πβ tsukishima kei x f!reader
β synopsis: he hates your intelligence in classrooms and you hate his cunnigness at the court. both go at great lengths to defeat each other, but how is it that both of you were the only ones that can help each other be better?
β warnings: swearing, a bit suggestive, enemies to lovers (although kind of enemies)
You slam your paper on his desk.
Tsukishima barely flinches. He removes his headphones and hangs them on his neck, unbothered by your looming presence as he stares blankly at your paper. 96
The corners of his lips tug down, seemingly unimpressed. "Eh."
"Eh? Aw, is little Tsukishima disappointed at himself?"
He looks up at you, stares deeply into your eyes. And for a moment you'd think his domineering gaze would soften as he was overawed by you. But then he smiles, that annoying little shitty, narcissistic smile.
"Actually, not at all (l/n)," his smile is bright, almost genuine, but his sarcasm is radiating. "I got a 98. Not bad, though!"
You swear steam was coming off your body.
"96 at modern Japanese." He says. "Understandable."
"Understandable?!"
"Don't beat yourself up, (l/n). Not everyone's perfect," he leans back. "Not even me. I mean, I'm just being humble. But yeah, not everyone."
"I hate you," you take your paper off his desk.
"Flattered. Really, really flattered. Thank you for hating me, actually. I feel so honored to be hated." He puts his headphones back on and places his elbows on his desk, his chin resting on his joint fists. Tsukishima smiles at you again.
God, his smile is infuriating.
Tsukishima was someone you'd go to great lengths to defeat. He never bothered for your existence when first year began. He didn't even know your name; Didn't even look at your direction. He'd only known it a month later when you were paired to be partners and he decided to be such a condescending brat when he pointed out your handwriting.
At first you ignored it, took it by heart and started organizing your writings on your notes. Then he decided to put all his self-hatred on you and started to discreetly judge you.
Maybe he wasn't even judging you. Maybe he was just staring at your paper, scoffed to himself, shook his head and laughed because you got a better score than him and he was berating himself. But no, he laughed because he thought you were a tryhard and he was a prodigy.
Obviously none of those were confirmed. But he's a man and a man hates it when a woman's happy.
When he smirks you have the urge to rip his lips to pieces.
You walk away from him and sit on your desk, which was actually beside him.
His scent follows your flaring nostrils as you carefully shove your paper between the notebooks in your bag. Tsukishima looks out the window, hiding his smirk, his foot tapping lightly but never making sound. So you put your own headphones over your ears, in hopes to drown out his deafening aura.
π β
"Shit!"
Tsukishima's knees bends the wrong way and almost falls onto his back as he lands on the ground. The ball echoes across the court as it ricochets off the floor. You laugh loudly, and everyone looks at you.
"You're too advanced for the block, idiot!" You say loudly. Yamaguchi giggles.
He rolls his eyes at you as he chases for the ball. Kageyama sits beside you.
"You know he plays horribly when you're here."
"Oh?" You raise a brow. "Is he not used to a girl looking at her?"
Kageyama scratches his nose. "Probably 'cause he hates you."
You laugh lightly. "Kinda nice that I'm here. I get to see him fuck up."
Kageyama snorts. "He feels pressured 'cuz you're here."
"Oh? He said that?"
"No. But I can hear him think."
You laugh and wipe your sweat off. "I'd play with you guys, but his remarks could piss me off and I might, uh, shove that ball up his ass."
When Kageyama laughs again, quite loudly, Tsukishima's head snaps at the bench where you're sitting. Heat rises to his head, his stance losing its usual strength, his arms weakening as he watches youβ
Laughing, at some joke you said or Tobio said. Laughing heartily like someone just made the best joke in the world. The way your lips almost reach the wrinkles beneath your eyes. Oh, that's so funny Tobio. You're so funny you should quit volleyball and be a stand up comedian!
He knows you're talking shit about him, too. Idiot. Brat. Showoff.
