this is just another one of his tactics, pretending that he's fully interested in getting to know you with no tashi shaped ulterior motive. but it works. because you end up talking over your now empty tray for a while, so long that you're late to your next class.

the look that he gives you when you leave is one of longing, but it was a specific kind longing, one linked to tashi. that's what art tells himself too, as he watches you walk away.

[tlouadditc]

hate to hate you.

enemies to lovers abby x reader.

a/n: this was an ask but i forgot to put this under it 😭 anyway thank u anon for asking!! this was so fun to write tbh and also i am not a nursing student so idk how any of this works .... hope you enjoy anyway :,) also might write a pt. 2 depending on how this one does!

warnings: 18+/MDNI, men dni either, mean!abby [kinda], super fem!reader, abby's a bully :,((, switch!abby, switch!reader, clothed grinding [?], oral [a!receiving], dirty talk ;), pussy slaps [?], rushed ending because im crocheting, probably more. NOT PROOFREAD AGAIN.

abby has been your rival since middle school. she was always making fun of you- could be how you had lower grades [by a couple points, to be specific], how you always dressed in pink and in skirts and were a "tryhard", literally anything. hell, when she found out you were interested in nursing, she made it a competition to see who could be the better doctor. eventually, the amount of taunting had gotten to you and you started dressing like everyone else and becoming a quieter person.

ever since then, there's been some silent tension between you two. it was stupid, of course, but neither of you made an effort to end the rivalry. every class you had together in high school was a competition to see who could participate the most, get the most praise from the teacher, highest grades- everything. but no matter what you did, you'd always be second to her. once senior year was over, you were free from this hell and decided to finally be your true self in college.

or so you thought.

it was your first day of freshman year. you were doing your makeup in your bathroom, trying to calm your nerves. you've done this multiple times before, you thought to yourself. why am i still nervous??

you were adding little finishes- a bit more blush, curling your lashes one more time, adding a bit of glitter to your inner corner, etc. you check the time: 8:03am. class starts in 20 minutes, and you have to walk! you quickly check your outfit, straightening out your pink skirt and grabbing your bag before leaving out.

the walk to class isn't bad; a little confusing, but there's staff around to help direct new students, so you easily find your class. you walk in as soon as the class starts. to your horror, all the seats in the front are taken. the professor stops her introduction and walks over to you to speak. "hi, you must be y/n? you're a tad late, but it is your first time here, so i'll let you have a pass. your seat is in the back corner next to ms. anderson."

anderson...? your smile fades as you look towards the seat the teacher is pointing at. there she is- sitting there with her smug smirk and her always-braided hair. fuck my life actually. you turn back to the teacher, crack a small smile, and nervously walk over to your seat.

"didn't think you'd see me, huh?" is the first thing that comes out of abby's mouth, her big smile growing wider after seeing the dread on your face. all you can do is glare at her and get your things out. as you rummage through your bag, you hear the professor say:

"the person you are currently sitting with will be your partner for the semester."

you've LITERALLY have to be joking. the girl who's been borderline bullying you for years is your partner for the rest of the semester?? you debate asking the teacher to change seats, but decide against it.

"can't believe im stuck with you," she mutters, mocking the disbelief on your face. "shut up, abby," you hiss, trying to keep your voice down.

this was gonna be quite a year, huh?

abby was unbearable the entire class. always asking useless fucking questions, moving her braid from one side to another- it all annoyed the fuck out of you. however, to pass this class, you had to work with her and put your feelings aside.

the first assignment was to study and review the human anatomy with your partner. the test on the subject was in a couple of days, making it the first grade of the semester. everyone else in the class was easily discussing plans for studying while you and abby made a horrible attempt for friendly small talk.

"so.. we have a test-"

"i heard."

"goddamnit, abby, i'm trying to pass this class. can you be nice for once?"

"stop staring at me like that and maybe i will."

