#off the wop

[offthewoptunes]

OFFTHEWOP TUNES

Founded by FreshDuzIt in 2020, OFFTHEWOP is more than just a record label—it’s a movement.

NLE CHOPPA X FRESHDUZIT - CAMELOT (5x Platinum 2024)

Video directed by lyrical lemonade

FRESHDUZIT ON GENIUS EXPLAINING HOW TO STRATEGIZE

CAMELOT (Remix)

INDYSTAR NEWSPAPER: "Indianapolis’ Trailblazing Trap Producer: First to Hit Radio and Achieve Platinum Status!"

OFFTHEWOP/SONY ATV

FRESHDUZIT SIGNS SONGWRITER ADMIN

As a Sony songwriter since 2021, OFFTHEWOP is a leading voice in emerging Trap Music, Art, and the culture that drives it. OFFTHEWOP is dedicated to showcasing raw talent, combining street authenticity with innovative storytelling. Our mission extends beyond signing artists; we’re creating a universe where real artists achieve legendary status. With extensive experience working as A&Rs for various labels, we’re now ready to partner with the industry’s best.

OFFTHEWOP is a phrase that carries multiple meanings, embodying the hustle and grind. It’s synonymous with "off the muscle" or "off the strength," representing hard work and determination. It also nods to "off the block," symbolizing how we’ve transitioned from the streets to the industry, while still making money from the block. Additionally, it can mean "off the phone," highlighting the digital hustle. And with "wop" being old slang for a lot of money, OFFTHEWOP is all about turning hustle into wealth.

OFFTHEWOP ALBUM:

The *Off The Wop* album racked up millions of views across all platforms, including SoundCloud, Spotify, and Apple Music. This 14-track project cruises through the city streets of Indianapolis to Memphis, featuring guest verses from Duke Deuce and Paper Route Empire's rising star, Paper Route Woo.

Activated NLTOworld.com with merch drop

Exclusive FreshDuzIt Beats: download link

OFFTHEWOP PLAYLIST:

The OFFTHEWOP playlist is a collection of hits from OFFTHEWOP, OFFTHEWOP3D & 4k, that define the sound of the streets. Featuring tracks with and from heavyweights like NLE Choppa, Yo Gotti, Babyface Ray, Veeze, and more, this playlist is packed with bangers.

Logo redesign by FRESHDUZIT

NUMERO UNO: OFFTHEWOP’s ANIMATED HARE

MUSIC VIDEO: EPISODE 1 TURTLES VS THE HARE

written by FreshDuzIt

Directed by Myles Hi

Premiered on HipHopDx:

"FRESHDUZIT x Numero Uno: VVS Pendant"

We need help with funding animation, game development, creative direction, access to advanced technology, marketing toys based on Numero Uno, ensuring they resonate with fans and become a key part of the brand’s merchandise lineup and a strong marketing campaign to ensure the game's success.

Animation Production

Storyboarding. Full animation production (episodes, shorts, etc.)

Comic Book Creation

Scriptwriting and story development

Artwork and illustration. Printing and distribution

Marketing and Promotion

Social media campaigns and content creation

Public relations and media outreach, Advertising materials for both music and comic

Merchandise

Production of apparel, accessories, and collectibles

Distribution and retail costs

Creative Development

Additional content such as animated shorts and special comic editions. Interactive content (e.g., apps or games)

Distribution

Integration with digital platforms for comics and promotional content. Promotion and logistics for comic and merchandise distribution

Legal and Licensing

Intellectual property protection for the character and content

Contract negotiations and legal fees

Team Salaries for animators, comic artists, marketing professionals, and other key roles

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 36

PREV

The Smiths had been a happy family.

A happy couple and three happy healthy children. Their first born son 2 years into a blissful marriage, a second born son 4 years in and the third, a first born daughter 7 years in.

They spent most holidays with his Mother’s large rambunctious family but his grandma on his father’s side and her mother were always invited to any family event.

“The more the merrier.” He had heard more than one aunt or uncle say. “We know that Gavin is an only child, we don’t want to leave you alone.” They would say to his Gran. Cousins playing, laughing, rough housing, and screaming. Family friends with their own kids stopping in. The adults who could cook cranking food out happy to feed people.

The more the merrier is something FF believed with all his heart.

FF loved being an older brother.

He loved them from the moment he knew they existed. Had wanted to meet them instantly. Waiting to meet Jay and then Robin had been the longest time of his life. Meeting both of them were two of the happiest moments in FF’s entire life.

Robin had loved to reach up and pinch at his face.

Nose, ears, or even cheeks his little sister had loved to clamp her fingers around it. He used to talk when she’d do it on his nose, purposefully sounding more nasally as he talked to her as she giggled wildly. It was her favorite game in the entire world and FF had always been willing to play it with her.

Jay fell asleep against his shoulders without fail on every single car ride.

Slight weight, drool, and tiny hands that always wanted to hold his arm like a pillow. He was getting big had denied that he did that with pure horror every time FF would ask him if he was going to take a nap. Yet FF very rarely made it to a far off destination without a little bit of drool on an outfit. FF had never cared, trying not to laugh too hard with Robin as she giggled so that he wouldn’t dislodge Jay.

His gran would pinch his cheek and tell him how good he was.

A good older brother.

The happy couple wanted more kids. Wanted a bigger and bigger family. His mom wanted what she knew, his dad wanted what he never had, FF wanted more siblings.

He always felt like he had gotten his wish, but only in the worst way he could have.

His mom and dad were fighting. They were driving home from the supermarket; he vaguely remembers that. He doesn’t remember what started the fight but he remembers how Jay and Robin moved in close to him. She was pointing at him and FF doesn’t remember what she said but he remembers her hands reaching and then-

His face hurt, his ear hurt, he looked over and Jay was asleep just like he always was but he doesn’t look right. He looks and Robin is there reaching for him but she can’t reach him. “I’m scared.” She had said his name, pleading and terrified. Her face was bruised, cut, and she had a burn that looked painful.

He lied to her.

He didn’t know it at the time, but he did.

He reached out and he couldn’t touch her face, but he held her tiny hand in his own, looked her in the eyes, and lied.

“It’s going to be okay; I promise.”

Then he woke up and that hand wasn’t the one in his anymore. The world is muted but somehow his grandma’s red eyes and pale skin stand out to him. He asks what happened and she tells him.

Things don’t get better.

His mom swears his dad tried to kill them all that he swerved so they’d all die together. He can’t corroborate that story; he just remembers her hand reaching and-

How do you ask your mom if she tried to kill you?

She must see the question in his eyes regardless. Must figure that if he can’t feel anything, can’t cry, can’t emote, can’t go and lay between his sibling’s graves in the middle of the night then maybe he’ll never ask the question and she’ll never have to answer.

He learned to live not knowing and maybe his mom learned that he was a coward.

His mom’s family don’t treat him the same. He won’t denounce his father and they look at him with pity and Daniel whispers poison into his cousins’ ears until they act like he killed Robin and Jay personally.

He can’t react.

Can’t plead with his cousins to understand.

Daniel would spin it and FF would find himself on the meds again. So, he got good at pretending. He got good at faking. He got good at everything that was needed to pretend like he didn’t have a care.

Then Coach Wymack and Captain Dan Wilds were there.

He’d been getting better.

Now Daniel was here.

Nicky tucked him into bed and he tried to sleep. Even feigned it well enough for Nicky to leave and to get startled by the shouting that shortly followed.

Daniel was going to stay.

Daniel was going to try to be on the same team.

Daniel was smart, strong, and very athletic.

Daniel was going to be on the same team.

He hears when Abby and his Gran come back, and someone must have mentioned that Daniel was there to his Grandma because she comes in and tells him that it will be okay. He puts on a brave face for her, and she kisses his cheek.

He lays there in bed and stares at the ceiling feel flushed and hot with anxiety.

He gets up and walks to the fridge and finds himself frozen there.

“Smith,” Bee’s voice rings in his ears as he had tried to keep pushing everything down. “Smith, there is only so much you can bottle up and repress.” She reached out and held his hand comfortingly because touch always made him feel like he was on earth.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” he had asked, ashamed.

“Smith, you’ll have to process it. Feel what you repressed and then after you’ve felt it maybe you can let it go.” Bee had said.

He had avoided taking her advice so far, it hadn’t felt safe, and it had been too much, too scary.

Nicky’s face comes into his vision, “Smithy?” he asks and there is concern that FF hadn’t felt worthy of. “C’mon bud. Let’s get you under the covers.” His friend says.

They get to the guest room and FF crumbles. His face in Nicky’s shoulder and when Nicky asks if he can hold him while he sleeps FF nods and holds on as tight as he can. Nicky’s hand finds his back, “It’s okay Smithy, I’m right here. We won’t let that asshole mess with you. You’re safe.” Nicky had promised and-

and it’s enough.

He relaxes against Nicky and he feels safe.

So, he decides to process it.

“Dig in!” Abby said not bothering with grace. It was good. FF still missed his grandma’s cooking. It was nice to have this loud Thanksgiving like he used to get but there was something special about helping his grandma in the kitchen and the two of them sitting down to eat. He missed events with his mom’s family. Loud and boisterous and his Gran welcomed and loved by everyone there. It was special to have his time with his grandma, but he wishes it could be with his cousins and his siblings still.

It’s okay to be nostalgic.

He lets himself process it.

Captain Neil was up front and had started  to play some music. Nicky and Aaron were conked out before they had even reached the entrance to the interstate. They had also slumped onto FF with Aaron asleep on his shoulder as Nicky drooled into his hair. “You can just shove them off.” Andrew said. “It’s fine.” FF said and had reminisced about the last time he’d had something like this. How maybe Jay would be this big, would he be tall like Nicky or shorter like Aaron? Would Robin be big? Would she still want to squeeze his nose and ask him to talk?

It wasn’t a bad thought, just one that hurt to consider.

He lets himself process it.

Aaron looked at him with a twisted mouth for a while before he relented, “Fine they’re not that bad. It’s a big brother thing.” Aaron rolled his eyes. FF swallowed down some acid in his throat and had pushed the smiling eggs and bacon over to Aaron who smiled back at the breakfast and proceeded to eat it. A big brother thing. FF used to be one of those but, unlike Aaron, he hadn’t managed to protect his siblings. Aaron was a good big brother and FF only had the memory of being one.

It hurt and maybe it wasn’t just his great grandma he had reached out to when he had baked those brownies. They had always always been Jay’s favorite.

Two kids hadn’t moved as the rest of the world continued to. He watched as they clung to one another, and no one seemed to take notice of them. He didn’t understand how anyone could mess them with the bright orange children’s jerseys they had on. One sporting 01 – Josten and the other 10 – Josten on the backs. He had said something to Nicky and then he was squatted down in front of them. A big brother and a little sister with a burn. He’s glad to see them off safely. Glad they’re safe and that Millie is smiling at him like he hung the stars because he got her an autograph from Captain Neil. Glad to watch Brandon be lifted up by his father. He hopes they get home safe.

They didn’t even look that much like Jay and Robin but it had made him happy.

There were other moments, small moments that had hurt that he bottled up but those didn’t take much time to process though.

He finishes processing and lets himself come back to the present.

Something tastes good in his mouth.

“…put the knife away!!” he hears Nicky yelling and looks up to find that Nicky is hiding behind Matt Boyd in Abby’s backyard.

“Just tell me where my car is Nicholas!” Andrew says advancing on Nicky with a knife drawn.

“Can we not do this with me in the middle?” Matt pleads.

“He won’t stab you so you’re the safest thing to hide behind!” Nicky exclaims.

“Where. Is. My. Car?” Andrew hisses.

“Look, I’m just saying that until that asshole is off the campus….maybe it’s for the best that you don’t have access to your car?” Nicky asks pleadingly.