He had the right to show off. He was better than you.
He was the better thinker; the better scorer.
Tsukishima is better than you.
I'm better than youβ
The ball hits the side of his face, his glasses flailing to the side.
The first thing that reaches his earsβyour sickening laugh. That monstrous, sadistic guffaw. Tanaka yells from the other side of the court and dives beneath the net to take a look at his face. Nishinoya hovers, hands on his knees, laughing.
"Pay attention, dumbass!" You cuff your hands over your mouth. "Stop daydreaming! It's embarrassing."
He bends to pick his glasses up. Alive, no cracks, frame not broken. He puts it on the bridge of his nose so that he could see your face clearly.
Hideously alluring.
"Do you think of scheming as daydreaming, (l/n)?" his voice, full of disdain, though hidden through feigned sweetness. "Like a child as always. Go back to middle school?"
"Do better at volleyball?"
"I ought to kick the both of you out this court," Daichi says loudly. "Oh wait I can't speak to (l/n) like that. S-sorry!"
Tsukishima sneers, his lips frowning. He approaches the rolling ball, watching as it hits the wall and propells back towards his awaiting feet. When he picks it up, he steals another glance at you talking to Kageyama.
The King and the Brat. The most annoying combination in the entirety of Karasuno campus.
Somehow, seeing you next to Kageyama and being given the nickname as if the two of you were a pair sends a tight rope around his chest that causes it to ache a little. Tsukishima huffs it out, an unsettling in his bones.
Please don't look at me.
The ball flies into the air, and his palm raises just in time to make contact with the ball.
He sees you watch from the corner of his eye, a blurried silhouette, but your figure was familiar enough for him to recognize you. His heart beats a little louder.
π β
No.
Shit. Fuck. No
God damnit. 74.
Tsukishima stares at his paper in horror. In his entire life, he has always gotten two digits on his scores. However, they had always been ninety onwards. Never in the line of sevens. He doesn't know if his horror is displayed across his face. He prays it doesn'tβhe would die if you saw his expression.
He leans sideways to the right, his eye darting towards the side to peak at your paper.
98.
The english language was something that was easy to learn but never easy in exams. Thisβdespite boasting that english was the easiest subjectβwas his weakness.
You're too preoccupied to notice his existence. Good.
He turns around to look at the green haired boy.
"Yamaguchi." He whisper-yelled. "Tadashi."
Yamaguchi looks up. "Yes?"
This was it. Years of built up pride, intelligence, boosted egoβ down the drain. As soon as he'd ask him the question, it would forever alter the image of himself towards his friend. Tsukishima was no longer the brainy four-eyes of the Karasuno Volleyball Club.
He would now be Tsukishima, the idiot four-eyes.
Maybe I'm overreacting.
He stands up and sits beside the empty chair next to Yamaguchi.
"How- What's your score?"
Yamaguchi looks puzzled as he glances at his paper. "E-eighty eight."
God, this is depressing.
"Um," Tsukishima scratches the back of his neck. "Could you help me with English?"
There it is. His face says it all.
"Don't you evenβ"
"You, Tsukishima Kei, asking for my help?" He laughs incredulously. "Are you sure? What's your score?"
"Don't want to talk about it."
"Aw, c'mon Tsukki." He pouts playfully like comforting a weeping baby. "I'm sure it's not that bad."
Tsukishima tells him in a low voice. He never thought he could hate Yamaguchi's laugh. But he did, right after he laughed at his score. It wasn't even a failing grade.
"You know who should tutor you though?" He puts his paper in his bag. "(l/n). She's good, y'know. I heard her speak english once. I thought she was from, uh, some foreign country or something."
"She's not even that good." Tsukishima takes off his glasses and wipes it with the corner of his uniform. "She's good with memory but she forgets it right after the quiz like a ditz."
Yamaguchi snorts. "She's the one who got the best score out of all of us."
