#i am a bad luck charm in sports maybe ;_;

[freebooter4ever]

i was complaining to italianikixis about how every hockey team i even remotely like got kicked out of the playoffs and now i have nobody to root for even tangentially...and he was like 'time to switch to basketball'. and i was almost enthusiastic about that like 'oh yeah! the lakers, i could root for the lakers!' (the only LA team i have a fondness for)

and he responded: "maybe you shouldn't"

[purinfelix]

beautiful stranger ₊˚⊹♡ - franco colapinto

summary: as your city's turn to host a Formula One race rolls around, you're not surprised when your usual morning commute is disrupted. the arrival of an unexpectedly charming face, however, takes you by surprise w/c: 1.2k

a/n: yes this is inspired by a post i saw saying that franco insists on catching local buses instead of a car when going to the Williams factory - he is just so cute i cannot handle it

Your bus stopped to a screeching halt, almost throwing you with it as you made a last-ditch attempt to hold onto the rail with all your might. Silently, you thanked your many years of committing experience, having lived in a busy city, for saving you from flying into the nearest person.

Your relief was short-lived though as you caught sight of the long line of people waiting to get onto your bus, many of them donning racing-related merch. Letting out a sigh, you tried your best to shuffle out of the way to let them in and maintain your patience as you got shoved every which way.

For the most part, the public transport in your city was manageable - but being home to a Formula racing track made particular times of the year insufferable. It seemed that this time had finally come again, and it was just your luck that the track was on your regular bus route. Maybe this was the reason why you had never cared about the events, only seeing them as pure inconvenience - you probably couldn't name a single driver if you tried. You never had been that big of a sports fan, and motorsports were certainly no exception.

You're once again reminded of this fact as your bus makes a stop outside a train station and yet another hoard of people clamber on. Halfway through groaning in frustration, you lock onto a pair of green eyes, your grip on your bag slacking slightly.

If you hadn't been so taken aback you would've assumed him to be just another crazed fan, especially considering that he's wearing what you assume to be racing merch. Though as he squeezes into the bus, conveniently into the spot right next to you, you notice that the team shirt is all that evidences this. Everything else of his is completely normal, from the cargo pants to the backpack he slips off to place between his legs - well everything aside from the fact that you feel out of breath just looking at him.

You watch him brush his deep brown curls out of his face, sending you a smile - one that's polite, and nothing more than that - but your heart still skips a bit at it. Your eyes dart to the floor between your feet, desperate not to make a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger and an entire bus full of people.

Though fate has never been kind to you, taking complete advantage of the fact that you're not paying attention to where the bus is - sending you flying the next time it screeches to a halt. Flying conveniently into him.

"Fu- shit," you gasp, first at the feeling of losing your balance and second at the feeling of his large hands - one around your waist and the other catching your arm.

"Woah," he exclaims. There's a moment of silence, an agonisingly long one, which you take to regain your balance and try your best to comprehend what just happened. If you didn't know any better you might've thought you had bumped your head too hard and woken up in a romcom - and as you turn to look at him, you consider the chances for just a second, because maybe being in a romcom with him wouldn't be so bad.

But the minute you feel the hot flush of your cheeks and your heart leap into your throat, you're reminded of the cruel reality. "I am so sorry," you breath out, hands reaching for the nearest pole which so happens to be the same one he's holding.

"No, it's alright, I've got you," he laughs, and god you're wondering how even his laugh is gorgeous. "Just be careful, it's packed in here."

You laugh nervously in agreeance, "Yeah, I mean no wonder why."

He tilts his head in confusion, and even though it's adorable you're more distracted by his cluelessness.

"The Formula One race? It's today, don't you know?"

"Ah, of course!" it's his turn to let out a nervous chuckle, as your eyes dart between his face and his shirt.

"Are you not a fan?"

"Well not really, I'm-" he begins to talk, but stops himself before he can explain. "It's my sister's shirt, I'm actually on my way to work right now."

"Right," you say, drawing out your response to show you don't entirely believe him, though you're glad the conversation has swung in your favour - and now you're not the only one who seems embarrassed. You decide to take the opportunity to push further. "I'm headed to work as well, how come I've never seen you before?"

"Well normally I catch the later bus, but I thought I'd beat the crowd today." This time his response seems more natural.

"Right, of course," you nod, "What do you do for work?"

"Oh, I'm a driver."

"What, like for Uber?"

"Uh, yeah something like that."

"I see," you reply unconvinced, though before you can ask for more details the two of you are pushed even closer by more people boarding the bus.

"Is it always this busy around races?" He asks, his face mere inches away from yours.

"Oh yeah," you sigh, "it's such a pain."

"I take it you're not a fan?"

"Not really, I don't really get what all the hype is about."

"It's pretty interesting to watch," he says, looking out the window. "At least, that's what my sister's told me!"

You laugh, "you're funny."

He smiles shyly, letting out a soft laugh as well. "I think you should try watching a couple races, who knows it might be your style. Plus, I hear some of the drivers are pretty good looking as well."

You quirk an eyebrow in response, "Really? I don't know if they'd really be my type."

"You never know," he hums to himself. You're just about to throw another snarky response but the bus stopping interrupts you once more. It's the stop right outside the race track, and so immediately the people around you start filing out, chattering so loud you almost don't notice your new companion moving alongside them. You raise your eyebrows in interest, though figure an Uber driver could probably make good money at an event like this. Before he gets too far though, he manages to call out to you again.

"Pay attention to this one driver, Franco, I think you might like him!" He sends you a wide smile and a wave as he steps out and blends into the crowd now flooding through the gates of the track.

What a strange guy, you think to yourself settling down into a free seat, your bus now mostly empty as it drives off. It hadn't been the morning you were expecting, but at least you've got an interesting story to tell your coworkers once you finally got to work. That is, after you look up this 'Franco' guy he told you about.

taglist: (reply/send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

@spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk

[j0kers-light]

Hello! I am the person who commented on your stories on wattpad. I'm also kind of a volleyball fan. and I wondered what J would look like as a volleyball player..

Hey hi anon! 🖤✨

Please forgive me. I know nothing of volleyball and you can definitely tell, lol but the people asked for Joker!Volleyball player so here we go!

I honestly don't know if this answers your ask 🤦🏾‍♀️ oh no..

I did light research on YouTube but it wasn’t extensive in the way I wanted it to be. Did I watch some Haikyuu to brush up on the sport? Maybe soooooo. I’m a weeb shoot me. I hope you enjoy anon!

Joker got a booty for dayyyyys! He has a fangirl club who comes to every match to watch his handsome self (ahem I don’t blame them) move all across the court.

Those black shorts hug every muscle Joker has to offer and when he jumps to spike, his shirt rides up and hello hello is that six pack? What’s harder? The ball or Joker’s washboard abs?

MOVING ON! When he starts to sweat and uses his shirt to wipe it off…. send help.

Bet good money that J is the Captain. His team knows better to bring their A game to every match, whether it be a playful match or a professional tournament. He does not accept defeat but he plays fair on the court.

Now off of it? Well…that’s another thing entirely.

Joker is known to be a menace off the court. His tall frame, cocky smirk, and haunting eyes run a tight ship to keep the matches going.

If an opposing team doesn’t wanna play fair or wants to back out at the last minute, guaranteed J and his boys are there to knock some sense into their opponents. Either you play the game or pay the price.

Joker has daily bruised knuckles and busted lips with all the brawls he gets into before and/or after matches. The referee just raises an eyebrow seeing Joker's handsome face all cut & swollen. The other players look worse. Not his problem "LET THE GAME BEGIN!" 🏐💢

And it’s all because J is cocky. It's proper game etiquette; no swearing or trash talking, buuuuuuuut there’s no rules regarding his mannerisms. The net separates him from the other team but his taunts and glares are well received. Hence the brawls and trash talk OFF the court.

Joker’s cocky smile makes the girls swoon and his opponent’s blood boil. Think of a bad boy persona playing volleyball, its straight off an anime show!

Joker’s coach is about had it with his star player coming to practice with a new shiner or another broken nose yet J cracks it back into place every time. Whatever happened to a gentleman’s game? 

The coach is tempted to kick J off the team but he's that good of a player they can't afford to lose him.

Let’s talk positions! Joker prefers to be the setter since his serve is like a canon with the way he jumps and sends that ball flying. Nine times out of ten his team scores a point when he serves the ball.

It's a fast-paced game that requires quick thinking and decision making; right up Joker’s alley. Baby daddy got skillz!

His green eyes are darting all over the court, seeing where his teammates are, where the ball is, where it's going, and what orders he needs to bark out to his team to secure the win.

When it's time to switch positions, he usually moves to the middle or opposite hitter, but remains in charge; still calling the shots much to the confusion of the opposing team. 

Side note: I think for this head canon it would be weird if Joker has his signature scars (OR OR! hear me out; he got cut in a street fight but its not a jester smile, kinda like a sexy scar down his cheek? I think any scar is sexy but back to the hc)

He most definitely he dyes his hair green and probably keeps it in some sort of low ponytail or manbun so its out of the way when he plays but still long enough for you to pull during se- AHEM! The girls in the audience are feral for him but he has eyes only for you. 

Before every match and/or tournament, J’s eyes are scanning the crowd for you. You’re his number one fan and his good luck charm.

One time you couldn’t make a match and his team lost horribly. Ever since Joker demanded you be in attendance (and his teammates secretly bribe you to come just to keep their Captain in high spirits and so they can win)

The group of six are inseparable and you respect their strong bond. You don't compete for J's attention. You understand that volleyball is everything to J but you are runner up for the top priority in his life. Never question that.

Joker has a bad first round and his eyes are like magnets finding yours in the audience. You flash him a smile and wave (much to his fanclub’s ire) and he's got an instant shot of motivation to annihilate the other team. And he does without fail all because you're watching.

He's a heartthrob, tall, alethic, with an arrogant attitude that oozes BDE, of course he’s gonna show off for his girl, in fact he loves to. J is over the moon in love with you and he wants everyone to know that. A proud simp.

You treat him to a winner’s kiss away from the press and offer to give Joker a massage if he wants some relief for his sore muscles.

If he has time, he'll take you up on your offer but often times the coach drags him into the locker room to go over game mistakes to improve on. Joker just grins as he's dragged off, sending you air kisses like the lovesick idiot he is. This is all going according to plan..

You use the long locker room meeting to sneak into J's hotel room and set up for his post-game surprise and he’s never been the same sense.

He held his hotel keycard up onto the scanner and sighed when the cool AC hit his tired, weary body.

It had been a long day of matches beginning at 6am. He scarfed down a breakfast, sent you a text message before warming up with the boys, before entering back to back matches. 

He hadn't had the time to do anything else let alone check his phone for your response, but you knew how hectic his game days could get and you weren't upset by it.

Joker couldn't find you in the crowd since it was a bigger tournament but he felt your presence and that helped him and his team score win after win. 

Between all the handshakes, acts of sportsmanship, and post-game media coverage; Joker was exhausted. He loves to play the game, not be the media mascot for the team. That was usually Mac’s role. The blond loved talking to interviewers etc. and soaking up attention.

Even if Joker is the Captain, he could care less about the mayhem that followed after a game. Ain't that what coaches were for?

Joker just wanted to grab a bite to eat (check on you) and crash before he starts this all over in the morning. 

He dropped his bag on the floor and walked further into his hotel suite but stopped short when he saw you lying on his bed. 

In his gear. 

You found his spare jersey and wore it over a long sleeve shirt. But those lewd shorts, now that was all you. They hugged your figure a little too well.

You even wore elbow and knee pads with your hair up in braids. And because you always did things 100% or not at all, you posed on the bed with a volleyball perched under your arm.

Your smile was flirtatious that promised Joker a wonderful night.

“Hey Captain.. I heard you won today’s bracket. This calls for a celebration don’t you think?” You sat up on your knees and beckoned J over with a crook of your finger. He came over in a trance. 

His arousal was showing through the sweats he changed into after the last game. J stopped right in front of you with his erection literally in your face. You bit your lip, eyeing it hungrily before looking up at J.

Joker was still speechless at your attire. He ran his eyes all over your form, trying to burn this image into his memory.

A girlfriend wearing their partner's gear was any sports player’s dream come true. And you were a literal dream.

You became a fan of the sport because of Joker. You knew it was everything to him and in turn, you made it your passion as well. It proved just how much you loved him.

His number one fan. He didn't deserve you.

Joker quickly forgot about his exhaustion. He wasn't even hungry anymore. At least not for food. 👀 He bent down to kiss you and changed his plans for the night to include you as the star player. 

So what if he was five minutes late in the morning? His teammates understood the second they saw the love bites you left on his neck. Joker took it all in stride and boasted that they were 'good luck charms.'

All they needed to do was win today's matches to win it all.

Of course they won the tournament. Joker swears up and down it was because you let him score the night before.

[l0serloki]

okay so i was thinking how valo agents are where they’re kid is now more older like 3-8 years old, idk but the thought of it is so??😖😖

Valorant Parent Headcanons

(Chamber, Reyna, Sova, Viper)

CW : GN!Reader, uhhh viper being a bad bitch as she should

A/N : YOU ARE SO RIGHT. I love soft family valorant agents <3 

ALSO K/N is kids name!!

Chamber : 

He’s the type of dad to enroll his kid in every sport or music class

‘K/N has to learn about the world! They’ll find a great hobby’

100% makes coffee and breakfast in the morning and reads the paper while his kid cries (we love the robe mom chamber look)

He makes time to go to every school recital and records it no matter how long it is

‘Our kid is so perfect Y/N. They get it from me’ (cue you punching him)

He spoils the kid rotten, taking you all on family trips

You walked into the kitchen to see your loving husband sipping away at his coffee as your children screamed. “Vincent, really?” You sighed making your way over to the twins. “It is fine, my love. Let them get it out and they’ll stop.” You loved the man but you didn’t know how he stood the noise.

“Hey kiddos, let’s calm down. Breakfast is made and we have to get ready for school.” The kids calmed down, leaning into your touch. You sat them at the table, placing their trays in front of them. Your son began talking about his violin lessons and how he had learned a new song. 

Chamber hummed, smiling at his little prodigy. “You will have to show me later. I am excited to see your progress.” He smiled towards the boy while your daughter pulled at his arm. “You too K/N, you are just as talented.” He kissed her head, picking up the dirty plates. “Have a good day at school, you two. Be nice to Y/N.” 

Reyna : 

She’s the aggressive soccer mom 100%

‘Touch my kid and you’re dead’

She would be the mom to pick up her kid from school when they got in trouble and be proud of them

‘Your kid threw a chair at another student’ ‘Good’ headass

She will hang up any drawings on the fridge and always be proud of her child

“Y/N, come here. Look at what our daughter drew. She is so talented.” Reyna’s voice sounded out as you walked into the backyard. Your wife stood smiling with a scribbled piece of paper in hand. Your daughter sat beside her, face gleaming with pride. “That’s right! I drew it.” Your daughter shot a finger gun and you could only laugh.

“Wow, this looks amazing. We have an artist in the family!” You leaned down to give Reyna a kiss, your daughter screeching. “EW, that’s gross! Stoooop.” The two of you laughed as you kissed her on the head. You loved your little family.

