#and the last at least month slacking off and not doing shit in school

[effervescentleaf]

they never should've told me about laziness

#its my own future im jeopardising #but like this is not the attitude of someone who wants over 400 points in the leaving cert #dont feel like you have to read the tags i just need to rant and tumblr has no recipients #ive spent the last 2 days watching glee scenes #and the last at least month slacking off and not doing shit in school #ive already done 2 exams so it cant be that bad right #(the easiest subjects) #like i cannot remember the last time i wrote anything in french #engineering? i copied some marking scheme answers into a copy and cheated on the mocks... #maybe i shouldnt say that #but at peast my parents think ive been studying all day so that a plus #i cleaned my desk so ill be able to do something tomorrow hopefully #im glad theyre all in the first week but that also means i have to study for everything At Once #which is terrifying #anyways #leafposts #i promise its not as bad as im making it out to be i am autistic after all

[holyghostbelle]

STEVE HARRINGTON MUST DIE

Its been a year since someone spread a rumour to you school that you've sucked off half the football team in one night. one year of catcalls, one year of graffitied lockers and bullying, so when you find out his majesty king Steve is behind the rumour its time to take drastic action against him. King!Steve x reader

chapter one:

SLUT is written haphazardly across your locker, the sharpie is smeared unevenly and you spit into a tissue hopping it takes even a little bit of the black ink off, your going to kill who ever keeps doing this, your promise you will, well maybe not kill, maybe throw a milkshake over them or paint on their car. 

It's the fourth time this month and you grimace as the janitor moves you out the way  taking a jar of rubbing alcohol to remove the lovely compliment across your locker, at least it wasn't the sherbet candy like last time, poured in through the crack of the door with spray with perfume, all over your fucking shoes, they stuck the the ground for a week. 

Eddie leans across the locker next to you and smiles. “ they spelt it right this time” you smile remembering the backwards ‘s’ and extra ‘e’ 

“Idk i kinda like slute , felt french, come on freak were going to be late for art” 

“Okay wench” 

That's what you liked about Eddie, his light heartedness towards the shit you got from the cool preppy kids, it didn't matter if they insulted him or you for that matter, words were just words at the end of the day. But anything more and you'd both throw a punch for each other. 

You sit next to each other at the back of class and paint. Eddies drawing some kind of monster with a head and jaws unhinged a Demogorgan? You don't bother to learn the name, apart from the fact he is totally obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons. You usually gossip or talk about music, mainly the music for your band. “Satanic panic” formed after the christian hate of all things nerdy. 

Watched the exorcist movie? Liked a Metallica song? Took out a Stephen King novel from the library? Or do you carry a crystal around in your bag? Well bad news kids you're a satanist you've been possessed by the devil ! Come join the local gay hating church where we rid you of sins and put you in pressed yellow shirts and blue slacks, your sins will all be but forgotten!

“Are you coming to steves tonight?” Eddie grins, he shades in the mouth area as you collage words from the newspaper on to the cast of Baywatch. 

“Yeah of course! I love watching the popular kids get drunk and embarrass themselves” you look over to Tommy and Carol sitting at the table next to you, there with other kids you don't remember the names of carbon copies of whatever stars have been making the rounds on MTV. 

‘Ricks got the shit stuff in again but I'm gonna say it's skunk, you know ?” 

"Good idea, saving the good shit for us huh?” 

He laughs at you, and you gaze at the popular table, carols missing and then something splashes over the table and your hair is all wet , it drips off your face and stains your work and the table a dark red, you look up at her and she winces. 

“Oh I'm so sorry” she pouts and then laughter fills the room. Eddie looks at you with concern, gripping at your arm to stop you from throwing a punch, you wipe your hair and grasp at her shoulder  “it's okay i get it its a mistake” you smile and take your hand away leaving a red stain on her white cashmere jumper. 

‘Oh im so sorry” you fake wince as if you didn't mean too and then you stand. You tower over her by two inches in your boots smiling as you walk away. 

You roll your eyes in the corridor, going to your locker to grab an extra shirt. 

You blindly pull yourself into the bathroom and witness the mess your left with, dark paint water stains your face like blood, your hair is a sopping mess and the shirt you have on its covered in lumps of paint, you shed the shirt leaving it on the floor before rinsing your hair and face under the sink, then your grab some tissue and rub at your forehead where the acrylic has started to dry. The door swings open and foot steps approach you. 

“You're in the boys bathroom” 

You turn your head under the sink to look at whoever has approached, it's the almighty, King Steve . Your eyes widen and you glance over the urinals in the mirror. 

“Fuck” you squeeze the water out of your hair and rinse your hands quickly. Grabbing your shirt off the floor, you turn to exit. Steve grabs your arm and stops you. 

“You're not wearing a shirt,” he grins and you look down at your chest, lacy black bralette covering you. 

You look into his eyes as you shove the clean shirt on. He takes a piece of tissue and wipes the red from around your eyes. 

“your pretty when you're not being mean”

You snatch the tissue out of his hand and throw it in the bin as you swing the door open.

“Asswipe”

“Slut!” he shouts at you, as you flick the middle finger towards him.

“He's kinda an asshole” Eddie sips his beer, hand wet with condensation, the paper label is already peeling. 

“Who, Billy?” you gaze at the glorified Calvin Klein model of a high-schooler, his button up is undone and the crowd of girls are screaming as he does another body shot off sweaty tanned skin. He winks as he catches your gaze, licking his lips and gesturing  you over your face shrivels up in disgust , shaking your head a very clear no.

“No, Steve” he mutters.

And then you glance at  Steve. He leans over another senior high-schooler, glancing down into her eyes and you can tell that her legs are just about to wobble in anticipation. Her hair falls into her face and he pushes it behind her ear, calculated. She swoons and blushes hiding her face in her hands and then he pulls them away and says something. Whatever that is, it's enough because she's grasping at his striped shirt. Steve notices that he's being stared at and he meets your eyes, his hand waves and you scoff into your beer, eyes squinting. 

You tuck your now clean hair behind your ear, “He's a slut yeah, he's not as bad as the others.” Your head cocks to the side as you ponder. You're standing in Steve's house, against the white wall, eddies made about 200 hundred dollars in the past hour from selling coke and weed to the local crowd, he doesn't tell you this but he always sneaks a twenty into your pocket before you leave.

“He broke Jonathan's camera like last year.” 

“Okay but in his defence! I heard from Julie who heard from Carol that he was taking photos of that sophomore Nancy getting undressed, hiding in a bush”  

“He's a bully, he plays around with girls hearts and he only invites us because i sell drugs” 

“Okay so he's an asshole, but he's only ever called me a few names” you shrug sipping you beer as you look over to Eddie, his mohawk has nearly grown out from his punk stage and now he rocks a greasy mullet, his curls tucked behind his ears, you're happy you convinced him to not dye his hair pink, telling him he would get half as many girls as he already did, putting him into the negatives. 

Eddie’s head looks down, his hand bushing back the tiny curls around his forehead.“Oh fuck-okay! Please don't kill me” he put his hands up in defence.

“Spit it out Munson”

“He's the one that started to the rumour that you sucked off half the football team last year”

You clench your teeth, squinting at Eddie before hitting the upside of his head. 

“What the fuck Eddie you didnt think to tell me ? I was blaming Heather the whole time, I'm gonna go over there” your back parts the wall quickly in a fit of rage before Eddie's hand grabs your arm back and you meet the wall again.

“Don't fight him,Jesus!”

You clench your fists.

“Eddie, people still call me a slut, you know what happened today and I was told if I get one more mark on my locker I have to pay to get it painted over.” 

Eddie sighs, staring at you as his eyebrows raise. "starting a fight with Steves not even gonna work, he wouldn't hit you, you're a girl”

“But you could” you smile “He's put me through hell for a year, all because of a stupid rumour.”

“If i hit the guy i lose business, look don't do anything drastic, please”

You smile at Eddie, it's mischievous, the smile takes up your whole face, your eyes are alert and you laugh to yourself. 

“For fucks sake, Go on” he asks intrigued, eyes rolling.

“Okay, you make a bet with Steve"

“What bet?” 

“Something like, i won't date him or say i love you, and then he gains a guilty conscious and tells me it's all a bet because he really likes me, and i tell him oh i knew the whole time, and hes like devastated bcs i was in on it and i don't like him”

“All because he told the school you're a cocksucker, what if he tells you I made a bet?” 

You look at him in the eye and nod “for all the girls he's ever treated like shit Eddie, like really teach him a lesson, make that asshole think he can't do whatever he wants, you said it yourself, he's an asshole, besides he's not gonna tell me if there's something he can get out of it, Men like games” 

“That's horrid and insane.” he smiles.

“What can I say, I'm a feminist”

Eddie sighs, and then laughs, “okay” 

“Really? Oh my god, okay, I'm gonna go out for a joint, act really drunk tell him i hate him and then make the bet , and hit on the girl so she leaves or whatever”

Eddie slaps his face, shaking his hair and then chugs down the beer, he smiles and you watch him head over, you give Steve a dirty look, turn and head outside passing Billy's half naked body pouring shots. 

There's a slight chill in the air, it's not warm enough for people to get in the pool this time of year so you watch couples hunching together on lawn chairs with blankets wrapped around each other. You glance over your shoulder, seeing Eddie point at you through the glass doors and then you catch Steve's eye, you play it coy. Lighting your joint and looking him up and down. You face the pool again. Wrapping your bomber jacket around yourself as the wind hits your face. 

“Brought you a blanket.” you feel something get wrapped around your shoulders and you hide your smile. Looking up at Steve, he's just about six feet. 

“Thanks” you say nodding. Inhaling your joint and blowing the smoke out directly on his face. 

His eyes gaze up and down at yours and he leans against the wooden railing of the decking. 

“Parties huh.” he sighs looking off into the distance one hand smoothing his hair back.

There's a pause “Oh! You don't like them?” you ponder, eyebrows raising. You hear the beat of the Bangles behind you, and a smashing of glass.

“Not really, but you know, gotta make appearances.” he shrugs.

“This is your house, Steve, you invited everyone” you laugh.

He looks at you, head cocking to the side and then he grabs your hand, his thumb rubbing softly against your palm. “yeah” he bites his bottom lip. And you blink through your lashes at him. 

He takes your joint from your hand, breathing it in and then he just walks away. And you're utterly confused, you look at Eddie through the glass door who puts his hands up questioning and you shake your head confused eyebrows furrowed and robbed of half a joint, blanket hanging off your shoulder.

What the fuck.

“So I told him, you like to hate his guts” Eddie grunts, hand against the wheel of his beat up van, he inhales his cigarette and throws it out the window with ease “and he laughed like actually laughed and then said, No one hates me, this will be easy and I was like oh yeah wanna make a bet? and then he was like her?! Easiest three five of my life!" and then he left.” 

“Wow, Dick oh I can't wait to ruin his little life. Rich cunt” you smile as Eddie pulls into the trailer park, parking at his trailer. He looks at you, sprawled across the car seat, your legs pulled up on the chair to avoid getting beer and fast food all over your white shoes.

“Well, what did he say?”he asks.

‘Oh shit! yeah, urm he said he has to make appearances at parties” you bunny ear at the sentence, laughing “and then i was like Steve this is your house, and he grabbed my hand and looked me in the eyes for like a minute, stole my joint and just walked off ? I’m so confused” You push your hair back out your face, snatching your bag up from the seat. “can i stay over tonight i way too high to drive home” you ask. 

‘You know you don't have to ask, just be quiet, Wayne's sleeping.” he pats your thigh.

continue on

comment to be on taglist

#king steve x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things but not strange #stranger things

[vitamin-cunt]

“Mr. Perfect”| Pervert! Iida Tenya x Reader

A/N: GN! Reader, loss of virginity, Dom! Reader, Sub! Tenya, anal fingering, (Tenya's a prick, lets be honest), hope this isn't too niche bc I wanna write a pt 2

(Well, turns out it wasn’t too niche, so here’s a link to pt. 2)

You’d failed your test yet again. That brought your grade down by a few percentages. Still, a bad score on a test was the least of your worries. What really concerned you was-

“These grades are horrible, and not at all reflective of the values held by the Iida family!”

-Iida fucking Tenya.

You had no idea where this strange idea that you were apart of his family had appeared from. Sure, the two of you had grown up in the same house, but you weren’t even treated equally. He was the son of a well-established family tree and you were the child of his maid.

“Good thing I’ll be out of your hair in a few months, then,” you say, snatching your paper and bad score from his grip. Away from that school, this house, and him.

You couldn’t stand him. His perfect grades, his perfect manners, his perfect looks-

Fuck, it pissed you off to even look at him.

“Just because you’re in your last year, doesn’t mean you get to slack off!” Tenya says, grabbing the paper back. “This is the third test in a row that you’ve failed! Don’t you want to pass?”

You resign yourself to his bed, not even bothering to take your paper back.

“You piss me off, you know that?” You tell him bluntly, flopping backward on his bed.

“Don’t use such indecent language! Especially not in this sacred house!”

“Okay, President Prude.”

His face soured at that. Over the years, it had proven to be your favorite, and consequently, his least liked, nickname.

Though it seemed he didn’t mind Mr. Perfect.

It seemed he an an inflated sense of ego, or at the very least a ridiculous amount of family pride. He also felt he could scold you since he always had perfect scores, always had perfect manners, and always looked perfect.

Always.

Even now, in his loose dress shirt, black jeans, and swept back hair, he looked like…you didn’t know, a model or some shit.

He was better than you.

And it seemed the both of you knew it.

“I ask you get off my bed, unless you plan on studying with me,” he says, approaching his bed.

Even the way he walked was perfect. Graceful, an air of superiority that followed him around like some dark cloud.

“We both know you don’t study for 5 hours straight,” you scoff, turning your head toward his nightstand and fiddling with all of the drawers. “You know what, I actually do wonder what you’re doing during all that time.” You pull at a particular drawer which was locked for some reason.

You actually hear him laugh, almost belittling you.

“I’m not surprised that you can’t imagine someone being responsible,” he says. "It's disappointing that even with someone like me as a role model, you can't seem to grasp the concept of responsibility."

"What's in here?" You ask, ignoring his comment. The lock seemed loose.

What would the Perfect Tenya Iida have to hide?

"The contents of my drawer are none of your-"

"What, are there dildos in there?"

He paused, seemingly shocked at the insinuation. His face...it had turned the slightest shade of pink. He was caught off guard, shocked and-

For the first time, he had lost his composure.

You kind of liked seeing him like that.

"I-I...no there aren't any...indecent items...in that drawer."

You raise a brow, a small smirk playing at your lips. "How did you know dildos are indecent?"

"W-well-"

"Tenya, how do you know what a dildo is?"

After a few moments of Iida stuttering incoherently, the lock finally gave way, revealing the contents of the drawer to be-

SLAM!

Tenya had taken to leaping at his nightstand and slamming the drawer shut.

He was hunched over, face, ears, and neck ablaze, his eyes frantically searching your face.

"W-woah, Tenya, I was just-"

"Get out."

You pause for a moment, unused to seeing him this- this angry? Scared??

You get up quickly, leaving the room silently despite your mind racing. His face, the reactions, that drawer???

Perhaps the perfect president had dirty desires…

___

You came back because, admittedly, you were fucking curious as to what was in that drawer.

What could make the composed, cool Tenya react like that?

You found yourself outside his door, contemplating whether or not to knock.

You were at a loss.

You thought back to the fact that he'd kept his door locked since your interaction, meaning your mom, who usually made cleaning rounds around that time, wouldn't have been able to clean his room.

You stood up straight, knocked at his door, and tried your best to sound like your mom. "M-master Tenya?" You called out, timidly. "I'm here...t-to, uh..." You lose your train of thought as another sound began to permeate your ears.

Why...why did you hear buzzing?

"I ask that you leave me be as of right now, Y/N."

Well, fuck.

You take another breath and try again; that odd buzzing noise having to be pushed to the back of your mind.

"Well, you got me," you say, leaning closer to the door. "I'm not actually here to clean your room. I'm, uh...here to fix your lock! The one on your drawer."

"Y/N, I'm going to ask one last time that you leave. I know following directions is hard for someone as incompetent as you, but you'll have to manage."

Now, you were pissed.

"You know what, Tenya?" You begin, practically leaning against the door. "Fine. I'm stupid, incompetent, and unmotivated. You're better than me, smarter than me, hotter than me, and you're from the perfect family. I'm nothing but your fucking maid, alright? But you know what? How about you say that shit to my face instead of-"

"Leave."

The door swung open, revealing a very sweaty, very red Tenya. You weren't sure if he was red from anger, or something else.

Something that was too good to be true.

He glared down at you, panting ever so slightly.

It was just now that you noticed his muscular build. Muscles that were well defined and visible through his shirt, a chisled jaw line that was as straight and defined as him, peircing eyes that made one thing clear.

He was not in the mood to banter.

He was domineering but-

-vibrating. The sound wasn't buzzing, it was vibrating.

You look past him and into his room where you could barely see the flash of something red, bumpy, and big. He steps in your way, attempting to block your view.

But he was too fucking late.

You grin, genuinely overjoyed by the revelation. “I fucking knew it,” you begin, taking a step closer to him.

His face grows pale when he realizes just what is was that you had discovered.

“I fucking knew it!” You jab your finger into his chest, taking him by surprise and causing him to stumble.

Grave mistake.

You push yourself into his room, ignoring his stuttering attempts to stop you from entering.

His drawer, which was now wide open, was filled to the brim with toys upon toys.

Sex toys.

Each of which were carefully placed in clear bags with labels on them.

You look back at the man, who had fallen against his bed, next to a dildo that had to be at least 8 inches.