"Yeah, no thanks. I'd never let her teach me."
"I think you're forgetting I'm right here in front of you." You turn around, placing your elbow and forearm on the back of your chair and look at Tsukishima. "I can teach you."
Tsukishima scoffs. "No thanks. I'd rather repeat freshman year."
"Are you sure?" you pout, placing your chin on the back of your hand. "I can teach you, little Tsukishima."
"I'm not little."
"Yeah but your brain is."
"Yamaguchi, help me out here."
He can't ask for your help. Never ever. Never will he ever ask for your help. Tsukishima can study this himself. He's always studied by himself. He's never needed anyone, and certainly not you. He was independent, cunning as everyone says. Tsukishima does not need tutors.
Up until now.
"Please help Tsukishima study," Yamaguchi looks at you. "He's too prideful to ask but he really needs your help."
Tsukishima stammers. "T-that's not what I meant!"
"Aw, is this true?" You're taunting him. He feels like a child.
"I can study by myself. Fuck off."
You smile at him. In a way that he can't read. It was soft, almost kind, like you wanted to help him wholeheartedly and wanted his english to improve. Then he looked into your eyes and all the kindness in your smile had been washed away by this pity in your eyes that you enjoyed. Tsukishima huffs.
"No need to be shy about asking for help, little Tsukki," you coo. "We'll study in the locker room while everyone else plays. You're skipping practice today."
Tsukishima zips his bag and stands up. He towers over you, covering the sun that blinds you through the glass window. He looks down at your eyesβteasing, condescending eyes. His lips are turned to a frown, which makes you smile even more.
"I'm not skipping practice."
"Too bad. You are. You know, if you let me help you, you'd stop having that distraught face everytime you get your english paper." You take a step closer, neck bent backwards to look up at him. "Yeah, I saw your face."
Yamaguchi nudges his arm. "C'mon, Kei. Ask for her help. You know you need it. Don't be so prideful."
Tsukishima growls. He doesn't say anything yet, all the confidence in him washed away by a score that wasn't even a failing grade. His palm rubs the space between his eyebrows and mumbles:
"Help me."
You lean in, ear towards him. "Couldn't hear that. Sorry?"
"Help me study."
"Are you commanding me or asking?"
"Please help me study."
"Don't mumble, Tsukishima."
"Damn it!" He groans. "Please help me, dearest (l/n)." His voice drips in sarcasm, peering at you through his scratched lenses. "Help me get a better grade at english. Help me stop myself from strangling you! Idiot!"
You lean back, the bottom of your spine resting on your table as your left hand props you up. Tsukishima is almost seething, his eyes widened a little as his anger seethes through his nostrils. You hum, pretend to think, then slap his right cheek twice lightly.
"How kind of you to ask, little Tsukki." You wrinkle your nose at him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "See you at the locker room."
When you leave, his head turns to Yamaguchi who smiles innocently. Tsukishima almost strangles him instead.
πβ
The boys are thirty minutes late to practice. Including Daichi.
"It's the sequence of the words, Tsukishima," you point your pen at his test paper. "The spelling's no problem. You're good at it. It's just with how you've formed them together."
They all sit behind the two of you, watching silently. Tsukishima is red from embarrassment as he ignores them.
"What's so wrong about this sequence? It sounds correct."
"Just because it sounds correct doesn't mean that it is correct."
Hinata snorts. Tsukishima's head snaps at it. "Don't snort, dumbass. Last time I checked you got a twenty at your exam."
"You hit a nerve there, Shoyo," Kageyama giggles.
You sigh and slap your hands at your thighs. "Sawamura-san, why are you guys even here?"
He stammers, his back straightening as he fixes his bag on his left shoulder. "JusβJust wanted to make sure you two will be fine. Let's go guys."
When they leave, Tsukishima relaxes in relief. He stares intensely at his notebook, figuring out the correct answer. You try not to laugh at him, but the sight was entertaining; seeing him suffer brought your heart at ease.