Sova : 

He’s such a soft dad

He will read stories to the kids to put them to bed (sometimes falling asleep himself)

Buys them little stuffed animals and trinkets whenever he has to travel for work

Your kid made him a bracelet at camp and he hasn’t taken it off since (it’s his good luck charm)

Sits and watches any disney movie for the 100th time with your kid because it makes them happy

“Papa, you kinda look like Ariel.” Your daughter spoke, making you laugh at the thought. “Ariel? You mean Eric?” Sova asked and she shook her head. “You both have long pretty hair! I think you are a mermaid, Papa.” He turned to meet your hues, confusion on his face. Your body shook as you continued to chuckle at the situation. 

“Right? He looks like Ariel.” You could only hum in agreement to your daughter. “He really does. My little princess.” You kissed Sova’s cheek as your daughter rested her head against your leg. Precious moments like these meant the world to you.

Viper : 

Bad bitch mom fr

She will curbstomp someone if they cut in line of the daycare check-in

‘Maybe learn some manners before you cut.’

She makes sure to always be there to support you and the kid, buying whatever you need (sugar mama viper)

‘I got the groceries and some toys for K/N.’ ‘You just got them a toy last week.’ ‘Oh.’

She likes doing little science experiments with your kid (like the volcano one that I feel like everyone does)

She loves taking you out to little theater shows or simple dates like ice skating

Your son screamed as Viper shoveled him in the car.

“K/N, would you stop? I told you I am going to get your toy! Just wait here.” Viper sighed as she made her way into the house to look for said toy. All three of you were going out to dinner and ice-skating. Viper said it would be a “Good family excursion and memory for K/N”. You agreed with her but K/N was not having a good time even buckling up. 

Finally after what felt like an endless abyss of tantrums, K/N calmed down and you all arrived. “K/N, are you ready to go skating? There’s pretty lights too.” Viper cooed as she helped your kid out of the baby seat. The two of you held onto your son's hand as you walked to the rink, happy to finally be out of the house. Viper was right, today would be a day to remember.

[sixosix]

hey!!! i'm absolutely in LOVE with your writing! i especially love your good luck charm kuroo one (i am a huge kuroo lover) & atsumu's drabble it's so freaking cute!!

idk if you're taking requests rn (ignore this if u aren't T_T) but may i request kuroo with a reader that has really pretty eyes? like, so pretty that everyone around them just, stops whatever they were doing just to stare at their eyes!! i just need an ego boost to get through this week!!!! 🐏

hi thank you sm i feel so flattered >__< an ego boost, you say? hope this helps. yes requests are open haha thanks for requesting!

fluff, kuroo is a bit (understatement) whipped, wc 850

kuroo likes volleyball.

it's a sport he plays mostly every single day -- willingly, kenma pointed out once, disgruntled -- of course, he does, and of course, he should.

loving volleyball is easy. he loves the thrill, the adrenaline, everything that makes up the game of volleyball. he loves it, and his passion shows in his face whether he wins or loses.

kuroo loves volleyball: a fact.

volleyball players like kuroo find it hard to seek something else that’d grab his attention when he could just give it his all on volleyball: a fact, that suddenly didn't apply to kuroo because of today.

he blames it on you.

you're a transfer. he's never seen you around before until today, and that's only because you've arrived today. he knows this because as soon as he enters the classroom, his attention is on you in an instant.

if he had met you before, he knows that he would've remembered you.

you make it hard to ignore you, it seems. the boy sitting in front of you is a blushing mess, shoulders hunched awkwardly as if he's conscious of every action he's making. kuroo almost feels bad.

but you're not even looking at him. you're staring outside, face glowing from the sunlight pouring generously on your skin. kuroo dares to take a step closer, almost wary.

your eyes grace his presence with acknowledgment.

and-- okay, maybe a bit too dramatic. back off. but judging by the quiet sounds of breath hitching around him, it's not too far off. maybe it was him who suddenly forgot how to breathe.

pretty, he thinks. and then thanks whoever was responsible for making it a sign of courtesy to stare at someone's eyes when speaking.

your eyes glitter with recognition, staring right at him. he feels as if his feet are pinned to the ground.

“thanks,” you say. and kuroo, in horror, realizes he has said it out loud. “i get that sometimes.”

his ears flush a dark red, he knows it does, because then your expression shifts to amusement, and some who were watching look at him as if he's crazy.

“just sometimes?” kuroo finds himself continuing as he makes his way over to the desk beside you -- his desk; how lucky. “shame.”

your laugh sounds as breathtaking as your eyes.

kuroo feels himself fall, and he's not quite sure how deep the ground will be -- not sure if he even wants to be caught.

he doesn't know what this feeling is, but it's similar to getting the last point to winning a match.

it's a little thrilling.

when people talk to you, they're strangely closer than usual, yet they all avoid your eyes with nervous glances around the room, kuroo notices.

but he can’t be too jealous. he completely understands. he almost wants to give them a moment of silence as respect.

he sighs, having to physically pull you away from this girl who seems too keen on talking to you with her hands on yours. it’s not jealousy. it’s not, stop saying that. he just… feels protective. or something.

“sorry, hana, someone’s a little too impatient,” you laugh as you’re dragged away by kuroo who grunts in acknowledgment to the bewildered girl.

“we were supposed to be at the market ten minutes ago,” kuroo grumbles, displeased.

“i know,” you say. “but it’s funny seeing you jealous.”

“i’m not,” kuroo huffs stubbornly. hook, line, and sinker -- he’s a fool. “i can just ditch you right now and treat myself to dinner, babe, don’t act so smug.”

“but i thought we were gonna go on a date?” you purposely widen your eyes and look at him through your lashes. when they're round like that, kuroo feels as if he's looking right at something like a double-edged sword.

kuroo feels as if he's signed up to something dangerous.

“fuck,” says kuroo, pained.

he has come to a revelation.

this strange feeling -- which he usually brushed off as the thrill of finding a new friend -- is not, in fact, platonic. far from that, even. the pace of his heart ringing in his ears and the heat under his cheeks means something.

a date. and his brain is too pleased with those two words for it to be platonic-- he’s not stupid.

he is a weak man when it comes to l/n y/n. that is a fact he wishes you shall never know. (maybe you already do; those puppy eyes come to him too often now when you want him to say yes.)

kuroo loves your eyes, that is a fact. he’s long accepted this. it makes him feal a little weak in a way where he doesn’t mind.

kuroo loves your eyes, your hair, your smile, your lips, the way you say his name, the way you make his heart beat: facts, facts, facts.

“i think i might be in love with you,” he states.

you stare at him -- he loves it, being the center of your attention -- and grin so widely that he worries your cheeks might hurt. “i think i might be in love with you, too.”

with the way you look at him, and the way his heart bursts, he thinks maybe it’s not so bad.

[marvel-trash-bin]

Taking Risks.

(Not my Gif.)

Summary: Zemo gives you what he thinks you deserve. *Some TFATWS Ep. 3 Spoilers.*

Pairing: Zemo x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Smut for days baby. Dirty Talking, Possession, marking, Soft!Dom Zemo. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 4.2K

Tags: @greeneyedblondie44

A/N: Look we all know we're walking dangerous territory, simping for a war criminal. But Sugar Daddy Zemo got me feeling some type of way and also, Daniel Brüle is hot asf. Also, I don't actually know german so pls if it's off just blame google translate, I just have an insatiable language kink and I needed the pet names more than air itself. I thought about making this a chaptered fic, but I barely had the time to write this, never mind chapters of it before he likely fucks over Sam and Bucky next episode. Anyways, enjoy!

Here’s the thing.

You knew he was dangerous. You knew his past, the EKO Scorpion kill squad and everything with the Avengers, manipulating them and breaking them up from the inside. He was smart, unpredictable. You knew there was a very real potential that you could be hurt - or worse - if you went down the road.

And maybe, in a past life that would’ve been enough to stop you. But you weren’t who you used to be. You liked playing with fire now, inviting danger and chaos rather than straying from it. You had lived in - hid in, was more accurate - Madripoor for a handful of years now. You laid low, kept yourself under the radar of the Power Broker and those who worked for him. This way, no one bothered you and you could live fragments of a normal life, Trading and bartering to make a living. But living this way, like forgotten trash on a sidewalk, got old.

Maybe that’s why when you caught his attention, you didn’t shy away from it.

It had happened so fast. You were dancing, just intoxicated enough that the rubbing of strangers' bodies against yours was not just welcomed, but encouraged. So encouraged that when a new body, tall and firm behind you, took the place of another, you didn’t hesitate to back up into the warmth. His hands gripped your hips tightly, not stopping or guiding you, just resting. Turning your head slightly to see what your new dance partner looked like, you startled a little seeing the Baron.

Helmut chuckled, a low sound you felt rather than heard, and ducked his head down to speak into your ear, “You know who I am.”

You let your body relax back into his, feeling reckless enough to bless the menacing man with your flirtations, your head falling back onto his, “I’ve heard a thing or two.”

“And yet you trust me to hold you like this,” his hands flex on your hips, just hard enough to show the strength they hold, “Like a lover.”

You grab one of his hands, leading it down to your upper thigh where your knife holster sits, never once letting his hand leave your body.

“If I didn’t want you touching me, you’d know it, Baron.”

The gust of breath you felt against the side of your neck and the large hand gripping your thigh had shivers rolling pleasantly down your spine.

“You are far too beautiful to reside in these undergrounds,” he spun you around in his grasp, allowing you to get a good look at his face, “A woman like yourself should be treated with the most expensive riches, the finest wines. She should drain a man of his earnings.”

You laughed, not expecting the words that came from his mouth nor how handsome he was, even this close, “Point me to the man who’s willing.”

He smirked at you, but there was a smugness to it. A glimmer in his eye that suggested he had the riches and the desire to give you anything you wanted. You felt like you were drowning in his gaze, lost as you were under the heat of it. He looked somewhere behind you, pulling his eyes from you to nod once at whatever, or whoever, had stolen his attention from you. When they returned to you, the heat and desire were replaced with determination.

“It is with great regret that I must leave you, for now,” He captured your hand, bringing it up to his lips, the softness of them brushing lightly against your knuckles, “I can get you out of Madripoor, give you a life you deserve. If you meet me tomorrow morning, the airstrip.”

The world felt like it froze around you. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you. You couldn’t trust him. You Shouldn’t trust him. But as you stared into his eyes you saw nothing but honesty.

“And if I don’t?” You ask, just to buy yourself some time.

His hand travels up your arm, taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger securely, “I will not pressure you. I’d leave you be, but the ghost of you would haunt me, schatzi.”

And with that, he was gone. Leaving you with nothing more than your thoughts, mentally preparing how quickly you could pack your things and leaving Madripoor behind. After all, you’ve always loved taking risks.

~

The next few weeks were a blur. Zemo was laying low, but his form of laying low was still luxury to you. It was private jets and upscale accommodations, not to mention that he was a man of his word. He spoiled you. Within three days of being in his presence, you had acquired a whole new wardrobe. Your suitcases - also new - were filled to the brim with the fanciest and latest fashion. You had rare jewels on nearly every piece of jewelry you owned. Maybe spoiled was an understatement. You’ve only dreamed of owning riches like these.

He had picked something particular for you to wear tonight, both of you making an appearance at some sort of party with some higher-ups. It was all laid out on the king-sized bed, a little black dress of sorts. It was short and sheer in its long sleeves, the sparkles in the fabric ensured that you would shimmer under any lighting. With a simple clutch, matching jewelry and a cropped, white fur jacket to keep you warm until you got to your destination. You looked good. You felt good.

He looked just as good. Sporting an outfit similar to the one you had met him in, instead choosing a dark red turtleneck to create a stunning relation between both your outfits. Nothing had happened between the two of you yet. Aside from lingering glances and innocent touches, he had been a gentleman. The chemistry was there, for sure. You were able to joke and talk with the man, matching his wit and charm every step of the way. And he loved it.

“Best behaviour tonight, schatzi.” He had said, low in your ear as you walked towards the venue.

You had smiled back at him, the perfect picture of innocence, “Always, Baron.”

And at the time, you had fully meant it. But you found yourself craving him. He looked too good, it honestly wasn’t fair. The way that ridiculous fur jacket draped over his shoulders, fostering a powerful ambience. And you knew he was faring no better himself if by the way his eyes were glued to your curves was anything to go by.

So, you decided, maybe you shouldn’t be on your best behaviour tonight. It’s not like you were making a scene or anything that would call too much attention. You were simply letting the alcohol take over your body. Whether that meant a hand on his thigh as you listened to the conversations around you, your fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck or dancing a little too scandalously when you knew he was watching. You felt confident. And when you felt confident, you felt dangerous.

By the end of the night, you were teasing yourself just as much as you were him. You were pushing your luck, hands trailing a little too close to the bulge in his slacks, enjoying the way his facial features changed briefly in shock before settling back into that infuriating unmovable stoic impression. The last straw was you bending in front of him, having ‘dropped’ something from your purse. You only had to bend so much before the dress, as short as it was, had ridden up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your panties.

In an instant, he had you standing upright, thanking whoever he had been talking to for a wonderful night, tugging your dress back down to a respectable length and steering you towards the door by the back of your neck.

“That was not best behaviour,” he growled into your ear.

You giggled, despite the tight grip on your neck, “I was just having fun.”

He had done nothing but stare at you, eyes hard with a warning that had you rethinking your actions. You had forgotten, for a moment, that this man was not just someone to give you all the pretty trinkets you wore. He was a mastermind, a criminal mastermind at that. A man most deemed dangerous enough to be locked away.

“You have been bad tonight, kleine Schlampe.” He said once he had gotten you back to his car, away from the prying eyes and ears of the party guests, “You will spend the trip back thinking of ways to make it up to me.”

The words sent heat through your core, and you did exactly as he said.

~

By the time he had gotten you up to your accommodations, you had thought of thousands of different scenarios that could earn you forgiveness for your recklessness. You were uncertain if his words earlier had implied sexual favours, or if a simple, genuine apology was all he was looking for. However, once he had turned to you, the room door closing behind him and his eyebrows raised expectantly, you fell to your knees in front of him like it was second nature.

He chuckles darkly at you as he peels his gloves off, tossing them gently onto a side table nearby before letting one hand brush away the hair that had fallen in your face.

“Seems you are meine kleine schlampe indeed,” You had no idea what it meant, but fuck it sounded good coming from him. His eyes were hard and dark as he stared down at you, “If this is the path you’ve chosen to apologize, so be it. But not here, you are meine schlampe not a common whore. Get up. Go to the bedroom.”

You did as he said, quickly pulling yourself up to a standing position and walking to the designated room. The bed, so far, had only been used by you. He hadn’t wanted to push or pressure you into sharing a space with him. He understood that just because you decided to join him, didn’t mean you wanted to be with him. But tonight, you had decided, you wanted to give him your everything. You wanted to show him how grateful you were for all the gifts he’d given you so far. And if you couldn’t give him luxuries, you would give him your desire.

“So,” he began, nodding in approval at the way you resume your position on the floor in front of him, “Let’s begin with the basics.” As he talked, he rolled up his sleeves, doing so with precision, “Tell me, what exactly are you apologizing for?”

He commands every drop of your attention. There’s an aura to him that you had only previously caught a glimpse of. His eyes dark and locked onto yours, never once wavering. Waiting. Calculating.

“For teasing you.”

“And?”

You take a breath, shame flooding your core at the answer that sits on your tongue.

“For embarrassing you.”

There’s a pause. He cocks his head, gaze softening just a tad. He's quiet for several moments, analyzing your words. Your heart starts to beat a little faster at the extended silence, thinking you’ve done something wrong and you can’t keep up the eye contact. You duck your head, averting your gaze to his feet.

“Look at me, schatzi.” His voice is soft, but still with enough edge to make you listen.