He was trembling.

You were making Tenya tremble.

Your eyes glance down at his shorts which were oozing with precum, his cock, which was large, seemingly haphazardly stuffed into his underwear without a second thought.

He sees you watching and rubs his thighs together, the bulge in his shorts evidently twitching. “D-don’t look…” he whispered, bringing his fist to his face and looking away. He began squirming under your gaze, his arousal showing through the drip of his pants, and flush of his face. “Please, d-don’t…you can’t see me like this.”

See him like what?

In the most pathetic state you’d ever seen him in?

You approach his bed, door successfully closed behind you. When you reach him, you lean down, your lips grazing the cold edges of his ear to whisper one simple thing.

“Pervert.”

He gasps shakily, only making you laugh.

“Role model my ass,” you spit, pushing him flat against his back. He moans, outright moans, at the force you use. He doesn’t fight back even though he could easily overtake you.

Your fingers hook around his waist band, and you pull his pants and boxers down in one swift motion. “You act all high and mighty but can’t even keep your cock clean when-”

You pause, your day only getting better.

You can’t help it, you begin laughing, loudly.

Under his shorts, under his boxers, Tenya adorned a bright red thong.

Your bright red thong.

“You’re…you’re such a pervert!” You say through teary laughter. “No, no, better yet, you’re just as bad as me! Worse, even!” Your hands slip beneath him and to his ass. You pull his lower half toward you, leaving him gripping the sheets beneath himself.

“God, Tenya, you made my fucking day.”

He throws his face to the side of his pillow, his expression something pitiful.

Something beautiful.

Eyes wide, face scrunched up, and tears slipping down his burning cheeks.

A perfect face crumbling by your own hands.

“All that time…you weren’t even studying,” you say, still snickering. You hook the thin string of the thong to your fingers, making him visibly shake in your hands.

“I-I do! I do study, please, you have to believe m-me!” His lower body was still held against you, meaning his back was in a pathetic arch. His hands were reaching above him to grip his bedsheets for dear life. Perhaps he was also reaching for a semblance of dignity for dear life too.

“Nope, President pervert!” You say, unable to stop your laughter. "Oh, God, this is gonna be fun!" You let go of the string, hearing the satisfying crack it made against his skin.

He grit his teeth, though a soft whimper still slipped through.

Perhaps…you were the first person to see Tenya like this.

“Hey, President pervert," you whisper, leaning down toward his face, getting a good look. The buzzing, your realized, was coming from that dildo. You hand slips between his cheeks and to his hole, which was already slick and, from what you guessed, prepped.

Loose.

"You're making it pretty hard to guess, so tell the truth, alright?" You were a knuckle deep. Your finger had slipped in so easily despite his desperate clenching against it.

"Virgin..." Two knuckles deep. "...or whore?" You curl your finger inside him.

He jerks upward, a breathy gasp leaving his quivering lips.

His eyes look back and forth at you. There was no good answer. You'd find a way to use it against him anyway.

"I'm..." He clears his throat, trying to find the strength to speak.

But how could he speak with your finger so close to that spot? That spot that left him writhing and groaning and whining uncontrollably when he even went near it?

That spot that he desperately wanted you to hit?

"I'm a virgin," he whispered through tears.

Fuck.

You slip another finger inside, both of which had curled and begun attacking exactly where he needed it most.

He had almost pulled off his sheets from how hard his was gripping them. He'd begun outright crying from humiliation and arousal.

Your other hand had shifted to his cock, which he didn't even bother trying to fit into the thong.

You stroked it, unsure if he'd used lube, or he was simply that aroused.

His entire body, strong, muscular, chisled body, was twitching and writhing uncontrollably beneath you.

He had given himself up to pleasure.

Why couldn't you?

You pressed your lips against his, pushing your tongue through his lips, and kissed him.

He was being attacked from everywhere.

His mouth, his lips, his ass.

It was too much.

"Fu-uuck, mmmh, I'm g-going to- ahhh!"

He gasped, harder and harder against your lips as he reached his climax.

You felt him clench unbelievably tight against your fingers, and you knew he was close. Your strokes had quickened and your kiss had grown almost possessive.

You pressed your fingers directly against his prostate.

Fuck.

Suddenly, whatever pressure that had been building inside him had been released.

He moaned through his climax, through the hot, thick ropes of cum, through his tears, through his trembling, fuck, he was shaking so badly.

You watched as Tenya and his facade of perfection fell apart beneath you.

"Not so perfect, are we?"

#dom reader #sub boy #sub bnha #sub character #bnha x reader #mha x reader #sub iida #sub tenya #sub iida tenya

[augustjustice]

Hail to the King

Link to fic on AO3

Eddie is just loitering in the makeshift alleyway beside the gym, minding his own damn business skipping sixth period–Kavinsky’s chemistry class, no way in hell he was going to that–when, to his own great misfortune, Billy Hargrove spots him.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

He’s saddled up to Eddie before he even fully registers he’s no longer alone, a malicious gleam to his smirk. The way Hargrove looms, like he’s the big bad wolf or something, makes Eddie startle, shoulder blades smarting from where he jerks abruptly back against the brick wall.

And, hey, cut him slack for being taken off guard. At least half the time he usually has to do something, deliver a jeering taunt on the cafeteria table or a poorly timed set of devil’s horns, before the jocks corner him.

But Hargrove, Eddie’s learned from a distance in the few short months since he arrived in Hawkins, swaggers around like he owns the place, always spoiling for a fight. Rumor had it he was the one responsible for the shiner former reigning Hawkins High King Steve Harrington had been sporting back in November, and he’d gotten into more than one skirmish in the parking lot after school since then. In other words, Hargrove was one pissing contest away from throwing a punch at all times, which meant giving him a wide berth was the best policy.

And Eddie was pretty damn good at that, skirting around relatively unscathed, especially considering his reputation amongst most of the student population. He’s got a dozen of ‘em, tricks of self-preservation for staying alive at Hawkins High. He knows how to be loud enough to draw attention away from his little sheepies, look scary enough most people don’t give him shit, and run like hell when he needs to.

The biggest problem with all that is…Eddie has one glaring fatal flaw.

He doesn’t always know when to stop running his big, dumb mouth.

“I know this is jock turf or whatever, but, uh, last I checked?” he waves a sweeping arm around them. “It’s a free fucking country, man. Which means I can stand here all I want to.”

Eddie isn’t nearly fast enough to snatch the keys out of his front pocket to wield as a makeshift weapon before Hargrove has him pinned up against the brick, an arm pressing into Eddie’s windpipe.

There’s a vicious glint in his eye Eddie’s seen before. In the eyes of the wild dogs that sometimes wander around the trailer park late at night. In his dad’s eyes, when he’s spent too long at the bottom of a bottle.

That look means nothing but trouble. Shit, Eddie really should have just run instead.

“Nobody ever taught you when to shut the fuck up, did they?” Hargrove demands, grin wild as he echoes Eddie’s thoughts, sounding an awful lot like his own old man. “Don’t worry. I know just how to help you out with that.”

And then he rears back his fist, ready to do just that. But before Eddie has a chance to rasp out the first barbed insult that comes to mind, open his mouth and stick his foot further in it, a sudden voice rings out.

“Hey hey hey!” Hargrove’s grip on Eddie momentarily loosens enough for both their heads to swivel in the direction of the sound. “What the hell is this?”

Eddie’s moment of hope is short-lived, however, because, low and behold, standing at the end of the alley is, of all people…Steve fucking Harrington.

Could be worse, Eddie guesses. It could be Hagan, or another of Harrington’s ex–and Hargrove’s present–cronies here to double team him. Harrington isn’t as likely to pile on as one of them.

At least, Eddie doesn’t think he is. With the exception of breaking Byers’ camera last year, the guy tends not to get his hands dirty. A catty comment or two, a light shove, that’s the most Eddie’s learned to expect from him, and that’s usually only once Harrington already has some particular ax to grind. Eddie can’t think of anything he’s done lately that would piss off King Steve specifically.

But any hope he had–however unlikely–that a good samaritan was dropping by to intervene has pretty much evaporated. Harrington doesn’t get his hands dirty, sure, but he definitely doesn’t stop the shit he sees going on around him from happening either.

Except…Harrington suddenly charges his way down the alleyway, not quite shouldering his way in between Eddie and Hargrove, but suddenly standing close enough to strike.

“Seriously, let him go,” he says sternly, hands planted on his hips. Eddie thinks, nonsensically, that for a moment, he looks like someone’s scolding mother.

Hargrove lets out a bark of braying laughter.

“What are you, now, Harrington, some kind of crusader?” Though he’s still got Eddie pressed into the wall, his attention has firmly turned to Harrington. “You wanna get your head busted in for shit-mouthed little pipsqueaks and the town freak? Better watch out. Might give Munson here the wrong idea.”

Releasing Eddie’s collar, Hargrove made a swishing motion with his free hand that is unmistakable, one Eddie had been on the receiving end of more than once.

And, oh, Christ. If ever there was an opening to convince Harrington to turn this back around on him, that would be it.

Eddie shifts subtly, trying to dislodge himself enough that he’ll be able to bolt.

Harrington just rolls his eyes.

“Honestly, man, don’t you ever get tired of listening to yourself talk?”

Hargrove ignores the dig. Instead, he just looks Harrington over, sizing him up.

“Guess one ass beating wasn’t enough for you, was it, King Steve?”

And, well. There’s that rumor confirmed, Eddie guesses.

Harrington’s jaw clenches, expression hardening.

“I said leave him the fuck alone, Hargrove.”

Harrington must sense he isn’t going to, not without physical intervention, because he reaches out suddenly and slams his palm into Hargrove’s arm, attempting to off-set his balance and push him away from Eddie. Catching sight of the motion before Harrington even fully makes contact, Hargrove shoves Eddie hard, knocking him to the ground before he turns and presses Harrington into the brickwork with a loud thud, the other boy essentially taking Eddie’s place.

“You really wanna do this again?” Harrington asks, and if he’s afraid, Eddie couldn’t tell it. He looks distressingly calm for someone in his position. “After what happened last time?”

For the first time, Eddie sees something like fear flash across Hargrove’s face.

“Figures you’d need a little girl to fight your battles for you,” Hargrove shoots back nonsensically. But then, as quickly as he’d pinned him, he’s letting Harrington go, taking several steps backwards.

As soon as he’s free, Harrington brushes off the shoulders of his Members Only jacket, still painfully unaffected, like he’s literally sweeping away Hargrove’s touch.

Hargrove spits on the ground between them, looking for all the world like he wishes he was spitting in Harrington and Eddie’s faces instead.

“Whatever. Not worth having to listen to my bitch sister whine if I blackened up that other eye for you, anyway.” Lowly, Eddie catches him muttering, “I’ll deal with you later.”

Then Hargrove turns and heads out of the alleyway without looking back.

A long, silent beat passes, the only sound the heavy breathing of the two boys left behind.

“What the fuck just happened?” Eddie finally asks Harrington, because there’s no one else around to ask.

He’s positive when he retells this story later, no one is going to believe him. …If he even bothers to tell it later at all.

But Harrington doesn’t answer, just stares down at him, arms now crossed over his chest, almost…defensive. He looks…he looks fucking tired, light circles under his eyes, like he’s had one too many of those rich kid house parties in a row. Maybe he has, for all Eddie knows.

(Eddie doesn’t think so. He gets plenty of business, anytime someone throws a rager in this sleepy ass town, and he hears about the parties second hand, customers name dropping various basketball players and cheerleaders in front of him while they fork over the cash. No one’s mentioned Harrington’s name in months.)

“Hey, man, are you hurt?” Harrington asks, bending slightly down to rest his palm against his own knee, at a better eye-level as he looks Eddie over.

Eddie wants to make some sarcastic comment back, about gallant knights and damsels in distress, but Harrington’s staring at him with transparent concern, not a hint of mocking in his eyes. Any comeback he might have come up with dies in Eddie’s throat.

“No,” he says quietly, dropping his gaze so he doesn’t have to look at Harrington’s big brown eyes staring down at him. He wipes his hands off against his pants, then flinches a little, turning them over to see the gravel burns.

“Well,” he says, smile wry as he holds up his palms for Harrington to see, “no worse for wear than usual, anyway.”

Harrington winces in sympathy, then offers Eddie his hand, careful to wrap it around Eddie’s fingers only as he pulls him to his feet.

Once he’s standing, Eddie tilts his head in the direction Hargrove had beat his hasty retreat, aiming for a little levity when he asks, “So, who the hell you think pissed in that guy’s Wheaties this morning?”

Harrington scoffs, expression haughty. “Hargrove’s an asshat.”

“Well, yeah, dude. He’s a jock, whaddya expect?” Eddie quips without thinking better of it, and then winds up on the receiving end of Harrington’s withering glare. “Shit. Sorry. Forgot I was in the company of his fellow compatriot.”

“I’m nothing like him,” Harrington says vehemently.

And, in that moment, Eddie is inclined to agree with him.

But he doesn’t say as much, instead opting to look away from the sudden intensity in Harrington’s gaze. Glancing downward, Eddie heaves a long sigh. Hargrove, in his infinite grace, had managed to spill most of the contents of Eddie’s backpack out onto the pavement.

Before Eddie even has a chance to start sweeping it back together into a manageable pile, Harrington is squatting down again, stacking Eddie’s copy of Two Towers on top of his flung open notebook and cradling his black and red die in one palm.

“Here you go.”

Harrington hands the items off to Eddie carefully, one at a time, mindful of the scrapes on his palms as he makes sure he has everything. He’s not sure why, but Eddie had kind of expected him to just thrust the stuff into his arms, getting it out of his grasp as quickly as possible, like he might get burned.

When he presses the 20-sided die into Eddie’s hand, their fingers brush–which is a detail deserving of no attention whatsoever. Nope, it wasn’t even a blip on Eddie’s radar. Certainly not enough to send a tingle down his spine.

Eddie’s just finished tucking the dice away in a side pocket when he catches Harrington studying the notebook in his hand, flipped open to a sketch of Kas the Bloody-Handed alongside some of his character stats.

“It’s not polite to snoop, you know.” Eddie drawls the words out lazily, enjoying the way Harrington’s eyes snap to his, wide like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie drawer.

“Sorry,” he blurts immediately. Then, to Eddie’s surprise, he gently taps the top of the page with one finger. “That’s for your game, right? Dwarfs and Dungeons?”

“Dungeons and Dragons,” Eddie corrects abruptly, before his mind even has time to fully process the fact that, butchered name notwithstanding, Steve Harrington knew what D&D was.

Harrington rubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking weirdly…chastened.

“Yeah–yeah. Yeah, right. That.”

“Wait, how the hell does the King of Hawkins High know what Dungeons and Dragons is?” Eddie demands, sounding more accusatory than he meant to.

Harrington grimaces.

“Not the King anymore. In case that wasn’t clear.” He nods in the direction Hargrove had just disappeared.

Eddie waves a hand, as though ushering away this trivial detail.

“The passing of the crown doesn’t happen that quickly.” Even he’s not sure if he’s mocking Harrington or trying to reassure him. He jabs a finger in his direction. “And the question still stands, man.”

It’s just–he can’t really fathom a jock like Harrington paying attention long enough to have even a slight clue what the Hellfire Club got up to. Unless, maybe, he had heard about it in one of those bogus articles claiming a tabletop board game was the death of American morality and probably the means for opening a gateway to hell itself.

Eddie wonders if he’s about to be on the receiving end of yet-another pearl-clutching sermon. That, at least, would align perfectly with the worldview Eddie had established after years of stewing in this podunk town.

Harrington shrugs. “The kids I babysit for play it. The little shits are always trying to get me to join in their game.”

He says all this casually, like he didn’t just drop several earth-shattering revelations all at once. Like the fact that he babysits, apparently. And babysits nerd children, at that, if their interest in D&D is anything to go by. Maybe Eddie likening Harrington to a scolding mother earlier hadn’t been as totally off-base as he’d thought.

“You could play with us, sometime, if you wanted,” Eddie hears himself offer, and why the fuck did he say that? “Sit around the table at Hellfire, get a taste of what big boy D&D looks like. You know, as opposed to the kiddie bopper version.”

Harrington blinks at him, like he can’t quite believe Eddie’s said it either. Eddie, for reasons he can’t name, tenses, waiting for him to laugh in his face. It’s almost like he’ll be disappointed when Harrington inevitably turns up his nose as haughtily as he had about Hargrove, delivers the scorn Eddie has practically invited upon himself.

Instead, Harrington just shakes his head. “Nah, man. Thanks, but, like I said, those brats are a menace. I’d never hear the end of it if I played with anybody but them.”

“Well,” Eddie shrugs, feigning nonchalant as he tugs a strand of his hair up to his mouth to play with, like he invites star basketball players to join Hellfire every day, “offer stands, if you ever change your mind.”

Harrington claps a hand on his shoulder, jocular but friendly, not at all like those hard smacks the jocks sometimes deliver in the halls with the hopes of stealthily knocking Eddie down.

“If Hargrove bothers you again, come and find me.”

Then he gives Eddie one final nod before he turns on his heel and starts jogging back towards the school entrance.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Eddie shouts at his retreating back, “Hey, I won’t forget this, your royal highness! You’ve got my vote for prom king!”

When Harrington flips him the bird without even turning around, Eddie just cackles.