“What the fuck is he drinking?!” He turns as he hears Kevin nearby.

“Milkshake, it’s fine. Doesn��t Smiths deserve something that is not one of your dogshit smoothies?” Aaron asks and he’s standing between Kevin and FF. He sees one of Kevin’s smoothies in the starting striker’s hands.

“It’s not fine!” Kevin hisses. “I didn’t approve of it!” he flails one arm.

“Kevin,  you’re not actually his doctor.” Captain Neil says, “Andrew, maybe put the knife away before people call the cops on you?” Captain Neil asks pleadingly.

“I’ll put it away once Nicky tells me where he put my car.” Andrew demands.

“We just barely avoided you going to jail a couple weeks ago Andrew. I just don’t want you to do something that would result in you being there on vehicular manslaughter charges!” Nicky pled from behind Matt.

“I wouldn’t crash the Maserati just to kill him.” Andrew is facing towards them, and FF can see him roll his eyes.

“I think they’re more worried that you’ll just run him over if you see him dude.” Matt says.

FF realizes belatedly that he’s sucking on a straw to an empty milkshake only when a wrinkled hand takes it from him and puts a hot drink in his hands instead. He looks and sees his grandma smiling at him.

He looks down and-

Oh, hot chocolate. This is nice.

He takes a sip.

Oh, his grandma’s hot chocolate.

Delightful.

He watches as his Grandma makes her way towards where Andrew and Nicky were continuing to run around a resigned looking Matt.

Andrew is stopped as his Grandma hands him a cup of hot chocolate filled to the brim with marshmallows. He blinks at the offering but takes it stopping his hot pursuit of Nicky.

“Jesteś moim ulubieńcem” she says. (“You’re my favorite now.”)

Nicky makes a noise like he’s dying. “Aras!” he cries dramatically.

“Got something to say about the drink from his Gran?” Aaron asks.

“No…” Kevin says petulantly. “…but he should leave room. I formulated a new healthier smoothie that tastes good.” Kevin says holding up his smoothie.

“Doesn’t taste like ass is more accurate.” Matt says walking over now that Nicky was immobilized by his despair and Andrew was enjoying hot chocolate. “Sorry Smithster, we’re still working on getting it up to ‘tastes good’.” He says apologetically clapping FF on the shoulder.

“Fat chance of that with Kevin’s sensibilities with flavor.” Aaron says rolling his eyes. “More accurate to say lack of sensibility.” He adds after a second.

“Don’t be rude, you ran off without even warning me.” Matt points at Aaron.

"You ran off?!" Kevin demands.

FF can’t help it.

He laughs.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

[soydoesart]

zalarie + tm lpse

[feddy-34]

kenny said he got more in the bank too im scared

[cinamun]

WOP WOP WOP WOP WOP INDYA F*CK EM UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! love how as soon as DJ got the message he needed to get at home she put on her boots to serve c*nt to defend her kid for everything that wasn't necessary (being assaulted by a skillet). the Drakes do not come to playyyyyyyyy

[soupy-sez]

The Four Seasons with their album 'The 4 Seasons' Gold Vault Of Hits', which has gone gold after a million dollars in sales, ca. 1966

[jobey-wan-kenobi]

OH, SHOO-BE-DO-WAH! OH! SHOO-BE-DO-WAH!

[windfighter]

Nobody:

Literally nobody:

Me, pressing a hand against my side to hide an injury: Takuya, can we... take a break?

My brain two seconds later: Oh fuck we're daydreaming out loud again

[bonestrouslingbones]

btw the way that i find "new" music that i like is so embarrassing sometimes. i'll be listening to a song surprised that i actually like it and it's by one of the first bands people think of when they think of the genre because of just how popular it got among people who enjoy that kind of music and i am, in fact, a person who enjoys that kind of music

[doo-wop-city]

Snow Day in Doo Wop City, Part 3

This is the third in a series of three posts of photos taken after a snowfall here in Doo Wop City. These photos were taken on January 22nd, 1968. (…Or, was that 2024?) The snow-glazed brick red Carriage Stop, one of the Doo Wop era’s Phonee Colonee buildings, aesthetically compliments its color. Viewing this feels like being in the winter during colonial America. Snow and palm trees: an…

[blockedbykei]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 (𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇)

🏐 — tsukishima kei x f!reader

— synopsis: something about the stars has always intrigued tsukishima, how even in the dusk of the night, the brighest star would light up the world and burn itself in the process. he also didn't know what to do when that star had turned into the person who seemed to make his days just a little bit better.

— warnings: nothing much, except angst. just soft yet also mean tsukishima who doesn't know what to do with those feelings of his. maybe he's a little ooc. based on "andromeda" by weyes blood.

stars, so miniscule, so far away from his touch, so beautiful even with the stygian waters that it swims on.

every night, after practice, tsukishima would walk his lethargic body home with his headphones in his ears, his neck bent backwards it could snap. but he didn't care, he wanted to watch the stars move and follow him.

he wanted to watch all the dead stars who shined the brightest, the stars that had turned into supernovas, the stars that are created. and he felt at peace— the soft rhythm and reverb of the song humming in his ears, and the stars that lead him home.

and occasionally, adding to his visual and auditory senses, a sweet drink on the palate of his tongue made his evenings better.

tonight was no different.

he had just bid his goodbye to his teammates, although timidly and without masking that annoyance he'd always bore against the little tangerine boy who always had a little too much energy.

tsukishima begins his journey, using the stars as his map, putting his hands in his pockets. yamaguchi hadn't joined him for tonight. actually, he hasn't joined him in a while, always walking yachi home, using her "safety" as an excuse (it really was the reason, but obviously there was another one).

still, he didn't mind the absence of his friend.

anri's soft doo-wop brings pleasantries in his ears as the song begins. his fingers tap inside the pocket of his gym shorts. he looks up at the night sky and connects his own constellations. tsukishima wonders if those stars ever know that they're being admired by millions of people in this planet, even if they'd died billions of years ago.

as a child, he used to think that the stars were the meteors that had killed his beloved dinosaurs. and every night, he would refuse to look up. but then akiteru, despite finding humor in his little brother's childish belief, had decided to tell him the difference between meteors and stars. and then added more information about those stars.

so now tsukishima loved three things: dinosaurs, strawberry shortcake, and stars.

his feet patter softly on the cobblestone that serves as a pathway to his home, the cool air drying the sweat off his temples and cooling his back, which reminds him to wipe his sweat when he gets home before he showers to avoid getting sick.

and then he suddenly comes in contact with a small body.

just outside of sakanoshita market, tsukishima's chest bursts in sudden (but light) pain from the person's elbow. and that person had emit a small noise of surprise and pain, stumbling backwards.

tsukishima was just about to snap, tell the person to look where they had been going and call them an idiot when his eyes met yours.

they're wide, irises darkened from the night's haze, and you're clutching your elbow, headphones askew. you rub the soft skin, a small pout on your lips and tsukishima wonders how painful was it for you to pout like this.

then you look at him and he feels the air stuck in his throat.

pretty.

"oh! sorry. i didn't mean to bump into you." you bow in front of him, hands pliant at your sides. tsukishima's at lost for words, lips only parted and looking at you. he still hasn't said anything when you bring yourself back up again.

"it's- it's okay." he finally stammers out, pausing his music and moving his headphones off from one ear. "sorry for not looking either." tsukishima bows slightly, just tilting the top half of his body.

you smile lightly at him, hanging your own headphones around your neck, scanning his figure. he suddenly feels shy under your curious gaze, watching as you read the print on the left side of his chest.

"karasuno...? ka-karasuno! i go there," you laugh lightly, like that discovery was the greatest news you'd ever heard. "i don't think i've seen you around. well, maybe because i'm new. i'm such a dumbass."

though the last sentence being a whisper, tsukishima contradicts: "n-no. i haven't seen you around either." he takes one step forward towards you, didn't expect himself to be nearer than he'd planned. "tsukishima kei."

you tell him yours in a polite manner, with a smile so bright you'd beat the stars that hover both of your bodies. "you're part of the volleyball club, aren't you?"

he hopes you don't see his wavering blush in the dim lights. "yes."

"cool! what position?"

"middle blocker."

"that's so cool," you face him, neck bent upwards to meet his eyes, hands forming into excited fists in front of you, like how hinata would get enthusiastic about something. "you're really tall. i bet, i mean if you could, you'd hit the streetlights when you jump."

that theory piques his curiosity. his eyebrows raise. "i haven't given it a thought. i will try it soon though." tsukishima finally removes his headphones and leaves them around his neck. he points to the bag in her hands. "what'd you buy?"

"chocolate milk. ukai-chan is your coach, right?"

"how'd you know?"

"i see him enter the gym everyday after classes. he owns this store," your head motions behind you. "can you tell him his mom is a little mean? i actually preferred it when he was watching over the store."

tsukishima smiles a little. "can't. he's our coach. he might actually drop us for his store."

your laugh may be brighter than anything else in existence.

"okay, well, see you around tsukishima-san." you smile at him, the pearls of your teeth glinting in the moonlight, the whiskers of your eyes denote the glee you've obtained from him and tsukishima softens just a little. you wave at him and walk past him.

he turns around, and even though your back was to him, his hand lifts and waves at you.

tsukishima walks home happier than he expected, a small smile lingering on his face.

🏐 —

"who you looking for, tsukki?"

yamaguchi serves his friend a teasing smile, holding the tray carefully in his hands. tsukishima looks down at his friend and deadpans:

"shut up, yamaguchi."

"sorry tsukki."

they sit down on the table hinata and kageyama sit on, the two bantering quite loudly on which flavored milk was the best and is advisable to increase their energy. kageyama says: "banana, you dumbass."

hinata argues that: "it's chocolate! it makes people hyper for a reason. could you watch your language?!"

tsukishima and yamaguchi sit beside each other, their backs to the window of the cafeteria, which meant that tsukishima has a view of the entire room, his height being an advantage despite the large crowds.

he blindly brings his bento out of his box, his eyes never leaving the heedless crowd. yamaguchi, ever the curious, most specifically the friend who always wondered what it is that ran through tsukishima's mind, asked again: "seriously, tsukki, who are you looking for?"

tsukishima huffs. "just sawamura-san. i need a-advice. on my blocks." the lie slips easily off his tongue that yamaguchi can't decide between believing him or forcing the truth out of him.

but tsukishima is slightly disappointed that even after five minutes, he still can't see the color of your hair amidst the throng of students. though his face might say otherwise (rbf), he can't help but feel a little sad.

maybe the star isn't shining so bright today.

he pokes and prods at the vegetables placed on top of his rice, stabbing the carrot and shoving it in his frowning mouth. he doesn't notice that hinata has been observing– no, looking at him. because hinata was never the type of person who could be discreet.

"stingyshima, you look sad," he doesn't know if it's a tease or not, but maybe it is. "is he looking for someone, yamaguchi?"

"i don't know," he shrugs. "he says he's looking for sawamura-san."

"he's right there," kageyama jabs his finger behind him, seeing daichi in line for the cafeteria food. "your blocks haven't been good? figured."