"i wasn't even- [sigh] just give me your number so we can figure out a time and place. please."

and with that, you two later that night made the plan to meet up at your apartment and study there the next day.

the next day

you spent most of your morning doing your usual routine; cleaning, listening to your podcast, organizing your things- basically a mini-spa day. since abby was coming over, you didn't want to give her any reason to ridicule your space. you also debated on wearing some bland outfit to avoid the bicker, but ultimately decided you shouldn't care anymore. you settled on something casual; a floral tube top, a pink cardigan, and some comfy shorts to match the top. you also threw on some pink bunny slippers to match the ribbons in your hair.

as you finished the kitchen, the doorbell rang. must be abby. you walk to the door, slowly losing your happiness as you turned the doornob. upon opening the door, you see abby, leaning against your doorframe. she's dressed in a black wifebeater and gray sweats. she has a small tote bag and headphones around her neck.

as you study her look, she does the same to you. you suddenly feel small in comparison to her; almost feeling weak in her presence. if you were honest with yourself, in all the annoyance that you felt toward her, you could admit she was hot. she was your lesbian awakening, if you were 100% honest. but since she didn't like you, you suppressed all feelings.

"someone got dressed up," she teases, looking you up and down. "this is just how i dress," you say, rolling your eyes. "come in."

an hour later, you and abby are sitting on your couch, going over flashcards for the test. abby has her information down, of course- you keep missing the same two vocab words.

"you dumbass," she laughs, watching you pout over missing the same word for the 4th time in a row.

"this is so annoying," you say, burying your head in your hands. the frustration you feel is so intense, you feel tears well up in your eyes. you attempt to hide it as abby continues to laugh, but a sniffle gives you away.

"are you- there's no way you're crying right now," abby says, genuine disbelief in her voice. "don't be a crybaby, bun. you can get it."

bun.. ?? what the hell? she's being... nice? no fucking way.

you lift your head, tears running down your face, messing up your makeup as you wipe your face with your hands. abby analyzes your face before sitting back on the couch. she pats her thigh, "c'mere, let me help."

okay, this has to be a dream.

you hesitantly get off your side of the couch and sit on her lap. almost immediately, you feel the warmth radiating off her body, making you shiver a bit. she chuckles lightly, "what, are you scared or somethin'? just trying to help you since you clearly need it." you're still wiping your face, too busy to rebuttal.

she begins to explain. "so, these two are similar, but they aren't the same thing. y'know why? because this one.."

all you can focus on is the amount of contact you two have right now: her right hand slightly touching your inner thigh. her abs resting against your back. her voice, soothing and calming, in your ears. the scent of pine and clean laundry filling your nose. you knew it was wrong, but fuck, you were wet. there was probably a puddle under you by now.

"uh, y/n? you there?"

you snap out of your slutty daze, realizing you're supposed to be listening. "mm, what? can you explain that, uh, again, please?"

she laughs, putting the cards on the coffee table in front of you two. "i'm sitting right here, trying to teach you and you still can't focus that pretty little head on this? god, what am i gonna do with you?"

you turn slightly, face to face with abby. her piercing blue eyes study yours, searching for something. you don't know what comes over you, but you completely turn to face her, move your hands to the sides of her face, and kiss her.

she immediately kisses back, hands finding comfort on the top of your hips. she falls back on the couch, lips still connected as you straddle her lap. you can feel the passion, intent with every kiss you give her. her strong hands push your hips onto hers, grinding through her sweats. a soft moan leaves your lips, giving her the opportunity to insert her tongue into your mouth and deepen the kiss.

you pull back, catching your breath as abby continues to make your hips roll onto hers. "you know how long- hah- i've wanted to do this to you?" she breathes, eyes moving from where you two meet to your flustered face.

you look at her, eyes wide. ".. what?"

"i've wanted to kiss you for forever. wanted to have you close like this. wanted to fuck you. everything." shes now completely focused of your face, trying to read your expression.

"i thought you hated me." you're so confused, you don't know whether to cry, smile, get angry, or whatever.