Only once your eyes meet his again does he continue.

“That’s very sweet of you, to be concerned about my image. But make no mistake,” He steps closer to you, letting one hand cup your jaw, tilting it upwards. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, “You could never embarrass me,”

You dip your head, nipping softly at his thumb. He smiles softly at you, something glimmering in his eye, “I simply just don’t like to share what’s mine.”

Your breath leaves your body at his words and suddenly the need for him to claim you had you nearly vibrating in your skin. You watch, every muscle in your body clenched tightly, as he walks slowly over to the armchair in the corner, never once taking his eyes off you. He sits, legs parted, one arm draped off the side, the other rested so he could prop his head up.

“Proceed.”

Instantly, you make your way over to him. Once in front of him, you stand up on your knees, placing your hands on his knees and slowly sliding them up his thighs. They continue its upward motion, skimming lighting over the hardness in his pants and reaching to start on his belt. You make quick work of his belt and buttons, eagerly working his pants and briefs down. He chuckles above you.

“Mein Schatz, so eager to apologize.” He purrs, almost mockingly, hand coming down to brush the fallen hair away from your face.

Once you had him free, you took a second to admire him. Your legs clenched at the size of him. Not terribly big, but big enough to anticipate the stretch, the fullness. Your eyes flicked back up, looking up at his through your lashes, leaning in but stopping just before you could actually get your mouth on him. The hand that was previously fixing your hair was now clenched in it, messing it up again and forcing your head back suddenly to look at him properly.

“It would not be wise to tease me more than you have,” he warned.

A smirk spread across your features and you quickly realized how much you liked him like this.

Powerful.

Strict.

However, you knew you were on thin ice already. With that in mind, as soon as his grip loosened you licked a wide stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him fully into your mouth. The tension his body held melted the second your tongue touched him. His mouth dropping on a soft groan. His hand stroked your hair as you sucked, encouraging the bobs of your head, not forcing but guiding. You keep your eyes trained on his face, not wanting to miss a second of experiencing him like this.

He glows in the low lamplight of the room, the shadows playing across his features delicately. You like him like this too. Reduced to a heap of gasps and moans beneath the heat of your mouth. As you suck, your hands wander, up under the fabric of his shirt, nails dragging down his sides. He hisses at the pain, but doesn’t tell you to stop.

After a few minutes of your slow torture, he decides he’s had enough. His hand tightens in your hair, his movements becoming less gentle and more demanding.

“That’s a good girl, take it all for me.”

You do as he asks, taking a breath before taking him as deep as you can. He groans at the feeling, hips shifting a few times to test you before beginning to thrust in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches, but his eyes are on you and his thumb is tracing your bottom lip that’s stretched wide around his cock and you think for a second that you could spend eternity like this.

It’s not much longer before he pulls you off his cock, hand wrapping around his base tightly, “Apologies, schatzi. I am out of practice, and I fear I'm not quite finished with you yet.”

You laugh softly, voice rough due to your previous activity, “That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You insist, more than happy to let him finish like this. Whatever he wants.

He stops you before you can dip down again, standing up and taking you with him. For the first time, his lips are on yours. He overwhelms all your senses. His breath loud in your ears, his hands on your waist, his scent. His tongue slides against yours as he walks you forward, shedding his lower clothing as he goes. He only parts to give you an order.

“Turn around.”

As you do, he finishes undressing and it kills you that can’t see him. Just as quickly as the thought crosses your mind, it’s gone as you feel his hands at the top of your dress. He slides the zipper down, letting the fabric fall off your shoulders. You take the liberty of helping the sleeves the rest of the way down, the fabric falling down around your heels once you’ve done so. He hums behind you.

“Such beauty,” he whispers against your shoulder. His hands begin to wander, around your waist, up underneath the fabric of your bra, down to your thighs and ass. He chuckles, dragging your panties down enough that they too fall, forgotten at your feet, “I can hardly stay mad at you, liebling.”

Your head falls back onto his shoulders as he works your bra off next. You shiver, feeling bare and exposed before him. You want him more than you can express and you let your whole body fall back into his embrace, whimpering at the feeling of him, hard against the swell of your ass.

“Helmut,” you moan, one of your hands finding purchase in his hair as the other rests on one of his forearms.

“Tell me you’re mine, Schatzi. And I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I’m yours,” you say without hesitation, breathless as his hand dips between your legs, finding your clit. He hums, pleased at the arousal he finds there, “I’m yours. Only yours.”

He growls pulling his hand away from, “Lay back on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed. While you wait, you let your mind wander, listening to his rummaging somewhere in another room while your mind runs through everything you want him to do to you. At some point, your eyes must close because when you feel the bed dip, they open to see him crawling between your legs.

He’s done messing around, wasting no time before his face is buried between your thighs, hands maneuvering your legs so that they’re thrown over his shoulders, your heels crossing sweetly behind his head, no doubt scratching at his shoulders. Your breath leaves your body at the feeling of his tongue, warm and wet and fan-fucking-tastic. He alternates between dipping it in and out of your heat and flicking it against your clit. Your hand finds his hair, gripping it between your fingers and guiding his movements ever so slightly. His eyes don’t leave yours, spare for the few times he closes them to moan against you.

One of his hands move, leaving its place at your hip to sink two fingers into you. Your head falls back on a moan, back arching up when he crooks his fingers and finds your g-spot.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand gripping the pillow behind your head as you feel your orgasm rush towards you, “Fuck- Wait, I-”

You can’t even feel embarrassed about how easily your body has reacted to him. Before you can warn him much more, you're falling over the edge. Your thighs tensing around his head, back arching in pleasure as you ride out your high. In this moment you belong completely to him, unable to think of anything else.

“So sweet for me, liebling.” He comments, hands rubbing up and down your calves as you come down, taking a moment to unfasten your heels, letting the shoes drop to the floor before leaning back in. His lips brush against your inner thigh.

Then a bite.

“Such pretty sounds you make for me.”

And then he’s sucking harshly at the skin there, watching the shudder that rips through your sensitive body at the sensation. He doesn’t pull away until the mark is dark and flush against your skin. He continues this on the other thigh, on your ribs, your breasts and finally your neck, marking you thoroughly.

“Mine.” He growls, hot against your ear, “Mein schatz, will you let me have you?” he asks, and it’s literally all you can think about so you don’t even bother hiding the truth, the confession tumbling from your lips breathlessly.

“I’d let you do anything to me.”

He groans, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he does so. He pulls away to grab the condom that he had put next to him on the bed and leaning back on his haunches to roll it on. You’re so impatient, nails digging into his thighs and arms, whining as you watch his hands work.

“So needy,” He comments, swallowing your moan as he finally, finally, sinks into you.

The stretch as he enters you has your head rolling back on a moan, your legs wrapping around his waist the bring him the rest of the way in. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, growling against the skin there.

“Fuck,” he groans through gritted teeth, his resolve quickly slipping at the feeling of you around his cock. And to his credit, he really tries to wait, to be good. But not seconds later he’s adjusting his grip on your hips and he’s thrusting into you with a force that makes the whole bed shake.

It’s barely been 30 seconds, but the build-up that had occurred throughout the entirety of the night had you right back on the edge, your nails clawing at his shoulders, his back, his thighs. Any purchase you could get on him, you were begging for more. You’d take anything he gave you without so much as batting an eyelash. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but the pain twists into a delicious pleasure that only spurs you on.

You must be speaking, babbling something back to him about how good it feels, how much you love being fucked by him because he’s laughing through a moan against your neck. He pauses for just a second, straightening up and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder before continuing to fuck you.

“That’s it Kätzchen.” He purrs, eyes moving down your body to where he enters your body, “Taking my cock so well.”

You mewl at the praise, your body arching in response to his words. Your second orgasm takes you both by surprise, having hit you like a fucking freight train when he thrusts particularly deep, hitting one of your sweet spots. You scramble for purchase on him, mouth dropped open in a near-pornographic moan that you’ll surely be embarrassed about later. But for now, all you know is pleasure.

His hips falter, stuttering as your walls tighten around him. His head falls back on a low moan, fucking you hard and slow through your release.

“Such a sweet cunt,” he gasps, “Mein Gott..”

And then he’s tangling your hands together, holding it high above your head as he pushes your thighs back, flush against your chest. He’s the one babbling now, words from God only knows what language, whispered against your skin as he chases his own release. He gives one last hard thrust and he’s done, his teeth dragging against the skin on your shoulder, moaning against you as he rides out his orgasm.

As you both come down, you stroke the back of his neck, playing with the hairs there, trying to catch your breath. After a few moments, he pulls away just enough to kiss you. There’s a lingering heat and it’s a little messy due to your shared exhaustion but it’s good.

Once you’ve both caught your breath, he removes himself from your body, taking the necessary time to deal with the condom. You watch him lazily, unable to do much other than that. You’re so tired. But there’s that ache between your legs that you love so much and you think briefly that you could go another round, if he wanted to.

He must see something in your eyes when he returns because he laughs softly, “I feel I may have my hands full with you, schatzi.” he says as he crawls back into the bed with you, covering the both of you with a blanket, the cold now biting at your skin. You know you have to get up soon enough to sort yourself out before bed, but for a moment you stay with him.

His fingers brush over your face softly, following the slope of your nose and the angle of your cheeks. There’s no real purpose to his movements, just... touching. As if convincing himself that you’re real.

“You are special, schatzi.” he says softly, “I don’t know what your plans are, but I can only hope that you choose to continue to bless me with your presence.”

This man is such an enigma to you. He carries such confidence in every aspect of his life and yet he still doubts your loyalties. There’s anxiety and pain hidden within him, you can see it in his eyes as he continues to look at you. You wonder, how much of his past weighs on his shoulders. How long before he deems himself worthy of your affection? You lean in to kiss him softly, your lips dragging slowly against him. When you pull away you keep him close, brushing your noses together.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[justsomeclintasha]

“Thanks for going on a run with me, Nat.”

“Not sure if it counts as going with you when I can’t keep the same pace.”

“There’s not many people that could. But it was nice to have someone to get smoothies with after.”

Clint looks up as Natasha and Steve walk in the kitchen, both sporting identical Captain America baseball caps. She sips from her nearly empty cup. Steve tosses his in the trash.

“I desperately need a shower. Same time tomorrow?”

“Sounds good.”

He leaves, and Natasha grabs a piece of leftover toast from Clint’s plate.

“So uh, what’s with the hats?”

“Captain America! He’s my favorite avenger.”

“I’m an avenger!”

Natasha just laughs, leaning down to kiss his cheek before disappearing down the hallway.

XXXXX

Clint walks in the living room to find Nat and Bucky curled up on the couch, wearing matching Winter Soldier lounge pants of all things. He drops in the chair across from them.

“Not fair, Natalia,” Bucky says with a scowl, his character, Toad, spinning in circles from the banana on the track.

“There are no friends in Mario Kart,” she reminds him, nudging his flesh arm. He grins.

“Is that so?”

“What are you-?” She lets out an undignified squeak as he shoves her off the couch, laughing. On screen Bowser crashes into a wall and she loses the lead.

“Bucky!“

“I’m winning this one!”

“Oh no you’re not!“ Of all the avengers, she’s become the most competitive in the game. She settles back against his leg, resigned to sitting on the floor, and smirks as Bowser pulls out a blue shell.

“No, no, no- Natasha!”

“Better luck next time.”

XXXXX

Summer nights mean dinner on the patio, and it’s Steve’s turn to grill. He flips the burgers, trying to show off a little, and drops one on the ground. They make extra for a reason.

Natasha claims her usual seat next to Clint. Despite the warm air, she always runs cold. He frowns. This time it’s an Iron Man hoodie. He decides he’s not going to say anything.

“You okay?”

“Need a beer. You want one?”

“Yeah, please.”

He brings one for everyone, twisting the cap off for her before handing it over. She rolls her eyes. They both know she could do it herself. Secretly, she finds it charming.

“Come on, Steve, I’m starving.”

“Yeah, I bet you had a really hard day hiding in the lab.”

“Says the one who got her ass kicked in Mario Kart by a guy with one arm.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry, mom,” Tony says, smirking at Steve. Bucky laughs along with the rest of them. Tony pays for the comment, though. Steve makes sure to serve him last. Clint is just a little bit happy about it.

XXXXX

“Okay spill.”

“What?”

“You’re being weird.”

“I am not,” Clint insists. They’ve finally retreated to the quiet of their room. She’s sitting on the bed, a book in her lap, and he’s stretched out next to her.

“Clint.”

“Why do you keep wearing clothes from all the hot guys in the tower?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. She raises an eyebrow. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

Cranky now, he rolls to face the wall.

“Hey.”

“No. Let me be crabby in peace.”

“Just look for a minute.”

Reluctantly, he rolls over, becoming slightly more interested as she slips off her pajama shorts. Underneath she’s wearing Hawkeye underwear. They’re not sexy- in fact, they’re obnoxious purple boy shorts with targets on them. He can’t help but burst out laughing.

“What the hell are those?”

“You like them?”

“They’re the ugliest things I’ve ever seen. I love them.”

Still laughing, he moves closer, and she pulls him down for a teasing kiss.

“Think you can hit the bullseye?”

“That’s awful, Nat. That’s so bad. Almost as bad as those underwear. Maybe you should take them off.”

“Oh and that wasn’t bad?”

“Is it working?”

“It might be.”

[akaashisupremacy]

Ambition

Summary: As you fall deeper in love with him, where do you fit into among Atsumu’s ambitions? 

Atsumu x reader  || HQ Masterlist

genre: angst to fluff (wc: 1k)

“So are you two together or what?” Osamu Miya squints at you expectantly with his hands on his waist.

He is much like his brother. They both have little subtlety.

After a reunion in Onigiri Miya, everybody except the twins finally leave. You’re left alone with Osamu, who is cleaning up the tables and Atsumu who is in the loo.  

Osamu’s been seeing the two of you around enough that his curiosity is piqued. You look left and right, making sure Atsumu isn’t eavesdropping anywhere nearby.

“Ahhmm, don’t think so. To be honest, I’m not sure this is going to last once he heads back to Osaka.” you shrug.

You try to do it as casually as you can. You don’t want to look affected by your decision.

“Oh, really now?” Osamu tries not to give away his surprise, but from the slight raise of his brows you can tell that isn’t what he expected.

Atsumu comes out of the bathroom just as the awkward silence settles between the two of you.

“Did I miss anything?” he asks.

You and Osamu shake your heads in unison. This is a conversation to be had between you and Atsumu only.

Atsumu’s eyes flicker back and forth in suspicion.

“Let’s get you home. I’ll walk you to the intersection.” he nods.

————————————————————————————————

Atsumu is disconcerted by what he witnessed between you and Samu. He thought you and he are at a point where you can be honest with each other. Apparently not.

As your feet crunched beneath Hyogo’s pavement, he subtly turns to you.

Atsumu is one for intense romantic relationships. He is not shy about his passion. He doesn’t shy away from physical intimacy in the early stages. He is unafraid to argue and air his opinions. He likes getting in what sprints of time he can get with his partners.

And so he finds it disconcerting that despite being un-immune to his charms, you’ve been keeping him at arm’s length where he is unable to relish in the usual emotional intensity he expects out of his relationships.

“You don’t have to walk me home. I can go alone.” you insist.

“I want to.” he quickly follows you and grabs his coat. In the corner of his eye, Osamu nods as if to wish him good luck.