"sorry if i haven't lived up to your standards, king." tsukishima sneers. yamaguchi and hinata laugh, kageyama burning in his seat.

eating his lunch ended quite faster than he thought it would, and soon he finds himself walking along the hallway of the school building waiting for the remaining free time to end. so his boredom drags his feet towards the nearest vending machine.

the device on his ears blocked out all the haze and noise of the world, which left him in his own environment. it eased the nerves that trickled along his veins, rubbed the tension off his shoulders. in his own milieu, he could think whatever and say whatever and do whatever.

just like how stars form themselves however they please, explode and die whenever they want to. tsukishima didn't have better knowledge of stars than he knew of dinosaurs, but it was his own thought and he had the freedom to think whatever it is (although of course, with just a little bit of accuracy and validity).

tsukishima's eyes scan the plastic divisions for the sight of any strawberry drinks. when they land on one, he types the number and slips the cash in. the conveyor belts begin to twist.

but much to his dismay, when the drink was pushed, it never fell.

he tuts in frustration, his head falling backwards to release a tired, irritated sigh.

and then you pop up beside him.

tsukishima jumps lightly when he sees you put your head out and smile at him, clutching his heaving chest. somehow, your laugh had managed to drown out the song in his ears; he doesn't mind though. he thinks your smile was the most beautiful orchestra ever conducted.

he puts his headphones around his neck. "they're incredibly annoying, aren't they?" you smile up at him. "here, i'll help you."

suddenly, you begin to violently shake the vending machine. tsukishima almost feels embarrassed for you, but the lack of audience has rid that feeling. you, with your height, looked like a child angrily throwing a tantrum and had transferred your anger towards an object.

nonetheless, adorable.

finally, the strawberry drink fell down, and you squat to pick it up from the port to give it to him. tsukishima takes it from you and says: "thank you."

"no problem!" you beam at him. "i was actually looking for you earlier. i couldn't see you. did you eat at your classroom?"

tsukishima removes the plastic of his straw. "no. i was at the cafeteria." he doesn't want to admit he's looking for you too, but he hopes you can see it in his eyes.

(you don't. to you, he looked uninterested and entertained at the same time. very hard to read)

"aw, alright. well, i was just wondering if you'd like to, uh, switch emails?" you're shy and he finds it amusing. "not switch like i use yours and you use mine, but switch like i take yours and you take mine... so we could text each other..."

he wants to say that he knows, he's not dumb. but you– your eager eyes of softness look up at him and he forgets how to be so cruel and cold. like you were the kind of fire to melt the falling snowflakes. tsukishima nods.

"sure." he pulls his phone out with one hand from his pocket and hands it to you. you take it and give your phone to him, and it felt smaller in his hands.

when you exchange phones again, there's shyness written across your face. tsukishima can't help but blush with the way the sun kisses your skin the way it would to tainted windows– radiating colors so beautiful he can't help but simply be at awe towards you.

a star is created somewhere far away. tsukishima's heart skips a beat.

"i was actually looking for you, too. earlier." he admits, putting his phone back in his pocket. "i couldn't see you. sorry."

"don't be sorry!" there goes that smile again, always making his heart flip. "we both struggled anyway."

"do you want anything?" he points to the vending machine. "chocolate? banana? strawberry?"

"can i try yours first?"

tsukishima pauses, the straw in his mouth just finishing his sip. there's innocence in your eyes that riles him up the wall in ludicrous ways. he slowly takes the straw out between his lips and hands it to you, with you greedily taking it from him before his hand met you halfway.

he swears he could've been redder than any other person in the world when you so shamelessly put his straw in your mouth.

should i be worried about the germs or the fact that we kind of just kissed but not really?

when you sip, you swallow and he can see your brain ponder on what decision you were going to make. you hand it back to him and say: "yeah, i like that one, too."

how could you act like you didn't just drink from his straw?

tsukishima gets you one, this time without shaking the vending machine and hands it to you.

"thank you." you say, your smile adding to your gratitude.

though it seems as if time has reached its end and a familiar sound rings across the hallway that reminds the both of you that the free time was over. tsukishima sees your pout but you don't directly show it to him.

"well, see you around, tsukishima!" you wave goodbye to him, walking away.

tsukishima stands still, staying at his place. his drink was no longer cold, the condensation dripping down his fingers.

somehow, the colors are brighter, the drink was sweeter, the tension from his body had disappeared, and everything else felt lighter. and even if you were no longer standing in his proximity, that luster you left behind etched itself to him.

you were now his new environment.

🏐 —

you. hi tsukishima! 3:13pm

when his phone dings, he places his waterbottle to his side, tuning out the sound of squeaking shoes and bouncing balls. he sees your name on the screen. he doesn't hesitate to text back.

tsukishima. Hi. 3:13pm

his palms sweat from simply typing that greeting. but his heart seems to beat faster and his chest feels light. he didn't expect that you'd text right away. nevertheless, he feels elated to see you text him.

you. didnt see u at the gates earlier during dismissal, do u have training today? 3:15pm

tsukishima. Yes. 3:15pm

you. oh really? until what time? 3:18pm

tsukishima. 7. 3:18pm

you. okay! thats kind of tiring haha. 3:20pm

tsukishima. It is. 3:20pm

he winces at the possible tone he may deliver, so he adds:

tsukishima. Haha. 3:20pm

"bruh, you text so lame."

it seems that tanaka had been peaking over his shoulder as the conversation ensued. tsukishima hugs his phone to his chest and glares at him. "that's invasion of privacy."

"and that's how to lose a girl," he points at his phone. "you text like you're so uninterested."

yamaguchi looks at the two. "who's tsukki texting?"

"some girl named, uh,–"

"no one." tsukishima snaps. "no one."

"oh, it must be the one tsukishima was looking for earlier," hinata runs– or skips towards them. "stingyshima flirting? i wonder how you look like. i'm smart, but i won't tell you that i'm a smartass because i wanna impress you with my blocking skills. i'm so cool and so tall."

tsukishima hates how hinata mimics him. he bites back. "oh, i'm hinata. i'm so small."

much to his dismay, even sugawara had joined in. "you could tell her that, you know, i'm so tired. but i'm drinking water so that's good enough for me already."

he responds with respect, though dripping his annoyance. "sugawara-san, please don't mimic me."

his phone vibrates again, and everyone else leans in to look. tsukishima snarls and moves away from them, clutching his dear phone to his chest.

you. any chance we could drink later? 3:27pm

you. not alcohol, of course. just milk or juice, or a shake, even yogurt. although, we can't drink yogurt... 3:27pm

tsukishima feels yamaguchi peer over his shoulder, and he knows its him because of that distinct smell of his. he doesn't hide the phone away even when yamaguchi says: "she's asking you out! go!"

"calm down, yamaguchi."

he shakily types his response.

tsukishima. Sure. By the store again? 3:27pm

three dots, he's awaiting for your response.

you. okay! see you there :) 3:28pm

🏐 —

his practice ends at 7 on the dot. tsukishima has never left faster in his life.

though he was always the first to leave, bidding them goodbye before walking his way home. this was different– his goodbye bore that sense of urgency with a twinge of excitement as he clumsily slipped his regular shoes on, walking as fast as he could away from the school campus.

coach ukai had actually offered that they go back to the store together, but tsukishima was in a rush.

it was an eight minute walk to the store. he got there in five.

you were no longer wearing your school uniform. you had your hands at your sides, rocking back in forth from the heels of your feet, your headphones bobbing along with your head as you listened to your song. tsukishima wonders how he would approach you.

a tap on the shoulder? yell your name? appear in front of you? should he turn you around violently and smile awkwardly? should he–

"tsukishima-san!"

he didn't realize that he had spaced out, blinking. you approach tsukishima as you discard your headphones to hang them around your neck, stopping just a few friendly feet from him.

"how was practice?" you pip. "you look exhausted."

tsukishima reddens. "i'm alright. same practice anyway," he rubs the back of his neck. "should we go inside? i'm thirsty."

he hopes he doesn't sound too demanding. but you reacted normally, gave him a pretty smile, and led your way towards the store.

coach ukai's mother sat behind the counter, sporting the same cigarette in her mouth, a garbled greeting escaping her without bothering to look up as she read her newspaper. you and tsukishima find your way to the back where the drinks are.

he opens the door for you, the appliance bulb casting a white glow over your face as you bent and searched for what drink made your veins twitch with excitement.

"by the way, you know yachi hitoka?" you balance your hands on your knees, looking up at him. "she's your manager right? i'm in her class!"

"really?" he queries, swallowing thickly. "you're really smart, then. it's one of the higher classes."

"i try," you shrug shyly, looking back at the selection of drinks. "anyway, i asked her about you. she said that you were a middle blocker, 6 foot something, and that she liked your friend yamaguchi? i don't know, she said it then she denied it."

"oh, she likes him alright," he chuckles. "he walks her home every night."

"really?!" you pick up two cans of coke and clutch them to your chest, standing upwards. tsukishima shyly reaches for another strawberry drink. "i'm mad at her for not telling me that."

you make your way to the front with tsukishima following behind you. you place the contents on the counter, the woman behind muttering something you can't discern as she scanned your orders.

"are you allowed to stay out a little longer?" you ask him, the soft beeps of the drinks grazing his ears. he shrugs again, reaching for his wallet.

"yeah, sure. do you want to do something?" he places the payment on the counter before you were able to take your own cash out. you pout.

"i was going to pay for mine."

"it's alright. it wasn't that expensive, anyway." he smiles a little at you. and it was the first time tsukishima had ever smiled kindly at anyone, except yamaguchi, his mom, and akiteru. "you were saying?"

you pop open your can. "i found this really nice spot where you can stargaze. and, honestly, i'm bored and tomorrow's the weekend. i would have invited you to do this tomorrow, but we're here now!"

he laughs through his nose. "i'm free anytime."

when you both approach the exit, coach ukai and the team stand by the open doors. tsukishima stops on his tracks, his mouth parted the slighest as you tip your head back to drink your soda. when your head comes back in place, your eyes settle on the crowd upon you.

"oh, hello ukai-san!"

tsukishima looks at you through his peripherals before darting his eyes back front. they all snicker, eyes widened at the sight in front of them— cold, narcissistic, mean tsukishima kei, with probably the nicest girl in all of karasuno. yachi waves at you.

"is that why you were rushing to get out, tsukishima?" ukai teases, a cigarette hanging loosely off his lips. "i see you've met my number 1 customer."

he blushes when he's exposed, and he ignores the way you give him a surprised glance.

"so you must be the girl he was texting earlier," tanaka approaches you, offers his hand. "forgive him. he sounds lame when he texts, but trust me if you saw his face he looked like–"

"tanaka-san." tsukishima almost pleads.

while shaking his hand, yachi approaches you with yamaguchi behind her. "this is why you asked me about him!"

"shut up, yachi."

tsukishima could die right then and there. melt into a puddle of sweat and embarrassment. there were words exchanged between you and his ever loving team, the heat on his face becoming hotter and hotter at every second.

he wishes he could leave now.

by the time hinata begins to ask you a question about tsukishima's attitude, he sighs loudly. "excuse us, but we have to head out now."

you look at him again. "we do?"

"yes, we do," he looks down at you. "you told me, remember?"

you smile at him, recollecting your invitation. "oh, yes! we should get going."

you offer your goodbyes to the curious group. tsukishima wallows in discomfort, walking away with his shoulders slightly slumped and a hand in his pocket.

"i like them," you tell him, drinking your coke. "they're nice."

"they're really not," he takes a sip of his drink. "if you hung out with them, you'd be just as annoyed as i was."

his "joke" makes you laugh. first he thinks what could be so funny about his comment, then he realizes you don't actually know that he wasn't joking. the thought makes him swoon just a little.

"so why stargazing?" his and your feet are synchronized, stepping on the uneven cobblestone to the destination that tsukishima still doesn't know. your shoulder is closed to his when you walk; he resists the urge to put his hand out so that they'd graze your fingers, feeling the heat rub on his calloused skin.

"yesterday, when you walked home, i looked back and saw you look up at the sky," you reply. "and i realized that "oh, he stargazes too!" so i decided to bring you to my spot."

"your spot?" you hum in agreement. "why?"

"because it's nice to share the feeling of looking up at beautiful stars." you throw your now empty can onto a nearby bin, opening your second one. "i figured maybe you might feel the same way i do."

if it was admiration then yes, he felt the same way you did.