And, despite his repeated professed disdain for the entire tradition, three months later when the prom ballot comes around…Eddie does scribble in a checkmark next to Harrington’s name.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #tw: homophobia #tw: misogyny #of the brief and period-typical variety #my writing #my things #my stuff #my fic

[whumpacabra]

34. Pressure Cooker

Referenced military setting and activities, referenced past captivity and torture, law enforcement mention, murder mention, referenced systematic and internalized racism, past trauma, victim blaming, fictional politics

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

Harrison was tired. He wasn’t that surprised - his body had been pushed to its physical limit, and finally having a respite from survival meant an exhausting recovery. He was surprised he wasn’t dozing off in that cozy diner, listening to a static filled radio. Lucy had gone out for a smoke with Merrill close behind, and Thomas was drinking his tea, eyes glued on the snow falling outside the window.

(Not too long ago he would have chided Elias for getting distracted by the weather during a mission debrief.)

“What’ll you do?” Thomas’ voice was timid, eyes drifting down to the mug in his hands. “Across the border, I mean.”

“Making sure we’re safe would be a good start. Make sure my family’s safe - whether that’s here or there.” Harrison studied the steam rising from Thomas’ oversteeped tea. “I don’t…Wolf can do what he wants. Stay, leave - last thing I want to do is start giving orders.” He chuckled weakly, grief thick in his lungs as his eyes dropped to his own scarred hands. “God knows I’m shit at following them myself.”

“How…” Thomas swallowed a mouthful of bitter tea and took a shuddering breath. “I mean, how does - how does this even happen? I - and why? Why the - the terrorist - why even…” He swallowed more bitter tea, anger and confusion painting his pale face. Harrison glanced between his hands and Thomas’ young, naive eyes.

“Why’re you a cop?” Thomas physically startled at the question, tea nearly splashing from his cup. He set it down slowly, eyes dropping to the table.

“Something to do I guess. Sheriff kinda took me in after my folks passed.” His brow furrowed, pale eyes glancing up to Harrison’s own. “Why?”

“Just curious I guess - well, I mean… I only signed up because of my dad.” He couldn’t help the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “He loved this country - a whole helluva lot more than I ever did. Between my sister going to med school and me off to boot camp I mean - we were his American dream.”

“Sounds like a good patriot.”

“He was.” Harrison huffed, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “Got shot on his way home from the store two - three, three years ago now.”

“Oh…I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be - you’re not the cops that called it a random homicide and never caught the fuckers that did it.”

“It wasn’t random?” There was a tense, curious gleam in Thomas’ eyes.

“A Sudanese immigrant named Mahmoud gets gunned down a month after 9/11. Cops said there was no evidence racial motivation, so as far as they care, it was just a random tragedy.”

“That’s just - they’re idiots. What kind of investigation - just, just gives up like that?”

“You’re young, Thomas.” Harrison shook his head, eyes turning to the snow outside. The ignorant indignity of youth was clear on the young man’s face. “Most people don’t care about justice or truth. They just care about staying comfortable. And it’s a helluva lot more comfortable for some cops to bury a brown man without any questions asked than it is to consider why someone killed him.”

Thomas’s expression fell slack, thoughts churning behind his shadowed eyes. There was a beat of silence, and Harrison felt as though his chest was carved open, heart exposed. Maybe it was, because he couldn’t stop talking.

“Two years ago I got reassigned.” He had thought about it - they all had, at some point. At least Merrick and Elias had, in silent code and whispered conspiracies while they laid bloodied and broken. “I needed something to throw myself into so I didn’t go on a vigilante justice spree so I accepted. Task Force 42, as I told you. Something about psychological profiles and mission efficiency. Same thing happened to the others in my cohort - we didn’t know each other at all. Hell, Merrick had been stationed in Germany the last 4 years.”

Harrison swallowed, only half sure he cared to tell Thomas, but those pale eyes were transfixed, expression open and curious. Like a child listening to war stories. Like Harrison’s niece asking about the bad guys he caught and epic battles he fought.

“We were good. I don’t know shit about psychology or whatever but they handpicked us to get shit done and by god we did.” It wasn’t always pretty. It wasn’t always just. “We…you’ve heard about the videos, right? Terrorists executing prisoners, torturing them, carrying around trophies.” Thomas’ nod was grim and serious. The news loved their shock value viewing numbers. “We had some of our own. Taking prisoners. Interrogating them. Putting them out of their misery. Not - not that my team did that directly. We just…caught the bad guys.”

Harrison shuddered, the memory of explaining his job to his young, impressionable niece bitter. He had been so desperate to prove himself to the higher brass. Self loathing and trying to show them - ‘see! I’m one of the good ones.’ He hated that he ever deigned to stoop to their level. He hated that he ever thought it immunized him to the cruelty of the war machine.

“The enemy is easy to - it’s amazing. It’s amazing how stupid it all seems now. How trusting we were.” In spite of his exhaustion, or maybe because of it, his brain was buzzing with unfiltered understanding. “They told us shoot, we shot. Capture, we captured. The enemy was whoever they told us the enemy was. Because - right, because - because they had our best interests in mind. The country’s best interests in mind. The top brass were duty bound, same as us, to do right by justice and honor and all that bullshit.”

“So, so when you wake up after heading out for another tour, another mission for the good of your people and home, another trip to push back the enemy…god, maybe - maybe if we weren’t so caught up in it all we would have realized.” The emergency lights inlaid in the ceiling of an underground, cavernous bunker. The electrically locked stone tomb. “I - I don’t know why. Why the - the facade or why - why us. Wolf - ” His voice cracked, throat bobbing. “Wolf - they didn’t send - there was just me, Merrick and Elias then. Just us. And Wolf - ”

Oh, how vividly he remembered every second after meeting the Wolf. How wrong he had been about every sneer and smirk. What he thought was glee was fear. A shine of superiority to mask the terror. Puppet strings tied too tight around a scarred throat.

“God, Wolf.” Harrison dropped his head in his hands, elbows propped on the table. “I can’t even begin to - I hated him. I hated him so much for so long and now I just…can’t. I, maybe I’m stupid. Maybe I broke - I did. A few times. Too many times. But I can’t - god I should hate him.”

“Why should you hate him?” Thomas’ voice was so small. So much like Elias. Like the small voice Harrison had strangled to death with his own bare hands. Reality crackled in his brain, cold ice cracking in a too-warm drink.

Maybe he still hated Wolf, he just hated himself more.

“I…I don’t know. I did. I thought - thought he was one of them.” It frightened Harrison, how desperately he felt he needed to protect Wolf. Or at least, how Wolf was perceived. No one needed to know what happened down there. No one needed to know what Wolf had done. What Harrison had done. “But he - god, he was just trying to stay alive. How can I hate him for that?”

There was a moment of silence, save for the static of the radio and the snow outside. Thomas opened his mouth to say something only for the bell above the door to ring, Lucy and Merrill dusting snow from their white hair. Lucy glided up to the booth, snagging a fresh pot of hot water from behind the counter.

“Need anythin’ else, hon?”

“No ma’am. Thank you.” Harrison’s voice was tight, breaths shuddering as he fought down the urge to burst into tears. Later, across the border, when they were safe he could afford to lose it. To grieve and rage and scream. But now Thomas was getting a fresh cup of tea from Lucy, and Mer was watching her wife with love in her eyes.

The cigarette smoke that lingered on Lucy’s clothes made Harrison’s stomach turn.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds @whumpy-daydreams

#whump #past trauma #past captivity #past torture #military setting #military activities #law enforcement #murder #fictional politics #idk if everything I put in the tw block applies but I wanted to cover all my bases #freelancers au #‘didn’t you just give us a lore dumpy chapter like two updates ago?’ yes. and I’ll do it again (joking threat) #Harrison has been out of hell for 24 hours he deserves a little breakdown. just a little. as a treat. #another one of those chapters I’ve had done for like a week but I keep staring at it expecting it to be better everytime I edit it #I can’t look at it anymore. woe. mediocre writing be upon ye.

[faszaakisshobbi]

hi this is just a wee little rant about a upcoming orchestra competition and its really long so im cutting it lol, so read it if you want idk I just need to get some stuff out. its not fully tc related but I do talk about П a bit so??? yeah!

i'm really afraid for this competition coming up. we are combining the top two orchestras who, for the most part, have never played together and we have only 3 weeks and 4 combined rehearsals to make all 50ish students jell. the other orchestra is... slacking to say the least. normally, they are arguably better than the orchestra i'm with, but they haven't been this year and we have played much more challenging music than them which is not how things normally go.

just to lay things out so they might make a bit more sense, we all got the music about a month ago and have been working on it as separate orchestras along with other things so it hasn't been the full focus. my orchestra will be seated on the outside as 1 section principal (which is me!!!), 3rd chair, and 5th chair. and the other orchestra's violas will be on the inside 2nd section principal, 4th chair, and 6th chair. that is how the rest of the sections will be seated as well, but they have a lot more players lmao (the viola section is always super small, but this year both combined we have 6 students lol)

out of all of the sections, violas are likely ones that have it most together despite that ever present stereotype that violas slack off which is untrue in my school at least. The first stand (aka me and my new stand partner from the other orchestra) rocks. also she also goes to Б and we are both doing amazing and both very motivated over others and are both playing pretty complicated stuff. I do also think she hates me and idk why (enemies to lovers 👀 ???) but we've been stand partners before, done duets, and played in a chamber group when I was still on violin and we play well together so yeah 😍 (and ive known her since we were both 9 so I guess we have that going for us)

anyways П quite literally said that if we don't get first place it will be because of the other orchestra. that's so amazing im totally looking forward to that haha lmao. and another thing is П never gets 2nd place. or 3rd. she only gets 1st with a superior rating. and only twice in her 20+ years of teaching has she ever not gotten a superior/1st place and there was a valid reason for that (also her orchestra that year got 2nd only by a few points which is still good). so there is that pressure to need to get 1st- pressure on the students (especially the orchestra that's slacking) but also П puts so much pressure on herself!! last time we had a competition (it wasn't against others it was against a musical standard) she was so stressed that she didn't get ANY sleep and quite literally made herself sick for the days prior. im afraid that will happen again before the competition and im afraid of what will happen if we don't get first. what will she feel? I know when we had a kinda mid/bad mistake in a concert she blamed it on herself but it really wasn't her fault (it was the damn principal 2nd violin. no tbh it was all the players faults). she also is known by many, many people that are both educators and just conductors in the classical music world all across my region and she has a image to maintain and she doesn't want to make herself or the school look bad.

I really don't know how things will go since we haven't even had our first combined rehearsal. the first one is Tuesday and im kinda nervous because my new stand partner is very very judgy and if I mess up she will tell everyone and possibly Б as well so that's so exciting! no it'll be fine and the pieces are fairly simple. one of the pieces is by Mussorgsky who I LOVEEE. I have a thing for Russian composers and Romantic classical music so of course I love him and the rest of The Five. the other piece is some modern thing which I dont enjoy as much but its still pretty cool.

shit this post is longer than I thought it would be, but if you've read this far for whatever reason thanks and i'll probably end up talking a lot more about this and will very likely end up having more orchestra rants so this may become a regular thing. im honestly surprised I haven't talked more about orchestra/chamber stress stuff but yknow 🕺🏽

#personal rant #vent #non tc rant #well its kinda tc related idek

[karmic-vibes]

Two of Us

5 - We're On Our Way

cw: mentions of rape

1987

“O-Oh my god, Claire, I’m so sorry,” Steve panicked.

“Does Eddie know?” Robin whispered.

“God no,” Claire scoffed, “he would kill him.”

“Eddie wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Dustin said.

“He would if it hurt his family,” Claire sighed, “I just figured I’d rather give my daughter a life where she doesn’t know her dad and gets to be with her uncle, rather than a dead dad and an uncle behind bars… I’m a big girl, I can handle my own shit, as bad as it may be.”

“What’s this sack of shit’s name?” Steve grit his teeth.

“Billy… don’t remember the last name.”

“So, you don’t get any child support from him or anything?” Robin asked.

“Nope, completely self-made.”

“Holy shit,” Steve whispered, “good for you.”

“You still haven’t earned your right to talk to me again. Keep it shut, Harrington. But thank you…”

“What do you even do? Because…” Robin scoffed and smiled in disbelief, “for a twenty-year-old that’s a single mom, who fully supports her child and an ex-fugitive brother and has her own house… you must’ve won the lottery or something.”

“I’m actually a nurse. Trying to become a midwife—not anytime soon, obviously, but that’s the eventual goal.”

“How?” Lucas chimed in.

“Well, when I had Edie, I dropped out of school and took a few months off. I honestly lucked out, because my mom works from home, so she was able to watch Edie while I studied for my GED, then again while I was in college. And now that I’m fully certified to work, she’s off at school. It was definitely a struggle, but I made it work.”

“Jesus,” Mike started, “what the fuck happened to Eddie?”

“Dude!” Dustin yelled.

“What! She’s insanely smart and Eddie was held back twice!”

“Oh, I like you,” Claire smirked, “but in all seriousness, I probably would’ve ended up in the same boat as Eddie if I didn’t have a child to support, so cut him some slack. The Munson’s haven’t exactly had it easy.”

“Holy shit, I just realized something,” Dustin gasped. Claire crossed her arms and raised a brow at the boy.

“Well, spit it out, Henderson!” Steve said.

“You said Edie’s dad’s name was Billy, right?”

“Yeah, so?” Claire shrugged.

“And you were in California visiting your mom when it happened?”

“Yeah, wh-why does that matter?”

“You got a Hawkins High yearbook?”

“I don’t, but I think Eddie does.”

“Then why are you still standing here? Go get it! Go, go, go!”

“So far, you’re my least favorite,” Claire muttered before retrieving the yearbook from her brother’s room. “Here.”

“1985, perfect!”

“Why? The dude is from Cali, why on earth would you need a Hawkins yearbook?”

“Claire, if I showed you a picture, would you be able to recognize him?”

“Unfortunately.”

Dustin began flipping through the thoroughly vandalized yearbook before reaching the dedication pages for all those lost in The Battle of Starcourt. At the very end of the dedications, there was an entire page for the hero of it all: Billy Hargrove. Dustin handed the open book over to Claire.

“This him?” he asked. Claire looked at him skeptically before investigating. Her eyes popped out of her head as all the color drained from her face.

“Holy fucking shit…” Her eyes welled up with tears. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“So, it’s him?”

“Y-Yeah, that’s uh… that’s him… that’s Edie’s dad…”

“Then do I have some good news for you.”

“What?” Claire cried, “that my rapist is in the same town as me again?”

“What? No, did you not read the yearbook page?” Claire shook her head before glancing back down at the book. A faint smile creeped its way onto her face. “He died in ’85.”

Claire smiled from ear to ear before stumbling back into the wall. Tears streamed down her face as she tightly clung the book to her chest. She began sliding down the wall while sobbing and laughing. Her head hung back as she tried to control herself, but she couldn’t contain her emotions. She had never been happier that such a disgusting and vile person was already six-feet-under, but at the same time, she mourned that her daughter would never know her father.

“He’s dead,” she finally whispered, “he’s fucking dead.”

“Who’s dead?” Eddie asked, emerging from the basement. “And why are you sobbing on the floor? Munson’s don’t cry, now get up.”

“Edie’s shit-bag of a sperm donor is fucking dead.” Claire held her hand over her mouth, trying to hold back her giggled sobs.

“Whoa, what? You knew who her father was this whole time and never told her?”

“Eddie, he didn’t deserve to know that sweet little girl. I would rot in hell before I let him meet her.”

“Why is he a shit-bag again? Because y’know, he did give you the best thing in your life. Well, second best thing,” he smirked.

“None of your business.” Claire sniffed as she extended her arm to be pulled up.

“When it involves you or Edie, it is my business.” Eddie lent a hand to hoist her up—Claire subtly handed the yearbook back to Dustin so her brother wouldn’t notice and see who she was talking about.

“He just wasn’t a good guy, okay?”

“Who wasn’t a good guy, mommy?” Edie asked.

“An old friend of mine,” Steve said. He pushed past the teens and crouched down to meet Edie’s little bug-eyes. Claire let out a relieved sigh and mouthed thank you—Steve smiled back at her before nodding reassuringly. “He was on the basketball team with me in high school and he was super rotten to me. He would push me and call me names and make fun of me. Super not cool.”

“You’re not talking about that ass-wipe Hargrove, are you?” Everyone simultaneously shot daggers at Eddie. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. So glad that asshole isn’t around anymore.”

“You and me both,” Claire sighed, “so, how was your lesson with Uncle Eddie, sweet pea?”

#eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie st4 #eddie stranger things #gay #st4 #steve x eddie #lgbtq #lgbt pride #joe kerry #joseph quinn #pride #happy #love #billy hargrove #mike wheeler #will byers #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #maya hawke #robin buckley #dacre montgomery

[ask-aurachnid]

Frankie is... uncomfortable, to say the least. They'd be hot no matter what they were wearing, standing in BAT's courtyard with sun directly overhead, but the dress shirt and slacks certainly don't help (especially with all the buttons done up and a tie fastened around their neck). Add a terrible, blue, polyester gown, and a mortar board on top of that, and Frankie is sweating. It's a good thing BAT is a private boarding school with a relatively small student body. They'd probably keel over if they had to do this whole process for more than two-hundred students.

"Phillip Jeremiah Sanchez," Dr. Grant announces. They're at that point in the ceremony where the only people clapping are the one's who know each graduate. It kinda sucks to be at the end of the alphabet, compared to those whose names started with 'A.' Still, Phillip gets a pretty good amount of applause, from both his family and his friends.

"Simon Zachary Scott." Frankie always thought it was kinda funny that Si's initials were SZS, but his full name does sound pretty badass.

"Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy." Frankie claps their own hands together for Gwen. She had been a pretty good friend of Paige's and she has a serious talent for the drums. She could really go places with it if she wanted.