"fuck- i didn't mean to, i'm sorry," she's desperate, her hands moving to your cheeks to bring you back to her face. "let me make it up to you, yeah?"

after a while, she moves her hand to cup your throbbing cunt, earning a whimper from you. "you're so fucking wet, shit," she hisses, feeling the wet spot on your cotton pink shorts. "who's this for? hm?"

the embarrassment takes over you, making you pitifully whimper as you cover your face. she's quick to swat your hand away and ask in a more demanding voice, "who made you this wet, baby?"

"y-you," you manage to choke out, subconsciously grinding into her hand. she smirks, "good girl."

the praise catches you by surprise, not to mention the way her palm accidentally catches your clothed clit. a soft moan leaves your mouth, feeding into the power dynamic between you two. "oh, you like that name, huh?" she whispers, keeping eye contact with you as she rubs your clothed cunt. "you wanna be my good girl?"

"yes, oh my god-" you're chasing your high, overwhelmed by all the feelings you feel. she hums in response, clearly satisfied by your state. she moves a hand to your face, inserting a thumb into your mouth. you suck on her thumb, moaning around it as your hips stutter against her palm. "you gonna cum f'me, bun?" she coos, not slowing down at all. all you can do is nod, too caught up in the knots forming in your abdomen. "go ahead, pretty girl. cum for mommy."

the name pushes you over the edge, making you clench around nothing in your shorts. abby still has her hand over your cunt, feeling the wet spot grow as you pitifully moan. she talks you through your orgasm, mostly praising you for how good you are to her.

as you catch your breath, she removes her thumb from your mouth and peppers small kisses across your cheeks, releasing small praise in between. once you come to your senses, she's still under you, chuckling at your fucked out state. she mutters something along the lines of 'you're so cute' before you start to giggle with her.

you accidentally grind against her while laughing, making abby whine. you immediately realize you haven't helped her at all, making you guilty. you reach a hand down to her heat, feeling her warm cunt under her sweats. she hisses, hips bucking up onto your fingers. you get up and stand in front of her.

"sit up," you say, catching abby by surprise. she hesitantly sits up, looking suspiciously at you. "what for?" she questions, side eyeing you. you chuckle as you kneel in front of her, placing hands on her strong thighs. you reach a hand up to the band of her bottoms, signaling for them to come off. "m' gonna help you."

if her boxers weren't already soaked, they definitely were now. her face heats up as she shyly takes off her sweats, leaving her in just her wifebeater and undergarments. she puts her knees up to her chest, looking away as you assess the wet patch on her boxers.

"i make you this wet, abs?" you say quietly, pointer finger tracing her slit. she slightly gasps at the contact, slightly nodding to answer your question. "use your words. i know you can do it."

"you do, clearly. you've made me this horny for you for years, so yeah." she's being a brat, acting like she's in charge! you give her cunt a small slap, a small surprised moan leaving her lips.

"act like a brat, get treated like one." she stares at you, surprised that you went from such a submissive state to a dominant persona. you tease her, feeling her sensitive bud through her boxers. she whimpers, gripping onto the couch for any stability. "i think it's about time we get these off," you pull at the top of her boxers, "don't you think?"

she immediately gets up and takes them off, sitting back on the couch. she sits and moves her hips to the edge of the couch to reveal her cunt, glistening with slick. you study her sopping cunt, making her nervous under your gaze. "not so cocky now, hm?" you tease, making her face heat up as she huffs and puffs.

"please t-touch me," she almost whispers, barely able to be heard. you could've let up from here, but you don't.

"what was that? i'm gonna need you to be a bit louder, babe."

she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, swallowing her pride. "please touch me," she musters out.

she was such a pretty site to see, how could you possibly deny her? "okay, baby."

you spread her lips apart, revealing her swollen, sensitive clit. she shudders, cold air meeting her core. she's not sure what to expect until you dip your head down and place a flat tongue on her heat, making her gasp.

her reaction makes you smile; you quickly latch onto her clit and suck, still watching her reaction. she throws her head back, moaning loudly.