🏐 —

tsukishima realizes the walk was 10 minutes away from his home. now you're both standing at a hill where you can see all the houses nearby and karasuno at the other side.

you sit down on the ground, he copies you. his bottom sits on the soft soil, his fingers prickled by the grass, and the cold smell of the meadow enters his nostrils.

he thinks that everything is happening a little too fast – he had only met you yesterday, exchanged emails earlier, went out to buy drinks, and now you're both sitting at a hill stargazing like it's a date. your optimism and kindness shakes him a little, leaving him with an unknown thought of what he could possibly do as of this moment.

yet he's still here, watching you gaze at the stars, the sheer glow of the moon kissing your cheeks, the stars reflecting off the mosaic of your eyes. you're radiating this cordial heat that wraps around his right arm that rests just millimeters away from you.

"told you it's pretty," you beam, lips parted, never sparing him a glance. "you see that? that's cassiopea right there."

you point to the sky and squint, and it's only then tsukishima takes his eyes off you and follow the direction of your fingerprint.

you trace the invisible strings that connect each star to one another. blearily, his imagination turns those strings into silver. tsukishima draws nearer towards you, his shoulder now bumping yours, his pinkie grazing the skin of your finger.

"andromeda isn't here yet. but it's the one i've been waiting for the most," you turn your head to look at him.

tsukishima's breath hitches when he realizes that he may have underestimated how close the proximity he had created was, your breath fanning his face. he senses your surprise, the way the bottom of your eyes twitch lightly and your nose scrunches a little.

"i figure maybe they arive in a few weeks," he murmurs. he can sense your surprise and says: "you're not the only one who knows about stars."

"yeah? figured you were more into dinosaurs."

"that's true," he sniffles, you giggle. "when i was a kid i thought that the stars were the ones who killed the dinosaurs. so every night, when i see them, i would always cry 'cause i thought that they might fall here and kill us all."

"pessimist, huh?" when your head tilts up, your chin bumps his shoulder. "anything else i should know about you?"

"there's one thing i want to tell you but i've been making it plainly obvious."

"you have a knack for strawberries."

"yes," he smiles a little, the whites of his teeth appearing between his thin lips. "i like music."

"so do i."

"yeah? what genre?"

"...anri..."

"really?" tsukishima's eyes brighten, maybe even brighter than the stars. "i like her music."

"i thought you were kind of a japanese rock kind of guy."

"i can be many things," you look back up to the sky, your eyes darting between each individual star like you're tracing another constellation. tsukishima's tracing the features of your face like it was his constellation.

"yachi says you're mean, but in a way that brings up the team's drive to play harder," you say into the wind. "please don't be mean to me. i cry easily."

tsukishima wonders if he can even smile more than he is now. "i'll try my best. you're giving me a lot of reasons to be mean right now."

"but you're not being mean to me right now," you poke his glasses and shove them to his face, hurting the bridge of his nose. albeit tsukishima doesn't mutter a single complaint. "you're just being dorky."

"i am not!" he balances his body with one hand behind him, the other tugging on the end of your hair.

"now you're just being childish!"

your laugh beats out all the songs he had to search for to complete every single of his playlists. it was as soft as silk, as dulcet as violins; it was something he'd play on repeat when it played on his headphones. and your sweet laughed matched the way your face became even more beautiful.

tsukishima feels his heart beat a little bit faster.

a star explodes. supernova.

he no longer feels wearied from practice, his body languid from comfort in your presence. and just like last night, he was happy his day ended with something that lacked the usual bothersome feeling in his chest, but something that decompressed every constraint muscle in his body and think of something else that made the corner of his lips smile and his heart elated.

that's why when he went back home, when his mother and akiteru (who was visiting) were dead asleep, he silently descended to his room with a smile on his face, brushed his teeth with the sound of your laugh echoing in his ears, changed his clothes with your scent somehow lingering, and went to be thinking about you.

🏐 —

the past few weeks were more eventful than the days he had to train for the inter-high preliminaries.

the more he saw you, the more he felt himself unwinding like a diurnal motion, every trust and rigor travelling through his veins whenever your aura touched his opalescent skin.

you were the succor to his weary bones. you were the happiness that he never truly found in others. you were the light brighter than the stars could ever give him in the dark.

secrets were passed the way notes would in classes.

you got a sweet tooth? what dessert do you like?

strawberry shortcake, tsukishima said. no regrets, no embarrassment. pure adoration.

did you know that velociraptors aren't actually that big?

yeah? how'd you know that, tsukishima?

it's called reading, he'd roll his eyes. you're in the highest class and you don't read?

his retorts were never used to add insult to injury. that's what he liked about you– you knew when he was serious and when he wasn't despite the fact that tsukishima believed that he was hard to read. it seemed like you were able to read him better than yamaguchi has.

his heart aches at the thought. the ache, painful but so good, but something that he could not discern the true intention.

but he could never let you in him. never in his life.

you. saw a frog and it looked like you. loser. 12:51pm

you and tsukishima had exchanged countless of texts that contained topics that he never expected himself to be indulging in. that familiar ding! of his phone reminded him of you already, because you'd been the only one who constantly texted him more than yamaguchi has.

(also because, well, he set up a different tone for you.)

tsukishima sees your name pop up in a rectangular notification on his screen. he opens it with sweaty hands and a towel over his head, his thumbs typing out a snarky reply.

tsukishima. How could a frog look like me, (y/n)? That's dumb. 12:51pm

he ruffles his towel over his damp curls, the sweat on his temples being sucked into the cloth. he watches the three bubbles appear on your side and you say:

you. because i said so. look! 12:52pm

the attached image looked far from what tsukishima looks like. it was a regular frog, beside a pond, with no thoughts. he rolls his eyes.

tsukishima. I don't see it. 12:53pm

you. thats because youre not LOOKING. do u see his eyes? literally you. i think its the mouth, haha 12:54pm

he laughs either way despite not having seen any similarities. but laughing seemed to be a mistake, as he forgot where he was at the moment.

"quit laughing, tsukishima. you'll slack off," kageyama taunts from afar, face etched into an arrogant smirk. yamaguchi approaches him, peeking over tsukishima's shoulder to snoop on the conversation.

"are you worried i'll ruin your game, king?" tsukishima rubs the back of his neck, tilting his chin upwards. "my apologies."

you send him another text: omw there to see u :p 12:59pm

the latter's growl was overpowered by yamaguchi's hum of interest. "tsukki, that frog does look like you."

"yamaguchi, how nosy are you?"

"nosy enough to ask when will you tell her that you like her?"

tsukishima's eyebrows furrow. he did not like you. during those weeks, the both of you did more than just exchange texts in any time of day– often you'd meet after classes and buy a drink when he didn't have practice; sometimes you'd wait for him until seven in the evening so you'd both go up the hill again and talk mindlessly about things that tickled your brains.

in those few weeks, he had learned more about himself than he ever had with anyone else.

and he feels, though never actually given any attention to, that his days ended with a smile on his face rather than feeling boredom creeping up his shoulder like a grim reaper would on a dying soul.

instead, it felt like he was resurrected; tsukishima felt like a shooting star falling through evening, the fire pulsing through his veins as he fell. with you, he felt like everything else had color, that everything else made sense.

his life became brighter that it seemed like hinata's hair was actually on fire from the bright orange hues.

so no, he did not like you.

"i don't like her." he wipes the sweat that dripped onto his glasses. "don't be ridiculous."

"yesterday, when you were eating, you kept talking about how this (y/n) girl told you how the dinosaurs from jurassic park were created. and all of us were talking about one piece."

"so? it's way more interesting."

"but not her?"

"yamaguchi," he bemoans. "nothing is interesting about her."

that lie. that sickeningly, macabre, heartbreaking lie that it even hurt him to say it. tsukishima also doesn't understand why yamaguchi has a horrified face plastered on him, but he realizes he wasn't looking at his friend, and was looking behind him.

he whips his head around.

the tips of your shoes had mud on them from the dampened soil. your umbrella hung loosely around your wrist and dripped on the ground. your fingers clasped around a small contained with what seemed to be strawberry shortcaked that looked delectable enough to make his stomach hurt. and your chest heaved from what he assumed was the aftermath of rapid walking.

despite the sight that had made his head spin, the affliction that twitched from your frowning lips and the gloss that made your eyes shine from dejection had turned the situation into something so monotone he feels like his soul had just left life.

a star dies in the middle of the galaxy.

tsukishima thinks the regret plastered on his face may be seen. he hopes that it is.

the sound of squeaking shoes and ricocheting balls continue, but the ringing of his ears are louder. you swallow thickly, shuffling on your feet, and approach him hesitantly like he'd burn you if you were near him.

"i brought you this because you looked so pale yesterday after you practiced," you say softly, though he could hear the pain in your tone. tsukishima takes the container from your reaching hand, and swears he sees your breath hitch when his fingers graze yours.

"thank you–"

"see you around, tsukishima," you bow, before you hurriedly leave the gymnasium.

it felt like the room was shrinking rapidly on him, his muscles pressing in on his body in a suffocating manner. yamaguchi puts his hand on tsukishima's shoulder, leaning down to check in on his distraught friend.

"tsukki," his eyebrows are raised in concern, voice loud enough to snap tsukishima out of his pity daze but low enough that everybody else remained distracted. "hey..."

"i'm fine," he looks up at him. "it's nothing. i'm- i'm fine. let's just go back to practice."

his fists clench when he shoves the cake into his bag and walks back into the court. his blocks are futile when he thinks of your eyes. his serves hit the net when he thinks of the frown pasted on your lips. and he feels himself at the bottom of the game when another star dies.

he just doesn't know if it was his or yours. could a heart break two times?

🏐 –

tsukishima had a crisp trepidation towards the true veneer of love.

he believes he was too young for that, that he was in a stage where he would have this deep passion for things that were alive albeit something that he can't touch nor interconnect with– hense is unfathomable love for dinosaurs, stars, and strawberry shortcake.

so whatever it is that he was feeling for you – he doesn't know if it's love. tsukishima feels like he could die if he didn't see you for a single day; his feet and his body restless up until you both meet after practice.

tsukishima is even more restless now.

there wasn't a single text from you since 12:59 in the afternoon.

there was almost a hundred texts from tsukishima since 3:00pm, the time he had excused himself early from his practice.

he lays on his bed, his headphones on but no music. he wasn't in the mood to put himself up in brighter spirits. his back rests uncomfortably on the thick mattress, his curls splayed across his pillow, a hand on his chest and a hand holding a fork, his feet spread apart.

and the strawberry shortcake you gave him rests on his chest, half eaten, his mouth chewing sadly on the sweet delicacy.

"do you think stars have thoughts?" you asked. tsukishima found this beguiling and preposterous simultaneously, however the curiosity that happened to lift his lips into a dazed smile made him release a teasing retort:

"you certainly don't."

you threw a grape at him. he caught it with an open mouth. the sun was about to set, but the warmth was enough to prevent the both of you from shivering idiotically on the hill at the cold breeze. "i'm approaching an epiphany, asshole."

your vulgarity made him smile more. "celestial bodies, more specifically stars, do not have thoughts. but they're alive, and they function into a cycle."

"unorthodox minds like mine go out of the box," you rolled your eyes. "sorry, i'll put it in simpler terms so you could understand. i have a very creative mind."

"oh yeah?" tsukishima tilted his head sideways to present his interest. "and what'd you mean by that?"

"you know how stars die and create themselves?" you queried. "it's like how phoenixes rise from the ashes as they're reborn. but when a star resurrects, they're called "zombie stars," right?"

"yeah."

"and i'm not saying that they have a mind of their own, but if you were to input your own thoughts into a star, then yeah, it's like they resurrect themselves to live on with life over and over again, and don't you think that's exhausting? they're like dead stars, and they still shine brightly, and it's ironic, right? because something that has been dead billions of years ago still shine. it has a meaning into it that people just... completely ignore."