You remembered earlier this evening when the alcohol was really setting in, you exchanged a series of long glances at Atsumu. Your cheeks were both flushed, eyes hazy with lust and intoxication. You couldn’t help looking at him and he at you.

You looked at him through your lashes, tracing your eyes over the bridge of his nose and the curve of his cheeks. And nothing thrilled you more than when you caught him looking at you the same way, except maybe when he would smirk or wink at you from where he was.

Even though you were seated apart, these gestures obliterated the distance.

It’s not that you haven’t been attracted to him before. But something about his impassioned ways tempered by time and a tinge of melancholy adds a layer of charm to the Atsumu you know.

“When I get back to Osaka—“ he begins. Before this year, Atsumu’s never been to your side of town. Now he knows your address like the back of his hand.

“I don’t think you’ll hear much from me.” you interrupt.

The crisp in the air turns to chill.

“Hai? Excuse me?” he swivels his entire body towards you, hands buried deep in his pockets. “Aren’t you moving there?”

“I think we should stop, whatever this is.” you try to replicate the shrug you gave to Osamu.

Your impending move to Osaka was the catalyst of your increasingly frequent meetings with Atsumu this past few months. At first it was strictly business. You asked about the logistics and the house-hunting.

Soon after, Osaka was just an excuse. Whenever Atsumu came back to Kobe, you hung out because you wanted to.

You were surprised at how much you liked spending time with Atsumu. He has an irresistible zest for life and sport that was contagious. Although he’s not as frank as he used to be, you appreciated his candor and his single-handed determination not to give a shit for those who didn’t like him.

However the more time you spent with him, the more evident it is that his life revolved around his work.

Atsumu blinks hard and furrows his brow, “Was I…reading some signs…wrong?”

You hate it that he’s standing so close enough that you can feel some warmth from his body. It’s difficult not to fantasise what his skin is like on yours once you’re both alone in an apartment.

When you gaze up to his eyes, they are wide, confused and hurt.

“I-I know you were offered to play in a league abroad…” you organize your feelings, “and I…don’t want to move to Osaka just so our goodbyes can be difficult. I don’t want to have to compete with volleyball.”

“Oh that,” he murmurs swiftly, “I’m turning it down.”

Your head whiplashes, “WHAT?!”

Atsumu is one to be defined almost exclusively by his ambition and drive for volleyball. It’s such a huge part of his identity.

“I’ve made up my mind that I’m not going to play for a foreign league. I’m going to spend the rest of my professional career here in Japan.” he says steadfastly. It’s his turn to shrug.

He looks so calm. You can tell he’s made this decision for a while now.

“I’m not injured,” he reads into your expression, “I like my life right now and I’ve hit the point that I want to maintain my work-life balance. If those offers came when I was younger, I’d totally grab it. Burn myself to the ground to improve my game and everything. But that’s just not me anymore. I want to settle down in Japan.”

“Is that bad? That I’m not the ambitious, blazing athlete you thought I’d be?” he smiles. There’s a tinge of sadness as if he’s expecting inevitable disappointment.

“No, I respect that. It’s just that…” You’re not sure what to say.

“I’m closer to my family, to you and I don’t want to be ashamed that I admit that.” he continues, ”My drive has gotten me to where I am today. That doesn’t mean I need to keep this up for the rest of my life.”

He looks wistfully at the sky. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him so serene.

You both stop walking. You’ve arrived at the intersection. His gaze returns to you.

“So can I invite you to my game next month? Tickets will be on me.” he smiles.

He reaches out to hold your hand. Your fingers instinctively interlace with his.

“Of course, I’d love to see you play again.”

You lean in to plant a kiss on his cheek. Instead his hands cup your face and kisses your lips. Although his lips are warm and soft, the easy contentment in his eyes is replaced by longing.

When you began spending time with Atsumu, you wondered why you hadn’t been more attracted to him when you were both in Inarizaki. But now it doesn’t matter.

You feel lucky to fall for him at this stage in his life. Where his life isn’t centered completely around his career anymore. Where his ambition is to build a life with you.

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

Read more Atsumu here (one shot) or here (mini series). 

Taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan @kaizumi @holaaaf @glxar

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! :D

[13uswntimagines]

Better To Be Friends Than Competition (Lindsey x Reader)

Author’s Note: This Technically wasn’t requested, but @literaryhedgehog and i had a blast writing this. It’s the Harry Potter AU. Basically, reader is a muggleborn who really wants to be a chaser, but maybe there’s a better position for her on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. This is the beginning of what will be a multi-part series following the building romance between two amazing characters and how our golden octet help them out along the way. 

@sleep-deprived-athlete​

“Alright, you’ve all been told the rules and had the chance to warm up. So let’s start by dividing into groups. Anyone who wants to be a seeker follow Mia there to the far side of the field. Beaters to the left with Foudy. Keepers to the goalposts with Hope. And chasers with me up top,” Brandi said with a wave of her hand, kicking off of the ground and heading towards where her group was going to meet. 

You snuck a glance to either side of you as you also kick off and head to your position, trying to guess who out of the eight students around you is going to be your biggest competition. Surely you thought more people would have wanted a chance at a spot on one of the best teams at Hogwarts. Tryouts had been packed for the last two years. 

You wondered which drill Brandi was going to start with as you approached the group (said woman was idily tossing a quaffle lightly in her hands as she talked to another one of your competition). For the last 2 years it was always a set of passing drills, where would-be chasers played a very complicated game of catch up and down the pitch. 

Maybe those tryouts were supposed to be private, but how else could you prepare for them if you didn’t know what to expect? 

Quidditch was honestly a really weird sport. Well, American football made less sense, but you hadn’t exactly studied the rules as extensively as you had Quidditch. Like, the game literally would not end until someone caught the snitch. According to Quidditch through the Ages a game had literally lasted for months. You remembered watching a tennis game that lasted for four days before, but generally the muggle sports you grew up with were more consistent in how long each game took.  

“Oh yeah”, you thought, watching the beaters line up across the pitch, “and there is also a ball charmed to try and knock people off their broom. That’s not normal.” Though it was something your dad found hilarious. 

Sports were always something the two of you could talk about, even before you found out you had magic. He loved the fact that you loved football as much as he did, and was thrilled by the fact that you had enough talent to play it in your primary school. 

Though with your hand eye coordination you had done better with cricket, and baseball the few times you had a chance to play it in gym. So when you had joined the wizarding world you naturally had gotten into quidditch. Learned everything you could about the game so you could give him detailed play by plays about the games when you sent owls home. 

At this point you were dying to play. You were too short to be a beater or a keeper, but you knew you could be a chaser. You could catch like nobody’s business, and you had at least half of the tactics in The Beginner's Quidditch Playbook memorized. You were going to be the best damn chaser Hogwarts had ever seen. 

“Hey space captain, you ready for this?” 

“What?” You froze, heat flooding your cheeks at being caught not paying attention. You slowly turned to face the new presence. 

You knew the girl. Well. You knew of the girl (it was impossible not to know about the very pretty blond girl). She was in your house and year (and therefore in your dorm as well as all your classes) but the two of you had never really interacted before. She seemed to already know everyone and everything when she got to Hogwarts, so it didn’t really seem like she was looking for friends, and it was hard enough trying to figure out your new life without having people look at you strangely when you didn’t know a word they used. Not that Lindsey, you thought that’s her name anyway, had done that, but other purebloods did. It was easier figuring things out on your own to start, and by the time you did, you and Lindsey had already established yourselves in different friend groups. Was her name Lindsey? A Slytherin in your year was always calling her strange nicknames, so it was hard to tell. 

“The drill. Are you ready for the drill space captain?” The girl asked again. 

“Yeah, but I’m not a captain. I’m a second year, like you,” You said softly, your eyebrows furrowing. Maybe that was a wizard saying, but you had no idea what she was talking about. Your heart also dropped just a touch because if she thought you were a captain then she had absolutely no idea who you were. 

She shook her head with a giggle (showing off her dimples). “My dad says that’s what muggles call a person with their head in the clouds,” 

You cocked your head to the side, your brain running a million miles an hour to try and figure out what she meant. But then it clicked. “Oh you mean space cadet,” 

“I guess,” She shrugged, seemingly unbothered about the correct verbiage. 

The whistle blowing brought both of your attention back towards Brandi and the first set of would-be chasers beginning the crossing drill. You coughed to hide a scoff when Lynn Williams raced at breakneck speed up the pitch, and released the quaffle at least 30 feet off where the chasing captain had instructed. 

You shook your head at the play. It was too sloppy, too open and it would never connect well with JJ and Alex up top. 

“Not impressed by what you see?” Lindsey asked, her eyebrow quirking up (trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t interested in your answer. You were her competition after all). 

“Not after Alex basically destroyed the same course last year. She’s got an 85% accuracy rating on goal and nearly 60% of her shots come off of left crosses. Williams isn’t getting high enough on the pitch to provide an adequate pass,”  You mumbled out quickly, wincing when Lynn made the same mistake on the way back, nearly sending her partner (a girl in the year below you named Mal) into the stands to catch it (though you were slightly impressed that Mal managed to grab it before it landed in the seats). 

“Yeah, I see what you mean. Her throws tend to either go too short or too long. Even if it doesn’t go directly to her partner it at least needs to be consistent so during a game the person she’s throwing it to knows where to intercept it before the other team does,” Lindsey said, taking a hand off her broom to shield her eyes.

“She’s fast but it won’t help if she forces the other chaser off her line to provide service to Alex in front of the posts,” You huffed. Having her on that side would be a positioning nightmare. It left the team open and vulnerable to so many different attacking options. 

“I am not entirely sure what that means,” Lindsey said, smirking as she looked sideways at you, “but it sounds like you don’t think she’s competition, which is good news for us!’

You opened your mouth to respond, only to be cut off by Brandi’s whistle. “Alright next pair up,” 

You gulped and tightened your fingers on your broom “Guess it’s showtime,” You muttered, surging forward to the starting line. 

“Good luck space captain, you’re gonna need it,” Lindsey called back towards you with a wink, taking the ball from Brandi. 

You shook your head. You wouldn’t need luck. A fucking golden retriever could beat out the performance you had just whitnessed. As long as you didn’t fall off your brooms, you both would be fine. 

***

You raced towards the hoops, reaching your arm out to pluck the perfectly timed ball out of its arc towards the ground. Okay, Lindsey was good. Really good. She HAD to have known how bad Lynn’s throws were, because hers were positively perfect. Your throws were good, but Lindsey had this way of arching the ball up through the air if a perfect loop so it practically fell into your hands. There was no way she didn’t practice over the summer. 

You neared the posts, starting to make your u-turn to pass the ball back when a flash of gold caught your eyes. Before you really thought it through, the hand anchoring you to your broom had already lifted to snatch it out of the air on instinct. You had played cricket for most of your life- it was instinct to reach out and grab a ball that looked like it was about to fly into your face. 

The next few seconds happened almost in slow motion. As your fingers closed around the cool metal, you realized just how far to your side you had to lean to reach the object, and how far off balance it had put you. Your legs crossed tightly as you flipped completely upside down on your broom, entirely unwilling to let go of the object you had just caught or the large quaffle still tucked tightly under your arm. Before you really knew what was happening, you were staring straight at the ground, your legs the only thing keeping you in the air. 

“Holy shit, holy shit. Um, hey Lindsey?” You called, eyes on the ground below you. 

“What?” You heard her call. You idly wondered why one of the captains hadn’t put a stop to this yet and put you out of your misery. 

“Catch?” You threw the quaffle, well tossed it really, up into the air towards where you thought the other girl was. You knew it was going to be short, but also knew that she was going to catch it anyway. She really was that good. With your now free hand you reached up and grabbed the handle of your broom so you could pull yourself to it and rotate back to an upright position. 

Only then did you look down at the tiny ball fluttering in your hand. The tiny, almost leathery, wings flapped like it was waving hello. You stared at it in awe, your lips ticking up. You had just caught the golden snitch. You never thought you would get to touch the snitch, much less catch it. 

“Hey you” a voice called from the pitch behind you. You turned to look as Mia flew from where the seeker candidates were staring hopelessly at the sky around them to land on the pitch. “Get down here. Yeah, you on the drills.” She motioned down to the pitch, indicating where you should land, then turned her head to call over her shoulder, “Brandi I’m taking number 2.” 

You quickly flew towards where she had pointed, shakily dismounting from your broom. You weren’t sure if it was fear, adrenaline or nerves, but your legs felt like jelly. You clutched the little ball in your hand so tightly that you were sure there was going to be an imprint in your palm later. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing in the chaser section?” Mia said, tucking her broom under her arm and throwing her hand up towards the group of would be chasers throwing a ball around at varying distances. (You tried not to wince when Lynn nearly pegged Mal in the face again). 

“Um, trying to be a chaser? I was always a good forward so I thought it might fit?” You mumbled with a shrug, scratching the back of your neck with your free hand. a light shade of pink covered your cheeks. It was a little embarrassing how clueless you were with the magical world sometimes, and how even after being here for two full years, you still felt completely out of your depth. 

“That’d be like using a cauldron as a teacup because they’re both the same shape. It’d work but what a waste!” 

“I…- I have no idea what that means. I know I caught the wrong thing, and I’m sorry. I’ll leave now if that’s what you want,” You stuttered out, suddenly finding the way your shoe poked the pitch underneath you interesting. 

“No, kid you misunderstand me. Look, you, what’s your name again?” Mia stepped closer, tilting her head as she looked at you. 

“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n,” 

“Right, Y/n, you could play chaser. You’d even be a decent one with a bit of work. But that’d be a damn waste of talent. You’re a natural seeker. I’m not upset with you for catching the wrong ball, I’m upset you weren’t over in my section trying to catch the snitch in the first place. Look at that lot over there, they still think it’s somewhere over the stands.” Mia stepped next to you and turned, gestured to the group of seeker hopefuls flying in circles near the Ravenclaw seats. 

“Oh,” You breathed out, following her hand to look at the large group. They were squinting towards the stands and swooping low at whatever they thought they had spotted, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the snitch had been caught on the other side of the pitch and that Mia wasn’t even paying attention to them anymore. 

“I’ve had a lot of practice spotting this ball,” Mia said, tapping the snitch trapped in your hand. “I was able to see it within about a minute of it being released, and have been watching it since. None of them saw it when it was on their side of the field, but you saw it instantly- even when you were focused on something else. That is a talent Y/n. Why didn’t you try out for seeker in the first place?”

“I didn’t know how to practice for it, and that-. It wasn’t like any of the other positions I have ever played,” You muttered, trying to cover your insecurity with a nonchalant shrug. It seemed like the position that required the most innate ability, and as a muggleborn you didn’t think you had any. 

Mia nodded slowly looking at you. “Right,” she said, turning and mounting her broom, “I wanna run you through some drills. Come on.”

You blinked at the woman as she hovered in front of you. Your eyes darting between Mia and the object still clutched tightly in your hand. Where were you supposed to put it? Were you supposed to let it go? 

You brought your palm up so it was level with your eyes and opened your hand, half expecting the snitch to fly away. It didn’t. It’s wings slowly unfurled and it waved docilely at you. Like an old friend. 

“What’re you waiting for?” Mia called down at you.

“It won’t fly away!” You called back, looking up at the woman, who rolled her eyes indulgently. 

“Of course not, it’s yours. You caught it, and you can watch it like some love-struck puppy later- stash it in your pocket and come on!”

***

You were having a fucking blast, even though you had no idea what you were in for when you joined the seeker group. Every year when you watched tryouts, you never payed attention to what they had to do, as you never thought you would have to do it. Even without the advantage, you were killing it. 