Frankie's pretty close to the stage now, and they nervously fiddle with their dad's dog tags underneath their shirt. They've scanned over the crowd a dozen times now, and they know nothing will have changed, but they do it again anyway. Except this time they spot him. He's hard to see, but once Frankie knows where to look, he stands out like a sore thumb. Who wears a black long-sleeve and dark jeans to an outdoor graduation ceremony, in June? At least the hat and sunglasses make sense for the weather. 

"Calliope Madison Stanley." Shit, Frankie's up next. They're so not ready for this. Everything has been so messy for the last year, and now they won't even have the routine of school to keep them afloat. It didn't feel real until now.

"Francis Calloway Stevens," Dr. Grant says. Is her voice echoey because of the mic or because Frankie's freaking out? When did they start walking across the stage?

The Academic Decathlon team is clapping, and it warms Frankie's heart to know that the team still cares, even if Frankie hasn't been coaching them for almost a year. There's a shrill, piercing whistle from the back, too. When Frankie looks, Castle gives them a thumbs up. 

Just like that it's over. Frankie has their diploma in one hand, and they're shaking Dr. Grant's hand with the other. They've officially graduated high school.

It doesn't take long for the remainder of the class to be called across the stage, each walking off with the same fancy paper that says "hey, good job! You finished it!" 

The last student sits down and Dr. Grant steps up close to the mic one last time. 

"Presenting the class of 2019! Congratulations everyone!" 

Frankie's mortarboard goes flying higher than the rest, but they're pretty sure it's not far enough to be weird. 

The students scatter like billiard balls, looking for their families and friends. Frankie just heads for the exit. They've said their goodbyes in advance and they're ready to get back to their apartment and out of these suffocatingly hot clothes. 

"Congrats, kiddo," Castle says, coming out of nowhere and clapping a hand on their shoulder. He hasn't set off their spider-sense for the last few months, but Frankie manages to mask their startled reaction. 

"Thanks, man. And thanks for coming. It means a lot, you know?"

"Don't mention it."

#story post #graduation arc #punisher 711 #murder uncle

[wannabethin-47kg]

I'm finally back after over a year!! So small updates:

- After reaching my lw of 54.6kg back in October 2022, I slowly gained weight and hit a new hw of 68.5kg🥲

- I also started doing wreslting (joined the school club) in October 2023, won a few medals (like 3 bronze medals) and then I went to the regional championship in February 2024 were I won silver and went on to provincial were I won my first match but then lost my next 2 matches which caused me to be disqualified. I was still very happy since I still made it that far despite having only about 6 months of experience

- When I had my first weigh-in for wrestling, I was around 64kg so I slacked off a lot on losing weight using me having to stay in the 64kg weight class for tournaments as an excuse. Then during Christmas break 2023 I gained all the way up to 67.6kg then had a week to get down to 64kg for my tournament (which I did), gained back to 68kg, had to get back to 64kg for my next tournament which created a continuous cycle of me gaining and losing weight for wreslting tournaments in short amount of times. It was so stressful but my fat ass just couldn't maintain💀

- Wreslting season is now over (It was lit my personality for the last y months) and now I'm stuck at 68kg since there's nothing that really forces me to lose weight.

- Prom is in 1.5 months tho so I really want to get down to at least 57kg by then.

- I also turned 17 in January and in grade 12 which I can't believe since I was 13 (or 14?) when I created this account💀

- I got accepted into 2 unis (uoft and tmu) and waiting for more acceptances (academic weapon frll)

- Bul1m14 wise, I've been binging and purging a lot less (which is really not good considering the fact that I'm still overeating so I'm not losing any weight💀). I started my journey to get back on track on April 1st to get back to my lw

- In October 2023, I also applied to be part of the Millitary, my enrollment ceremony was in February and I'm now officially a soldier🫡 I'm not getting trained until summer tho so ion have a uniform and really don't do shit when I go to work

And that's it for now!

#bul1mic #wannabethin-47kg #anarecix #ed rant #bul!mic #bulim14 #cw disordered eating #ed struggles #disordered eating tw #tw ed vent

[beelzlikes]

Okay, listen to THIS and tell me I'm not crazy:

I got an email today from da boss telling me I've gotten a raise. Not only that, but I'm going to get retroactive pay from the last two months to reflect this. So by all accounts, even after taxes, my next paycheck is gonna be hefty.

"Congratulations!" you might be thinking. And yet... here I come to spoil it all.

I'm paranoid. That this is a conspiracy. I'm connecting dots across several years and I'm driving myself mad doing so. My brain tells me that "They" are orchestrating things behind the scenes.

Take for instance my ill-fated trip to Oregon all those years ago. I go there so I become a stoner legally, and just so happen to find a great roommate who is almost overly caring and kind and lenient with the fact that I was unemployed and playing video games all day and night. And when I finally broke and blamed him, he begged me to stay, saying he didn't care about me paying my share of the rent anyway. SUS! Who is this guy? What does he want? Did I imagine he drugged me, or did he really do that?

And when I do get back to my home state, oh wow! Wouldn't you know it, medical marijuana just so happens to be legal now and you easily qualify, isn't that a coincidence?

Then we find a pretty good gig working at a charter school we've never heard of before but THROUGH a contract with a company I HAVE worked with before. And during our tenure there we objectively have the best funded and well behaved school in the entire district. And just when things are starting to go so smoothly that I actually start making plans for the future - BOOM! Covid hits and we are all quarantined.

That's right, folks. Covid is MY fault. This is what my brain is telling me. Not to mention that Charter school had hot queer guys as substitutes ALL the time, like "They" were throwing them at me. "Here's one, you like this one? No? How about this one, he's short and has glasses? No? Fuck uuuuh I dunno, new strategy!"

When Covid is over, I get "fired" from my job and almost immediately pick up a new one working at the college I graduated from. And in this job I can do no wrong apparently! I slack off terribly and I even get reprimanded, but not even at my most suicidal was I ever in jeopardy of really losing my job...

This job pays more than my last one, I do so much LESS work than I did before, and now I'm told I'm getting a raise and congratulated for "being so amazing". What? ...What the fuck? Are YOU high right now, I'm doing diddly squat over here!

Not to mention as soon as I'm hired, a previous college roommate of mine suddenly wants to reconnect? Remember: he's gay too. And what's this? He ALSO works at the same college?? What. A. Coincidence. So of course I ghost him, he was a trap. "They" were trying to set me up.

That didn't work? Oh shit, okay, let's send in hot union person - we know he's into unions right now. And this person JUST so happens to meet me at the office on the ONE day I was going to be there that month. And they just so happen to keep coming back even after I put them off.

I must be crazy, yeah? There's no way there's a shadowy cabal of people going behind my back in an attempt to IMPROVE my life. That's like... the ANTITHESIS of a conspiracy, yeah?! Suddenly I'm gonna have an influx of money, at LEAST a couple hundred dollars in this next paycheck. AND from here on out I'm getting paid more anyway.

What the fuck? This isn't right. Good things don't happen to me. The other shoe is riiiiiight around the corner and it's gonna drop on me like a ton of bricks. What the fuck? What the fuck.

#personal #public private journal #the truman show #crazy #i'm crazy #nice things aren't for me I've learned that

[killmehe]

Some Kind of Wonderful

Summary — In which your friend Katsuki decides to help you 'practice' for your upcoming date. 

Pairing — Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

WC — 5507

Tags — MDNI - Minors Do Not Interact, Aged-up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Making out, Implied Chubby Reader, Literally the tiniest hint toward a boner, Implied Mirio/Reader, No Beta

Katsuki’s patience snaps in half when you let out your fifth sigh of the afternoon. He stomps his boots on the ground, slaps his paperback book down, and he wires his jaw tight. The cherry on top of his hissy fit comes in the form of a heated glare tossed in your direction, where you stand hunched under a Honda Civic. “What’s your fuckin’ problem? And don’t give me that ‘nothing’ bullshit.”

With the purse of your lips and the scratch of your thoroughly used pencil, you ignore his outburst and take it for what it is — an opening to whine about your troubles to Katsuki, guilt-free. You just don’t have it in you to be anything less than transparent about the heaving, wistful breaths, even if you should give him shit about his tone. It’s Katsuki, anyways — when you’ve been friends with him this long, sometimes you have to give up the ghost of indignation with how he extends his ass-backward concern. 

You glance up at him while you take inventory of supplies, gauging his irritation while you run over the checklist in your head. “I’m a little nervous about my date.”

He doesn’t contain his almost audible eye roll, crossing two big arms in front of his chest while scoffing at you. ”What’s there to be nervous over? It’s just fucking Togata.”

Funnily enough, you already recognize how ridiculous it is to be this concerned about Mirio. And that’s no slight to him; He’s unassuming, sweet, and easygoing with an air that has most people feeling safe and secure. On top of it all, he asked you on a date because he was the one with the massive crush, not you. You were sitting fairly pretty with the current situation but the hot pinpricks in your stomach beg to differ.

”I know, but—“ you falter for a second, trying to figure out if this is really the type of thing you want to talk about with Katsuki of all people. He’ll probably call you an idiot and go back to his boring nonfiction without another word on the subject — there’s also a chance that he’ll resort to mocking and you’ll never hear the end of it. At least that’s how he normally reacts when Denki complains about being left on read or when Kirishima bumbles around all red-faced after receiving compliments from you.

You only need a few seconds to find your resolve again. Potential humiliation is always daunting but you really don’t think you can stomach the last hours of your shift with this uneasy weight on your shoulders. Besides, he won’t let it lie if you shrug him off now after practically begging for his attention. “Well, it’s just — what am I gonna do if we kiss?” 

His face goes slack for a millisecond before he looks like he wants to kill you for bringing up the subject. “Are we in middle school or somethin’? Just fuckin’ kiss him if you want to,” he growls it out, already ripping open his book to find the page he lost for such a juvenile conversation.

You can’t bring yourself to say the real issue. How hard could it possibly be to just say you’re out of practice? Extremely, woefully out of practice for someone your age who should be playing the field to some degree. You haven’t been in a relationship since high school and the last time you kissed someone was at a Christmas party two years ago. 

(Even more depressing is the fact that the kiss in question only barely counts. Getting caught underneath the mistletoe with Tenya had resulted in the most awkward, short-lived peck in human existence. It took months for either of you to fully live it down and you still hear about it every December.

You would be loath to admit it but it’s because of Katsuki that all you’ve experienced in the last few years has been Tenya’s stiff embrace. At some point before that party, you had noticed the way you came alive when he would direct all of his attention on you and it hadn’t taken long to realize that it was because you had feelings for him. How could you not? He's always cared for you and paid attention to all of your little parts, always rough and tumble but soft and doting at the same time. He’s always impressed upon you how you’re ‘his girl’ and it’s always lit you like a livewire. 

Despite it all, you’d given up hope of reciprocity. He never exhibited any feelings in return and you weren’t the type to actively pursue something with a friendship as dear as his on the line. Mirio’s invitation couldn’t have come at a better time because, hopefully, someone as lovely as him will wean you off of Katsuki and the insurmountable emotions you have for him.)

You don’t flounder for long because Katsuki never lets you. He always zeros in on these things quickly without you having to actually say anything. It’s too bad that he uses his powers for evil instead of actually being helpful for once.

His smile is knife-sharp and his eyes hold the usual air of taunting people like Izuku have to deal with all the time. “What? Does the little ‘ole mechanic still not know how to kiss?” He clicks his tongue in mock pity before letting out an obnoxious laugh at your expense, slapping his book on his knee like he wasn’t pissed at the beginning of this exchange. Like you don’t know how he’s just as hopeless in this arena with his nonexistent dating life.

“It’s just been a while!” You’re trying to defend yourself but it only makes him laugh that much harder, his hand slapping across his mouth to cover his manic grin and stifle his obnoxious wheezing. It might have been funny if it was anyone else but it just feels pathetic to you; It’s to the point now that the mechanics of making out have totally slipped your mind, not that he needs to know that with how hard he’s already laughing. “I just want it to be good,” you drop your pencil down on the steel table with finality before turning back to the Honda. To save some face, to protect what little bit of pride you still have kicking in your chest, your words take on an indifferent tone. ”Whatever. I’ll just figure it out when the time comes.”

His laughter dies down and no response follows which is honestly fine because you prefer the silence. You assume he’s dropped it, something that’s probably for the best after how he’s been this week. While you might have forgotten the lead-up, the motions of making out, the same can’t be said for knowing how little Katsuki is invested in the topic of your date. He’s made it perfectly clear how much of an idiot he finds Mirio and how you’re an even bigger one for accepting his offer. Telling Katsuki about Mirio started recurring rounds of barely-concealed huffing and little comments at Mirio’s expense (and sometimes yours) before pattering off into a terrible mask of nonchalance. It’s done nothing to hide his random bout of irritation on the subject.

You line up a collection pan under the drain plug, already reaching for the ratchet balanced on the nearby toolbox. Placing the head of the tool against the large bolt, you set to work on turning. You twist and twist and twist your arm counter-clockwise and the garage fills with the familiar sound of metal on metal.

The click of your tool is loud on your ears but it’s not enough to drown out everything with it, especially with the rhythmic pauses you take with each crank. You hear a group of teenagers after one crank, laughing carelessly after a day at the local high school pass the front of the shop. Next, it’s a deep metal clang from the old vending machine in the office section, its weak lights fluttering with the shake of an old machine. Finally,  just as you feel the bolt release the majority of its tension and all it will take to have pools of slick oil filling your pan is a single crank, you catch Katsuki’s rough voice carrying through the wind. Your ratchet ends up slipping right through your fingers and clattering on the concrete. The bolt still clings to the valve. 

”Practice on me.”

The slam of metal on concrete has you startling, and you straighten your back to your full height—not that you get very far. Pain blooms at the crown of your head from the harsh metal of a rogue pipe beneath the car. “Shit, that hurt—” You cup the spot tenderly, reaching toward the ground so you can scoop up your fallen tool while you hiss in Katsuki’s direction. “I really hope that joke was worth my concussion, asshole.” 

He locks his jaw and squares his shoulders, tense and sharp lines replacing the teasing air that usually comes of his mockery, before retaliating again—almost making you drop the ratchet a second time. “‘M not joking,” Katsuki frowns, the pinch of his brow painting the perfect picture of serious. 

Your cheeks heat but unlike the flush that comes with crushes and dates and kissing, it’s the kind that comes with being poked at. It feels a little humiliating because he’s barring down, acting like he’s willing to make out with you and for a joke of all things. You clench your fist tight around the ratchet before slamming it back into your toolbox. “You’re not funny, Kat,” you close your eyes for a brief moment, releasing a single rage-filled breath so you don’t blow up from his audacity. “That’s not funny, especially since I was being open with you.”

He casts his head back and groans, loud and frustrated before replying with a sneer that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know the fumes from this shithole haven’t fucked with your cognitive abilities that much. I said I wasn’t jokin’.”

Tinges of anger still linger deep within your chest but they’re mostly replaced with confusion. It doesn’t make any sense, not in your world at least. “You’re being serious? Why would you offer that?”

His cheeks redden as he processes what you’ve said, where the conversation has gone and then he’s breaking his gaze, swiveling his head to the bustling street outside. He ignores your questions when he finally works through all of the thoughts you can see piling up in his head. “Forget it.”

You aren’t as willing to forget. “Would you really do that for me?”

You step around your toolbox, around the steel table you write all of your orders down on, and you close the distance that separated Katsuki from your work. He doesn’t move when you approach; he stays still and quiet, watching people come and go with dark eyes and a clamped mouth. ”It’s just a dumb fucking kiss,” his rough voice is even more coarse. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t willin’.”

Shock doesn’t even begin to describe what you’re going through. Katsuki can shrug off a kiss like it carries no weight but you know that’s not really how he feels. Dating, sex, kissing — it‘s all serious business to him, after a lifetime of watching his parents love each other and seeing the joy and domestic bliss that came out of it. After a lifetime of wanting it for himself. He wouldn’t do this with just anyone.

He’d do it with you, though. 

You consider him then, only for a few seconds. You take in his pale hair, his stained cheeks, his large hand dwarfing his little paperback where it holds the page he’s on. Pretty, you recognize because that’s always been true for as long as you’ve known him. Pretty and willing to kiss you.

Your answer leaves as easily as it came to mind. “Okay.”

You catch the subtle ruffle of his hair when he turns to face you again. He considers you now, analyzing you in the same way you had analyzed him. Feeling his eyes on you is too much so you follow in his footsteps; You lamely train your eyes out the door and pretend he isn’t even here, like anything out there is more interesting than this sudden turn of events. 

You can’t help but glance at him from the corner of your eyes, and it’s enough to finally evoke a response out of him.

“You gonna get over here or are ya gonna stand around like an idiot?”

It only takes four steps to clear what little space pooled between you two, to be within reaching distance of each other. You don't reach out to him yet; Instead, you wipe sweaty hands down your front, completely at a loss for how to tread these new waters with someone currently glaring holes in between your eyebrows. 

“What are you gonna do with your hands?” Business as usual, Katsuki takes on his usually bossy tone. It’s irritating most days but all it does now is put you at ease. You know he’ll take care of you and you know that he’ll be helpful in his own aggressive way.

“My hands? It depends,” you say, because it does.  A lot of factors go into hand placement.

He rolls his eyes at you because, even though he’s helping, he’s still Katsuki. “No, it doesn’t ‘depend’,” he quotes the air, his voice in a grating impression of your own. “God, you’re so fucking lucky I’m around.”

 He snatches your hands, curling around the limp of your wrists and then tugging unnecessarily harsh until you’re standing in between his parted thighs. He drops a stained hand on his shoulder, ignoring a cry you let out about the grease before twining your leftover fingers with his. You feel the catch of his calluses on your own and despite the pleasant trill that rockets up your palm, it’s immediately overshadowed by the need to fidget away in a fit of stage fright. If Katsuki feels the same, he doesn’t show it.