"Figured it out, moron?" You bring your own notebook out, flipping it to the last page you'd written on. "It's really not that hard."
"Shut up, (l/n.)" he says. You make a small sound, similar to "okay!" As you begin to write down on a blank page.
And you're like that for a few hours.
Tsukishima answers the questions you've written for him, and when he asks you for help, you cordially help him without telling him the answers. Then you both go back to formidable silence, doing your own perspective works.
He almost enjoys this newfound environment created with you. Somehow, his body is more tranquil, but at the same time his mind is racing, because you're here. Tutoring him. Tsukishima has always believed that he was one step ahead of you, making sure you were unable to catch up with him. But now he's slipped from that step and you've caught up and you're deriding him.
Nonetheless, you're his only hope right now.
He looks at you.
Your hair is tucked behind your ears and your teeth are currently creating dents at the eraser of your pencil. You're concentrating, seeming like you've forgotten that he's sitting in front of you. And Tsukishima's eyes are extremely blurred, but when he looks at you through the gap between his glasses and forehead, your face was somehow clearer.
"Are you a dog?" he raises a brow. "Don't chew on your pencil."
You huff like you're being scold and place your pencil down. But the chewing didn't last a second as your bottom lip is now tucked between your teeth. Tsukishima rolls his eyes.
"Here," he flips his paper and shows it to you. "Did I do it correctly?"
You take the paper from him and read it. He hopes you're at least slightly impressed, that you're not arbitrating his answers nor think they're half-assed. When your red pen moves into a slant, the corner of his lip twitches upwards. But when you circle the number, he has this urge to shove that pen into your eye.
"Hm, not bad. But not enough." you flip the paper.
70.
Four points less.
"Damn it." You can tell he's disappointed at himself. "You suck at teaching."
"Excuse me?!" Your eyebrows furrow. "Hey, I've spent the past four hours teaching you here, stickhead. The sun's almost down!"
"Do you have to go home already?" He asks. You shrug. "Then we can stay here until they're done with practice."
"Tsukishima, I have freshly cooked doburi waiting for me at home. Do you know what donburi is? Do you know what it tastes like while it's still hot? Fucking donburi, Tsukishima." You whine. "Would you like to study at my place instead?"
You seem to not have processed what you've offered, but Tsukishima has. He's surprised at your comment, watching you look so desperate to get home and eat that "fucking donburi." He waits for a moment until you realize and you do, but it seemed like you didn't care when you lean back and raise a brow.
"Well?"
"Sure."
His quick, almost unhesitant compliance surprises you. Tsukishima adjusts his glasses and brings his headphones out as you both head out the door. You lock it behind you, with Tsukishima already walking ahead.
You pass by the gym. "Sawamura, everyone, we're heading out!"
Tsukishima appears beside you. "We're going."
"To where?" Yamaguchi approaches you both. "Are you going to eat out? Ooh, can you bring food back here?"
"We're going to her place to study." He answers. "We can't come back."
The others seem to hear what he said, because Hinata yells: "What kind of studying are you going to do, Stingyshima?"
"Something that your tiny shit-for-brains can't comprehend." He retorts. "Focus on your receives, squirt!"
You wave to everyone and catch a glimpse of Yamaguchi's smile. You roll your eyes at him and poke your tongue out.
π β
The way home was quieter than you expected.
Mainly because Tsukishima had his headphones on and all you hear was your un synchronous footsteps on the stoned sidewalk. You take small looks at your peripherals to see what he's doing. And, well, he's walking... like every other normal person.
But you're walking side by side and there's this space between you that's so close but also so far away. You feel his heat touching the fabric of your shirt, his hand twitching and just barely grazing yours. Then he speaks:
"You walk like a penguin," he says. "Why are you like that?"
"Why are you so annoying?" you roll your eyes. "I don't point out how you walk."