You had been separated into pairs, just like the chasers were, but Mia had enchanted clear balls (the size of tennis balls) to randomly fly through the air. The balls were given a 5 second head start before you and your partner were allowed to race to catch it. Now this was familiar, the jostling of arms while racing after a ball and trying to prevent someone else from getting to it before you. Only once out of five rounds did your opponent get to the ball before you, but really, that elbow to your ribs was a red card if you’d ever seen one. 

Then everyone took turns hovering in the air as Mia took ten of the enchanted balls and flicked them up haphazardly one by one every five seconds. The goal was to catch as many of them as you could before they hit the ground, even as they were sent up in different directions and some much higher in the air than others. You didn’t get all of them, but the seven you saved still seemed to impress the other seeker candidates who didn’t scowl. The second highest number saved was six, but that girl still congratulated you as you got off your broom, since “those last few of them went way further out than they did for me- and you were an inch away from that eighth one!” 

You nodded, smiling at her, though you were probably more embarrassed than she realized about that eighth one. That one had been sent towards the far side of the field, where you looked up to meet Lindsey’s eyes. You had been placed perfectly to catch the ball as it started falling from it’s apex, but in the moment your hand faltered, and it brushed by your hand instead. You cursed and considered going after it, but then you flew back to where Mia had already released one of the last two on the other side of the field. 

“Alright, for our last drill, we’re going to try to catch a real snitch again,” Mia said, pulling another golden ball out from inside her robes and holding it between her thumb and pointer finger. Its wings sprung out and flapped wildly, unlike the slow waving of the one in your pocket. 

Everything in you wanted to catch the little golden ball. To tame it like you had the other one. For it to sit calmly in your hand and wave hello like an old friend. 

“Isn’t the other one still out there?” The same girl asked, her head tilting to the side. 

“It’s been taken care of,” Mia smirked and shook her head, sending a little glance in your direction. The girl stared at her wide eyed, opening and closing her mouth as though she wanted to say more, but Mia again cut her off with a stern glare. ”As I was saying, the first of you to catch it gets to keep it and also gets a boost to the points on their scorecard. Now line up,” 

You all flew low on the pitch, forming a circle with Mia and the snitch at its center. Your eyes never left the frantically flapping little ball as you waited for her whistle to blow. There was no way it was going to escape you and if you got to show off for the would be chasers watching you near the posts, that was fine with you too. 

***

“Congratulations Y/n! There’s no way you won’t get picked to be seeker,” the girl said, after Mia released you, promising that the results of the tryouts would be posted next week. 

“Oh, um thanks-...” You said trailing off towards the end, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck. You didn’t know her name. 

“Oh, sorry. You missed introductions at the beginning. I’m Savannah, from two years above you.” Savannah grinned at you, a bit ruefully. “You know, I thought this was going to be my year to nail the seeker position. But with you on the team, there’s no WAY we’re gonna lose to Slytherin. And Lloyd can stop looking so smug about the cup win last year.”

“The only reason they were better is because they had Amy and Sydney scoring.  They won despite her and her stupid tactics. If Slytherin actually got a decent seeker then we’d be in trouble,” Lindsey said, throwing her arm over your shoulder and stepping to walk between you and Savannah. 

“Carli’s decent, just distracted I think. She had NEWTS along with scouters and stuff,” you muttered, a bit defensively. You know you weren’t supposed to like the Slytherins- house competition and all that- but Carli’s strategy was pretty impressive. The recruiters certainly seemed to think so, you heard rumors that the recruiters from the Wasps and Arrows had a bidding war before the Harpies showed interest. 

“Pshh it was just the Harpies recruiter. Even if they have Potter, she’d still probably tank their win streak. At least that’d help my team,” Lindsey snorted, shaking her head. 

Your eyebrows furrowed. The Harpies were the second oldest team in the league, and since they recruited Ginny they had been on a tear taking down the Cannons and the Magpies in the final games of the European cup three years running. You thought Carli’s strategy would fit nicely in their ranks. 

“I’m pretty sure there were Wasps recruiters and Magpies guys here too,” Savannah said to Lindsey. You noticed her eyes glanced towards Lindsey’s arm around your shoulder as she smiled widely. Lindsey dramatically rolled her eyes. 

“Which team is yours?” You asked softly, leaning your head on Lindsey's shoulder as you trudged towards the locker room, ignoring Savannah. 

“The cannons of course,” Lindsey said confidently. Savannah seemed to be hiding a smirk, and waved goodbye at you as she headed into the locker room. 

“They’re pretty alright, but Ronaldo is a little too cocky for me. Sinclare and Potter together are a lethal combo for the Harpies and with Angerer in goal they’re like unstoppable,” You hummed thoughtfully. You also liked that the Harpies were an all female team. 

“Ugh, you sound like Emily,” Lindsey said, rolling her eyes. “She and Sam are giant Magpies supporters.” 

“I mean the Magpies have a 75% score rate while the Cannons are only at a 60. And Messi catches the snitch within the first hour 80% of the time, while Ronaldo’s catches take about 85 minutes on average,” you rattled off. So maybe you were a little too into statistics. At least your dad never had to worry about your math skills. 

“No way, they’re super into team stats too! Maybe you can help me convince Emily and Sam that the Cannons are the best team!”

“But Emily and Sam, whoever they are, are right. The stats don’t lie,” You said with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Oh, Emily is my friend in Slytherin and Sam‘s in Hufflepuff. I’ll introduce you later.” Lindsey said waving a hand in the air. “Anyway, the Magpies may have Messi, but the Cannons have heart! And isn’t that what really matters to make a good team great?”

You paused, pulling Lindsey to a stop beside you. “I know they don’t teach math here, but Statistics beat heart any day.” 

Lindsey laughed and shoved you playfully to the side. “You haven’t even met them and already you’re ganging up on me.” 

“I’m just stating facts. The hat almost put me in Ravenclaw cause I just love random factoids so much,” you smirked, tucking yourself back under her outstretched arm (it was just so warm and it made you feel… safe). 

“Well, I’m glad you’re in Gryffindor. It's way better to have you as a teammate than competition Space captain. Now let’s go- if we hurry we can probably get to the library to work on that potions essay before curfew.” 

[theresthesnitch]

Crooked

A/N: another entry for @harryandginuary BINGO. I had a lot of fun with this one. I hope you do too.

Did you know that Charlie Chaplin once came in third in a look alike contest?

Read it here on AO3.

Prompt: O 73. You've dared me to do this as a joke but there's no way I'm backing out now.

***

"You don't have to do it."

Harry scoffed. "Of course I do.

"Listen, mate," Ron said. "I realize I'm the one who dared you to do it, but you don't have to actually enter the Harry Potter look alike contest."

"You may have meant it as a joke, but I'm committed now. I'm going to do it."

They stood in line at the registration table, and Harry looked around the room. The costumes were really bad. Did people think he really dressed like that? Looked like that?

The person in front of him moved, and Harry stepped up to the table with a nervous smile. "One entry, please."

"You can't charm your eyes green."

Harry, confused, replied, "I didn't?"

The witch sitting at the registration table narrowed her eyes at him. "It's against the rules of the contest. You can charm the scar; you can't charm the eyes."

"Solid rule. Good catching this one," Ron said from just over his left shoulder.

She pointed her wand at Harry's face, and his hand twitched for his wand before she said, "finite incantatum." Harry stood there staring at her, eyes unchanged. "Fine, whatever, it's not the right color anyway, so it won't help you."

Harry wondered briefly if Ron was going to die of laughter. "Er, right. Okay. Can I enter now?"

The witch rolled her eyes. "Name?"

"Harry Potter."

The witch fixed him with such a glare that he was sure he was going to implode under it. Ron, meanwhile, was struggling to breath.

"Obviously, buddy. But I need your real name to register for the contest."

Harry blanked. "But, my name really… James. James Evans."

"Alright, James. You're going to be number 4. When the time comes, they'll call you on stage."

"Right, thanks."

Harry walked away with Ron wiping tears from under his eyes. "Merlin, I'm glad you did this. It's going to be so fun for me."

Harry smiled. "I've never been so anonymous in my life. No one's even looking at me!"

"Of course not, mate. You don't even look like Harry Potter."

"Yeah, apparently I got the eyes wrong."

Ron looked around the room that was slowly filling up. "I can't believe you let my sister judge this."

"First off, if you think I let Ginny do anything, you are very much mistaken about how our relationship works. And never let Ginny hear you say that I let her do something. Second," Harry shrugged a shoulder, "it's for charity."

"Alright, I guess that's-"

"Your scar is crooked."

Harry turned around to face a slightly short, wiry man wearing a number 6 with blond hair and the most elaborate lightning scar he had ever seen. Do these people even know what I look like? "Excuse me?"

"Your scar is crooked," not-Harry 6 said. "You messed up the charm, and it's not even straight. Sloppy work."

"Huh," Ron said, looking Harry straight on, "your scar is a bit crooked."

Harry chuckled before turning back to not-Harry 6. "Thanks, mate. Good looking out."

"You can't really expect to compete if you don't put in the effort. Better luck next time." Not-Harry 6 walked away and left Harry standing with his mouth hanging open and Ron, once again, dying of laughter next to him.

"Ron, I think I might lose the Harry look-alike contest."

"Harry, your fiancée is judging." Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder. "You're absolutely going to lose the look alike contest."

"Welcome, everyone, to this year's War Orphan Carnival. We're ready to start our Harry Potter Look-Alike Contest. Can I get all the contestants on the stage?"

Harry walked on stage with a handful of other contestants, and lined up next to a witch with a number 3 around her neck. Harry did a double take looking at her. She looked remarkably like him. He looked out to where Ron was standing in the crowd with a dumbfounded expression on his face. He raised an eyebrow in question. It has to be charms, right? Ron shrugged in response.

"Now everyone, we have a very special guest judge for our contest this year," the announcer said. "If anyone can tell us who the true Harry Potter look alike is, it would be her. Let's give a big round of applause for Ginny Weasley!"

Ginny walked on stage and immediately locked eyes with Harry. He shrugged a shoulder, and her eyes glimmered with mischief. She walked to the microphone, said a few words, and then was walking down the line of contestants. She chatted briefly with not-Harry 1, who was a tall wizard wearing Gryffindor robes, and not-Harry 2, who wore red and gold Quidditch robes and carried a broomstick.

Ginny stopped in front of not-Harry 3 and looked her up and down. She looked over at Harry with wide eyes, then back to not-Harry 3. “That’s a really impressive costume. Did you use charms?”

“No,” said not-Harry 3. “I’m Harry Potter.”

“Right, of course,” said Ginny. “It’s very good. Is that your natural hair?”

“Yes.” Not-Harry 3 was not very talkative.

“Great!” Ginny seemed a little lost now. “Well, good luck!”

Ginny stopped in front of Harry and looked him up and down. “Tell me about your Harry costume.”

Harry smiled. “Apparently I got the green eyes wrong and the scar is crooked.”

“Idiot.” Not-Harry 6 was apparently listening in. “You don’t tell the judge how you messed up the costume. Amateur.”

Ginny looked up to Harry’s forehead. “Huh, it is crooked.”

“Told you,” mumbled not-Harry 6.

“Maybe I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself,” Ginny said with a coy smile.

“Oh?” Harry asked. “What do I have to do?”

“Just answer a few trivia questions.”

“Were we supposed to memorize Harry Potter trivia for this?” asked not-Harry 2 to not-Harry 1. “I don’t remember seeing that in the rules.”

“Anyone can do Harry trivia,” Ginny went on, poorly concealed glee on her face. “I’m going to ask you Ginny trivia - things only the REAL Harry would know.”

“Alright,” Harry said. “Give me your best Ginny trivia.”

“Favorite color?”

“She’ll tell you it’s blue, but it’s really green. Green like a fresh-pickled toad.”

Ginny shook her head. “Favorite food?”

“French toast, but only if it is served with powdered sugar and not syrup.”

“Favorite number?”

“Seven.”

“Favorite season?”

“Autumn.”

“Favorite flower?”

Harry froze and his jaw dropped. Did she have a favorite flower?

“I - uh - Gerbera daisies?”

“What, no. That’s Hermione’s favorite flower.”

“It is?” said Ron’s voice from the audience. An echo of laughter went around the crowd.

“It is,” Ginny said over her shoulder. “One more chance. My fiance would absolutely know my favorite flower.”

Harry racked his brain, but he couldn’t think of a single other flower. “Lily?”

Ginny snorted. “No. Daffodils. Nice try, but you are clearly not a very good Harry Potter.” She winked, and moved down the line to not-Harry 5.

Not-Harry 5 was a little child who barely came up to Harry’s waist. His hair was rumpled, and he wore black robes with a stuffed white snowy owl on his shoulder. Ginny squatted in front of him. “Hi, sweetie. What’s your name?”

“Connor.”

“Hi Connor. I like your owl.”

“Thanks. I have a wand, too.” He held up a stick that had tape and glue around the end for a handle.

“Where did you get that wand, Connor?”

“I made it,” he said. “See, I put glue and tape, and it goes swish swish.” He waved the wand around.

“It’s very good. I was afraid I was going to have to tell Harry you had his wand. It looks so much like his!”

“Thank you. Mummy drew a scar on my forehead too. See.” He pointed at his head.

“I see. Your scar is not crooked, Connor.” he nodded his head. “Connor, do you know what Harry Potter’s favorite spell is?”

“Expelli-arms!” Connor waved his wand around when he said it, and Harry’s heart melted.

“Very good! You’re a very convincing Harry.”

“Thank you. He’s my favorite.”

“He’s my favorite, too. I’ll see you later, okay Connor?”

“Bye, Ginny.”

Ginny stood up and moved down to not-Harry 6, who was now sporting a black Harry wig. Not-Harry 6 regaled Ginny with an explanation of how his clothing choice was authentic and how he had done extensive research into the kinds of clothing that was preferred by Harry when he was at Hogwarts. Harry rolled his eyes and hoped no one was taking notes on this.

At last, Ginny walked back up to the podium. “Ready to make your choices?” the announcer asked.

“I am.” Ginny conferred briefly with the announcer, then stood to the side

“In third place, Number 6!” Not-Harry 6 walked forward to accept his medal, and returned to his spot. Harry could hear him grumbling slightly.

“Second place, Number 3!” Not-Harry 3 accepted her award quietly to a smattering of applause from the crowd.

"And finally, our grand winner in our Harry Potter Look-Alike Contest is, drumroll please," The announcer paused everyone in the room drummed their hands on their legs, "Number 5!”

Connor lit up like it was the best day of his life, and walked forward to grab his trophy. He tripped over the edge of his robes a bit, causing not-Hedwig to wobble on his shoulder, and then stood next to Ginny.

“Congratulations, Connor.”

“Thank you, Ginny.”

“Connor, would you like to meet the real Harry Potter?”

Connor’s eyes were as big as saucers, and he nodded emphatically. Ginny turned back to the announcer. “Roger, I happen to know that Harry is here today, and I think I can convince him to come up and say hi.”

The announcer’s face lit up. “Oh, ho ho! A special treat indeed. Mr. Potter, are you here today?”

The crowd went absolutely silent, and Harry waited for a beat before walking forward.

“Not you, you wanker,” not-Harry 6 said. “Get back in line!”

Harry continued forward, and shot a wink over his shoulder. He walked straight up to Ginny, dipped her dramatically and pressed a kiss to her lips. The crowd went wild. He set her upright before breaking the kiss and heard, “Oh merlin. I just called Harry Potter a wanker,” from somewhere over his shoulder.