The hand still in his grip is moved to the back of his head that dips back to meet it. He cards your fingers through the wild mess of hair, curling your fingers around his strands before slipping away to anchor around your elbow. “There. He’ll like it if you do that shit,” Katsuki smirks up at you, cocky when all he did was put your hands on him. 

Embarrassingly enough, he might actually have a reason to feel cocky. If it feels even a fraction like this when you touch Mirio then you don’t see how things could go wrong. You notice how it lights you up from the inside; Pops and crackles flare deep in the crevices of your gut the longer your hands are on him. 

You’ve touched these parts of him before—felt the curves of his shoulder when patting him on the back and the downy soft of his hair on the rare occasions he lays his head on your lap—but this is the first time it’s inspired anything beyond friendly affection. This is new, feeling your friend in this context. You’re a little shocked by how much you enjoy it.

With little success, you try to ignore how well he fits into your palms. “What now?” You zero in on the material of his shirt but it proves to be just as distracting with how it clings to his torso. Has he always been this built?

He’s so focused on helping, so serious about it that you almost feel a little guilty for the subtle squeeze you give to his arm, taking in how the muscles refuse to cave around your fingers. “You gotta look me in the eyes when you do this shit, or it won’t count.”

You doubt that but you listen anyway because you really don’t want to be caught checking him out when he’s being so nice to help you in the first place. You square your shoulders and dip your head and tear your gaze away from your prodding fingers but his request is easier said than done. 

The promise of a kiss as practice, one shared with your best friend no less, is making you feel ridiculous and—if you really examined yourself—extremely nervous. If only you could be as straight-faced as he is; Your mouth stretches into a grin and your belly begins to twitch with suppressed laughter, despite the admittedly valiant attempt to stop both.

His face doesn’t crumble when he notices the shake of your shoulders. Instead, deep red eyes narrow into a glare when he sees your lip caught between your teeth, when he feels the clench of your heated hands on his shoulder and in his hair, and a snarl warps his face. You can’t blame him.

“Fuckin’—stop laughing,” he snaps, his cheeks coloring to match his ears. “I don’t have to do this shit for you. Fucking grow up.”

“Sorry—” You cast your head back to the tin roof of the garage, and you try to regain your composure because he is right. He doesn’t have to do this for you and you should probably be grateful he hasn’t started kicking your ass for daring to laugh at him. A few pulls of air filled with the overpowering smell of gasoline and grease does nothing to quell the jitter of your nerves like it usually does. You're practically wheezing now. “Just give me a second.”

“No, fuck you. I do this shit out of the kindness of my heart and you have the fuckin’ nerve,” — he tries to pry your hands away but you tighten your grip to deter him — “Let go, damn it!“

“Please, Katsuki,” you’re gasping for air but it does help relieve some of the tension that started to leak into your bones. “I’m just nervous, remember?”

That must quell his wrath because hands that sought to push you away lose their will, loosening around where they tried to pry you off. Instead, they find shelter at the curve of your waist. He cups just beneath your rib cage, his fingers locking against doughy flesh, and then pets down your side every time your body jumps from every stifled laugh.

It takes longer than a few seconds, your laughs losing their wind and your smile shrinking into its little half-moon slowly, but it does eventually stop—and when the time comes, you find he’s already staring at you. There’s no scowl or scathing look or pout. All you’re greeted with is an expression that reeks of something gentle and reverent.

 It should shock you to see, this sweetness, but most of the surprise comes from how real it feels. You’re still coming off of a rush of endorphins, happy little chemicals that eased you into his gaze, but it doesn’t quite feel like the lingering effects of adrenaline that legitimatizes the glint in his eyes. You know how authentic that expression is because It rests along your tongue and the roof of your mouth whenever you are caught up in your own feelings, filling your throat with a roaring heat that sears your insides with want. 

It’s just practice, you stress half-heartedly.

His hands slide down to grip the fat of your hips with strength that surges up his arms, has the blue-green criss-cross of his veins jumping and the muscles of his arms flexing. He pulls you even closer until your thighs press tight against the insides of his.

 His torso expands and rubs pleasantly through the thick material of your coveralls and, maybe if you weren’t too busy marveling at the novelty of it, you would have noticed the singular stutter of his breathing when you lean into him even more, squishing your chest against him with the weight of your body. “He’ll do that,” He says, his voice low and rumbling while his eyes bounce around, never staying anywhere for long. “He’ll do that if he isn’t a complete moron.”

Your fingers twist and curl the edges of his hair. It's a necessary distraction from how one of his hands rubs a slow stroke up and down your side. He tilts his head back a bit to maintain eye contact, and you find that you like that, feeling his eyes gazing up at you. A dull thud echoes in the quiet still of the garage; The toe of one of your boots knocks against the tower of tires Katsuki has perched himself on and it’s all because you want to feel his head tip a little further into the cradle of your palm. “How do you know?”

His eyes finally halt, fixed on a singular point on your face, your mouth, with drooping eyelids. Has anyone ever looked at you like that before? He grumbles back a slow and reluctant answer. “I read a lot of Shoujo.” 

Normal conditions would call for a round of teasing. He’s never openly admitted to reading those, always telling you to ‘mind your own damn business’ when you ask. It should be ridiculous that someone like Katsuki, who looks like he would be averse to romance in all its forms, indulges in stories about characters falling deeply in love.

It doesn’t feel so absurd now that you’re chest to chest with him and his eyes feel like they’re brand-hot while they trail the shape of your face. 

Maybe if you ask nicely, with enough sweetness and pleading, he’ll tell you what it is that he enjoys reading the most. There are endless possibilities in romance; Maybe he reads about enemies falling in love or maybe he sticks solely to meet-cute storylines about starstruck strangers. A secret hope wriggles itself deep in the crevices of your heart, flipping your stomach obnoxiously once more; Maybe, if you’re lucky, he’ll have a soft spot for romance between friends.

The way he’s looking at you now almost makes the last week he’s spent biting your head off worth it. It also makes you forget how you earned this position, the two of you spun around each other. It feels too natural, perfect in the way that he’s meant to have his hands on you and your hands on him.

“Kat?”

“Changed my mind.” For all your sluggish movements and syrupy thoughts, your heart works itself into overdrive when he says that. He doesn’t let you spiral for long. “Close your eyes,” he whispers.

The request causes hesitation. What if this leaves you wrecked to the point that you’ll never be able to get over him? Is this really the type of thing you should do before a date with someone else? What if Katsuki doesn’t like it?

Because it’s Katsuki, he sees all the trepidation flash across your face and makes the decision for you. A hand that’s sat still on your side, one that’s only played with the give of your hip, moves. It ghosts over your waist, slow on its ascent up the side of a breast. Higher, the length of your neck shivers when his calloused graze thin skin. His middle and index fingers extend, parting to fit the width of your eyes before resting over your brow and pulling down. The pads of his fingers are rough here too but also gentle and warm on your eyelids. “Close ‘em.”

Your eyes flutter at the raspy demand. You hear a car fly past the shop and a gust of warm, early September air whooshing through the garage door. The wind ruffles the edges of your hair but never touches your cheek; Katsuki’s hand bats away the humidity, his thumb rubbing dizzying tingles into the skin. 

The tickle of his breath results in the swipe of your tongue along your cupid’s bow—you only miss Katsuki’s bottom lip by a centimeter, not that you notice. You work through the jumble of your throat, swallowing around the ball of nerves that grows the longer he hovers. “I thought it didn’t count if I couldn't look you in the eye?” 

“Shut up,” he rumbles, nowhere near as scathing as he usually is when he demands your silence. “Couldn’t handle you lookin’ at me like that.”

His breath smells like the sweet-tart of citrus tic tacs, the same ones he refused to share earlier. Giddy is the best way to describe the emotion bubbling up. Looks like you get a taste after all. “Why not?” 

Your eyes stay resolutely closed, his mouth stays resolutely shut. You scratch at his scalp a little meanly but the low grunt he lets out is more relaxed than hurt. “C’mon, Katsuki.“ Why wouldn’t he be able to handle you looking at him in any type of way?

His voice is so low on your ears that if you weren’t already hanging off of his words you would have surely missed it. “Ya keep lookin’ at me like that and it’ll be me you’re goin’ on a date with.”

It’s soft, much softer than Katsuki seems capable of, when you feel the first press of his lips.

And It’s good. It’s so good you completely forget the nerves and the implication of his words. They just — whoosh away with the wind of another too fast car and each wet smack of his lips. Everything you know fades out of existence and all you can do is fall into him, leaning more and more of your weight into his soft squeezes and the clenching muscles of his stomach shamelessly. You don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed when your teeth clink or someone bites too hard on plush bottom lips. He takes it all in a stride, almost seems to revel in it as much as you do. 

And maybe you weren’t as hopeless as you thought because you seem to match his pace and finesse with little trouble. Katsuki pants and shudders and pulls at you with increasing force. His fingers flex and clench along your body, trailing dangerously low on your back with one hand and slowly rubbing the side of your belly with the other. He whines when you clench his hair in your fist and lean his head back for better access to the curl of his tongue, moans low and rough when your body sags against him and you feel a tell-tale hardness straining against his jeans.

He’s the one that pulls away first. The only thing that stops you from licking into his mouth again is a little shove to your hips and a low croak. 

“E—enough,” he clears his throat, and the air of nonchalance he’s imitating would be more believable if he wasn’t running his tongue over swollen lips, if his fingers weren’t twitching to touch more and his eyes weren't trained on the heave of your chest. “You’ve got no reason to be nervous about your dumb fuckin’ date.”

He might be able to change the subject easily but you can’t. You’re dazed, practically swaying in your work boots between his thighs. Date? Nervous? You aren’t nervous anymore and you aren’t thinking about a date with Mirio. Everything seems so far away now, hardly even a blip on your radar. Unimportant. All you have left swirling in your head are ways to get your mouth on him again without seeming too desperate. 

“You’re blushing.” You’ve missed the migration of his deep flush because your eyes were closed. The blush has moved from his face and ears down toward the thick of his neck, maybe even the valley of his chest. You trail a finger down one scalding cheek, the same shade of rouge that covers the pert of his nose. He freezes in his pursuit of making distance. “Did you like it that much, Katsuki?”

You should know better than to ask him that and it’s only confirmed when he slaps at the hand on his cheek and forces you back before he jumps to his feet off of his tower of tires. He looms over you once he’s at his full height with a mean snarl that curls back his upper lip. The intention of intimidation falls flat when his eyes still track the swollen mess you have for a mouth.

“As fuckin’ if.” He rips his jacket from the hood of a car, shoving his arms deep into the leather with all the aggression in the world and stomping toward the entrance of the shop with the same amount of ire. “I should’ve known you would pull some shit like that. Should've let you look like the goddamn fool you are in front of your lame ass boy toy.”

Katsuki doesn’t normally leave until your shift ends so he can drive you home. The rush he’s in to leave the garage is startling and even if you committed the cardinal sin of asking Katsuki how he feels, you’re unprepared for the change of pace. You intercept him right at the door, posing yourself as a wobbly-kneed wall that stands between his escape. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but this shitty fuckin’ shop!” He spits it out all mean but he doesn’t push through you to leave like he normally would. He stands with clenched fists and glares down at you even though he’s supposed to be storming out of the garage. 

“Okay,” you breathe it out, a little dreamy and a little defeated. You don’t really want him to leave, not when you easily just had the best kiss of recent memory and with the same friend who’s been so aggravated since Mirio made his appearance on your radar. But you know from how he shifts from foot to foot that any conversation about it right now would just make him act like a caged animal. “Alright, Kat. Just one more thing before you go.” 

“What do you want now?” His sharp edge dulls itself a bit from curiosity. You hope to god you’re reading the room right.

You steel your resolve and rise to the tip of your toes. With the collar of his jacket cuffed in your fist, you drop a final kiss on the corner of his mouth. He reacts so fast, not even questioning it and already working to move his mouth so it’s placed squarely against yours. The soft pucker of his lips trying so hard to greet your own only builds the hope you buried in your chest.

The smile you give him when you’ve pulled away must be a lot to take in because he avoids it entirely. You don’t let him run for long; You cup the underside of his chin and pull him to face you head-on. 

“I’ll call you later, yeah?” 

You only get a single half-second of his disbelief before his wide eyes strengthen to their normal steel with that little something from before, that pillow-soft glaze of affection and want. The response he grunts back confirms what you see and what you felt when he held you in his hands and kissed away your thoughts. “Nah, I’ll call you. I have some shit I got to tell you.”

And then he leaves. He nudges you out of the way with a firm grip on your waist before he turns his back to you and marches out the garage door. He never fully looks back either. All you get is a single glance out of the corner of ruby eyes when he fixes a nonexistent fold of his jacket before he leaves you alone with the hum of an archaic vending machine and the phantom impression his hands left on your body.

And you just watch him trudge down the sidewalk. You memorize how the sinking sun paints his hair and the tenseness of his shoulders from how he has a hand shoved in his pocket and his little paperback book clenched in the other. You lose sight of him completely when he passes the dingy corner store you always buy coffee from. 

You already have an inclination about what his call will be about. If his goodbye and the reaction to the sweet little kiss you placed on the edge of his mouth are anything to go off of, you really do have nothing to worry about — nothing to worry about because Katsuki is going to put an end to your lovesick misery without the help of Mirio. You can barely contain the excitement from gushing out of every pore. 

Your next course of action is pretty much decided then and there and you waste no time once he‘s gone. You claw your phone from the deep pocket of your coveralls, you pull up Mirio’s contact info, and let out your sixth sigh of the afternoon.

Katsuki’s soothed your nerves but, in doing so, he’s left you with a whole new problem. Now you need to figure out the right way to tell Mirio that you can’t make your date because you’re seeing someone else.

#bakugou x reader #Katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x chubby reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #katsuki x fem!reader #bakugou x fem!reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #pls enjoy bakugou as watts and reader as keith #mine!!

[emeraldenha]

LOVE - LOVE.

pairing: tennis player!sunghoon x fem!tennis player!reader | genre: sports au, high school au, enemies to lovers, fluff | w/c: +3.9k words | warnings: cursing, it's been a long time since I've played so I apologize for any technical inaccuracies lol

click here to check out the Game On! series masterlist!

*additional note: this is the written format of sunghoon's imagine, click HERE to return to the original version.

you wouldn't say you're the most competitive person on earth, but it sure seems like it when it comes to park sunghoon.

the two of you were constantly at each other's throats and there was no denying the fact. you couldn’t even call it a normal interaction with sunghoon if you weren't competing over something, no matter how trivial.

betting to see who could score higher on a test, projecting personal vendettas during class debates, and even racing to see which one of you could be first in line at lunch, though most importantly, it was about who could win the most tennis matches.

as the both of you were respectively on the girl’s and boy’s tennis team, that was your biggest opportunity to earn bragging rights. you and sunghoon even kept sticky notes with tally marks on how many achievements each of you have acquired. they were posted on the inside of your locker doors — which made it easier to compare them considering that your lockers miraculously happened to be placed right next to each other.

to put it simply, your relationship with him is anything but matured and civilized.

and it's not like you and sunghoon are star players either. the both of you are more so equally average at the sport, meaning that you’ve formed some deep rooted beef for the hell of it.

well, you did it for shits and giggles. for sunghoon, not so much.

it all started when you were first years.

the weather was extremely humid one day during a joint practice with the boy’s team and you were starting to feel exhausted under the scorching hot sun. when it was your turn to play in a singles match, you were going really strong at first, but then the fatigue took over you halfway in.

your opponent hit the ball to the opposite side of your court, making you run to the other side with every last bit of strength you could muster. so with determined efforts, you swing as hard as you possibly can. your grasp on the handle of your tennis racket accidentally slips mid-swing, and like a scene in slow-mo, it coincidentally hits sunghoon right in his back while he's playing on the court adjacent to yours.

and from that moment on, a rivalry was born.

to no one's surprise, sunghoon was the initiator.

it was now your second year of high school, and if anything, the rivalry has only intensified. that stayed true until the season of spring, when sunghoon is faced with a dilemma.

due to trying to keep up with his studies, sunghoon was majorly slacking during tennis practice. he needed decent grades to stay on the team anyways.

sunghoon was never fond of studying, leading him to work his ass off to compensate for all his assessments and procrastinated projects. it was safe to say that he was struggling, badly.

and he needed all the help he could get if he wanted to be ready for the spring tennis tournament next month. he needed to beat you, obviously, since the two of you were always so neck and neck according to those damn sticky notes in your lockers.

though it's also maybe because his parents will make him quit if he doesn't start pulling in results that'll be worthy of at least a partial scholarship.

“jay, please I am begging you! I'll do anything!”

“I already told you I can't, sunghoon. I have a lot on my plate not even including school and the tournament. I'm sorry.”

sunghoon sighs at another failed attempt to convince jay, his only friend and fellow teammate, to get on board with some one-on-one extra practice.

“can't you ask someone else from the team? I'm sure there has to be someone that'd be willing to helping you.”