"so an analogy?" his eyebrow raised.

"yeah, something like that," you licked your lips. "when you see a bright star, and you don't know if it's a dead star. but imagine stargazing and finding love in something that has been dead long ago."

tsukishima's body softened. "uhuh."

"but what if you keep loving that star? and that star just receives so much of that love that they're able to resurrect themselves. well, obviously loving a star isn't actually gonna bring it back to life because there's a separate scientific explanation for that, but i'm saying that– that if you love something, or someone, hard enough that you're able to bring light into their lives, then that's possible.

and they take all that love for the benefit of their life and... they burst into something beautiful called supernovas."

tsukishima stared at you, his gaze ever so adoringly. "and what's the point of this epiphany of yours?"

"that loving someone that has been gone inside their body is possible to save them and bring them back to life to turn them into someone even more beautiful."

tsukishima sits back up, a whiplash from the quick commotion.

it was already night when his thin curtains were tainted black from the dark glow of the evening.

he pushes himself off his bed, slip his way out of his home and clumsily puts his shoes on to find you.

and he knows exactly where you are.

so it's no surprise when he sees you all alone, laying down on the meadow of the hill, blooming flowers grazing your cheeks in any way the wind blows. tsukishima stands and stares at you longingly, his fingers twitching beside him.

"(y/n)."

he says your name like an oath to the stars. you sit up, hearing his voice, cheeks dry with tears melting onto your skin. tsukishima's heart breaks the slightest when he brings himself up the hill.

"what are you doing here?" you ask him, voice so small he'd think you were whispering.

to his surprise, tsukishima falls onto his knees in front of you. he finds it endearing that despite the reduce of his height, you still look up at him. then he takes your hands into his, his thumbs tracing every ridge of your knuckles, looking deep into your eyes.

"i didn't mean what i said." he declares like he was under jurisdiction of the judge. "you are–... the most interesting woman in the world. the most beguiling, the most entrusting, the most beautiful."

your eyebrows furrow, hands shaking in his grasp. "what are you saying?"

"that i'm an asshole." he admits. "you are so interesting that every epiphany of yours pulls me back on the ground and into you. that epiphany you had about dead stars that resurrect themselves from getting so much love? shit, (y/n), that may be me."

you let out a tiny gasp, maybe a breath of reliefz his face is so close to yours, his knees in between your legs, bumping the side of your thighs. "what?"

"i–... i don't know if you love me. you don't have to. but you've made my days brighter and gave my life meaning that i felt like i was resurrected. like all the pieces in me were brought back together. and everything else just felt... alive."

finally, you smile. just a little, but it was enough to make the grass greener and the color of your shirt turn pastel, your eyes vibrant in the night. "yeah?"

"yeah," he laughs, idiotically he may add. "i like you. i like you so much. i like you more than i like dinosaurs."

you guffaw, throwing your head back, hands never letting go.

a star resurrects. a supernova explodes.

"i like you more," you say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

it was enough for him to jump on you to press his lips on your awaiting mouth, gently pressing you down on the grass, his hand on the back of your head to soften the blow as he settles himself in between your legs.

his mouth, sweet with strawberries and ardor, his hair soft like flowers when your fingers tangle on the golden locks, his glasses pressing against the space between your eyebrows and the bridge of your nose, his tongue that hovers respectfully on top of your bottom lip.

innocent, lips full of solicitude, he kisses you deeper and with care, his head tilting to open his mouth the slightest so that he could get closer to you. the small sound that emits from your mouth makes him pull back and smile shyly.

his eyes had the galaxies reflected off his eyes that it made space seem like they were golden from his irises. you take his glasses off, placing them beside you, and let your hands rest on his face; tucking his hair behind his ear as you do so.

and above your intertwined bodies, andromeda swims across the stygian night sky, traced by invisible strings. just as tsukishima predicted.

tsukishima could stare at you for the rest of his life.

tsukishima loved four things: dinosaurs, strawberry shortcake, stars, and most especially:

you.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

[astronomoney]

Waitress

Pairing + WC: Jason Grace x mortal!reader, 2.1k Warnings: NOT canon compliant, this takes place in my world where Piper and Jason realized they were best as friends right after lost hero and Leo never got with Caylpso. also TOA never happened because it makes me sad. Also somewhat not proof read Summary: Jason has been sneaking off for weeks and Leo is detirmened to find out why. Or alternativly: Leo, Piper, Annabeth, and Percy go snooping in Jasons buisness Authers note: Hey hey! first fic in what feels like a million years! I definitely have to shake the rust off a bit but this was a fun one to get back into it! I was listening to Waitress at work and got this idea so i ran with it. Honestly not much of the actual relationship, theres a lot of set up and other characters but I think I may do a part two if this does well :)

Jason Grace was a busy man. Going between camps, building shrines to all the minor gods, serving as Pontifex Maximus, taking trips to Olympus to meet deities, and head counselor duties. Everyone knew he had no time on his schedule. His friends were lucky if they could get him to spare an hour to catch up, much less get him to a bonfire. So why on earth is it that Jason Grace would take upwards of two hours out of his day, three days a week, to walk out of camp and go to who knows where?

Leo was determined to find out. He’d watched Jason sneak off for the past month, and he was sick of wondering. He tried to bring it up but just got a red-faced muttered excuse about it’s just a walk in the woods and I have to finish my work before he'd disappeared into his cabin.

“I think we’re lost,” Percy said, stopping suddenly and causing Piper to almost slam into his back.

“We are not lost!” Leo exclaimed, “I swear he went this way,” 

“We’re miles from camp,” Piper butt in, “he could be anywhere,” she crossed her arms and glared at Leo. 

“We should turn back before someone notices we’re gone,” Annabeth added, looking up and down the road they were on. Leo had seen Jason sneaking off just before lunch and had convinced his friends to follow him. Now, here they were, on some back road heading through the woods surrounding the camp a mile and a half away from the border.

“Guys, c'mon! Don’t you want to know where he’s been going!” Leo turned back to the group. “He can’t have gotten far.” He kept walking backward in the same direction they’d been heading for the past 10 minutes. For a little while, they could see Jason walking along the side of the road, far ahead, but they’d kept their distance so he wouldn’t notice them. Then he made a turn at an intersection, and they’d lost sight of him. 

“Maybe he really is just out for a walk?” Piper offered.

Leo hualted now, “For two hours? No way, he’s definitely up to something out here.” He stared at the group, waiting for someone to disagree. No one did. It was definitely unusual behavior from the son of Jupiter to take so much time away from his work.

“We’ve been walking for 25 minutes. I say we go 5 more and then head back,” Annabeth spoke up, sending Leo a you owe me glance. 

“Perfect, 5 minutes!” Leo returned an appreciative smile before turning on his heel and continuing down the road with his friends in tow.

They rounded a corner a minute later, and Leo couldn’t help the I told you so grin that came across his face. In front of them, just a few more meters down the road was a genuine 1950s-style roadside diner with the name The Doo-Wop Diner plastered over the door. “See!” Leo pointed triumphantly, “Now imagine if we had turned back when you quitters had wanted to,” 

The group walked up to the diner, rolling their eyes at Leo’s antics. They peered in through the windows that lined the front. It was cute, with pastel blue on the walls, 50s-style booths, a jukebox in the corner, and a countertop bar.

“Is he even in there?” Percy asked, huddled next to Annabeth and scanning the restaurant.

“He’s got to be,” Leo squinted from Annabeth's other side.

“There he is!” Annabeth pointed to the far end of the bar where Jason was sitting. He had a cup of coffee and an open book in front of him.

“What’s he doing in there?” Leo asked as if any of them knew. “He walks all the way out here for ‘New York's best black coffee’?” He read off the sign in the window. 

The group looked at him for another minute in deliberation before Piper let out a quiet gasp. “It’s not the coffee he’s here for,” she was staring at something on the other end of the restaurant with wide, knowing eyes. “Look,”

When the three others looked back at Jason, they saw a soft, almost nervous smile on his face while he gave a slight wave. When they followed his gazeto the other side of the resturant, they all came to the same conclusion that Piper had. Jason Grace had walked nearly thirty minutes away from camp to a rinky-dink old diner on the side of the road to see you.

You were dressed in a 1950s waitress uniform and serving some of that aforementioned black coffee to an old couple. When you caught sight of Jason, your face lit up, and you waved back. As soon as you finished pouring the coffee, you brought the pot over to where Jason was sitting, even though he still had a full cup in front of him. The four standing outside were frozen in place as they watched the two inside interact. 

“Hey!” You said as you approached. The smile you had on now was so much more genuine than your usual customer service smile. “I missed you last week,”

Jason’s smile mirrored your own as he put a napkin between the pages of his book to mark his place. “Hey. Yeah, sorry, I had a last minute thing, uh, out of town, I had to do,” he had been called back to Camp Jupiter to resolve a minor god conflict and hadn’t been able to come in at his usual time. 

“Ooo, more of your mystery out-of-town work?” He’d mentioned it several times but, for obvious reasons, couldn’t tell you the whole story, and being the golden boy he was, he couldn’t bring himself to flat-out lie. “Is it something illegal?” You asked.

Jason let out a laugh at that. “It’s definitely not illegal.” He pushed his glasses back into place. 

“Are you sure? Because based on what you’ve told me, it’s out of town, it’s odd hours, it’s highly secretive, and it’s hard work.” You listed things out, counting them on your fingers. “You’re either selling drugs or possibly a secret agent.” You finished with wide, questioning eyes.

He laughed again at your list. You always had a way of putting his mind at ease. When it was swimming in work, and he couldn’t think straight, you always managed to bring him back to sanity. “It’s all boring, I promise. I’d much rather be here.” 

Your grin returned. “Oh really? I didn’t know you held our fine establishment in such high regard.” While you spoke, the cook rang a harsh bell and shouted, "Order up!”

“Thanks, Cal,” You called while you grabbed the two burger plates from the kitchen and walked them around the counter to deposit them at a table nearby. Jason watched you while you worked, the soft smile never once leaving his face as you handed out napkins and refilled some water. 

Once you were back, the conversation picked up exactly where it had left off. “It has its selling points,” he mused. The other half of that sentence, mostly about cute waitresses with the brightest smiles and the prettiest eyes, stayed caught in his throat. The pair slipped into an easy routine they’d established long ago. Jason would sit and drink his coffee while you bustled around, taking orders, running food, cleaning the occasional spill, all the while keeping up a steady stream of small talk. 

It was a mutually beneficial relationship. You got a bit of conversation to distract from the monotony of your work, and his blue eyes always seemed to make your day go smoother. Jason got a much-needed break from everything Greco-Roman. At camp, he always had so much responsibility, and so many expectations were weighing him down. Here, he didn’t have to worry about all that. You didn’t know who his dad was or what quests he’d been on, and you didn’t care. You liked him for him and not for the hero he was supposed to be. 

You returned to your spot across from him and picked up a rag to look like you were still doing something. “Have you told anyone at that camp of yours about this place?” You knew Camp Half-Blood existed. You also knew it wasn't anywhere close to normal based on the folks that came through, but they had the best strawberries even in the off-season, so you didn’t ask many questions.

“No way. Trust me, you do not want them coming here,” Jason had told you about his friends, minus a few details, but he had always emphasized that they were trouble.

“Uh huh, so then, who's staring at us from the window?” You asked with a sideways grin on your face.

“What?” Jason wiped his head around in time to see four panicked faces duck below the window sill outside. “Oh, by all the gods!” He muttered angrily under his breath and made a beeline for the door. “I’ll be right back,” he called to you, knowing you’d watch his book and half cup of coffee.

“Take your time,” you called back as he pushed open the door and stepped outside. 