Harry knelt in front of Connor, who looked like he couldn’t believe what was happening in front of him. “Hi Connor. Congratulations on winning.”

“Thank you, Mr. Potter.” His voice came out at barely a whisper.

“Can you call me Harry, Connor?”

“Yes.” Still a whisper.

“You know, you get to go home and tell all your friends that you beat Harry Potter in a Harry Potter look-alike contest.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Harry parroted. “I like your Hedwig.”

“Thank you.” Connor’s voice was a bit louder now. “You’re my hero.”

“Want to know a secret, Connor?” He nodded emphatically. “You are my hero.” An “awww” went up from the audience. Connor’s face lit up and he threw his arms around Harry in a hug. “I bet your mom is here. Do you want to take a picture with Ginny and I?” He nodded again.

A few minutes later, they finished a round of pictures with Connor’s mom, and a few more for the Prophet with all three winners.

“Thank you, everyone,” Roger the announcer said. “Congratulations to our winners, and let’s hear a round of applause for Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley!” The crowd roared, and Harry and Ginny made to leave the stage when they heard a gasp.

“Oh my merlin. I told Harry Potter that his scar was crooked!”

[docholligay]

Tracer/Emily “on a scar”

Talk about stuff I've meant to write for ages, this moment is finally out in the world. ANYWAY THANK YOU 1600ish words, all of my OW universe is here.

Tracer kissed her shoulder.

It should have felt good. She wanted it to feel good. She was incredibly attracted to Tracer, who had been a perfect lady over the past few weeks. Tracer, who was handsome and charming and gallant, who had treated her to dinner and walks in the park and made her laugh with all her stories, brought her flowers and told her she looked wonderful in purple, who had never invited herself up even though her eyes clearly wanted to be invited up.

But instead, there was a sort of deep grim that lapped at the corner of her mind. Emily was not good with women. She wasn’t good with anyone really, over the age of six, she thought, quiet and shy and awkward, the way she’s been all of her life. She wanted this, and she was afraid of it. She was not a casual person. Sometimes she wished she were.

The hard part, for Emily, was knowing when to tell someone. When she had been younger, it had been easy to blame her being trans for every ounce of hesitation she felt in a public setting, for every stumble through a conversation, and every bad date where her calls were never returned. It some ways, it had made things easier, to know that there was an immutable reason for such things, but life is rarely so kind, and she had met so many other women like her who glittered and had full dance cards, who lived life loudly.

So her own hated timidness had to, at least in some capacity, be an organic consequence of being Emily McNair, rather than anything else. It was disappointing.

But because she was Emily McNair, and because she had no idea of what it meant to be casual, and because she, like the silly fool that she was, was dangerously close to being truly in love with Tracer, she had to tell her. She wanted to tell her. Because if she was going to love Tracer, she had to know that Tracer could love all of her, even her history.

She tried not to expect too much of people in that vein.

“Em?” Tracer pulled away from her, ‘Can’t ‘elp but notice you don’t seem particularly engaged. You,” she seemed disappointed, “you not want to?”

“Oh, Lena, I do, but it’s only..” She tucked her hair behind her ear, “I have to speak to you, first.”

Her eyes darted around the room. “What ‘ave I done? Or not done?”

“No, no, of course no. It’s only me.”

“Alright. All ears.”

Emily was sure there had to be a perfect way of doing this, but over the twenty odd years of her life, she had never quite found it. Words were, most people would agree, not Emily’s strong suit, and generally she was as content to listen to others talk as they were. The handful of times she had gotten far enough to want to tell someone, it had never come out the way she’d imagined, and as Tracer looked at her, she realized that new and better speech she kept planning wasn’t going to reveal itself this time either.

“I’m trans. I just--thought you should know, before.” She swallowed and looked off to the side, waiting.

Tracer rocked back on her heels and looked at Emily.

“Is that all? Doesn’t matter, I don’t care about that,” she stopped for a moment, “Sorry. You know,” she tilted her head quickly and leaned forward, trying to put herself back into Emily’s gaze, “it’s just now occurred to me why me Dad put it that way when I told ‘im I was gay, can’t really think of a better way to say it--suppose it didn’t urt that ‘e wasn’t the slightest bit surprised by the news--but wasn’t helpful to me then either.” She took Emily’s hand. “Thank you for telling me. I feel all the same about you as I did. I think you are absolutely beautiful, and I cannot believe me luck, sitting on the sofa with you. You ‘ave no reason to be shy with me. Still buzzing about being invited up, love.”

Emily let her shoulders relax a little. “I’m shy with everyone.”

“I ‘ope sincerely that it’s not that people ‘ave been cruel to you.”

“Not, I think I’m just a bit awkward, I mean,” Emily shook her head. “Most people haven’t known since I left school. But I don’t much,” she fiddled with the strap of her dress, “you know, see women.”

Tracer smiled. “Right. Let me show you something.”

She slipped her shirt off under her CA with a speed and grace Emily would not have guessed was possible, leaving only her CA and a sports bra. The first thing she noticed were the bright toucans on Tracer’s bra. The second thing she noticed was that Tracer was as spectacularly toned as she might have guessed given her quick strength, and she blushed.

The third thing she noticed were two deep and heavily puckered scars, right at the edge of her rib cage. Her eyes widened and she brought a hand to her mouth, without thinking, and then immediately realized Tracer must be seeing her, after being so kind to Emily, showing shock, and she might think it was disgust--

But Tracer gave that loud peal of a laugh that Emily loved so much. “I know! Terrible, innit? Man shot me.” She scowled a moment. “Thought ‘e was me friend, once upon a time, but ‘e did disabuse me of that notion, as Fareeha put it, you know, love, for all the times she pretends she doesn’t understand a bloody thing I’m saying she manages to put up quite the English vocabulary when it suits her, right? Right, absolute tosh--listen to me waffling on, me Dad always said I could talk for England--what I mean is, love, you ain’t the only one with a thing or two unusual. Say nothing about the machinery. I’m loads of things to get used to, right? So you and I are of a kind. Me more than you, even, ‘ave no doubt you look better with your clothes off than me, if you don’t mind me saying so, right? So you never need be shy with me, for I’ll always do me best. I ‘ave no doubt that I will say or do something unbelievably bloody stupid, and when that happens, I want you to say, ‘Lena, you bloody stupid cunt,” Emily laughed and shook her head, “--No love, I’m being very serious just now--Lena, don’t do that” and then I won’t.”

Emily looked at her. Tracer’s eyes were bright and sparkling, but full of sincerity. Even now, she had that little resting smile on her face that Emily had come to realize just sat there, as unhappiness did on others. There was something about Tracer that drew Emily in, that made her feel safe, and suddenly it felt true, that someone like Tracer could not mind. Suddenly it seemed silly to Emily that anyone had ever minded at all. She had so many explanations planned out, ways to make it okay for Tracer and assure her that there wasn’t much different about Emily, but it all seemed completely unnecessary in the moment.

She had been honest, when she said she didn’t care.

Emily reached her hand out and brushed her fingertips against the deep crater on Tracer’s stomach, and Tracer did not flinch away from her touch, even for a moment.

“It must have hurt terribly.”

Tracer shook her head. “You know, actually, I lost a great deal of blood very quickly, which doesn’t necessarily recommend itself but I will say made the pain a bit of a non-issue.” She laughed again. “Honestly, Winston’s more traumatized by it than I am, I only remember little bits of the thing. Lost some of me liver though, and I am sore about that, as I make quite a bit of use of it,” she looked down, “ as you can see by the fact that I lack a bit in the definition department.”

“You’re very handsome, Lena.” Emily said, still looking at the scar, unable to look Tracer in the eye when she said it.

“Well, you’re kind to say so.” Tracer put her hand on top of Emily’s. “I still am keen to root about the cabbages, so to speak, and I want you to know I won’t be put off so easily in future,” she grinned, “but if you’d rather not tonight, I understand that, as well.”

“Oh, but I don’t want you to go!”

Tracer took Emily by the shoulders. “I can stay then, love. ‘Appy to ‘ear it. Can stay all night, if you like. But we don’t ‘ave to do nothing.”

Emily leaned forward and put her head on Tracer’s shoulder, letting herself fall into her embrace. Tracer kissed her forehead.

“We can stay just like this, love.”

I love you, she wanted to say, I love you, and I feel excited and happy and utterly terrified at the fact. But, she reasoned, she had tripped over her own tongue enough for one evening, and in this moment, she thought she would have plenty of other chances. Tracer would stay. She kissed Tracer’s cheek and settled into her arms as Tracer laid back against the couch.

“You know, the scars aren’t even the worst of it, with me. ‘Ardware neither.”

“Oh?”

“Right, there’s the entirety of me personality to deal with, as well. Messy. Can’t pay attention to save me own life, sometimes quite literally, depending on who you ask. Touch of P--well, honestly, just ask Fareeha, when you meet her, she’s got a list of me negative qualities, I think. Probably alphabetized. Maybe categorical.”

Emily felt herself melt into Tracer and allowed herself the joy of a laugh.

The cool wind of October shook the trees outside, and litter blew along the street next to her shabby little London flat, and Emily had never been happier.

[cosmiclatte28]

Strike! (Jaehyun x reader)

a/n : okaay soo this was almost from a real story :)) i twisted and improvised something that happened to me :p not important though, but please enjoy this scenario!

warning : none, i think this is save for everyone.. except if you have bad memories with bowling...

characters : you, Jae, and his friends (Yu,Tae,Johnny)

tagging @yutahoes (since she knew what happened) and @neopalette anyone else wants to be tagged in my works tell me :)

enjoy!!

Spring is happening, the flowers are blooming, and the sun has been staying up longer! Everyone’s toasting under the heat and hoping that summer can just come now. You personally enjoy the heat rather than shivering in the cold winter wind. It’s just that you don’t really have anyone to enjoy this beautiful weather with. Just like any other day, you got down from your room to look for dinner. The sun is still up and you choose to just use one of your jacket and plop into your shoes before locking the door and walking nicely to look for food.

You turn on your earphone, playing on some light music so you feel less lonely. It’s just that you have friends but today you don’t feel like eating with them. You’ve been to two classes today and worked on some homework, you noticed it’s time for a “me time”. So, with the sun shining warmly and you enjoying your afternoon walk you smile when you notice how many couples are walking around the campus.

You’re jealous, you wont lie. Come on, who’s not jealous to see cute happy couples walking under the sun and with the blooming flowers things just look like a scene from a movie. You personally slow down to think of which dining hall to visit today. You choose to go to the west side and see what menu they offer.

You don’t see much student there which make you settle quickly on pasta and have them wrap it up to go. Now, with your boxed food, you walk happily to go back to your room only to pause when there’s a sport car filled with hot guys zooming through you.

You notice a lot of people have their eyes glued on the car, or maybe the guys in it. You don’t know them, but one of them seriously looks cute. You locked eyes for a second and you swore you love him at first sight.

“Woah, last time there were girls zooming around in their opened-cabriole cars and now guys too. Guess summer is really near.” You shrug your shoulder and continue to walk.

You pass by the car again but this time it is parked and the four guys are just chilling around their cars. Sipping on some cold energy drinks while giggling and tossing light smiles to the people passing by.

“Who are you looking at young boy?” The man behind the wheels earlier nudges the boy who has his eyes glued on you.

“Um no one-“ he stammers before turning away to look at his feet and feeling his ears burn.

“Oh I see, some freshman I guess-“ the guy with a Japanese accent teases the younger boy.

“Where? I wanna see too!” the smallest one between the three extends his neck to look around.

Their actions bring the crowd’s attention, and you realize you should keep walking. Why were you stopping in first place?

So, without much thought you continue to walk down your road while humming to your music.

“Stop staring,” the guy who’s looking at his feet finally speaks up.

“Why Jaehyun? You’re shy?” The tallest, Johnny aka guy behind wheel, pokes his cheek.

Jaehyun turns red “Nah, I don’t know her. She just passed by and I locked eyes with her.”

“Don’t worry, if Yuta saw her he will know her name.” Taeyong puts a hand over Yuta’s shoulder “Right Yuta?” he asks to clarify his statement.

Yuta nods “If only you justified if that was the girl you’re staring, I may have her name tomorrow.” Yuta plays with his phone.

Jaehyun sighs “Come on, this school is big… there’s no way you’ll get her name.” he hugs his three friends’ shoulders and sighs “Guess that will be the first and last time I see her.”

Johnny clicks his tongue “So dramatic. Duhh, I know how to see her.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen “How?”

Taeyong giggles “She went that way, there’s only three houses there. We can just hang around there and see her if she goes out of her building. It’s that simple Jae, don’t be so sad.” Taeyong pats his shoulder and jumps into the car.

“Come on, we have a bowling match tomorrow might want to practice a little bit before the game.” Taeyong calls his other friends into the car and once they’re all in, Johnny hits the road again with high speed to show off his car and the guys inside.

--

You finish your dinner and clean up your room already. In an hour or two, you’ll wrap up your task and readings then maybe take a rest because tomorrow is a big day. You got more classes to suffer and some dance class to attend.

Your mind flashes back the image of the cute guy seating in the back seat of the sports car earlier. His dimple, his carefree smile and his fluffy wind-blown hair looks perfect. Oh you really wish you can see him one more time.

He doesn’t look like he belongs in your major, man like him probably is an athlete or studies something related to business or sports.

“Come on come to your senses (y/n)! What are the odds he meet you again? Even if he sees you, he won’t notice or realize you’re there.” You try to burry your hope by reminding yourself boys like him belong to the pretty girls with long legs. Unlike you, totally you’re way out of his league.

That night you dream of a fortunate encounter with the mysterious guy and he gives you his name. Weird how you cannot remember his name at all when you wake up, but the day is running and you need to wake up and face reality. He is a prince charming and you’re no Cinderella.

--

“I told you, I can get her name by today.” Yuta proudly shows Jaehyun and the guys an Instagram profile.

“Wait whoah you really did.” Taeyong says after examining the profile picture because of the private account.

“How did you?” Jaehyun stops asking when his eyes accidentally spot you coming into the room.

“Am I seeing things or is she really here?” Jaehyun whispers to his friends and Johnny gives him a smack “Hurts? It’s real. I see her too.”

Yuta chuckles “Come on, I see her walking to this place and thought maybe she’s here this afternoon. So, I made a quick run through the participant list and look up one by one.”

“Thank you- but oh I am so fortunate to see her again.” Jaehyun is literally having his moment. If this is a drama he’d have romantic bgm and flower petals falling out of nowhere. But this is the bowling room in the campus and it’s far from romantic. Especially when the judge calls for the competitor to get ready.

“Good luck there bro, focus on the game not on the girl.” His friends tease him before leaving to sit in the spectator seat.

You tie your bowling shoes and pick out your own ball. Polishing it and feeling it with your hand before bumping into someone’s sturdy chest.

“Oh- sorry.” You mutter an apology before looking up and freezing in place when you lock eyes with the same man you’ve been dying to see again.

“You-“ he turns pink.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to bump you. Please don’t kill me.” You beg for him

He chuckles “I will not kill you, but if you want my apology…” he trails off and bends a little bit to see your face closer “Give me your name.”

You turn red now and you feel your face heat up “It’s (y/n)”

He smiles and reaches out his hand “Jaehyun, nice to meet you (y/n)” he shakes your hand and you grin. This is awkward…

“I saw you yesterday on the car. Nice car.” You whisper after both of you sit down to wait for your turns.