"That's because there's nothing wrong with my walk," he puts his headphones down, hangs them around his neck. "What? Got a stick up your ass or something?"
"I'll stab you with that stick."
"Gross."
You turn a corner and he follows suit like it was normal for him to follow you around. When you stop in front of your gate and unlock it, he bore no unhestiance as he removed his shoes and entered your home.
There was no one else around. And as soon as Tsukishima entered, you disappeared in his vision. Although, he hears you yell from afar: "Set your bag wherever. Stay in the living room though!"
He assumes you're either changing your clothes, getting a bowl of donburi, or both. He obeys, sets his bag on the floor and sits cross legged on the carpet of your living room, taking his notes out. He sees the sun inching away behind the roofs of the houses near by, waiting for you patiently.
And then his eyes roam to picture frames.
Never would he think that a picture of you smiling would be so endearing. That smile of yours, painting you an angelic aura, like people would never expect that you'd be the devil's descendant. Nonetheless, you were still beautiful.
The picture was you in a ponytail, face doused in sweat; the background, although blurry and dark, looked familiar. But Tsukishima was more focused on your gleaming smile, the way your eyes are almost closed and your lips were pale and your teeth were shiny.
"Hey, douchebag," you sit beside him despite the free space on the opposite of the coffee table, setting down two bowls of donburi. And yes, you had changed your clothes into something comfier. "Let's eat and study."
He never expected that you'd get him a bowl, thought that he'd have to ask or drop hints of him wanting donburi. He takes it though, and it is freshly cooked. He now understood your eagerness to go home.
An hour passes by.
The bowls are empty and set aside. Tsukishima's notes are scattered, hair disheveled from him constantly running his fingers through them. That string of hatred between you has been put aside as you both seem to tolerate one another through this session.
"Tsukishima," you say, almost sternly, placing two cartons of strawberry milk on the table. "It's easy to determine an adverb in Japanese. It's no different in identifying it in English."
"I know that, dumbass. What are you, a consciousness?" He takes his box, taking the plastic off the straw and shoving it on the circular foil. "Gimme yours."
He takes your carton and shakes it before doing the same and handing it to you. You blush vehemently, murmuring your gratitude and wrapping your lips around the paper straw.
Tsukishima's eyes wander out of boredom, tracing every corner and every ridge of your home. Until his eyes land on the sliding door to your backyard and catch a glimpse of that familiar blue and yellow ball.
"You play volleyball?" he queries, both his eyebrows raising.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Back in middle school."
"Bet you were shit at it."
"I was a middle blocker."
Tsukishima's back straightens, staring at you in hidden surprise. "At that height?"
"I'm not that short! Asshole," you throw your pen at him. He catches it with ease, setting it beside his notebook.
"Why aren't you in the women's volleyball club, then?" his brow raises. "Too short? They didn't take you? Failed the tryouts?"
You look down at your fingers, covered in peeled up skin and charred fingernails. You feel embarrassed, avoiding his eager stare. You sense his want to know your reason, radiating off his eyes.
"Not saying," you push yourself up, now standing in front of him. Tsukishima's eyes follow you, trailing uo from your thighs up to your neck, his irises darkening until he meets your gaze. "Get up. Time to go home."
"Let's play."
You stammer. "W-what? It's late."
"And I want to see you play." Tsukishima stands, hovering over you. "It's only nine in the evening."
You purse your lips, arms going limp on either side of your tired body. Though despite being worn out, you walk towards the door and slide it open, being greeted by Miyagi's brumal air that raises the hairs on your body. Tsukishima tugs on the sleeves of his sweater, covering half of his fingers, before following you out.
Barefoot in the evening, with the moon casting a pearlescent glow on your enervated bodies, the thump of the leather ball is in sync with your beating heart; and at each thump, it seems to wake Tsukishima up more.
"Tell me why you're not in the women's volleyball club," he sets it towards your direction.