“I can't ask them! most of the guys are getting extra tutoring right now and I don't want to be a bother. plus, I'm not really close with any of them so it'd be pretty awkward, right?”

jay laughs, “you're such a lone wolf.”

speaking of lone wolves, it was actually quite comedic how you and sunghoon portrayed completely opposite demeanors outside of your rivalry.

sunghoon was, in truth, extremely antisocial and hated speaking to others unless it was absolutely necessary. you, on the other hand, was someone known for being very quiet and introverted due to your terrible case of social awkwardness.

it was like you were two separate people when it came to your childish animosity against one another.

jay thinks for a moment before suggesting, “why don’t you ask someone from the girl’s team?”

see, that was an even bigger issue.

all the girls on the team like to gatekeep you because of your rather sweet and shy personality, causing you to become the baby bird that they took under their wing.

not to mention, to add even more fuel to the fire, he'd always make fun of how nobody cared about the girl’s tennis team just to spite you (which you like to think is not true but the school's negligence towards your team really shows).

but sunghoon can shove his words up his ass because the boy’s tennis team isn't treated much better!

moving on, conclusion is: the entire girl’s team hates him.

which is why sunghoon says the girl's team isn't much of a better option either.

“...what about y/n? you talk about her all the time. aren't you guys like — I don't know — frenemies or some shit like that?”

and sunghoon's all like take the friends out of frenemies and that's what we are and continues babbling about his hatred for you once jay says that he thought it was all lighthearted teasing.

“but didn't you say she was your type before she hit you in the back with a tennis racket?”

“okay but—”

sunghoon begins another one of his lengthy monologues though it's all essentially irrelevant because it's just him giving bullshit excuses about how he was delusional to think you were cute before he knew how much of a devil you could be.

and jay's just telling him to calm down and that it's either go to y/n or practice with the wall.

sunghoon, in the midst of his passionate rant, stands on his feet and goes “just watch! I'll prove it to you. I'm going to ask her for help, and she's going to laugh in my face and say no. why? because we hate each other! h-a-t-e.”

jay simply raises an eyebrow, “so you won't even try asking your own teammates but you'll ask y/n?”

“shut up!”

sunghoon's blood easily boils as he stomps away with the tips of his ears bright red, making jay smirk before moving on with his day.

sunghoon doesn't have the courage to even approach you until he's hit peak desperation, which is almost three days later after his conversation with jay when he gets chewed out that same afternoon for lacking proper form on his backhand swings and he can feel every last ounce of sanity leaving his body.

so, while suppressing the urge to curl up into a ball and cry, he slips a note into your locker saying to meet him outside the courts after school.

when you unfold the torn piece of notebook paper lying on top of one of your textbooks, you're thoroughly surprised.

was this another one of sunghoon's pranks? if that's a possibility, should I ditch him just to be safe?

well, curiosity killed a cat, and it would surely kill you too because you were dying to know the reason behind that note.

however, it definitely isn't anything like what you were expecting.

“you—”

there's no words that can quite describe the overwhelming confusion you feel in this moment as you continue to stutter out.

“you want me to help you practice for the upcoming tennis tournament?”

sunghoon purses his lips, swallowing his pride before hiding a quick 'yes' in his cough.

you can't help but ask him the obvious question: why?

not only did he like to remind you on a daily basis that he despised your entire being, but it's not like you're that great at the sport either.

“because everyone else is busy and you're my last resort.”

you roll your eyes, “geez, way to flatter your so-called 'last resort,' park. very persuasive if you ask me.”

sunghoon clicks his tongue at your sarcasm, “glad you think so. are you going to do it or not?”

“sure, I'll help you.” you shrug so nonchalantly and sunghoon's in pure shock because it can't be that easy. “but what's in it for me?”

there it is.

sunghoon sighs, having seen it coming, “name your price.”

at first, you were only joking, but sunghoon caving in without even starting an argument beforehand was a sign that he was in deep, deep shit.

insinuating that he means business.

“I want free lunch for each day we practice until the tournament, and keep in mind, I'm on a very specific eating regimen.”

he scoffs, “free lunch? I’m not made of money.”

“you don't have to agree. I can just leave and—”

“never mind, I'll do it.”

and with that being settled, you tell him to get his money ready because the deal is on and there is no backing out now.

not wasting any time, you immediately tell sunghoon to meet back at the courts the next day. there's an uncomfortable tension in the air (as expected) so the two of you don't stall for long.

you start off with a couple stretches and simple drills, progressing into some warm ups of casually hitting the ball back and forth.

it's painfully silent so you think of something to say that will lighten the mood.

a chuckle escapes your throat, “you know, I can’t even remember the last time we’ve actually played against each other like this before.”

“I can. it was last year two months into the first semester and I won.”

you can only scratch your head. after that dry comment, you throw the thought of even attempting to be nice out the window.

especially when he continues to get on your last nerve, shouting backhanded remarks including but not limited to ‘since when were you not complete shit at serving?’ and 'congratulations for winning the first set, y/n! you usually always lose in the beginning. what was the probability on that again? ah yes, one in three!'

you make sunghoon's life a living hell for the following two weeks.

practice is so grueling that he wants to bury his body in vat of ice, you critiquing his every move on the court or during the next day over in the passing period where you inevitably meet at your lockers. sunghoon also learned the hard way that you wouldn't settle for anything other than your very specific eating regimen.

“you’re the worst” is what you recall him saying while handing you what felt like your millionth insanely detailed lunch order.

you smirked, “yet look who came to me begging.”

“last resort,” he reminded you.

“if you really loathed the idea of practicing with me so much, you would've dusted off the good ol' tennis ball machine, big boy.”

you got him there.

it takes an explanation from jay one day in class about how his best friend is on the verge of an ugly mental breakdown that you realize maybe you're being a little too harsh on the guy, which officially marks the day you decide to shed some mercy on park sunghoon.

“what's this?”

“it's gatorade, dumbass.”

“yeah, I know that,” he retorts, holding back what would be his fifth eye roll of the evening. “but why are you giving it to me?”

“you've been working hard,” you mutter begrudgingly, finding the tennis court bench particularly more interesting than sunghoon's curious gaze. “I just thought I'd do you a solid and save you the dollar-fifty since my lunch meals have been draining your savings account. don't think too much into it.”

you quickly spin on your heel and walk away to do some solo warms up, not noticing sunghoon popping open the cap of the gatorade bottle, unable to suppress a soft smile.

the remaining two weeks are surprisingly civil, internally confusing both you and sunghoon alike. it was like crossing unknown territory.

you had never gotten to know sunghoon outside of the microseconds he spent tormenting you. then before you can even process, you got to uncover the nicer side of him that you didn't know existed.

doing small deeds when you were in a bad mood, cracking an unsarcastic joke during practice, not complaining at every given opportunity, it was definitely out of the ordinary.

you invite him out to dinner a couple nights before the tournament, excusing the kind gesture by saying there was a new restaurant opening nearby and you just didn't want to check it out by yourself.

that statement was true to an extent.

you could've asked your teammate. in fact, it was one of your teammates that informed you about the restaurant in the first place.

but your deal with sunghoon was slowly coming to an end now that the tournament was right around the corner, and never in a million years would you think to utter these words, but you actually enjoyed spending time with him.

you're eating what you ordered along with some side dishes sunghoon wanted to split, striking up conversation with a question that has been sitting in the back of your mind.

“no, but really. why do you want to work yourself to death so badly? it’s not even our last year where we have to worry about entrance exams and the last of high school tennis tournaments. it’s just another spring.”

he breathily chuckles, “it’s not that deep. I just want to get ahead of you.”

“and you think you’re achieving this by training with me…?”

and that’s when he finally gets off his chest that his parents are making him quit if he doesn’t show improvement.

“I don't want to quit tennis. I may not be that good at it, but it's the only thing I have going on for me until I figure out what I actually want to do with my life.”

“don't think like that,” you frown. “I can tell that you're really passionate when you play; you always put in 110 percent. it may not be something you do forever, but there's nothing wrong with putting time into something that makes you happy. plus, the extra training has actually been working to your benefit. you've been improving like crazy! your hard work won't go to waste, I promise you.”

he gently lays his hand over yours from across the table, “thanks for cheering me up. I know it must be weird to comfort your annoying arch nemesis that you hate.”

“it's not weird. sure, you can be annoying sometimes, but it's kind of endearing,” you laugh. “and for the record, I never actually hated you.”

sunghoon awkwardly joins in on your laughter, “oh... haha, me neither.”

“you don't have to lie.”

and when sunghoon questions why you’ve been playing along all this time, the only thing you say is “have you seen how much my win rate has gone up since we’ve started competing to see who could get the most wins?”

he laughs but he doesn't know why he's feeling a little disappointed. like it's not because you're actually in love with him and have been secretly wanting to get closer?

and that's when he realizes two things: one, that his ego has been bruised, and two, that he may have somehow developed a very tiny not so tiny crush on you.

which is what leads sunghoon to go to team captain heeseung for advice.

he and heeseung weren't that close — since sunghoon only clings onto jay twenty-four seven — but heeseung was an amiable third year in a long term relationship with his girlfriend therefore making him the best option in sunghoon's eyes.

“so what you're telling me is that you're finally putting an end to this petty feud you've created because you’ve decided to catch feelings?”

“well, don't put it like that!” sunghoon whines, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest.

heeseung eyes the boy suspiciously, “but did you seriously not have a crush on her this entire time? I thought the whole 'I hate your fucking guts' thing was just your form of flirting.”

sunghoon’s face wrinkles in repulsion, “what even made you come to that ridiculous conclusion?”

“dude, it's obvious! come on, at least admit that you were a little in denial — okay, okay, stop glaring at me. here, I'll even give you an example umm... got it! remember that one time? you once made fun of her all day for losing a practice match against another school that she cried, and when you felt bad, you snuck a teddy bear in her locker the next day.”

“...do people know about that?”

heeseung comes clean right then and there about how jay tends to air his drama to the entire team when he gets fed up with his best friend's antics (which was all the time) and sunghoon has never felt more mortified.

“don't be embarrassed,” heeseung smiles. “it was cute!”

at the comment, sunghoon still can't help but bury his head in his hands, taking a second to compose himself.

“okay, whatever. I'm confessing to her after the spring tournament. yeah, I'll do that.”

“good luck, bro,” heeseung gives him an encouraging pat on the back. “I hope everything works out.”

and all sunghoon can think about is that he hopes so too.

it's d-day, the spring tennis tournament.

you sign in at the outdoor table set up near the front of the venue when you feel a buzz from the pocket of your sports jacket. it was a message from sunghoon, a simple text that read 'good luck loser :)'

you giggle and type back a similar reply before slipping your phone into your tennis bag. the both of you were scheduled to play at the exact same time so you most likely wouldn't see him until you finish.

you stick with your parents who came to support and talk to some of your teammates in the meantime.

right when you're done playing later on in the day, you rush to the court where sunghoon's playing and see that it's almost over, the scoring in sunghoon's favor.

he spots you watching him and smirks as he serves one last time before winning the entire match.

he shakes hands with his opponent and collects his things, running over to you immediately when he's done.

you clap once he's standing in front of you, “you won!”

“what about you? how did your match go?”

“I won too! we did it!”

you hug sunghoon out of excitement and it takes an painstakingly long moment of realization to pull away once you see that you're hugging the life out of him.

“sorry,” you apologize, shoving you hands into your skirt pockets.

“n-no, it's fine.”

he's about to ask if he can tell you something important, but before he can, someone taps you on your shoulder.

you turn around and it's jungwon, the cute first year that played for a neighboring school. you always saw him on the small set of bleachers watching your matches.

he briefly congratulates you on your win to which you thank him for his sincere compliments, while sunghoon is quietly standing behind you with his arms crossed.

“can I talk to you?”

you nod, a bit confused, “sure, what about?”

jungwon coyly rubs the sides of his arms before clarifying, “ah, in private I mean.”

most people had deserted the area after the matches ended, leaving sunghoon the only other person within proximity.

sunghoon lets out a dramatic sigh, “I'll leave.”

that's what he says, but really, he only swings behind a nearby corner and stiffens his body like a tree.

you turn back to jungwon once you think sunghoon has left and detect movement from the corner of your eye.

he has a small bouquet of daisies in his hands — where they came from? you have no clue — and peppermint breath spray tucked into his back pocket. a sweat towel is casually draped over his right shoulder, the boy's baby blue tennis uniform complimenting his newly dyed dark blue hair, and he confesses to you.

he gushes about how much he admires your strong determination and work ethic, that he's always found you pretty and loves cheering you on during your games.

sunghoon wants to throw up in his mouth listening to that whole speech.

your reaction isn’t very stellar either, but that’s rather because you’re at a loss of words. never in your life have you ever been confessed to before, and it was even more nerve racking to be thinking of ways to let the poor boy down gently.

you’re so nervous that your hands are shaking, which in sunghoon's mind, makes him only makes want to walk right up and grab them.

sunghoon had almost forgotten that this is how you normally act around people.

you shakily return the flowers jungwon had given you, “I'm sorry...”

jungwon, despite feeling dejected, takes the rejection well. though sunghoon isn't really paying attention because he spaces out due to the relief entering his system at the fact he still had a chance with you.

eventually, he comes back to reality once jungwon's footsteps can be heard leaving the area, realizing that he has approximately five seconds to get the fuck out of there because you're about to walk in the opposite direction of jungwon, which happens to be right where sunghoon has been eavesdropping.

though while trying to back away undetected, sunghoon clumsily trips over his own feet, revealing himself from his hiding spot. you snap you heads towards the sound, eyes widening in surprise.

for a moment, the two of you can only stare at each other in shock.

“how long have you uhhh... been standing there?”

“what do you mean?” sunghoon pretends to look around as if he had bumped into you by coincidence. “I just got here. why, did something happen?”

an unconvinced expression sits on your face, “you heard all that, didn't you?”

“heard what?”

“that I'm going out with yang jungwon next weekend.”

“what?” sunghoon's eyes look like they're about to pop out of their sockets. “but I thought you just turned him down!”

he had easily taken the bait, falling right into your trap.

you click your tongue, “sunghoon, you really are so bad at lying to the point that it's sad.”

sunghoon's cheeks are burnt a fiery red as he sulks, “so just to be sure, you're not going out with yang jungwon next weekend, right?”

you snort, “don't tell me you're jealous?”

“and if I am?”

there's a long pause, and for the first time since the tennis racket incident, you look flustered in front of him.

your hair curtains the sides of your face and you’re frozen like a statue, nervously nibbling at your lower lip, and sunghoon thinks that you look so breathtakingly adorable.

I really do have a crush on this girl, huh?

sunghoon clears his throat, swirling a patch of dirt on the ground with the tip of his tennis shoe as he diverts his gaze there like it's the most fascinating thing on earth.

“I may not have flowers or anything fancy like that, but I like you.”

and a wide grins spreads across your face as you tell him those last three words back.

main masterlist

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen au #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon enhypen #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon au #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon scenarios

[animatedrapture]

"𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖒𝖊 𝖘𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖞" — suna rintarou ;

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: suna rintarō is so much more than his bored eyes, the blunt between his lips, and his tendency to slack off—luckily, you're one of the very few people who know this; especially after he comes home to you sullen after finding out he didn't make it to the olympic players.

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: female reader. fluff—established relationship. angst if you squint. comfort. mention of drug use. like, one swear word.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 2k

𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖙'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: in lieu of the influx of toxic stoner!suna content, i offer you a piece of appreciation towards him and all that he is. i was meaning to post this in my new blog but i thought there's so much of you here who would appreciate and need this more. written on a whim at 1AM and didn't proofread so for any errors, gomen. repost because tumblr tagging hates me. cross posted on ao3 under the same username. original post here. this was written before we got information that he actually made it to the olympic team. furudate really told me to stfu, huh?

It's you who find out first that there is truly so much more to Suna Rintarō than his expressionless exterior, sleepy eyes, and bored gaze towards even the most ridiculous situations. It's when his self assured stance dwindled as he walked towards you once upon a time, introducing himself first before asking you for your number.

"My number?" You echoed his request, trying your best not to gawk at his attractive features and six foot two stature towering over you so easily; making you feel oh so small. (Which is funny, given that you were already standing straight on your heels.)

"If you don't mind, 's cool if you say no," he replies, tearing his gaze from you as if he was actually anxious you'd say no.

It's funny, really. It's not every day a famous pro-athlete known for both his good looks and skills walk up to you, asking for your number and actually considering you'd say no to him and his pretty features—in fact, nevermind that he was pretty, it was more the fact that he wasn't so full of himself to actually think you wouldn't say no.

That's what makes you nod your head; your heart already beating right out of your chest as he gives you a lazy grin and his phone to press your number in. When you're done, you hand it back to him and you mentally pat yourself at the back for not visibly trembling.

"Y/N?" He reads your name from the contact information, and good God, did your name sound so beautiful coming out of his mouth. He doesn't wait for your reply anymore, looking back at you from his phone, the lazy smile still across his lips as if he knew it was a heart killer.

"Thanks, I'll text you later," is the last thing he said before he walked away from you.

It didn't take long for you to fall in love with someone like Suna Rintarō—underneath his detached personality also lied someone who was truly passionate with the things he set his mind to, gave his time to. Like you or volleyball or the video game he's been waiting to release for a whole month—it only had to be something or someone who was special enough, then, he would give it his all.

The smoke that filled his lungs occasionally did nothing to lessen your own intoxication of Suna Rintarō and his passions—because every exhale, his dark green eyes would meet yours and oh so easily, he offers you that same lazy smile yet one that was dripping with affection.

"Should you even be smoking that, Rintarō?" You had questioned him before, about the second time you've seen him put the rolled blunt in between his soft lips, inhaling it.

"It's a once in a while kinda thing, you don't actually think I'd sacrifice my career for this don'tcha?" He grins at you, amusement flooding his usually bored eyes — now glazed over with the effects of the weed—from the way he gazes at you with an eyebrow raised.

It's when you realize that Suna Rintarō was independent and knew what he was doing—did what he did with full awareness, full control, full flexibility. It's as if who he was in court was who he was in person as well.

"You're really interesting, y'know that Rin?" You had mumbled against his chest once before, it was at the first few months of dating—he had one of his arms around you with you cuddled on his side, watching a movie from his couch.