Jaehyun nods “Wasn’t my car sadly, but it’s my friend’s.” he points to the three guys enjoying pizza on the spectator bench. You only nod, his friends all look hot.

“So, bowling eh? Good at it?” you ask him when it’s almost his turn. Jaehyun stands up and wears his bowling glove “Good? I just pick this up as a new hobby and I join this to look for new friends.” He gets up to his lane and picks his ball before posing nicely and hits a strike.

You smirk, not bad. He has some talent.

Jaehyun returns after his turn is over and it’s yours now.

“What about you?” he asks

You sweetly smile “Watch and see,”

Jaehyhun notices how you change. Your posture is different, and your gaze definitely burns hole to the wall. He secretly has to control his heartbeat from going up when he sees you hit a strike.

You’re not a newbie, he notices that

“Great posture, accurate and precise.” Jaehyun offers a high-five and you take it.

“Well, thank you that came from years of practice. Pleasure to be your competitor tonight, I am (y/n) the school’s official bowling team leader.” You wink and Jaehyun feels his heart burst into million pieces.

How can you be so cute and so attractive at the same time? Plus what, you’re the bowling athlete team? Hot.

He sure is going to brag on you to his friends, but most importantly he’ll win your number first after the hot tight match. He’s glad Johnny forced him to sign up for this competition, and he’s glad he has the courage to talk with you.

“So, nice game and you’re really good.” Jaehyun nudges your shoulder when the game ends with you winning.

You grin “Oh yeah? Well, what do I get for winning?” you playfully tease him.

He knits his eyebrow for a while before grinning “Do you want my number? We can have lunch together or dinner someday.” He offers you his suggestion and you feel your cheek burns.

“Sure, yes I’d love that.” You gulp and type in your number to his phone.

“Okay, I’ll text you my number so you can save it.” He winks and turns his head around when his friends call him

“I got to go, do you want to go back to your dorm with us?” he offers you a ride but as much as you want to, you know not to accept rides from stranger easily.

You shake your head “I will go with them,” you point to a new group of friends living in the same building you just met earlier.

Jaehyun nods coolly “Okay, text me when you got home.” He points to your phone that lights up with a message from him.

You smile and wave your hand as you walk to the other friends “Bye Jaehyun! It was nice meeting you.”

Turns out yesterday was not the first and last time he sees you.

end

[kuroopaisen]

cause & effect || chapter 1

➵ your work friend, kuroo, has a tiny favour to ask. 

warnings: f!reader

wc: 1.4k

m.list | ↠ ch. 2

You plonk a black coffee on Kuroo’s desk, shooting him a wink.

He looks awful. Skin a tad more pallid than normal, dark bags under his eyes, hair even messier than usual. You’re almost ready to believe he’d gone on a bender last night, but you know he’s much too dedicated to his work to do something like that on a Tuesday.

He smiles at you, his chin balanced in one of his hands. You glance at the time in the corner of his computer screen. 8:30 AM. You’re not late.

“Thanks,” he nods before taking a sip of his coffee. He scrunches up his nose for a moment, but he manages to swallow it all down. When he’d told you he didn’t actually like black coffee, you’d asked him why he bothered drinking it. He’d told you that the caffeine kick was like nothing else, and he needed it to get through the day.

That was the moment you’d realised that Kuroo Tetsurou was, in fact, a loser.

“You look exhausted,” you observe, looking him up and down. Kuroo usually looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, but you’d just assumed that was a purposeful choice.

“Ouch,” he laughs, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Oh, I’m not being rude,” you dither at him. “I’m concerned.”

“No need to be,” he yawns, scrunching up his nose. “I was just on Kenma’s stream last night.”

You snort. “What, that friend of yours that plays video games for a living?”

Kuroo grins. “That’s the one.”

“How late did you stay up?”

“Oh… like 2 AM,” he shrugs. “That was nothing back in uni, but these days…”

You laugh, shaking your head. What you wouldn’t give for a taste of that youthful neglect for one’s wellbeing. You’re not quite sure when your transition to ‘responsible adult who gets paid a living wage (barely) and who (usually) turns in before 11 PM’ happened, but there’s no going back now.

“Are you hoping to leave this life behind?” You tease, tilting your head at him. “Hoping to become Youtube famous?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he grins. “I’ll earn millions at the height of my career, only to have a humiliating fall from grace when people find out I’m not a very nice person.”

“That’s tragic,” you giggle, turning back to your computer. “Make sure you go out in a blaze of glory for me, okay?”

“Oh, I intend to,” he nods, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “And don’t you worry, I’ll make myself a very lucrative merch line designed to exploit my followers for all their worth.”

His work phone starts ringing with a vengeance.

Kuroo shoots you a dithering look. You just mouth ‘good luck’ as he picks up the offending object.

“Japan Volleyball Association, sports promotion division,” Kuroo stifles a yawn as he holds the phone to his ear. “How may I help you today?”

You bite your lip as you watch him. He’s nodding and humming – typical fare for a phone call.

“I’m sorry, could you please repeat that sir?” He says with a frown.

He catches your eye, and you take the opportunity to stick your tongue out at him. A grin spreads across his face slowly as he shakes his head.

You tilt your head to the side, wondering what this specific interlocutor was after.

Kuroo gives you that look; the one that said the person on the other end of this phone line was bonkers.  

“Forgive me for being so bold, sir, but are you asking me if we’d accept a large sum of money to remove a competitor’s logo from our advertisements?”

You raised your eyebrows at him. That’s certainly a new one.

Kuroo clears his throat. “No, no, sir, I’m not accusing you of anything.”

You can hear some chatter from the other end of the phone, but none of it’s legible.

They go back and forth for a while as you sip your drink, watching as Kuroo’s patience wears ludicrously thin. That late night must be really getting to him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ll have to refer you to someone higher up,” Kuroo sighs, two fingers massaging his temple. “I’m in no position to deal with this in a way you would find acceptable.”

At that, he presses a button on the phone’s interface, officially making this customer ‘not his problem.’

“What was that?” You ask, leaning towards him.

Kuroo rolls his eyes, stretching over the back of his chair. “I don’t know. It’s too early for this…”

You reach over to pat his shoulder. “There, there.”

He chuckles. “It’s only, what? Just past 8:30? I didn’t think I’d get an asshole so early.”

“Maybe god hates you.”

“His loss.”

You laugh, opening your mouth to respond.

Your own work phone rings. Your mood significantly drops.

Kuroo winks at you. “Into the fray.”

You sigh, picking it up. “Japan Volleyball Association, sports promotion division. How may I help you?”  

Answering calls, bargaining with sponsors, checking statistics … they may not have been the most exciting of activities, but they were part of a day’s work. It’s not exactly where you saw yourself ending up after university, but you aren’t going to snub your nose at your chance for a steady income.

Sharing a cubicle with Kuroo, at least, made things a bit more bearable.

In fact, he’d helped you settle in. On your very first day, when you were gripped with nerves and doubt, Kuroo had plonked a green tea on your desk with a warm smile. That had become a little bit of a habit, with whoever was slated to get to work last turning up with caffeine for two.

Frankly, he’d terrified you a bit, at first; you feel bad about it now, but when someone was that tall and that… intimidating, you couldn’t help it.

But, he’d disarmed you quite quickly, and willingly offered himself up as your port of call in this new tempest of a workplace. And for that, you would always be grateful to him.

You check the time. 11:15 AM. You turn to your cubicle mate, tapping him on the shoulder.

He looks over at you, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m going to go get lunch. Did you want anything?”

Kuroo spins around in his chair, standing up to full height. You often forgot just how tall he was, the bastard. “I’ll come with you, if you’d like.”

“Uh… sure.”

He tells you about the stream on the short walk to the boba shop, which is just tucked around the corner. Apparently, his friend had managed to raise the equivalent of twenty-one million yen.

“My charm and good lucks account for at least a third of those millions,” he assured you.

You didn’t quite believe that. You had a feeling that it had more to do with that Black Jackals player Kenma was purportedly close to.

Kuroo sighs as he holds the door of the boba shop open for you, ushering you inside. “Ladies first.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, ducking under his arm and into the crowded little store. The cold isn’t enough to drive off the large throng of customers. If anything, it looked more busy than usual. But, more and more people seem to flow through Tokyo as the year’s end draws closer.

The two of you stand in line, huddled just inside the warmth of the boba shop at the end of a long line.

“So,” Kuroo swallows, his gaze particularly interested in the ceiling. “I have… a favour, to ask.”

“I’m not covering shifts for you.”

“Not that,” he shakes his head, digging his hands deep in his pockets. “It’s, uh… it’s a bit more personal.”

You look up at him, blinking. “You sound like you’re asking me to help you commit a murder.”

“Not quite.”

“Not quite?!”

“I just mean that I’m asking you to do something that’s a little morally bankrupt.” He still hasn’t looked directly at you yet.

“Kuroo, you’re going to give me a panic attack.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he shakes his head again. He looks like he’s about to ask you something quite serious; frightening, even. You’re not used to seeing such a solemn look on his face. It scares you.

He takes a deep breath. “Can you pretend to be my girlfriend for the next month or so?”

It takes a moment for the question to properly click in your mind.

“I’m sorry, what?”

✧ ✧ ✧

a/n: oh Boy Here We Go,,,

[wanderlustinwonderland18]

Stepanova & Bukin: “Our Fans Really Want Us To Be Together”

How do you feel about being the new Russian National Champions?

Vanya: Wow! To be honest, we didn't get enough sleep. It was a busy time. We sat, talked with the team, discussed a lot. This was our first competition in a long time, so we were a little exhausted.

Sasha: So far, we don't really feel that something major has happened, but the assessment of our coaches is very important for us. They didn't know how we would perform. Yes, the coaches did everything to make us perform well. But from the very start, everything depended only on us... And we managed to perform well so many thanks to our team for this.

Vanya: In general, we liked everything very much. We missed the audience a lot and we hope to perform somewhere else soon. Yes, there are nerves, but they are very pleasant nerves. Competition is great.

Is this national title the main award of your career?

Sasha: No. We have silver and bronze medals from European Championships. We have also performed well at World Championships. The situation here is completely different in all aspects. We had a different task... But overall, we are very pleased with the title of Russian National Champions.

Vanya: Yes, indeed, this is the first time for us. The support was great. Even though the arena was only 35 percent capacity, we felt incredible warmth.

Is the lack of vivid emotions due to the fact your main competitors were not here?

Sasha: Yes, many skaters were missing in Chelyabinsk. It’s a pity that this is the case. We, ourselves, were not able to participate in early competitions such as the Grand Prix in Moscow.

Vanya: For instance, Dima Aliev did not compete here although we were expecting him. We are friends with him, and we communicate a lot. We hope to meet the entire Russian team after the New Year.

Did this situation personally blur the impression of the Russian Championships?

Sasha: Of course. In addition, the federation indicated that this is not the final selection for the World Championships. We simply perceived it as a certain stage where we need to show what we are capable of.

Vanya: On the other hand, the fact that it was our first competition in a long time added more importance to it.

Is it a shame that Europeans got cancelled, while everything goes well in other sports?

Vanya: Of course, it's upsetting.

Sasha: I don’t really follow what is happening in other sports, but the cancellation of our Europeans was not a surprise. Everything pointed towards this direction gradually. We were ready for this news. We understand that holding a competition in such conditions is difficult and unsafe.

How do you feel now?

Sasha: I’m good now, thanks.

Vanya: Yes, we have already recovered.

You guys joked at the press conference that you were unlucky, because you were ill with COVID at different times.

(Sasha and Vanya laugh)

Sasha: Well, yes, we were really out of luck.

How did this happen? You spend so much time together.

Sasha: At first, I just caught a cold. There was bronchitis or something like that. I got better and then fell ill again, but with COVID. I don't know why that happened, but after I got sick, the coaches and Vanya fell ill.

Vanya: Why this happened is still a mystery to us. It is very incomprehensible.

How did you handle the disease?

Vanya: It was not easy. I had palpable lung damage. The temperature was monitored for a very long time, and the dose of antibiotics was quite strong. The hardest part is not how I got sick, but how I went back to the ice. It was very strange and a little scary.

Sasha: You may be fine at home, but as soon as you go out on the ice, you immediately start coughing due to the cold air and the slightest exertion. Usually for us, skating in circles is nothing at all... But after the illness, the body perceives it as a serious threat and reacts instantly. It is scary. You start thinking: "How am I going to skate now?"

Did it come to hospitalizations?

Sasha and Vanya: No.

Vanya: Fortunately, it didn't come to that. I didn't have extreme temperatures (around 37.5 to 38 only). The only problem is that it lasted a long time. Sasha’s condition was different though. High temperatures in the beginning, but the illness quickly disappeared.

Sasha: In my case, it started with a common cold, then the whole body began to ache. I came back from training and it felt like someone was breaking all my bones from the inside. Then, body temperature began to rise. The maximum was over 39. I immediately took antibiotics. The state itself was unpleasant - you go to the kitchen, or to the bathroom and you are already very tired. You also hear how you breathe.

Sasha, I looked at your Instagram and came to the conclusion that you love black and white tones. Why is that?

Sasha: In black and white, there is...

Vanya: Magic.

Sasha: Yes, some kind of charm. Many photographs look better in black and white. I like the lines and shadows.

Do you hear from fans a lot?

Sasha: Very much! Just yesterday, one fan gave gifts through the coaches. She loves our group very much, follows us to all competitions. From my understanding, she is not alone. It is just her who communicates with us. I called for a photo session, but unfortunately, this has not yet happened because of the virus situation. But yes, they write a lot! They post stories, write long messages. Sometimes I read and tears come, people give a lot of themselves. You think how this is possible. Many are busy with family and work, but they take time for us.

Vanya: Most of the times, they post our reactions to performances. This has already become a meme! We have been compared to animals. Sasha recently reposted a picture where I am a dog who smiles, and she is a serious cat. In many shots, myself and Irina Vasilievna (Zhuk) are explosive, and Sasha and Alexander Vasilievich (Svinin) are more restrained. It’s cool and funny!

Does this reflect your nature?

Vanya: I’m probably more emotional after performances. I keep everything to myself so much that it just breaks at the end. Sasha, on the other hand, gives so much to the performances and at the end, she has nothing left.

Are you offended by any comments?

Vanya: Some comments are very interesting. There have certainly been times where I wanted to respond, but realized that it was pointless. It is nonsense.

Sasha: Because you will be invested in it.

Vanya: Now, I laugh at such comments. If a person doesn't like something and expresses their opinion, please, especially if it is really constructive criticism. When you see that this is not the first time a person has written, and really understands figure skating, you can listen to this... But there are some that just write for the sake of saying something.

Sasha: Yes, there are some who throw out unnecessary emotions based on nothing.

Has it ever happened that thanks to a person's comment, you changed something in your performance?

Vanya: A couple of times.

Sasha: It is not with regards to steps and technical issues though. Most comments are like “I want power, brightness.” At such moments, you can reconsider and decide that, indeed, something is missing somewhere.

It happens that unpleasant things are written by fans of other teams.

Vanya: I'm okay with this, but if you like another couple, why are you writing under our post? Go to your guys and write good things.

Sasha, you are sometimes compared to Victoria Sinitsina? Are you okay with this?

Sasha: Yes, absolutely! We sometimes laugh about our similarities. We also have common views on wardrobe sometimes.

What about the comments that you and Vanya would make a good pair in real life?

Sasha: It's fun too.