"oh, you like that," you say, quickly going back to placing kitten licks onto her cunt. she's overwhelmed with pleasure, loud moans and groans leaving her mouth. when you decide to insert your middle finger into her heat, she's going over the edge, babbling your name and please's. her hand comes down and grips the back of your head, pushing your face deeper into her pussy.

her sounds get you wet all over again, making you moan into her pussy. "s-shit, m' cumming- oh, fuck," she cries, gripping your hair and pulling you closer than ever to her as her heat clenches around your finger. tears are streaming down her face as you continue to lap up her juices. after she catches her breath, you pull her into a sloppy kiss, sharing her fluids in between you two.

"shit," she breathes, pulling away from the kiss, "i'm gonna have to fuck you harder next time."

"next time? oh, we're already making dates?"

"yeah, we're gonna have multiple assignments like this later."

you both laugh and get cleaned up before cuddling on your couch and sleeping in each others arms. :,)

taglist [if you're striked out, i can't tag you!!]: @ellabsweet @digit4lslut @macaroni676 @mostlyhornyandsad @yorlenybaires @Pigwideon

[kowbelll]

Hi,

First of all, I love your work! 😍

Aaaand can I ask for some (over)protective/ jealous Stiles, preferably at a party...maybe he sees someone flirting with y/n...or at school maybe and he gets touchy 🥺❤️

Thank you ❤️❤️❤️

Hey! I apologize for taking so long to answer, but life has been absolutely wild lately. But, thank you very much for the request and the love! I twisted it a little bit, making his paranoia the cause of his jealousy instead of someone else... I hope that's ok and I hope you like it! :)

Fiasco

Saying that Stiles wasn't thrilled to be at some random freshman lacrosse kid's party on a Friday night instead of being snuggled up on the couch with his girlfriend and ignoring a lame movie to make out was an understatement. He didn't even know what the kid's name was and he didn't care. The pipsqueak barely made the team anyway, it was doubtful that he was any better than Stiles (which was kind of an ego boost). But alas, there he was, walking into an unfamiliar house behind his group of friends, tightly clutching his girlfriend's hand in hopes of relieving his grumpy mood.

Unfortunately for him, this method failed as his anchor was swept away to the kitchen with Malia and Kira. He sighed defeatedly as he plopped himself down on the couch next to some imbecile who was wearing a scarf, and no, surprisingly, it wasn't Isaac.

All he wanted to do was go home and lock himself in a room with the love of his life. She always made everything feel better because she always knew what to do to make that happen. It's like she had his brain in the palm of her hand, all to herself to read and understand completely and thoroughly - she knew him better than anyone, including himself. So yes, he wished that she could magically heal his grouchiness and clear his mind of all the shit that was going on in his life, preferably immediately.

However, when his scowling gaze met her figure in the living room again and he saw the look of enjoyment on her face, disbelief struck him. He wondered how in hell she could be having fun right now, with these losers, wannabes, and tryhards, thus dragging his mood to deeper depths of negativity.

He watched every movement she made: step, shift, glance, smile, laugh, sway, sip, turn, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera... But then his focus shifted to the people around his girlfriend. He narrowed his eyes as he observed drifting eyes, brushing hands, and hungry smirks.

His emotions swirled and bubbled inside him until they became a jealous and protective boil - one he could not contain.

Stiles stood up suddenly, charging towards his other half with a look of rage. He harshly grabbed the forearm of one of his adversaries and glowered at the boy as he scolded, "If you put your disgusting, perverted hand on her, I swear to God, I will chop your fucking hand off and shove it up your fucking-"

"Stiles!"