"Yeah?"

"I mean—you've always been so good at what you do, huh? But you still work for it."

"What makes you say that?" You can feel him looking down on face against his chest.

"C'mon, don't be silly. You were scouted at middle school and you only got better as you grew up!" You say, finally moving your head to meet his gaze.

But all you get is a flick on your forehead and his low chuckle, "'s not that deep, y/n," he answers.

But you already knew better.

Suna isn't one for words, and no matter how much you insist that he was beyond the description of words, he only rolls his narrowed eyes at you. You find out Suna Rintarō, your boyfriend, was a huge inspiration during your sixth month together when you finally met his little sister.

It's hard to say it wasn't amusing how snarky she was, just as he was to his friends whom you've met a few times before—Atsumu and Osamu Miya, you remember. She's quick with her tongue, easily retorting back to her brother's comments.

"Are you sure you didn't just pay Y/N-san to be your girlfriend, nii-san?"

"Nah, you still jealous I came out prettier than you?" Suna bites back, a teasing grin plastered across his face. His sister only scoffs, looking back at you.

"You can tell me if he blackmailed you to come here!" She attempts to whisper. You're not sure whether you should be worried or continue to laugh, but you do neither as you choke on the drink you were sipping on right as she told you this.

"Shit, Y/N," Suna curses as you cough, your throat burning at the drink's intrusion, but Suna's quick to rub soothingly against your back as he offers you his water, his eyes glazed over in panic.

"You okay?" He asks when you stopped coughing, and you nod in response—throat remaining slightly sore. Suna lets out an aggravated groan, "Be careful next time," he manages to scold you, but oddly enough, his words remain saccharine.

There's something about the way that his little sister doesn't seem the least bit surprised with his reaction that somehow lets you know that perhaps, Suna Rintarō might just be quite the caring brother behind closed doors.

After that, it was when Suna excused himself to take a call from his manager, leaving you with his sister.

"Hey, nee-san, promise you'll take care of Rin-nii? You won't break his heart, will you?" His sister asks, eyes gleaming with something akin to hope, expectation, wonder. It easily takes you by surprise.

"Don't you worry, I'll promise I'll take care of him, promise I won't break his heart," your voice easily softens, nodding. His little sister's gaze remains on you, as if she's assessing you and as if she would easily tell whether or not you meant the words that came out of your mouth.

It makes you hold a breath until she nods slowly, smiling at you lightly just as Suna comes walking back, eyebrows raised, knowing he must've missed something.

"Whatcha girls talkin' bout?" He asked as he slipped back on his seat beside you.

"None of your business, obviously," his sister quickly answers.

They're truly quite similar, it's enough to make you smile and get through meeting his little sister until both of you dropped her off back to the train station.

"What'd she tell you?" Suna nudged you after seeing her train leave.

"Nothing, Rin," you answered with a wide smile, leaning up to place a chaste kiss against his lips—yet just as you pull away, one of his hands has found its way behind your neck, pulling you back to him.

You never thought a kiss could feel so loving before—but it really seemed as if Suna Rintarō had a knack for proving you wrong, over and over again.

It was the day that the Olympic team was announced when you see so much more of Suna Rintarō. Quick like the blink of an eye, or lightning that leaves the thunder chasing it; Suna felt the exhaustion, the pressure, the burnt-out feeling that's been repressed in the back of his head. It comes to him, crashing down like boulders not just on his shoulders but weighing down every part of his body.

Did he lack somewhere? He wonders. Where did that lacking end and start? What could have he done? Was it training, where he spent most of his time now? Suna had end up seeing you less and less since the drafting of olympic players started and you've been nothing but patient.

What was he supposed to tell you? After all the time it has stolen away from you—that he didn't make it?

When he opened the door to your shared apartment, he doesn't look up at you with a relieved sigh as he usually would—he avoids you gaze entirely, he avoids your observing eyes from the couch you sat on, watching him slowly shrug his shoes off.

"I'm just gonn—" he started, about to make an excuse to avoid looking at you.

"Prepared your bath, Rin. C'mon," Suna hears you say but it doesn't sink in his head, watching you take his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

Suna remains silent as he looks down on the bath you prepared for him, warm and inviting.

"Meet me in the kitchen when you're done, okay?" He hears you say, followed by the echo of your footsteps walking away.

You easily understand that Suna Rintarō was more than his talents, his efforts, and every little thing about him when you feel his large arms wrapped around you, his broad chest pressed against your back and his face buried on the crook of your neck. His fresh scent right out of the shower engulfing you and invading your senses, flooding you with him.

"'m sorry, bunny," he mumbles.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Ri—"

"It's odd, thought I'd pull it off, thought it'd be nothin' if I didn't make it. Don't know why I'm so upset right now," he continues, cutting you off, "Been so patient for me too, bunny. Thought I'd be nice to make you proud, ya know?"

Your sigh comes out sharp from the heavy feeling from your chest, not knowing what to do to make him feel better—like he did with you, always knowing his way around your low moments.

You wriggle out of his arms, making him grumble until you fully face him. He looks back at you with a small frown, eyebrows furrowed, watching your expression.

"I'm always proud of you, Rin. Olympic player or not, you make me so proud," you speak softly, your hands cupping each side of his face.

"Don't even get why it matters to me this much, it's just—" it was your turn to cut him off, tipping your toes to press a lingering kiss against his lips. Suna smiles against your lips, carrying you to sit on the kitchen counter like he always did—knowing you always would have to tip on your toes to reach him.

Soon, the lingering kiss turns slow and passionate—lips softly grazing the other, and it feels more like pouring the heavy weight of love out of your chest and into the other. A kiss so loving, so reassuring, so passionate—the kind that easily takes your breath away and makes your mind go blank. When Suna pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. You smile at him because it's all you can do when your heart feels like it's going to leap out of your throat just to offer itself to him entirely—and Suna smiles back at you, pecking your lips before wrapping his arms around you again, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You run your fingers through his hair, hoping it would help soothe him, and then you say, "I promise that you'll make it next year, Rin. I'll be with you now, and I'll still be with you then."

It only makes him hold you tighter, closer to him, "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you, Rintarō. You deserve the world and all the stars in the galaxy."

"'s too bad there's nothin' more I need than you, then."

That's what Suna tells you—Suna, who was smoke in his lungs, dumb videos of the twins to blackmail them with, little mistakes, bored eyes, and lazy attitude. The same Suna who was slow kisses, passion, and genuine smiles reserved for you—the same Suna who gave his passions his all, the same Suna who held you securely in his arms every night, the same Suna his little sister admired. Most of all, the same Suna Rintarō you loved with every beat of your heart, every fibre of your being.

📞 violet is calling... all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

#suna x reader #suna rintarou #haikyuu x reader #suna #haikyuu #suna rintaro x reader #haikyuu imagines #rintarou suna #suna fluff #haikyuu fluff #suna Rintarō #;cloud #IM SO PRESSED!!! #so anNOYED!! #GODDAMN HAD TO REPOST

[volleychumps]

Heyy idk if this'll make sense but,, I'm ugly (or at least not as pretty as others) and a lot of times guys would be dared to say "oh my friend likes you" while laughing at me. It made me very insecure growing up and makes me suspicious of compliments now... idk if anyone can relate but can you write a fluffy comfort scenario with Bokuto, Kageyama, or Tsukki? Maybe with reader laughing at a confession because she thinks it's a joke or something? Thank you, I love your work and stay healthy ❤️

Aw bby~ I’m sure you’re absolutely goregous <3 hope you enjoy your request!

Insecure S/O Reacting To a Confession (Bokuto, Kageyama, Tsukishima)

This is set in a time in which you’ve developed trust issues because a confession before had been a joke- so a little angsty ngl 

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

Bokuto 

“She’s not coming, is she?” 

“Calm down. You told her to meet you after school- the bell let out less than five minutes ago.” Akaashi’s voice sounded through the spiker’s phone as Bokuto releases a bigger sigh than he expected. Nervousness tingled through his muscles while the burly boy seemed to tremble in both excitement and fear for what was to come, leaning against one of the many exits to the school as golden eyes scoped the area for your figure. 

“Today’s the day, Akaashi, I just know it!” 

“Yeah. You said that yesterday. And the day before that one. Not to mention every day for the past month-” 

“I think she’s coming!!” A hand slipped out of his pants pocket as he pushes off the wall giddily. 

“Well, be careful- I don’t know if you heard about it, but-” 

“See you at practice, my #1 Wingman!” 

Bokuto ends the call, the last thing he hears being a sigh of Akaashi’s at his abrupt cut off. That could wait. A growing grin began at Bokuto’s lips as you, confused, approached him with a crumpled paper in your hand- looking as beautiful as ever in the eyes of the ace. 

“Bokuto-san...?” 

“You made it!” 

He couldn’t see the hesitation in your steps, or the nervousness in your movements for the national-known volleyball spiker had his gold eyes downcasted at his feet, a hand nervously coming up to rest on the back of his neck as he internally prepares himself. 

“Was there something you needed from me?” You wrung your hands out, biting your lip as you seemed to fidget in place, the scenario being all to familiar with what you once had to go through. However, you knew better- it just simply wasn’t possible. 

Bokuto was always friendly towards you, but previous events had placed a limit in your head on just how far that friendliness just happened to extend. Until- 

“Y/N...do you maybe want to go out with me?” 

Your jaw slackened a little as you still in shock, watching as the boy you thought was eons out of your league blushed a little, squeezing his eyes tight as the question came out rushed, the words fumbling over each other. 

But you still heard it. 

Your chest sunk and heat flamed in your cheeks as you push out your first instinct- a laugh. A laugh bubbled up in your throat at the question, and Bokuto opened his eyes, confusion and anxiety rising in his stomach at the sound that still made his heart race. Nervously, he began laughing too. 

“Alright.” You make out between giggles. “Who put you up to this?” 

All laughter stopped on his end as you continue to giggle, but your eyes were a tad bit poignant as your fists clenched at your sides. Bokuto straightens, furrowing his brows at the ridiculous question. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, this is a prank right?” Your voice wobbled. “Was it Rui? His friend Droy?” 

“Y/N, what-?” 

“You shouldn’t play with girls’ feelings like that, you know?” You continue, smiling yet your eyes screamed of another story. “But in my case, it’s funny- right?” 

Bokuto blinked, mouth agape at the accusation in your words as you take a shaky breath, trying not to show weakness as Bokuto takes a careful step in front of you. Was this what Akaashi was trying to tell him? 

“Y/N, I’m serious!” The ace exclaimed, causing you to finally meet his eyes with your slightly watery ones. “You’re absolutely goregous, there’s no way this is a prank!” 

“Y-You’re taking this too far...” 

“I’m not, because there isn’t anything to take!” Bokuto grabs your hand in his, intertwining your pinkies as you can’t help but smile a little at the childish gesture. “I promise you, Y/N, I like you! Way too much, I’ve been trying to tell you for the past month now, but...you scare me. In a I’ve-never-had-these-feelings before kind of way.” 

You find yourself leaning into his palm as Bokuto smiles, golden eyes gleaming genuinely as he cups your face. “Who made you think of yourself this way?” 

“N-No one in particular...” You lie, looking off to the side as you feel yourself being tugged gently into the sweet boy’s chest, causing you to yelp a little as Bokuto crosses a boundary, digging his face into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. 

“Please.” You stop trying to push him away at the sincerity in his voice. “Can I change that? I can. I promise you I can, if you give me a chance!” 

Shakily, you look up to the sky, feeling Bokuto’s warm breath on your neck as he spoke, wondering if this was worth learning to trust again, your arms wrapping around his mid-section as you did so. 

Your voice quiets, cracking slightly as you hold him back just a little tighter. 

“One chance. Don’t let me regret this.”

Kageyama

“This is ridiculous, you moron!” 

“Trust me, she’s gonna love it Kageyama-Kun!” Hinata flashes his setter a big thumbs up as Kageyama groans, glaring into the bouquet of flowers with pink dusted across his cheeks. After Hinata had snuck a horribly written note into your shoe locker- Kageyama couldn’t put his confession off anymore, much to the setter’s dismay. Admiring you from afar had been enough, and confessing you face to face had once been a daydream- 

“Can’t I just, you know, text her?” The raven haired boy attempts to escape one more time as Hinata points a finger to the spot where he was standing stubbornly. 

“Nope! As if you could get her number anyway-”  Hinata dodges the hit coming his way with ease, sidestepping as he continues his tangent. “So you’re going to stand right there and wait for Y/N-chan to come! I’m going home now, and tomorrow- you better have a newly minted girlfriend!” 

“I should’ve never asked you for advice.” 

“See you tomorrow, and you’re welcome.” 

Kageyama scoffs, snarky reply falling on silent lips as Hinata mounts his bike and takes off before he can get it out, leaving the blue-eyed setter standing at military position near the courtyard, red roses tightened in his grasp around the less thorny areas. He hoped Hinata was smart enough to not mix up the two locations.

“Kageyama-Kun!” 

Said boy almost drops his flowers when you round the corner, now changed out of your school shoes as Kageyama swallows- a futile attempt to aid his now dry mouth. You took small steps towards him as you find a lump growing in your throat at the scene before you, memories flashing in your mind at what once had been. 

Regardless, you managed a tight smile as Kageyama blinks once. Then twice as if to make sure this was really happening. 

“You...wanted to see me about something?” You question formally, ignoring the red hue of the roses as Kageyama stutters out a response, bright blue eyes darting all over the courtyard. 

“I...um....you are....UGH-” 

In any other circumstance, you might’ve found this cute- but the only thing you could think of was how good he was at acting. 

“Take your time.” Your eyes dim down a little as the familiar unease rises in your stomach. 

“D-Date!” Kageyama manages, the pink on his cheeks now turning into a bright red. “I want to g-go on a date with you...!” 

You press your lips together as a heat pricks the corner of your eyes, the one image you didn’t want to remember blurring perfectly over the one in front of you. 

.... Again?

Kageyama curses, offering you the roses with one hand shakily as the back of his hand covers his mouth, blue eyes seeming to glare off to the side in utter regret. “I heard you like flowers, s-so....”

“You don’t need to do this, Kageyama-Kun.” You find yourself saying, surprised at how stable your voice was as Kageyama’s arm slackens a little, the bouqet lowering in height as he takes in your words- in his case, your response. 

“It’s cruel, you know? I get it- you’re popular, attractive, and people want to be your friend- but this? I know I can’t be with someone like you the way I am now, so you have to show me firsthand?”

“Huh?” 

You chuckle humorlessly at the genuine confusion in his voice before laughing a little. “It’s hilarious, isn’t it? Poor, naive, ugly girl believes for just a second that the boy she likes wants her back.” 

Kageyama’s eyes widen a little, still trying to process what you’re saying as the roses fall slack at his side. But the only thing he’s able to get out, is- 

“Wait, you like me?” 

You spin on your heel, flustered you admitted it, before beginning to walk off. 

“Goodbye, Kageyama-Kun.” 

“W-Wait!” Before he can stop himself, he finds himself grabbing you from behind to stop your leaving, your eyes widening as the bouqet of flowers remains tightened in his grasp as he does so, your back against his chest. The aromatic scent fills your nose as he successfully stops you from going anywhere. 

“I-I don’t know why you think you’re ugly or any of those things, but you aren’t.” Kageyama mumbles quickly, and you’re shocked to see that he’s trembling at the touch. “But I wasn’t lying, or trying to play you. I want to go on a date with you...and if you like me too, there shouldn’t be an issue, right?” 

“Shit!” Kageyama releases you right away, and you step away subconciously as you find yourself believing him, a hand over the clothed part of your chest as you do, cheeks blooming with a pink of their own. 

“...I think I’d like that.” 

“Like what?” Kageyama questions obliviously as you groan, blushing in a way that made the setter want to admire you even closer than from afar. 

“The date, don’t make me say it!” 

The blue-eyed setter releases a sigh of relief, his heart being sent on an emotional rollercoaster coming to an end as he chuckles the slightest bit at your embarrassed stature, offering the roses again in a now relaxed-manner. 

“Right. So can you maybe take the damn flowers and be my girlfriend?” 

Tsukishima

“I regret this. I’m going home.” 

“Tsukki! No!” Yamaguchi whines, pulling on his friend’s sleeve for the second time in six minutes. 

“She isn’t coming. Waiting outside her classroom is creepy anyway. She might’ve even already gone home.” Tsukishima says straight on, glancing at his childhood friend before the freckled boy could interject. “What are you even doing here?” 

“Moral support!” 

“Yeah, could you maybe...do that somewhere else?” 

Yamaguchi sniffs once, frowning. “I get that you’re nervous, Tsukki, but don’t take it out on me. Text me later and send Y/N my regards, okay?” 

“I’m not nervous.” The tall blonde claims, swiping through his playlist when in reality- the butterflies in his stomach said otherwise.

“That’s all you got out of that?” Yamaguchi sweat drops, shouldering his bag a little more before waving as he begins to walk off. “Be nice to Y/N!” 

“Wasn’t gonna kill her.” Tsukishima mumbles to no one as he’s left by his lonesome in the empty school corridor after school had ended, mostly everyone leaving or going to attend their club activities. He knew from Yachi who shared your class- that you stayed a little after school to study for a bit before leaving. 

Tsukishima had discovered about his emotional surge towards you when you had visited practice one day to drop off Yachi’s notebook- only to notice you more and more each time you had passed him by to the point where you would smile and wave while greeting him by name. Soon, all other girls seemed to become see-through, leaving you bright in a sea of unfamiliar heads. 

“Crap!” You stumble back, a relieved laugh filling the corridor as the blonde blinks, wondering how he had gotten so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even seen you emerge or make himself known. 