Vanya: On one hand, that is a compliment because it means that we can show real emotions on the ice. People believe in our story and think that we are also together behind the scenes... But we have already said many times that we are not a couple in real life, so it is quite strange when people ask about this.

Sasha: It's very cute though!

Vanya: Those who have been with us for a long time know that we are not together, but our fans really want us to be together.

Do you follow the situation regarding Russia's two-year sentence? You guys already had some bad experiences in the past with this decision.

Sasha: Yes, we heard this news. As far as I understand, the consequences could be much worse - all athletes from Russia could be expelled indiscriminately. They could say, "Russia, goodbye." But we are still allowed to compete. Let it be without the anthem at the World Championships and the Olympics, but on our form, the name of the country can still be written. This is already pleasant for us. I do not know all the little details, but in this situation, I want to find something positive.

Vanya: Of course, we are upset, because this is our country. We would very much like to perform with the flag and anthem. But the decision has been made, and nothing can be done. We will calmly prepare for all the major competitions. It remains to be seen how athletes will be admitted to the Olympics.

What would you change in ice dance to make it more popular?

Vanya: Ice Dance is a very creative sport. Everything should look simple, easy, and unpredictable with us. In my opinion, to make our sport more popular, teams must be given more freedom for creativity. Then, the couples will not be alike. We have many rules that do not allow us to go beyond.

Sasha: In general, the rules are made for judges. Previously, ice dance judging was based on "like it or not like it."

Do you have long-term career plans?

Vanya: This season has shown that it is difficult to plan the future. We have decided to live day by day, and prepare for specific events. There have been many times where we plan a lot, and in the end, the plan does not come true.

Do you think about life after sports?

Sasha: I do not have any serious thoughts. Maybe participate in shows, but there are no specific plans. However, I can definitely say that I want to stay in figure skating and take a new role in the sport. For now, we still have a lot to accomplish. We have just reached the top level. We have just started receiving recognition from the audience.

Vanya: And we are very grateful to our fans. When new broke out that we were sick, many wrote to us and supported us. It is really motivating!

Do you have plans for the New Year holidays?

Sasha: I would like to go to the skating rink in front of the Red Square. I have never been to massive street skating rinks, so I want to feel this atmosphere.

Vanya: Oh cool! Let's go and invite everyone!

A small wish to your fans at the end of the interview?

Sasha: Health and love. Be happy no matter what. Live everyday.

Vanya: To make all your dreams come true in the New Year.

[weasleyswizardpleases]

Playing Nurse (4/4)

Summary: Fred Weasley keeps showing up in Hogwarts’ infirmary,  where you apprentice when you’re not in class, but he quickly becomes more than just a patient to you.

Warnings/notes: Blood, dental injury, bruising, broken bones. Language, kissing, some nudity, coming out. Not super graphic but it takes place in the school infirmary so people’s injuries and illnesses are described. Trans masc!Fred x fem!reader. Last chapter! Thanks for loving this one as much as I do you guys :)

Tags: @lucymfer @accioweaslcy @manuosorioh 

4. We Must Stop Meeting Like This

A week goes by before you see Fred again. You’ve pretty much given up on him liking you after your somewhat unexpected last encounter. But, like clockwork, he’s in the infirmary again over the weekend. 

When you arrive for your shift, the infirmary is already bustling. Pomfrey is doing intake on a group of students while a stern but somewhat worried looking McGonagall stands by. You take in the scene: Ron Weasley is there with a busted lip, Malfoy’s a few feet away, holding his head and looking dazed, Crabbe and Goyle by his side in disheveled states. You’re unsurprised to see an incredibly peeved Katie Bell, her stockings ripped, glaring at the Slytherins. She’s limping heavily.

“What happened here? How can I help?”

“There was… a fight,” McGonagall says tiredly. 

“Go ahead and examine Ron, should be a quick episkey, and then move on to Mr. Crabbe, I think it’ll be much the same but I haven’t had a proper look yet,” instructs Madam Pomfrey.

You take Ron to an exam table and give him a quick once over while asking him what happened. He explains that Fred and George weren’t having it and things escalated quickly.

“Turned into an all out brawl before anyone could get a word in edgewise. Percy was watching and ran to snitch, well, thank god he did, because they’re in really bad shape,” he says.

“Who? The Slytherins?” you say, using an episkey charm on his lip and a few stray scratches across his arms, probably from being thrown to the ground in the scuffle.

“Fred, especially, and Malfoy, and…” Ron continues, but you’re no longer listening. You look around and notice that the twins are unaccounted for. You’re finishing up on Ron when George and Filch come in carrying a stretcher with Fred on it. He seems barely conscious. You walk alongside them, asking all the questions you know to ask. This one is yours- Pomfrey is busy with Malfoy, who you suspect has a concussion, and will probably need to look after Katie’s ankle next.

George tells you that Malfoy hit Fred with a stunning spell, but after he fell, they kept kicking at him. You elect not to revive Fred fully yet, first casting a pain relief spell. You examine his clothed torso, feeling along his ribs, and notice that one of the bones feels out of place. You frown and continue lightly feeling along the area, and notice that he seems to be wearing a tight, thick undershirt.

“He’s got a broken rib. We’ll have to remove any garments that might constrict the area to set the bone properly. Could I ask you two to step out for a moment?” you ask, gesturing to the curtain out of the cubicle. Filch departs, but before George leaves he pauses.

“Don’t tell anyone, ok? It would break his heart,” he says seriously before stepping out.

You have little time to wonder what he means. You cut open Fred’s tee shirt and, as you suspected upon palpating his torso, find an undergarment laid tight across his chest. Like a sports bra, maybe, but why- in a flash, you understand the secret Fred was talking about the other day, and what George was saying to keep to yourself just now. It’s a binder. Of course. 

You waste no time reflecting and slice his binder cleanly down the middle to remove pressure from the area. You set about doing a complex set of spells- first checking for internal bleeding, then setting the broken bone back in place, then casting a bandaging spell so he’s not tempted to move about before it’s fully set.

“Rennervate!” you say, flicking your wand in Fred’s direction. He comes to, looking around in confusion, his eyes finally landing on you.

“How do you feel?” you ask him.

“Utter shit,” he says. “What happened, exactly?”

“Stunning spell from Malfoy or one of his goons, George said. You wound up with a broken rib from getting kicked while you were out, but the scan didn’t show anything else too terrible. Just a few bruises.”

“Those cheating bastards. I’d love to spit in their faces right now,” he says, moaning as he tries to sit up.

“Just lay down,” you say, resting your hand gently on his shoulder. “It should be pretty much healed by tomorrow morning, but it’s going to be painful until then. If you want, I can ask Pomfrey to give you something to help you sleep while I’m out fetching you a new shirt,” you offer. You pulled the blanket up to cover his chest when you finished working on his ribs, but he’s still shirtless underneath. You watch as he realizes you must have seen his chest while you were patching him up. He grimaces uncomfortably.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“I’d like that shirt, please,” he says, pursing his lips. You dash off to one of the cabinets to fetch an extra set of clothes and an extra blanket, since you know he’ll be staying the night.

“Here,” you say, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” You excuse yourself to let him change, and touch bases with Madam Pomfrey. McGonagall has taken Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle, who are all fully healed, back to her office. Katie Bell is sitting on an exam table, still looking quite angry with her swollen leg propped up high. George is lurking worriedly near the door. You make your way over to him.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “Fred is going to be perfectly fine by tomorrow. Madam Pomfrey will have a look at him to make sure there’s nothing I missed, since it was a serious injury, but his rib is all patched up.” He sighs in relief.

“And don’t worry, I won’t say anything,” you add discreetly, smiling knowingly at him. He relaxes fully and nods in return. “Good luck with McGonagall. She did not look happy.”

“Thanks, Y/N. Take good care of him,” he says, nodding towards his brother’s bed before leaving to accept his punishment.

You return to Fred’s bedside to find him looking quite sheepish.

“Feeling okay?” you ask softly. 

“Sure. Bit embarrassed. I wasn’t hoping you’d find out like this, you know.”

“Your big secret is that you’re trans? Freddie, who in the world would care about that?”

“I dunno, some people.”

“Uh, yeah, bigots,” you say, laughing. “I certainly don’t care. I’m just glad you’re ok.”

“Thanks to you. Wanna sit?” he asks sweetly. You can’t say no, so you agree to wait with him at least until Pomfrey comes in to look him over.

“So, did you ever talk to that girl?” you ask, trying to make small talk after all the excitement. He looks at you like you’re a nutcase. 

“Y/N, are you thick?” he laughs hard, causing him to wince and hold his torso. He gasps in pain, but grins through it. “Honestly, who did you think I was interested in?” he asks, biting back laughter. You look at him, your cheeks hot. What is he getting at?

“How should I know? I hardly see you, outside of keeping you alive in here,” you say defensively.

“Wow, I thought for sure you knew. I was so embarrassed when you didn’t say anything, I’ve been avoiding you for weeks!” 

“What? Why?” you ask, but it quickly dawns on you what you may’ve been missing. “Wait… what?!” you say, your hand flying to your mouth.

“Yep, you got it.”

“You like me?”

“Yes, you idiot!”

“Come here,” you say. You lean down and plant a chaste kiss on his cheek, but he pulls you in gently for a real kiss, a long one. You feel so much tension you didn’t even know you were holding in leave your body, and stand back up, laughing big, just as Madam Pomfrey parts the curtain.

“Well, everyone seems in good spirits in here,” she says. You both nod awkwardly.

“Y/N has been taking such good care of me I hardly knew I was hurt,” Fred says cheerfully. Pomfrey gives him a quick once over, agrees with your diagnoses and treatment, and leaves you two alone once again. 

“You know, we have got to stop meeting like this,” Fred says, looking up at you. “Not that you don’t look lovely in your apron.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“How about a date?”

“I certainly wouldn’t object to a nice evening with a ruggedly handsome young man,” you say, giggling gleefully. He flashes a big smile, showing off his chipped tooth.

“Well, it’s a deal. You get me up and going again and I treat you to dinner,” he says.

“Deal! I've got to go, though,” you say, planting a sneaky kiss on him before you leave, “I am at work, after all.” You practically float out the door, proud of your work in more ways than one. Fred Weasley. Yours at last. 

[bonshaquitalafawndreeah]

A bandwagoner’s ode to the Cubs

Let’s get one thing straight right away: I am absolutely not a sports fan. I hated sports most of my life because they made me feel excluded. I couldn’t catch or throw a ball or comprehend strategy. I was consistently picked last in gym class and then shunned by my classmates for making them lose a game of flag football. This made me a very bitter, non participatory person. I’m that basic betch who jokes about a football game interrupting the Beyoncé concert during the super bowl. I declare that I wish both teams could lose when the Bears play the Packers and I’m forced to watch. I don’t even join in at cookouts when people start playing bags. (And I’m sure by now you’re thinking, “wow, you must be fun at parties.”)

I am NOT a fan of sports, but I am a fan of the Chicago Cubs.

Or at least I’m something adjacent to being a fan. (I am somewhere in the “ballpark” if you will.) Is it fair to lump me in with people who bleed Cubbie Blue and can recite rosters from the 90’s? God no! I am a casual admirer at best and although I come from a long line of Cub fans I admittedly payed zero attention to the sport until the 2016 World Series. You could say I’m a bandwagoner but I’m even worse than that. Even after they won the first World Series in 108 years I was still not super interested in sitting through a game. It wasn’t until my husband dragged me to Wrigley under the guise of “spending a day together in the city” that I realized there’s something truly magical about the experience.

Maybe I also happened to be in a magical season of life. We were newlyweds and the World Series win coincided with our honeymoon. My husband wore a Cubs cap to every bar and restaurant and we were congratulated by every person we met. People who had never even been to Illinois were so happy and excited for us. I was buzzing with the kind of pride you feel when something newsworthy happens in your hometown.

I grew up two hours away from Chicago, but moved to the suburbs around 2016. During that chapter, it felt like the entire world was opening up for me and everything was exciting. I had just gotten the job I used to dream about and had coworkers that would quickly start to feel like family. On weekends David and I would take the train from Glen Ellyn to the city. As I sipped a coffee and watched the scenery roll by I couldn’t believe my luck. A friendless little girl from the boonies had found a little community she could thrive in, and it was all next door to one of the world’s greatest cities.

That first Cubs game felt like a fairy tale. I knew I would enjoy drinking beer and eating a hot dog, but I planned on being bored by the rest of it. I didn’t expect to immediately fall in love with the charm of Wrigleyville. Everyone in the stadium was twinkle-in-their-eyes friendly. The blooper reels were cute and funny. Anthony Rizzo stepped to the plate while “Bad Blood” by Taylor Swift blasted and won my heart forever. I developed a genuine investment in the outcome of the game and cheered and groaned with gusto. I somehow got to watch them win that day and we jumped up and down and sang “go Cubs go” as though we had accomplished something incredible. As we left our seats I was grinning from ear to ear like a little kid. We stopped for drinks at the Cubbie Bear and I told David I had just accidentally discovered my favorite thing to do in Chicago.

Over the years we went to a few more games. Sometimes we went alone. Other times we brought David’s family. Once we dragged along a good friend who was moving across the country the next day, and another who had just finished an overnight shift. Once we went in early April and it was so cold and rainy that I bought a souvenir blanket for $50. I wore it around my shoulders like a cape in every place we stopped. For the very first time, I understood why people passionately love and defend their teams.

In 2019 we didn’t go to any games because my mental health took a nosedive. I was having panic attacks daily and for whatever reason they were most severe when I was in a car, or basically any place where I couldn’t step away “if I really needed to.” I was pretty scary to be around. I spent the summer going to therapy and sitting around at home waiting to snap out of it. The thought of surviving a train ride or a day in a packed stadium made me queasy.

But I always said that the first thing I wanted to do when I started feeling better was go back to Wrigley. I knew that this extra special era for the Cubs would be short-lived. The current team was really entertaining to watch. They had star power that would be hard to replace and they probably wouldn’t stick around forever. I could never love baseball for stats and numbers and performance metrics. I loved the feeling of joy that these players brought.

At the start of 2020 I was doing so much better and was really excited to get back out there. I couldn’t wait to do all the things that I had caused us to miss. And then, as you know... the rest of 2020 happened.

Going to a game was at the top of my summer 2021 bucket list. But work, birthdays, and family kept pushing it back. We were finally supposed to go to a game in mid-July and it was rained out and rescheduled for September.

And this past weekend the entire core of the Cubs was traded away to other teams. Never in a hundred million trillion years did I expect to be the person to care about this, but I’ve been in mourning all weekend.

For this fair-weather fan, Javy, KB, And Rizzo made sports feel approachable and fun. As someone who DOES NOT SPORT at all, I never believed that I deserved a place in that world, but I felt welcome in the little world they created. The absence of their personalities is going to hurt. A big part of me wonders If I’m better off leaving Wrigley behind me, a rose colored memory of being young and happy in my favorite city and believing that magical things can last forever.

I’m sure we’ll go back for a game again some day. But who knows who will be on the roster then? Or if we’ll have a baby in tow. It’ll be a far cry from stacking towers out of our empty beer cups, swooning over Kris Bryant, and knowing that you have all the time in the world to recreate the fun again and again.

So to wrap this thing up in a way that makes it all about meeeeeee...

The disbanding of this group feels deeply personal. Like I’m leaving behind a slightly more innocent chapter, where I could believe my city and my team were the very best and always would be. And just as they’re moving on to new and necessary adventures, my next chapter will likely be something much more realistic and adult.

But it was sure fun while it lasted.