"No." Your wrists join, your right fingers placing themselves on top of your left fingers, both thumbs settled side by side as your wrist ricochet the ball towards him. "It's none of your business."
Tsukishima catches it with ease. "You're lame."
You scoff, returning the ball. "I am not."
The blue and yellow ball floats into the evening air, the bright colors darkened by the stygian sky, only luminated by the moon and the lights outside your backyard. Tsukishima sets it to you again. "Listen, I don't really care about whatever your reason is. I just want to know."
You huff. There's no harm in telling your enemy a secret of yours, right? It's not like he was popular enough to go on and tell people. And like he said, he didn't care.
The ball comes in contact with your wrists. "I got injured. Well, not seriously injured. I can still play but I'm not as good as I used to be." Tsukishima catches the ball and rests it on his hip, listening to you explain. "I actually got a surgery at my calf."
You lift your pajamas just below your knee, showing the healed scar at the back of your calf. "The bone got dislocated 'cause one of my teammates smashed onto my leg when she was trying to save the ball. She got injured too, actually."
"Obviously," he retorts, now staring at your calf. Something about Tsukishima staring at your scar seemed too intimate as it should be, staring at your bare skin. His blonde hair drapes over his forehead, glasses glinting in the moonlight. "So where do you struggle?"
"Blocking. I can't jump properly." You scratch the back of your neck. "I can set though. Just, it's not in my heart."
"It's just a club," he says. "Play whatever position you want." Tsukishima sets the ball to you again.
"Just a club, huh?" You smirk. "Why'd you fail your test?"
"Because I was thinking too much of what I was gonna do when I'm at court again."
"And it's just a club."
"What's it to you?" He snaps. "At least I'm in the Volleyball club. Have I taken your dream?"
"You're a child."
"Yeah yeah. Join the club or whatever. Don't care if you don't or you want to."
You set it back to him again. "I want to."
Tsukishima senses your melancholy longing for the sport, sees your disheartened look as you think about all the chances you've lost. His heart twinges just the slightest, holding the ball between his slender hands. He almost pities you.
"Tell you what," he sets it to you. "If I pass the retest tomorrow, I'll help you with your blocking. If not," he shrugs, catching your return, "good luck with your life."
"You sound like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." You roll your eyes.
Tsukishima hopes he passes the retest tomorrow.
Mainly because it was import to him to ace it. Partly because he wanted to see you on court.
π β
100.
You read Tsukishima's answers. In the fluorescent lights, his neat handwriting presents to you all the knowledge he's obtained from your chaotic teachings. He scoffs proudly, resting his lower back on the edge of his table.
"Not bad, nerd." You hand his paper to him. "And you beat me by two points."
"That's because you're an idiot," he sits down on his chair, though still facing you. "See you at the gym later."
Your brows furrow. "The gym's closed. Coach Ukai said today's rest day."
"But I'm not Coach Ukai," he fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "It's just for today. And only today."
"Fine," you agree. You act like you're forced to say yes, but deep inside the vessels of your heart and every part of your brain, they throb with excitement.
So you meet Tsukishima outside the gym after class in a white shirt and gym shorts. He meets you there, clad in the same outfit, heat radiating off his body that warms your always cold flesh. For a moment he admires observes you, your attire unfamiliar but nevertheless appealing hideous.
When you enter, the court seemed bigger without the boys rousing around the court. It was quieter, no shoes squeaking, no balls slammed, no eager yelling. You set your bag down on the floor and see your untied shoe laces.
"Fuck," you mutter.
But before you could bend down, Tsukishima has already knelt in front of you.
His knee rests on the tip of your shoe, fingers ribboning the laces of your rubber shoes. Your eyes widen, body stiffening, and it felt like forever as he tied it (it was actually only 10 seconds).
"You're a dumbass for leaving your shoelaces untied." He makes no comment as to why he's decided to tie your laces, but you swear you see his ears turn a twinge of pink.
Tsukishima takes a ball and goes to the other side of the court. When you stand opposite from him, he rolls the ball to your direction.