“You scared me, Tsukki!” You whine, shifting your bag upon your shoulder before blinking in confusion. “Wait, what are you doing here? Is the volleyball club off today-?” 

“Go out with me.” 

Your breath hitches at the sudden attack. 

Tsukishima remains indifferent, thankful he was able to even say it, as he shoved his hands in his pockets, eyeing you seriously through his spectacles before you find yourself back there again. Back where your trust was stripped and your pride was stomped on before you smile- a smile that was anything but cheerful. 

“That’s not a very funny joke, Tsukki.” You laugh a little, hand tightening around your bag strap as you refuse to meet his eyes, your gaze falling on his shoes as you become overwhelmed with past events. 

“I’m not joking. Go out with me.” He repeats, not asking, but in a way where it sounded like he was basically telling you. 

“...How far are you willing to go?” You feel wetness brim your eyes, but your smile still remains- shaky yet present- as your voice cracks differently from the way you used to call his name. 

“What the hell are you-?” 

A smirk and multiple laughs ring in your head from your memories before you finally snap. 

 “Stop screwing around, alright?”

Tsukishima’s brow quirks up once, and in the next few moments, you gasp as your back is suddenly touching a nearby locker- Tsukishima’s hand resting by your side to create the illusion of entrapment as he leans in to you, and you don’t have to look up to know that his gaze was searing into you with a mixture of frustration and something else you couldn’t pinpoint. 

“Who’s screwing around?” His voice was quiet and irritable, and you swallow the lump in your throat as a few stray tears slip. 

“I’m just a joke, right?” You mumble, barely audible as you breathe in his scent from decreased proximity. “You boys always toy with girls like they’re your little playthings-” 

“Are you talking about that shitty prank that bastard pulled on you a few months back?” 

Your eyes snap up before you can stop them. “You...know about that?” 

“Why the hell are we here wasting our breaths on them?” Tsukishima questions, irritation evident in his tone. “I don’t do these kinds of things, ever, and you seriously think I’d be here telling you I like you as some kind of shit joke? Give me a break.” 

You blink, believing his harsh words as Tsukishima sighs, relaxing his neck so his head falls on your shoulder. 

“On the bright side you finally looked at me. Understood, I hear you loud and clear.” 

You bite your lip when he moves to step away from you, your hands clasping at the sides of his shirt before you can stop yourself. 

“I...I’ll go out with you, Tsukki.” 

The blonde’s eyes widen a fraction as you bury your head in his chest. 

“Just...please please don’t be like the others.” 

“I thought I told you.” Tsukki’s pointer finger prods at your chin, causing you to look up at him as he leans down so your noses brush. 

“You’re wasting your breath on the wrong thing, Y/N.” 

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

General Works: @takemetovalhalla @savemesteeb @kasandrafaye @dreebbles

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu anime #haikyuu bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto kotarou #haikyuu kageyama #kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #haikyuu scenarios

[uwuwriting]

Soulmates w/ Dabi, Shirakumo and Keigo

Request: Hello! I just read a few of your writings &I'd just like to say they're amazing! Anyways, may I request some hc's for a soulmate AU w/ Dabi, Shirakumo, & Hawks?(all separate)- anonymous

Soulmate Aus have a shit ton of tropes so I went for a different trope on each boy bc I love them all. My man Dabi has dipped the last few chapters and I’m getting kinda deprived, although I appreciate him not burning my baby Shoto to a crisp so we good. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: angst with some fluff

 Dabi/Todoroki Touya II Interchangeable eye color

-Dabi’s outlook on love is really negative. 

-Growing up the way he did and in the environment he did, the possibilities in him believing or cherishing love and soulmates was low. 

-When he got his soulmate sign he was around 12. 

-It was the darkest moments of his life and he hated himself to no end. 

-When he woke up on that fateful Sunday morning he thought that he was hallucinating. 

-Then he imagined that this could be an after affect of his trauma, just like his hair. 

-His mind though drifted to his soulmate. 

 -He didn’t have a mark up until now and your eye color changing was one of the many soulmate signs out there. 

-As he stared at his left eye, the e/c orb staring back at him, he began to cry. 

-Sobs wracked his body as he clutched his eye. 

-This was unfair. 

-He shouldn’t have a soulmate, what good could he be to anyone?

-He is a failure and he is gonna bring down his soulmate as well. 

-So he hides it. 

-Puts a patch over his eye to conceal the new color blooming around his iris and when his family starts questioning it he buys contacts. 

-Natsuo helps him even though he doesn’t understand why his brother doesn’t want a soulmate. 

-Years pass until he finally meets the person that has changed his life. 

-Shigaraki was being a brat as usual, whining about needing new members for his little group. 

-Dabi couldn’t care less.

-This  whole charade with these losers would only aid him reach his ultimate goal. 

-He didn’t care about Shigaraki’s shitty ideologies and otherworldly desires, he just wanted his revenge. 

-His eyes scanned the so-called hide out in utter boredom, his gaze landing once again at the bar’s door left slightly ajar in case someone came looking. 

-He didn’t expect for the door to open though. 

-And as the grease old door creaked open a figure stepped into the room, clad in black from head to toe. 

-A mask was covering half of your face leaving only your eyes visible. 

-You scanned the place before your eyes landed swiftly on him, knocking the breath out of him as you locked gazes, e/c orbs baring into his own. 

-The vibrant blue on your left eye had him gasping for air. 

-It was stunning. 

-You moved to talk to Shigaraki, your voice albeit monotone and cold, sent tingles up his spine making his hairs stand at attention. 

-His eyes were glued on you, one of his hands subconsciously going to the left side of his face where his mark should be visible.

-It felt as if his contact burned his eye and he quickly took it off, not minding about possible infections since he didn’t wash his hands before touching his eYE DAMMIT YA NASTY AF. 

-His body was drawn to you, his mind screaming at him to talk to you to go close to you. 

-You knew he was your soulmate. 

-You had known the moment you stepped into the bar; no one had such a beautiful blue hue in their eyes other than your soulmate. 

-Despite your mutual desire to be close to each other you  held off for months. 

-Months of keeping distance, months of giving each other the cold shoulder.��

-It would all reach a tipping point soon and Dabi would finally understand what it’s like to truly love someone. 

-Until then though, suffer in your mutual pining. 

Shirakumo Oboro II Red string of Fate

-The string around his pinky finger always lay motionless for years. 

-It was slack and lifeless, no sign of his soulmate being remotely alive. 

-It really worried him, he thought that he might be one of the few unfortunate individuals who didn’t have a soulmate. 

-He talked to his friends about it and they all reassured him that his soulmate was just too far away from him so even if they tugged at the string he wouldn’t be able to feel it. 

-This reassured him all throughout middle school. 

-He started getting a little discouraged when he saw all his classmates getting their soulmate signs whether it be names tattooed on their wrists, one of their eyes changing color or a strand of their hair, other could hear faint music if they concentrated hard enough while others were unfortunate enough to feel their soulmate’s pain. 

-Shirakumo was left staring at the red string surrounding his finger. 

-He had thought about tugging at it, making the first step instead of waiting for the person on the receiving end.  

-But on this day, the day when both Aizawa and Hizashi got their respective signs he found himself tugging at the string. 

-At first he pulled lightly watching the string grow taught slowly and then go slack again. 

-He waited for what felt like a century before tugging again and again, more force being put in his pulls every time. 

-After an hour of waiting and tugging he was done. 

-Eyes downcast with a frown on his lips, he was ready to let this whole soulmate thing go. 

-At the end of the day he doesn’t need the universe to tell him who he should fall in love with; who he is destined to be with. 

-Then he felt it. 

-The lightest tug at his finger. 

-His eyes followed the red string as it straightened a few times before going limb again. 

-Aizawa walked in on him pulling the string like crazy, excited giggles leaving his lips when his soulmate responded with their own pulls. 

- “Shota I did it. T-they answered!”

-This whole string communication business lasted until the first day of high school. 

-As Oboro walked through the halls of UA he felt the string shift on his finger. 

-It was as if it was wrapping tighter around his finger, almost to the point that it hurt. 

-Maybe he was about to meet his soulmate that’s why the string was thinning. 

-Wait, meet them??

-He wasn’t ready to meet them!!!

-What if they didn’t like him? What if his hair was a bit too cloudy for their likes? Oh god his hair must be a mess because he flew here. Maybe he can dash into one of the bathrooms and fix it real quick. Will he be too loud for them? What-

-Lost in his own thoughts he completely missed the person standing in front of him and soon he was crashing into them, a small grunt leaving his lips as he maneuvered himself to cushion their fall. 

- “Oh God I’m so sorry, I was totally zoned out. Are you alright?” 

- “Why are you apologizing? I ran into you.” 

-He let out a chuckle as you scrambled off of him, dusting off your skirt before offering him a hand. 

-As he took it he felt his pinky being released from the pressure. 

-Right before your eyes you witnessed the red string that connected you both unwrap for your fingers, illuminating for a moment before completely disappearing leaving a sense of familiarity and warmth in its wake. 

-You both stared wide eyed at each other before awkwardly introducing yourselves. 

-It didn’t take long for you two to actually fall in love and if you’re being honest it’s was so easy to fall for him that you believed that even if you weren’t soulmates you would have loved him. 

-Even after years, even after that fateful summer, the sense of his presence and his warmth never left you; it was as if he wasn’t gone and he was still somewhere out there. 

-You were half wrong in that one….I think. 

Takami Keigo/Hawks II Name tattoos

-He got his tattoo when he was 13. 

-It had really awful timing if he was being honest. 

-The hero commission was isolating him completely, even from the few friends he had made around the facility he trained in.

-He couldn’t even begin to imagine what they might do if they find out he had a soulmate. 

-He truly wished he had a different soulmate sign or no soulmate at all. 

-He did everything in his willpower to hide the calligraphy of your name on his left wrist. 

-Bandaging it up, covering it with a watch even scribbling over it like he used to do when he was 9 and bored. 

-But at some point it became harder to hide it, harder to conceal the beautiful name that was printed on his wrist. 

-So he confided in someone. 

-One of the caretakers at the commission had taken him under their wing ever since he was a wittle toddler, he trusted them with his life. 

-When he approached them frantically grasping his wrist in attempts to hide the letters, they were both delighted and saddened. 

-It was nice knowing that this poor child had someone out there that was meant for him and would make him happy, replace every single one of these awful memories with new ones.

-Memories he would like looking back to. 

-But just like Hawks himself they knew that the commission wouldn’t allow this person to get involved with him, at any costs and they knew how far these people could go in order to guarantee Hawks’s undivided concentration. 

-So they helped him; they bought him some make up to cover it up and taught him how to apply it correctly. 

-By the time he was out of the hands of the commission *at least not in close reach* no one apart from them knew of his soulmate’s name. 

- “Now listen here Keigo, I want you to take good care of them when you finally meet them. And never forget that you deserve nice things, don’t let anyone take your happiness away.” 

-He did find his happiness. 

-It didn’t happen right away but it did come sooner than he expected. 

-He had learned about the new transfer student who began attending UA in the middle of the year. 

-He never heard their name but he knew they existed. 

-Turns out they were quirkless but were determined to become a hero despite their shortcomings. 

-After a few months he bumped into them and oh lord his wings have never been puffier. 

-He was  relaxing on the roof, away from prying eyes and loud people, just him and the birds *he found his people at last*.

-When he heard the door open he almost leaped off the building but paused at the sound of a soft voice. 

- “Oh I’m so sorry I didn’t know someone was up here.” 

-Turning around he came face to face with the most beautiful person he had ever laid his eyes upon. 

-For the first time in his life he stumbled over his words, a swift ‘It’s alright’ escaping his lips and before he knew what he was doing he was inviting you to sit with him. 

- “Wow you can see everything from here.” 

- “The view is better up in the sky if you ask me.”

-After a long pause he added. “I could show you if you want.” 

- “How can I trust you? Hmmm?” you teased. “I don’t even know your name.” 

-He let out a chuckle before continuing. “Could say the same for you but since I’m a gentleman I will grace you with my name. I’m Keigo Takami or Hawks if you wanna go with my hero persona.” 

-He saw your eyes widen as you stared at him, your eyes darting to his covered wrists. 

-Quickly you composed yourself straightening your shirt and extending your hand, the black letters of his name delicately engraved on your smooth skin. 

- “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N L/N.”  

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[rebelwrites]

I Call Dibs || Part One

Sonny Quinn x Reader || Jason Hayes x Sister Reader

Sonny Quinn Masterlist

Jason Hayes Masterlist

This Months Writing

A/N so this is heavy on the bond with Jason but the next part will be all Sonny and will be posted next week

You couldn’t wait to see your brother’s reaction, you told him that you wouldn’t be able to make his birthday bbq due to not getting back from deployment in time but that was a lie. You actually got back from deployment last night and were going to surprise him. It would also be the first time that you would meet his brothers as well so there was an extra buzz in the air. Well the rest of his brothers seen as you already knew Ray and Clay.

The sun was just starting to set as you arrived at Casa Da Hayes as you and Jase called it. And it was basically your second home, smiling to yourself as you pulled onto the drive, you knew your brother would end up losing his shit when he saw you.

Sonny was the first person to spot you, he was intrigued at who this new arrival was, and even more intrigued when he saw the bike roll up on the drive before the mystery female climbed off, keeping her back to the house as she took her helmet off and shaking her hair loose. It was safe to say she looked like an angel with the sun casting multiple shades of orange around her.

“Jase we got a new comer,” Sonny shouted, “you expecting anyone else?”

“Nope, everyone that could make it is here,” he nodded, passing Sonny a beer.

“Well whoever she is, I get first dibs as I spotted her first,” Sonny chuckled, making Jase look over in the direction of the driveway.

One look and he knew exactly who this mystery person was, causing his smirk to grow even wider.

“The little shit is all yours,” Jason laughed, punching his brother’s shoulder. “That’s if you can handle her,”

Sonny stared at Jason like he had grown a second head. “You know her?” He asked as he raised his brow at him.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t know her,” Jase said loud enough for you to hear.

“Feeling is mutual asswipe,” you smirked, flipping him off as you walked into the back garden. “Now I’ve been here for at least five minutes and I know you were watching me and I still don’t have a beer in my hand,”

“What did your last slave die of?” Jase laughed.

“I killed them because they were slacking,” you shrugged. “So if you want the same fate I would get me a beer.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw one of the lads just staring at you, making you roll your eyes. You could never go anywhere without being stared at. You were about to make some sarcastic comment when you felt yourself being flung backwards as a pair of strong arms wrapped around you.

All you saw was the messy blonde hair and knew exactly who it was.

“Alright shithead,” you laughed, pushing Clay off you.

“I don’t see you for god knows how long and this is how you treat me,” he pouted before hugging you tight.

“Wait, you know her?” Sonny asked.

“Unfortunately,” Clay laughed, “we went to school together,”

Finally Jase came back with a cold beer in his hand for you, before he got too close you ran up to him, jumping up and wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

“I miss you,” you laughed, as you hung around his neck like a koala bear. One thing you loved the most was the bond you and Jason had, it was a bond that would never be broken.

“It’s nice to see they released you from the prison,” Jase laughed, making Sonny raise his brow at the two of you.

“Yeah well they just got sick of me,” you shrugged as he placed you back on the floor.

“Anyway I thought you wouldn’t make it?” Jase asked.

“I lied,” you shrugged, “got back last night and thought I’d come and surprise you, oh and also I’m moving in with you for a bit, turns out that I was dating a pussy who couldn’t handle the pressure of my job, and I’m also transferring bases, but don’t worry I’m gonna be on Charlie or something because we know the world can’t handle us both being on the same team,”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“Nope,”

Sonny was just watching in amazement, he had never seen someone talk shit to Jason and then live to see the next day but there was something about you that was different. It wasn’t until you moved your hair and he saw the green dinosaur tattoo on the back of your neck that things started to add up. It was the same green dinosaur that Jase had tattooed on the middle of his shoulder blades.

“Well if it isn’t lieutenant Y/N Hayes!” Ray gasped, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

“I mean I was the last time I checked,” you laughed, as Ray pulled you into a tight hug. “It’s good to see you Perry,”

The night went on and you were now slightly tipsy from the amount of beers you were putting away. And over the course of the night you had gotten close to Sonny. Your stomach hurt from the amount he was making you laugh.

“So Jase never mentioned he had a little sister,” Sonny said.

“That’s because technically I outrank him so he doesn’t mention it to save his ego,” You laughed, instantly receiving a death stare from your brother. “And I’m the one that for all the of the good looks, it seems they missed Jase”

The temperature was starting to drop as the autumn nights started to roll in, Sonny noticed that you were starting to shiver and instantly pulled his hoodie off and threw it at you.

“What am I meant to do with this?” You asked, raising your brow.

“We’ll wear it you idiot,” he laughed, nudging your shoulder. “You were shivering,”

“Aren’t you sweet,” you giggled, grabbing his chin in your hand, squeezing it, making him shrug you off him. You couldn’t help but laugh as you pulled the hoodie on, the thing buried you but you were used to it from the many of Jason’s hoodies and T-shirt’s that were in your wardrobe.

“Don’t expect that back,” Jase laughed, “she has a thing of stealing people’s clothes, I think she has more of my hoodies than her own,”

One thing you had to admit was the smell of the hoodie was amazing, you had only known Sonny for a few hours but the connection was there. The flirty banter was on point and you could see yourself spending a lot of time with him.

He knew what your life was like as he lived it himself so at least there wouldn’t be arguments.

You didn’t know what was happening, you had never started to think about a future with a person when you had known them less then 24 hours but it was different with Sonny.

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