For a second, all the demigods stared at each other without moving. Four crouched on the ground, wishing he hadn’t seen them, and one glaring at the group from above. Jason grabbed the front of Leo’s shirt and hoisted him up so he stood with his hands raised in surrender. “What are you doing here,” he hissed.

“Hey! Calm down, calm down,” Leo tried a friendly smile but was met with a glare. “We just, uh went for a walk?” He offered an explanation that sounded more like a question

“Wrong answer,” Jason sent his glare at the other three. “Did you all follow me?” He let Leo go and took a step back so he could glare at everyone all at once instead of having to shift his gaze.

“Leo made us come,” Piper threw him under the bus.

“Oh gee, thanks, beauty queen. It's nice to know where your loyalties lie.” Leo shot back, adjusting his shirt front.

Percy gave Jason a sly grin. “We were curious, but we never would have come if we knew you had a secret girlfriend out here,”

“She is not my girlfriend!” Jason cut him off. 

Percy put up his own hands, “Sorry, secret crush,” he corrected.

“She isn't! I don't-” Jason was full-on flustered now.

“Does that mean she’s up for grabs?” Leo asked. He looked back inside before getting smacked upside the back of the head by Annabeth. “What? She cute!”

When Jason looked back through the window he caught your eye and you sent him a questioning, yet very amused, glace. Jason had a bit of panic at that and quickly moved to usher the four away from the window and back towards the road. “Absolutely not! First of all, she’s a person; she can’t be up for grabs, and secondly, you can’t meet her!”

“What? Why not, she seems nice,” Annabeth asked.

“She is nice! And she's normal, and she doesn’t need to know any of you,” Jason managed to get them all about 10 feet from the front door. “Go back to camp. Just follow this road east for a mile, turn right at the second intersection, go straight for another half-mile, and you’ll see the border.” Jason gave the hurried directions and prayed to whichever god would listen that they’d all just leave.

“Whoa, man, we walked all the way out here, and now you're just gonna send us away?” Leo asked, putting a hand over his chest in fake offense.

“Yes,” Jason shot back flatly.

Piper spoke up next, “Wait, what’s her name? How long have you been coming here? How’d you even find this place? Does she like you back? It looked like she did.”

“Really?” Jason asked before shaking his head and focusing again. “I mean, I am not answering that,” he was still trying to shew the group away, but clearly, it wasn’t working. 

“Well, do they have good food here?” Percy added

“I saw ‘Breakfast all day’ on one of the signs,” Annabeth walked around Jason and back towards the door.

“And that burger meal she brought out looked really good,” Leo added. The four demigods went right past Jason and headed for the front door. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Jason muttered as his friends ignored him and went in. “This is not good,” he said to himself, following the group back inside. They obviously had no intention of leaving, and he figured the next best course of action would be to simply die of shame. He knew this day would come; someone would catch him sneaking off, and his best-kept secret would become his worst nightmare. He just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Ahhhh first fic in a long ass time, its not my best work but personally I liked the plot so I got a little carried away and might have to make a part 2

[odilelajolie]

Hunted, Ch. 1

Summary:

Several years after escaping FBI custody, Cooper Adams has quietly settled in a remote Vermont town. He's a monster in remission--his violent urges lay dormant.

But when he catches sight of Alice, a traumatized 18-year-old girl, a new form of predatory darkness overtakes his demented mind. Young and achingly vulnerable, she's a lost soul as alone in the world as he is.

Alice needs the care of a proper Daddy, and as soon as she stops resisting, Cooper knows she'll accept the special kind of love he's been saving for a special little girl like her...

Ch. 1: Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

As far as Alice could tell, it would be yet another ordinary night in a long sequence of ordinary nights at the Sugar Maple Diner. 

Though it wasn’t as if she entirely minded. There was a strong part of her that actually took comfort in the familiarity of it all, the mundane routine of her small, simple world, regardless of the fact that it was rather dull most days. 

Dull meant safe—and safe was a good thing, especially for someone like her. 

Alice absently rotated her sore neck and shoulders as she made her way into the cozy, 50s-nostalgic restaurant, offering a friendly wave to the owner, Mr. Andrews, one of the only people in town who still bothered to interact with her. Not only had he given her a job when everyone else had refused to hire her, but he and his wife had even opened their home to Alice on occasion for a glass of lemonade, or tea and cookies, or a holiday meal. 

Alice rarely accepted these invitations from the elderly couple, always fearful she’d inadvertently exhaust the goodwill they generously harbored for her. But she appreciated their kindness, an increasing rarity for Alice, so she was always happy to volunteer whenever they needed help with little projects around their house to express her gratitude in return. 

Alice idled near the jukebox just beyond the hostess stand to see if Mr. Andrews would return her greeting, but he was busy behind the bar serving beer to a group of chatty truckers, and clearly didn’t have much spare time to say hello. 

Shaking off the brief, sharp pang of loneliness, the aching desire for someone—anyone—to talk to her, Alice headed straight for the break room to change into her uniform—an old fashioned pale pink dress with a white apron. She secured her hair in a high ponytail, and exactly five minutes before six p.m., she returned to the main dining room for her shift, forcing a smile on her face. 

The hours elapsed in the same, slow fashion they always did. The dinner rush—if merely five parties of no more than four people across three hours could be called that—consisted of the same group of Tuesday night regulars Alice had been waiting on for nearly a year now. Alice no longer bothered with trying to introduce herself, much less engage in small talk with her tables, for the town locals had long made it very clear ever since her return that they had no interest in speaking with her. So instead, Alice remained small and silent as she scribbled orders on her notepad, taking up as little space as possible as she refilled drinks, cleaned up spills, and delivered steaming plates of comfort food from the kitchen.

And she did all of this with her head perpetually lowered, so that no one would have to suffer the unnecessary discomfort of looking at her. 

By ten o’clock, the restaurant was deserted, and the only other employee remaining was Ted, the largely wordless cook who kept to himself even more strictly than Alice did. Alice generally took her own meal break around this time when it was just the two of them twiddling their thumbs until closing, silence broken only by the rockabilly and Doo-wop melodies sung by the jukebox. But before she could write down her request for a cup of soup and a half-sandwich, losing herself for a few moments to the croons of Elvis Presley—wring my faithful heart; tear it all apart; but love me—the door chime cheerfully rang, signaling the arrival of a customer. 

Alice gulped at the intimidating sight of the new arrival, and he was definitely new—she surely would have noticed him around the tiny town before now if he were a local. He was almost as broad as he was tall—and he was frighteningly tall—with the build of an elite athlete, like a champion MMA fighter, his long limbs hard and big and savage. The charcoal sweater and dark jeans he wore actually seemed to struggle to keep his toned muscles contained. 

He had thick, silky hair the color of dark roast coffee, and a closely-shorn mustache and short, angular beard. He was a very handsome man, perhaps in his early-to-mid forties, but when Alice finally met his eyes, she was instantly rendered breathless by a powerful, inexplicable sense of sheer terror that seemed to seize her by the throat, and choke her. 

Shadowed by a prominent brow bone, his inky, hooded eyes were disturbingly dark. Chilling. They reminded Alice of the eyes of a shark. Fathomless. Cold. 

Predatory. 

“Hey there…can I get a table?” 

Unlike his frightening eyes, the velvety timber of the man’s deep voice actually inspired an equally strong sense of comfort—relief—causing the paranoid internal alarms within her body to faintly recede. 

Alice was rendered profoundly unbalanced, nearly on the verge of collapsing to the floor from the whiplash of such opposing instincts.

Perplexed by her body’s strange reactions to the stranger, Alice quickly nodded and dutifully lowered her head. She reached for a menu and silently beckoned the man to follow her, her shoulders arched nearly all the way to her ears as she timidly guided him to her favorite booth by the windows with the prettiest view of the forest.

He followed her with slow, heavy foot falls, and Alice nearly caved in on herself when she was directly confronted with just how much bigger he was up close as he slid into the booth with athletic, equanimous movements. 

Even sitting down, he was huge. 

Alice placed the menu on the table once he appeared settled, and reached into her apron pocket for her notepad and pen, waiting expectantly for him to provide his drink order, as all other customers automatically did upon sitting. 

But when he didn’t speak after several moments, Alice shyly raised her head, and was surprised to find the man gently smiling at her. 

He looked even more handsome when he smiled—

“There you are,” he said warmly, his voice triggering a sudden influx of delightful tingles throughout her weary muscles. “How are you doing tonight?”

Too stunned to speak, Alice felt hot blush rising to her cheeks in embarrassment. 

How long had it been since someone had asked her how she was? 

Seemingly sensing her unease, the man continued, “Sorry—you probably don’t want to talk with an old man like me,” he said ruefully, and Alice was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. This handsome stranger was being more sociable with her than anyone had in months, and she was messing everything up. “Would it be possible to order—”

“I’m A-Alice,” she interrupted shakily—awkwardly—cheeks boiling at the mousy sound of her own voice. 

To her relief, the man’s smile only widened, and there was a flicker of playfulness in his eyes, somewhat tempering the otherwise unnerving quality in his dark gaze. 

“That’s a very pretty name,” he replied. “I’m Cooper.”

Cooper. Alice repeated the name in her head. It sounded strong and masculine.

She quite liked it. 

“Put us together and we’re rock stars,” he added. Alice frowned in confusion. “I…I don’t follow—”

“Alice Cooper?” Alice shook her head, and Cooper released a slow sigh. “Ahh…don’t mind me—I’m betraying my age here. He’s before your time.”

“Oh. Okay.” Alice swallowed hard. “Umm…w-welcome to the S-Sugar Maple Diner,” she offered, remembering she needed to do her job. It had been so long since she’d been required to introduce herself to a customer that Alice was quickly finding she was woefully out of practice with the basics. “M-may I get you something to drink, sir?” 

“Well I was taking a look at what you have on tap, but I notice you don’t have a bartender right now,” Cooper mentioned. “And I suspect you’re not quite old enough to legally go behind the bar.”

“Yeah…the bar closes at nine on weekdays. Mr. Andrews—he’s the owner—he already left for the night, and he usually handles that stuff.” Embarrassed, Alice tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Call me Cooper.”

“I’m sorry, Cooper.”

“So, how old are you?”

“Eighteen—but I’ll be nineteen next month.”

She wasn’t sure why she shared that detail. It certainly wasn’t as if her upcoming birthday made her seem any less young and pathetic. 

“Ahh…definitely too young to pour alcohol.” Cooper softly chuckled, his deep-chested rumble pleasantly tickling her ears. “In that case, how about a nice cold glass of Coke?”

“Would you prefer a frosted glass or ice?”

“Ice, please.”

Alice wrote down the order with a nod. “Coke with ice, coming right up.”

She began to turn on her toes to prepare his soda, but then he spoke again.

“So what do you recommend here?” Cooper asked. 

“Recommend?” Alice repeated slowly. “You mean…to eat?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Alice realized what a stupid response it truly was.

The townsfolk’s collective avoidance of her was clearly not entirely to blame for her poor conversation skills. 

Of course he was asking her what to eat. She was a waitress. It was her job.

Mercifully, Cooper didn’t poke fun at her idiocy. “Yeah, what’s your favorite thing on the menu?” he asked. “If you were to join me for a meal, what would you order?”

Alice squeaked, “You want me to join you?” 

Cooper’s eyes widened, and he appeared even more shocked than she was. “Well, I was speaking hypothetically, but…sure! Why not. Care to join me?”

Alice thought she might actually pass out from embarrassment. 

Not only had she forgotten how to have a normal conversation, but she’d forgotten all about basic social cues. Sarcasm. Hypotheticals. 

Cooper was being friendly. Nothing more. He didn’t actually want to spend time with her—he just had good manners. 