"How long has it been since you've played?" he asks, loudly, voice echoing across the empty gymnasium.
"Uh, a year and a half." The ball bounces between your palm and the squeaky floor. "I'm a little rusty."
"You are rusty. Your receives were shit last night."
You growl at his tease.
"We're not gonna start with the blockings. We have to start from the beginning." Tsukishima positions himself, knees bent and apart, his hands on his knees. "Serve it."
So you do. You toss the ball into the air, your hand striking as it meets the ball, and it flies across the net. It goes outside.
"Idiot." Tsukishima laughs. "First, don't try to aim it to me. You don't want your opponents to save it. You have to aim it at an open spot inside the line. Second, don't serve too hard it goes outside."
"Okay!" You yell. And you serve again.
The ball grazes the net, but the momentum deems the ball to be inside the line. Tsukishima catches it and receives it back to your side.
Shit.
You race after the ball, joined wrists hitting it back to him. He dives, the back of his hand coming contact with the ball and it goes back to your court.
And it's high in the air, so you take the chance to bend your knees and jump, spiking it to his court.
Tsukishima blocks it.
He laughs. "You're horrible at this."
"I don't exactly have a libero to save it, don't I?" You retort.
Tsukishima smiles a little, laughing at your loss point. "Give me the ball." You roll it to his side. "I want you to try and block me."
"The net is higher than it is for girls, you know." You approach the net. "I'll have a hard time."
"The higher you jump, the better you can block the ball. And you'll even have an advantage against your enemies since you're practicing with a higher net, (y/n)." He dribbles the ball.
Tsukishima called you by your first name.
Not your surname, not some insulting nickname. Your first name.
Your knees weaken at the sound of his voice dropping the phonemes of your name.
But when he flings the ball upwards, you feel your body go rigid. And just before his incoming ball passes through the net, you jump, fingers stopping the ball.
But the ball doesn't go to his side, instead it falls down below the net, at your side. You land clumsily on your feet, ankle bending but not painfully.
"See, you got it. You just have to jump higher."
"Shut up, you stilt walking clown." Your leg throbs, shaking. "Hit it again."
"See this?" Tsukishima brings his hands in the air, his arms and hands bent inward. "You block like this. Don't straighten your arms. It sets the ball upwards and they get the point since you're last touch. Block me again."
You kick the ball to his direction. Tsukishima springs the ball into the air once more, his arm flinging back when he jumps and strikes the ball towards you.
Filled with adrenaline, you jump as high as you could, your chest as high as the edge of the net, arms and hands bent inward as you block the ball and ricochet it towards him.
He doesn't do anything and watches the ball roll outside the court. Tsukishima's eyes shoot up and look at you, the corner of his lips bent downwards in amusement.
"Not bad. Try harder though."
You snarl at him.
Hours pass and you're both drenched in sweat. His shirt sticks to his chest, his hair damp across his forehead. He's wiping his face with a towel and his glasses rest on top of his hair. You drink from your water bottle.
The sweat drips down the tip of his nose, golden eyes drowsy yet vigorous with adrenaline. His lips are parted to pant out tired breaths, his adam's apple bobbing, the veins of his arms protruding. And he's sitting at the same bench as yours.
You swallow the liquid in your mouth.
"One day of practice isn't enough to get me into the club, Tsukishima." you say, wiping your mouth. "Thanks for teaching me though."
Tsukishima sets his towel down. "It's whatever. Your receives are go-fine, anyway. And you're really not that tall enough to block. You're hopeless."
"I wish Hinata was here to say that so he could yell at you."
Hinata. Tsukishima feels something uncomfortable rise to his chest when you mention his name.
And it seems as though you have summoned that tiny tangerine devil.
"Oh, Kageyama! The lights are open, someone must be here," your head turns and see that Hinata's hair pokes out the door before his head fully goes in. His eyes roam around until they find you. "Oh! (y/l/n)-san!"