Like a bright ray of sunshine breaking through a wall of charcoal storm clouds, her voice broke through his haze of fury, retrieving his sanity. He looked at her and her disbelief, then blinked a few times and glanced around. That's when he realized he realized whose arm he was gripping: it was Ethan's, who looked like he was about to laugh in Stiles' face. He released Ethan and then saw Scott, Kira, Malia, Danny, Boyd, and Isaac, all staring right back at him.

Stiles' cheeks quickly darkened to a crimson and his whole body heated up, feeling incredibly stupid for losing his mind like that. He silently cursed himself, trying to wrap his head around what just happened.

His girlfriend, being the amazing woman she was, acted quickly when she saw Stiles' return to reality and the shame on his face. She took his hand and hastily led him outside, weaving through all the teenagers to reach the front door.

"What the hell is going on with you?" she asked worriedly, facing him on the driveway.

He stuttered, unable to ignore the lingering feeling of jealousy roaming through him, "I, well, I... I don't know, I just..." He let out a breath and looked down in an attempt to form a coherent sentence, looking up at her again after a short moment. "I don't want to be here. I want to be in my house with you, alone and away from everyone and everything."

"So, you flipped out instead of asking me to go home with you...?" she spoke, confused.

Stiles bit his lip, hesitating, before he continued, "No, I flipped out because I was jealous."

She smiled and raised her eyebrows with amusement. "You were jealous of Ethan? The guy who is dating Danny, another guy? The Ethan who is very gay and very uninterested in girls?"

"No!" he said, glaring at her, "I was jealous of how much fun you were having and how happy you looked..."

His girlfriend's smile softened and turned sympathetic.

"Well, and," he continued, "all the touching, and the looks, and the creepy smirks, and the rubbing, and the staring. I didn't like that either."

"What are you talking about?" She was suddenly filled with confusion again. "There was no touching, or rubbing, or creepiness, or staring."

Stiles' eyebrows furrowed as he replayed the earlier events in his head. He wasn't hallucinating, he knew what he saw. Or did he...?

"Stiles, seriously, what is going on with you? These are our friends. There's nothing to be jealous of," she said, getting his attention again.

"But I thought... Oh my God, I'm a mess." He ran his hands over his face. "I don't know what's wrong with me, but every little thing just pissed me off more and more, and then my grumpy mood turned into a wild rage, and then a whole fiasco. I'm a fiasco."

She softly smiled at him and cupped his face with her hands. "You are not a fiasco. But if you were in a bad mood, why didn't you just say so? We could've just stayed home and watched some lame movie instead."

Stiles' heart just about melted. He looked at her with all the love he had for her before pulling her closer by her hips and pressing his lips to hers.

"I'm sorry for imagining things and getting jealous. I'll definitely let you know about my bad mood before we go to another party," he said quietly, then gave her another peck.

"Thank you," her smile grew as she looked up at him, "but just so you know, I still love your imagination, even if it makes you do some questionable things."

He chuckled awkwardly as he spoke, "Yeah, I should probably go apologize to Ethan too..."

"Yep!"

[maidensveil]

FYODOR WITH AN fem!S/O AS INTELLIGENT AS HIM

Disclaimer ; these hcs contain my lil hcs for fyodor as well. hate them? ok no one cares, leave. like them? okay then, ily.

this is kinda toxic, bc yk. Its fyodor. And im saying this in a non racist way possible, but by experience of reading russian literature, russians are fucked up. But theyre hot so idgaf.

also, these hcs are set in the pov of fyodor and what he has to think about you. Reader is in doa.

requests are open btw<3

At the start, Fyodor had never intended to be content with you, in other words, he had never expected to fall for you.

Once he starts to slowly discover his own feelings, He ignored them and ignored you,,his ego was far too high to be falling in love with, as he says, “the tainted”.

he is obviously in denial, the best thing to do here is to be patient with him.

his solution to completely ignoring these feelings are to treat you as any other, just an accomplice. Nothing more, nothing less.

however, that just results in him being somewhat frustrated in himself, which made him much more frustrated and confused.

he knows he has to keep his chin up, not bothering to deal with his problems he knows he can live with anyway.

the times you spend together as “accomplices” pulled the both of you a bit closer and closer each time.

he hated it.

he’s smart enough to realize these feelings cant just disappear, and he is absolutely dumbfounded, frustrated in this life.