“Umm…I’m really not supposed to…” Alice trailed off, nervously biting her lip. 

Unperturbed, Cooper shrugged his mountainous shoulders. “Perhaps some other time then.” Leaning forward, he lowered his voice and added in a conspiratorial murmur, “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble on my account.” 

There was an undeniably patronizing quality to his warm baritone, but it wasn’t condescending in a negative way. The lilting way Cooper spoke was gentle, daresay caring, the low pitch of his manly deepness perfectly matched with a bright, uplifting enthusiasm.

Cooper spoke to her the way Alice remembered her own father used to speak to her—as if no one else in the world existed. As if she were important.

As if every word she spoke were the most brilliant thing ever to be uttered in history of the world, and he couldn’t get enough. 

Cooper had a…Dad voice, the kind of voice that felt like a warm, clean blanket fresh out of the dryer. 

He had a voice of absolute safety—a voice that made her feel brave. 

Like she could do anything. 

“I recommend the deluxe cheeseburger with fries,” Alice said, unable to contain her giddy smile. “Ted makes the best in town.”

Cooper kept a careful gaze on Alice through his peripherals as he chewed and swallowed the mediocre cheeseburger, though he made sure to provide plenty of appreciative grunts and moans throughout his labored consumption for the girl’s benefit. 

He’d been patiently watching her for nearly a year now. It wouldn’t do well to worry the skittish thing when he was so close to finally making her his, for little Alice was a painfully insecure, highly sensitive girl. She was pitifully naïve and defenseless, lonely and desperate for affection.

She was perfect—and finally ripe for his taking. 

When he’d originally made the decision to settle down in the middle of fucking nowhere, Vermont after several years on the run, he’d simply planned on living quietly for whatever remained of his existence. The monster within lay dormant—at least for now—the compulsion to destroy and dissect no longer eroding what little remained of his sanity. The urge had been a sickness, a magmatic fever, burning so hot in his veins it was boiling him alive. Cooper knew quite well it would have killed him eventually. 

But now, his insides were…cooler, warm instead of blisteringly hot, and the dark, animalistic impulses currently thrumming through his body were far less bloodthirsty in nature compared to his prior proclivities. 

Perhaps he was in remission. 

He’d spent more than forty years keeping the two opposing halves of his psyche strictly separate, diligently compartmentalizing every aspect of his life down to the most minute detail, but when he’d caught sight of this tiny angel of a girl almost ten months ago—so sweet and innocent and frightened and alone—Cooper was leveled, and struck with an epiphanic clarity.

Perhaps the separatist approach to mitigating his dangerous urges no longer served him. 

Perhaps the only way for him to survive was by reconciling his infernal hungers, once and for all. 

When Cooper had escaped FBI custody—doubling his body count in the process—he’d been forced to accept that the closest thing to real human connection he’d ever been able access, his family, was lost to him forever. He missed being a husband. He missed being a father. 

But when he saw Alice, he realized he could still be both.

She was as alone in the world as he was, an isolated little girl shunned by nearly everyone around her. At merely eighteen, she was young and exceedingly vulnerable, in dire need of a loving authority figure to guide her and keep her safe. 

And yet, she was also a woman. Barely legal, but a woman nonetheless, and a mouthwatering one at that. Alice was a tiny thing, shorter even than Riley was when he last saw her, her petite body a tight little package of soft, untouched femininity he was growing more and more ravenous to taste.  

Cooper had always been partial to blondes, and his little Alice was a natural platinum. A “baby” blonde. 

Sweet little baby blonde with her pretty baby blue eyes—

With her milky skin and delicate features—not to mention those pouty pink lips just begging to have something hard shoved between them—Alice could look like a porcelain doll one moment, and a sex kitten the next. She was an undeniably gorgeous girl, not yet aware of her erotic allure, and under different circumstances, he knew she could have had any man on his knees begging to fuck her.

Fortunately for him, the entire town thought she was batshit crazy.

And Cooper was certainly not one to be put off by a little madness—

“How’s your dinner?” Alice asked sweetly from a few tables away. She’d been refilling ketchup bottles and rolling silverware for the last twenty minutes or so, responding beautifully—albeit awkwardly—to his subtle prompts for casual conversation.

Cooper wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin and made an exaggerated show of patting his stomach. “You were right—this is the best burger I’ve ever had,” he lied smoothly. “Excellent recommendation, sweetheart.”

The girl’s cheeks instantly flooded with pretty pink blush—she likes being called sweetheart—and she shyly lowered her head, but couldn’t resist looking back at him mere seconds later with a demure giggle.   

Good girl. She found him attractive. 

His depraved plans would be much easier for her to adapt to with her sexual attraction already engaged—

“Can I get you anything else, Cooper?” Alice asked. She sounded hopeful. 

His left eye twitched at her use of his first name, one of the few…ticks beyond his control, as a small spark of violent rage kindled deep in his gut, leaving a sickly metallic taste in his mouth. 

The urge. 

Cooper was suddenly overcome with a vision—a lucid hallucination, really—of marching directly to where the girl stood, and shoving her to the floor so quickly the air would be knocked out of her lungs. He saw himself tearing off her clothes and wrapping his big hands around narrow torso, and squeezing, hard enough to crack her ribs, before mounting her like a beast in the wild, ready to take his quivering bitch in heat. He wanted to feel her small, supple body struggling beneath him, his scared, mewling kitten desperate to free herself by any means necessary.

He wanted her to scream. He wanted her to cry.

She was so fucking tiny he’d absolutely crush her with his size. Cooper was already far bigger than most people, but compared to his little girl, his sweet little nymph, he was indestructible, as vast and powerful as a god. 

He could do anything he wanted to her. He could violate her beyond recognition.

He could fuck her within an inch of her life—

Realizing he’d zoned out far longer than intended, he released a sharp exhale to snuff out the ember of fury, reminding himself that it was perfectly okay that the girl was calling him Cooper—for now. 

She’d be calling him Daddy soon enough. 

He forced himself to smile, carefully schooling his features to the affable façade he used specifically for putting people at ease. 

Like clockwork, the girl visibly relaxed. 

“Just the check please, sweetheart.”

Hunted Ch. 2: Dream A Little Dream Of Me

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58229851/chapters/148279471

[sadability]

Did you get mysterious messages? ~🎵

MYSTIC MESSENGER MUSIC HEADCANONS :D (RFA + V, Rika, Vanderwood)

Jihyun / V

I think V would love Mitski. Just imagining him painting while my love, mine All mine plays in the background is so sweet. I also think he'd like cavetown, clario, Adrianne Lenker, Liane Flores and Tears For Fears. He often listens to it as background noise when painting or photographing but I also believe he'd practice singing using certain songs (and maybe sing you to sleep HSHSHS)

Jumin

Jumin gives me trouble because I feel like he listens to music for lyrics or lack thereof rather than sound. He listens to blues, jazz, classical and maybe a soft rock love song here and there. If he listens to a song with lyrics, he'll study them. He doesn't really listen to music often but when he does, it's often used as background noise rather than him genuinely indulging.

707 / Saeyoung / Luciel

I think he'd listen to mostly everything but especially synth wave, pop, new wave, rap, noise and glam rock for some reason. I could see him vibing to Depeche Mode one moment and then Fetty Wap the next. He would definitely unironically listen to wannabe by the spice girls LMAO. Also probably really likes tv show intros like iCarly theme or something. AND DISCO!! Seven dancing to bee gees when!?!?

Yoosung

To get rid of the obvious he'd listen to video game osts, pixel (I think that's what the genre is called?) and probably, here me out, pop punk. Or like Falling in Reverse. I think his favourite band would be the All American Rejects but I can also see him liking old demi lavato or Camilla cabello. Both basic white girl music and then randomly pop punk mixed in. As for gaming soundtracks I think he'd really like the undertale ost and probably listens to music through gacha life amv 😔

Zen / Hyun

I FEEL LIKE HIS MUSIC TASTE WAS EXPLICITLY STATED BUT I DONT REMEMBER RAHH okay okay uhm- !! I can totally see him listening to Whitney Houston, Abba, The Cardigans, The Beatles etc for some reason but also he'd feel self conscious that his music taste is too "old" so he would throw in shit like Kendrick Lamar and Future to spice things up and he would never ever admit that his favourite song is Angeleyes by Abba.

Jaehee

Bubblegum Pop, Indie and Doo Wop!!! Mitski, Girl In Red, Kinneret, Princess Chelsea, The Chordettes and The Supremes are frequents of Jaehee's playlist! She only really listens to music on the plane or in the office though. It helps her relax and take her mind off the stress for a bit. I can imagine her learning piano and playing songs like Johnny Angel or Mr Sandman in her free time.

Rika

Rika likes Melanie Martinez and i refuse to argue. She would probably relate really hard to some of her music and overall loves the way it sounds. Can also see her liking Penelope Scott. On the other hand, i see her liking classical or just soft piano music. Color me Blue by Akane would also be a song i can see her liking.

Vanderwood

Metal, Glam Rock, Glam Metal, Dad Rock, 80s rock just. Yeah. You get the point. Metallica, Journey, Mötley Crüe, Guns n Roses, Van Halen, Cinderella, Def Leppord and Dokken !! His favourite bands. Just classic 80s/90s rock for ya. Absolutely goes to their concerts religiously. Probably plays electric guitar as well..he could perform his own concert tbf

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Promise of Rubies - A John Shelby/Reader One Shot Story.

This kind of just happened last night, a bit of dark, a lot of fluff. Enjoy, besties.

(GIF credit - @peakystitches)

Words - 2,956

Warnings - Fluff! Mentions of violence, too.

The horizon bleeds pink into orange, swirling in watercolour as the ink of night begins to dominate, saturating into all that is warm with her cool darkness. The clouds of fluffy white smoke into grey, the evening arriving, the chill whipping against your skin as you stand outside your home, idly smoking a cigarette. No smoking in the house, as per your sister’s rules.  

It’s been just you and her looking after your brood of younger siblings since your mother died and your father hung. A hard life marred with tragedy, but you make no complaint. There are certain ways a poor woman with little in the way of opportunity can make her life better, yours perhaps the most sought after within the slums of Small Heath.

Shagging a Shelby. Many women covert it; few attain.  

It isn’t just sex between you and John any longer, though. At least, you don’t think it is. Surely if it were, you wouldn’t be the refuge he sought in times of crisis, in times where he needs someone to give him the care he usually provides to you. Surely, he’d go elsewhere if you meant so little to him as to solely be a warm hole in which to bury his cock.  

“John?” 

He staggers, his path zig zagging as he moves through the street, hitting the house besides yours, his features scrunched as he grunts in effort. Your heart skips on a beat, realising that he’s hurt beyond a mild beating. “John, Jesus bloody wept, what happened?” 

Casting your cigarette into the gutter, you reach for him, and he slumps against you, his body moulding soft yet heavy against yours.  

“The fucking...” he grits, pulling himself up, face contorted in agony. “The fucking wops. Jumped me, couldn’t get home. Yours was quicker. Fucking... those fucking...” 

Assertiveness kicks in, the same as when you’re dealing with split elbows and grazed knees suffered by your younger brothers and sisters, the protective instinct within your stirred to action. “Okay, don’t talk right now. Let’s get you inside. Come on.” 

Hauling his arm around your shoulders, you pull him towards your front door, burdened beneath his weight, turning to make sure there are no persons of the Italian persuasion around. Him being followed is the very last thing you need. You want to help him, such goes without saying, but if the Changretta’s knew where you lived... heaven help you.  

It isn’t like Jonh is currently in a fit state to assist in fighting them off right now either, and you could do without having to point a gun to anyone’s head. Being in a relationship of sorts with a Shelby means that wielding a weapon simply becomes par for the course. Trust you to fall for a man whose terms and conditions come with the kind of desensitising to violence you never expected to ever partake in.  