The more tasks you both have makes him slowly discover your actual self and your intelligent mindset.

before you think whatever the hell you’re thinking, no. This is not a big factor to him growing to love you.

i have this lil headcanon: i know for a fact some russian families are toxic. So he grew up with lots of siblings, so him being neglected was a often thing—his sisters and brothers always stole the spotlight, so he grew up to be a tryhard, a burnt out gifted child, but slowly developed and changed his mindset and which led him to have a god complex, but that does not mean his obsession and drive for perfection was gotten rid of.

you being nearly on the same level as he is makes him nearly makes his blood boil.

of course, the keyword here is NEARLY. Fyodor is a smart man and only a fool would underestimate him. He is smart enough to not let his emotions get the best of himself.

dont worry, though. As long as you keep spending time with him, it wont be too late to change his opinion on yourself.

im pretty sure the only reason he keeps you around is because you’re a valuable chess piece (that was his opinion before he slowly fell for you).

he decides, instead of torturing himself, maybe it wouldnt hurt to accept his feelings?

of course, he would probably rather die than admit it.

Being the arrogant man he is, the most you could get is spending LOTS time with him. There will be LOTS of hints that he fancies you, so be on the look out.

If he falls, he falls hard. There is no inbetween. So, if he does fall too hard--he would consider marriage. However, that would only cross his mind only once, and that would probably only work out if he is finished “perfecting” the world.

ɴᴏᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴏғʀᴇᴀᴅ

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪs ʙʟᴏɢ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ @aoizaraka . ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ/ʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ.

ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ © 2023

[chocsra]

hello!

i’m so glad to have found this blog as i saw your lala land inspired fic awhile ago, and just as i saw going to open your account, tumblr refreshed💔

anyways, i ADORE your writing!!

if not too much to ask, may i ask for chuuya (whatever age you prefer) x fem reader with the one bed troupe? (enemies to lovers hehehe)

reader has a tendency to grab on and get on top of things in her sleep, pillows, sheets, attractive ginger men, you name it!

they wake up in each others arms, like literally TANGLED with each other

once again, many thanks for your amazing writing!

"Embers"

16! Chuuya x gn! reader

A/N: thank you sm anon! sorry i didnt get to this sooner omg 😭😭 also omg i was contemplating whether i should do the petty enemies to lovers like in my lala land oneshot or like hatred. kinda did a mix of both but since the req said enemies to lovers i made it more mean 💔💔 sorry for the language guys i swear a lot. also after writing is i realise there are no gender descriptions so enjoy

content: swearing, slowburn, denial, fluff, enemies to lovers, subordinates, mafia work

"Fuck you,"

A cold air chilled through the night's breeze, you had just completed a tough mission for the Port Mafia. A planned out heist only prestigious members of the mafia could carry out. And here you were, with probably the subordinate you'd rather tear your own ears off than be next to. Chuuya Nakahara, a jewel smuggler known for his deadly duo named Double Black, with Dazai Osamu.

There was practically nothing to like about him - as a person, friend or subordinate. Upon your hang outs with the Flags - a mafia subgroup composed of young blood, his contribution to the group was like an angry fucking dog.

"I didn't even fucking say anything," you respond dryly, irritation laced in your voice. The hotel you were staying at for the time being was pretty grand. Only problem is, among slamming your items down on the cold wooden floor, blood slithering in the cut flesh of your stomach; there laid a king sized bed, clean and fresh, the silk matress looking as tempting as ever - but fuck, there was only one of them.

"You fucked up my flow." your subordinate hissed, clicking his tongue in annoyance before running to the bed, contaminating his dirty ass on the damn bed by laying on it. "Well fuck you too!" you shout, following him to pull him off the bed. "You're gonna make the bed dirty you shithead!" you tug on the sleeve of his arm annoyed, the ginger looks at you offended, the sweat from the hot air from outside making his orange locks stick to his forehead. "It's not like I'm sleeping on it?!" he retorts, letting his arm get dragged by you off the bed.

"Well obviously..!" you scoff, crossing your arms as his low-lided stormy grey eyes bored into yours. You can't lie, he had medium to longish hair tied in a low ponytail and.. You could almost pinch yourself for thinking of that, fuck yourself, [Y/N]. "Y'know what, just fuck yourself, man!"

...

It's been about 30 minutes, and you've got to calm yourselves down just a little bit. Since there was no couch in the hotel, you begrudgingly agreed to let him hang around on the bed and then sleep on the floor. You had your hair down, and wore some loose pjs.

"How did I fuck up your flow again?" you ask in a whisper, muttering into a pillow. "Mm, you attacked too early, I wasn't able to get my flow, ya know?" the boy arrogantly side eyes you, you snicker mockingly in response. "It's because you're such a fucking tryhard." you answer, pulling the thick blanket over yourself. "Tsk," he clicks his tongue in irritation yet again, turning away from you slowly as he sat on the bed. "I'm not a tryhard, I'm just that good." the redhead responds, you could almost taste the smirk on his stupid little face right now.

"Nuh-uh."

"Yeah-huh."

Neither of you reply after that. A soothing, comforting silence fills the room, he watches as you eyelids get heavier, and you finally close them and seem to drift away to sleep. The teenager thinks to himself: he likes you the most when you're not talking, specifically asleep; but truthfully, he shouldn't like you at all.

2 minutes pass, and he's still on the bed. "I hate you," he whispers, brushing some loose strands of hair out of your face.

5 minutes pass, and he's still on the bed. "That was a joke, by the way." the ginger says to your sleeping figure, "Not like as in 'I hate you' that's a joke. I fixed your hair as a joke, it was bothering me." an expected silence filled the room as your reply.

11 minutes pass, and he's still on the bed. Maybe Chuuya Nakahara is just a creep that likes to watch people sleep as a hobby. "I'm gonna go now.." he whispers to himself, but as if a scene from a horror movie played, your sleeping figure grabbed onto the bottom of his shirt.

"..[Y/N]?" the ginger murmurs in confusion, slowly turning his head around. You sleepily let go of your pillow and wrap your hands around him - the same kid you'd rather rip your own ears off than talk to him, by the way.

Chuuya Nakahara doesn't remember much from that night. He remembers the cold chilling air, pulling you closer to him, he remembers counting the freckles on your face, admiring your eyelashes and how your hair gets matted from the pillow, worst part of all; he remembers telling you something that isn't 'I hate you'.

"You look stupid," he mutters in your ear, his hands were snaked around your shoulders as rumpled hair and half-closed eyes were all that's in sight. "..You look pretty too, though."

He swore to not to talk to himself ever again after that.

...

It was a peaceful morning, the tinge of the sun's rays rained down on your skin, and you felt practically engulfed by a heater, almost like you were hugging one.

Unfortunately, you found your arms wrapped around your subordinate, Chuuya's waist. And you found him sleeping with his lips brushed against your forehead, his arms cradling you with such gentleness you never thought he out of all people could have.

2 minutes pass and you're still buried in his warmth. "..Chuuya?" you murmur, watching how the sun kisses his hair's colour ever so beautifully.

5 minutes pass and you're still buried in his warmth. "I hate you, y'know? How'd we even.." you trail off, noticing and counting the freckles on his face: 1.. 2.. 3, fuck!

11 minutes pass and you're still buried in his warmth. "That was completely serious by the way, I really do hate you-"

"Do you talk to people in their sleep as a weird hobby or something?" the redhead mutters with closed eyes, horrifying you with the fact that he was awake.

"What the actual fuck-"