“Come on,” you grit, hauling him towards the kitchen table, John heavy against you as you steer him into a seat. “Right, let’s take a look at you. You ain’t been stabbed or shot, have you?” 

He straightens, wincing. “Slashed me, but nah, none of that.” 

You’re involving yourself in unbuttoning his waistcoat and tattered shirt when your sister walks in, the air thickening with immediate effect. “What the bloody hell went on here?” 

You turn your head, scoffing with soft incredulity. “Isn’t that obvious, Ethel?” 

“I don’t want his brand of trouble in my fucking house!” 

“S’alright, Ethel,” he groans, taking a deep breath, wincing again as you gasp upon revealing his banged up ribs. No wonder he can hardly breathe. “I weren’t followed. Wouldn’t have come if I was. Ain’t no fucking way I’m putting you, your sister or the nippers in danger.”  

“You better be sure on that, John Shelby. Because I’ll fucking hang before I let you endanger my family! We’ve already lost mom and dad, for the love of god, we don’t...” 

“Ethel!” you shout, turning to view her. “Leave it alone now. This isn’t the time, alright? Just go to work. The kids are in bed, we’re armed, and he wasn’t followed. It’s fine.”  

Ethel shakes her head, her lips pinching. “The things you’ll put up with for a shag.” 

“As would you if you saw the cock on him,” you fire back, John snorting with laughter despite his state. 

“And here was me thinking it was me raw charm you liked most,” he jokes, laughing all he can.  

“I’ll be back later.” Her frosty statement is followed by her swift exit, the front door slamming shut. You look at John, shaking your head with a soft smile. 

“I do like you for more than your cock, you know.” 

He grins, pulling out his cigarettes and lighting up. Flouting Ethel's rules is one of his favourite pastimes. “Wouldn’t blame you if that was the only thing about me you did like, bab. It’s impressive.”  

Battered six ways to Sunday and still, he’s the cockiest, most arrogant shit of a man you’ve ever met. 

“And the rest of you does come with a certain barrage of shit.” 

A flicker of embarrassment gilds his face in shame, dropping his gaze. “I know, love.”  

Pulling his shirt from him, you study his wounds carefully. Bruised ribs, but his breathing isn’t laboured enough for them to be broken. Cuts and welts to his face, a slash across his upper pectoral leading to the side of his armpit. It could have been a hell of a lot worse.  

Thank fuck Small Heath lads can take a bloody good kicking.  

Stroking his face, your heart flutters when he leans into the cup of your palm, turning his head to kiss the heel of your hand. “Let me get some stuff together, and I’ll get you sorted.”  

His gratitude is delivered in the soft gaze from his steel blue eyes, halting you as you stand, pulling you close. “I’d fucking be lost without you.”  

Of course, he would. It takes a special kind to be with a Shelby, a woman who knows the harder side of life by nature rather than infliction, a woman who accepts that smooth sailing will never come without regular choppy seas, a woman who sees beyond the black clouds for the rays of sunshine.

You think of all of that and more while boiling some water, pouring a splash of TCP into the bowl, a little cold water to follow, taking it back to the table with some cotton to begin cleaning his war wounds.  

“Fucking hell!” he hisses sharply, the sting of the antiseptic meeting the open chest wound too great to merely offer grumbles in response.  

You study the wound closely, knowing that bandaging across his chest will keep it clean, but two places at least are much too deep for the skin to knit together without assistance. “I’ll have to stitch you, John.” Your face is full of lament, squeezing his hand. “Sorry.”  

He sniffs, his shoulders twitching in shrug. “I thought you might. It's alright.”  

A cotton reel and needle are fetched, as well as a bottle of cheap brandy and a couple of glasses. You half fill his, John knocking it back immediately, causing you to reconsider your stance on anything vaguely resembling etiquette and pushing the bottle towards him instead. “Ta, bab.”  

He knocks back the brandy like it's some kind of elixir, and you cannot blame him at all, having to endure the pain of stitches administered by a semi-unskilled hand. Hems and turnups you are adept with; flesh wounds, not so much.  

Pushing the needle into his pale flesh, he hisses a grumble, prompting your lips to press a kiss into the centre of his chest before you continue. Nine stitches close the first of the deepest part of the gash, four to the second, John knocking back the brandy as you knot the thread, cutting the cotton with a sharp knife.  

“There,” you say, sitting back to admire your handiwork. “All sorted.” You notice his skin beaded in sweat, the blood trails bleeding into it, pink pearls of fluid trickling over his chest. “Do you want me to prep you a bath?” 

He shakes his head, placing the brandy bottle down. “Nah, love. You’ve done enough.” He stands slowly, taking the bowl and emptying it before filling it with the remainer of the hot water, washing himself down carefully. Standing, you tip the brandy within your glass down your throat, going to fetch a towel for him.  

“You look like you need to go to bed.”  

Taking the towel from you, he dries his face and chest, nodding. “Probably the best place for me.” Locking the front door, you walk along behind him, hands braced against the wide planes of his bare shoulders, moving to your tiny bedroom. There isn’t much in there, a double bed that takes up most of the room, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe, the spaces between the furniture narrow, John kicking off his boots and the remainder of clothes, wincing in pain as he climbs beneath the covers.  

“I was just about to make some tea,” you state, seating yourself on the edge of the bed. “Only beans on toast, it’s about all we’ve got in. Do you want some?” 

He reaches for your arm, shaking his head. “No ta, sweetheart. I think I just need to sleep it off.” He stares up at you for a few moments and your heart flutters, half with the worry that the wounds that led him to your door could have all too easily been fatal, and half with the absolute beauty of his eyes. You never noticed before, how they exactly match the sunset, smoky blue irises gilded in the golden copper of his lashes, freckled lids that begin growing heavier with every blink.  

Leaning to him, you kiss his lips softly. “Just shout if you need anything, I’ll be downstairs.”  

He’s asleep before you’ve even climbed off the bed, leaving you to wonder just how much he’d had to drink prior to him being jumped. You’ve seen John fight, he’s adept, savage, not the kind of man who would take a kicking lying down. There was bound to be more than one, though, this beating a clear message from the Italians. If they wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have turned up at all. Either that or you’d be walking to the phone box to call Tommy and inform him of John’s demise upon your doorstep, either of the two.  

Putting it to the back of your mind, you go downstairs, searching through your meagre pantry. No beans. Ahhh, yeah. You shared the last tin out between the kids before putting them to bed. You won’t receive your grocery delivery until the day after either, John putting in a standing order he pays for at the corner shop to be delivered twice weekly, so your family never go without.  

Ethel protests it, but often quietens when she sees a bottle of gin just for her there in the box when good ole’ Mr Williams knocks the door with your provisions. Say what you will about John, but he’s thoughtful and makes sure nobody within your household goes without, even if one of those people doesn’t like him much. 

Grabbing the loaf of bread, you think yourself lucky to at least have preserves and butter in good supply, slathering three slices, one plain butter, one with jam and the other with marmalade. You leave that slice until last, the comfort of your mother’s marmalade recipe you’ve finally managed to perfect making you feel warm inside as you sit at the hearth with a strong cup of tea, kicking off your shoes to warm your toes in front of the fire.  

“They’re dangerous lads, but they’re good lads, those Shelby boys.” That’s what she staunchly said of them, always welcoming John with open arms whenever he called to take you out. Him, Tommy and Arthur, they all tried to swing it the other way with the police when your dad was locked up, languishing within the damp, rat-infested surroundings of Winson Green prison. It was sadly to no avail, your father meeting the noose just two weeks after your mother died, her heart giving out on her after a lifetime of suffering with the illness.  

Your heart is now the one that lies damaged, effectively orphaned, caregiver to four small children when you feel like now is the time to be thinking about maybe beginning a family of your own. Your mind turns back to the guest within your bed, smiling as you think of him, wondering what your eventual children will look like.  

You spend a few hours at the fireside, reading a book between bouts of getting lost in thought, wondering if this new trouble with the Italians is going to only lead to further heartbreak for you. Loving a gangster is not an easy path, but you walk it with him all the same. Deciding to head upstairs rather than throw on more kindling, you seek the warmth of his body after you’ve stripped off, pulling your nightgown on and sliding into bed beside him. 

“What you bothered with this thing for?” he mutters, hand reaching to stroke against the winceyette covering your waist.  

“Well, I didn’t think you’d be fit for anything other than sleep, given the fact you turned up four hours ago beaten black and blue,” you state, John nodding. 

“I'm not, but I like the feel of your skin against mine. Get it off.”  

Rolling your eyes, the nightgown is abandoned, settling down at his side again, John grabbing your leg and gently resting it across his thighs. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “It’ll all be alright, you know. In the end. It ain’t alright at the moment, but that’s cos’ it ain’t the end, love.” 

You swear, he can read your mind sometimes, all your little worries you manage to hide. You can never keep them shadowed from John, though. “I know, darling. I know. I accept it, I know I have to harden myself to it all, that it’s the price I pay to love someone as much as I do you. Doesn't make it easy, though.”  

His hand strokes idly at your back, another kiss pressed to your head. “It will be one day, bab. Promise.”  

As you fall asleep beside him, you don’t know if you truly can believe that or not, wondering if you’re cursed to love and lose forever. Many more nights of worry come and go, though, but he still turns up. Sometimes battered, most of the time absolutely fine. The Italian issue gets sorted, and life moves on, until one evening when he fails to turn up at all.  

It would be your birthday, wouldn’t it? He would go missing and thus curse the day forevermore, a day that should be marked with happiness forever blacked out as the day John Shelby failed to knock your front door. Someone else does, though.  

“Come with me, love,” Arthur states, his face blank, tone flat.  

“Why?” you ask, fetching your coat from behind the front door. “Arthur, what’s going on? Why do you look so serious?”  

Your heart begins pounding, the tall, eldest Shelby sibling giving nothing away. “Just come with me.” 

Is this it? Is this the day you’ve been dreading? Surely though, if something had happened, Arthur would just come out and say it, wouldn’t he?  

He would, wouldn’t he?  

You pester him all the way along the walk, out of your street and around the corner, coming onto Watery Lane, the heat from the blast furnaces warming the chill in your cheeks as you pass them by, Okay, so you passed John’s house, too. Can’t be that bad, can it? Surely if he was dead, Arthur would have taken you there to explain?  

“After you.” Holding the door open, he makes a gesture for you to head into The Garrison first, your heart still thumping wildly with nerves, stepping in to the almightiest cheer that makes you jump about a foot out of your skin. Banners and streamers decorate the entire pub, your friends and family all present, John beaming as he walks away from the group of smiling people.  

“Happy birthday, sweetheart” he speaks warmly, pulling you into a huge hug. “Aw, look at her face! Proper got ya, didn’t I?” 

“I thought you were dead! I thought, I though Arthur was bringing me here to give me bad news, and you didn’t turn up, and...” you babble, turning to see Arthur grin. He receives a smack in the chest for his talents in delivering a completely deadpan facade. “You bugger!” 

“I know,” he chuckles, winding his arm around your shoulders and kissing your head. “I’m a fucking rotter, but I was under orders.”  

Your eyes turn back to he who gave the orders, shaking your head. “You’re a bugger too, John Shelby.” 

He raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement. “I know. Hopefully you won’t think I’m one for very long, though.” He reaches into his pocket, removing a small box, taking your hand. Your mouth virtually hits the ground as you watch him lower to one knee before you. “I love you, (Y/N). Always have, always will. Will you marry me?” 

With tears in your eyes, you accept the proposal, and the beautiful ruby and diamond engagement ring, John slipping it onto your finger and kissing your hand as the crowd erupts with cheers, standing to kiss you.  

“Promised you it’d all be okay in the end, didn’t I?” 

Indeed, he did.