"Hinata," you smile kindly. "Why are you guys still here? There's no training today."
"Tanaka-san said we can train for as much as we want as long as we don't tell Sawamura." he hops inside, Kageyama following suit behind him, unzipping his jacket. "What are you doing here, Stingyshima?"
"None of your business." He replies, irritation dripping off his sharp tongue from the nickname. "What do you think we were doing? Playing kendama?"
"I wouldn't mind playing kendama," Hinata looks at Kageyama, who shrugs. "Can we join?"
"Hopeless child," Tsukishima rubs his face with his towel again. "It's getting late. We should go home."
His usage of plural rather than sigular denotes that his usual selfishness has been decreased due to your unwavering presence, having been spent multiple hours with you for the past two days than usual. Tsukishima has easily adapted to include you in whatever he was going to do next.
We should go home.
"Aw, well, can you leave us the keys?" Hinata asks you. Tsukishima shoves the keys in the small boy's hand. "Thank you, Stingyshima!"
Tsukishima slings his bag over his shoulder, approaching the exit. He looks at Kageyama. "Fix your sets, your Majesty. You wouldn't want to clip the wings of Karasuno now, would you?"
You can see the smirk formed in his face. Kageyama is fuming, his fists clenching. "Youβ I...β You piece of shiβ Hnmghβ You dumbass! Hinata!"
"Why me?!"
Tsukishima walks away without waiting for you, although you follow suit behind him. And when you reach the school gates, he turns right rather than leftβand his way home begins with him turning left.
Yours was to the right.
"You gonna walk me home?" You joke, finally catching up behind him. Your weary legs has made you walk slower, though enough to now keep up with Tsukishima's tired pace.
"Yes."
Tsukishima doesn't spare a glance at you. But you look at him in shock. Then you shoot him an upsidedown smile, humming.
"No longer Stingyshima, I see."
"I ought to leave you here and get kidnapped." He states bluntly, finally looking down at you through his peripherals.
"Why are you walking me home then?"
"Because I want to take a long walk."
"Yeah sure, whatever." Your hands meet behind you, hitting the top of your bottom at every step you take. "You wanted to take a long walk. Could've gone to the park, could've roamed around your street. But yeah, you're walking me home so you could have a long walk back to your home."
Tsukishima tuts, his arms crossing. "Are you implying something, (y/n)?"
Your first name. Again.
"Oh, I'm not implying anything!" Your eyebrows raise, looking fully at him. And Tsukishima turns his head and looks at you as he walks. "I'm just stating what I've observed, Tsukki."
"Don't call me that."
"Okay!" You turn to your gate. When you reach inside the small box and pull on the lever of your door, you sense that Tsukishima is still standing behind you wth his hands in his pockets, watching you intently. So you turn around when the gate unlocks. "Yes? Do you need to use my bathroom first? Want a carton of milk or something?"
"No." He says. "Get in already."
You rest your back at your gate. "Tell me the real reason why you walked me home."
"No."
"So you lied to me earlier?"
"N-no."
"So what is it?"
Tsukishima sighs. Then he takes a few steps, approaching you and bends down so that his face would be equal to yours.
His scent is sweet, like freshly picked strawberries. And his lips, though thin, was soft and pink. And the tip of his nose grazes just above yours. And his golden eyes narrow to gaze at every speck of your irises. The corner of his lip turns upwards.
"That shut you up." He says. You blush, and he seems to taunt you. "Still want to play volleyball?"
His breath is hot fanning over your cold face. You can't help but nod. You swallow thickly from the close proximity that Tsukishima has created.
"Okay. Well, I still need help with english. And you obviously still need help with volleyball. So you reap what you sow. We'll help each other."
Tsukishima says those words like they're a command. Like they're being read from sacred scriptures. An event waiting to be happened for a prophecy to be fulfilled. Tsukishima's tone was flat but his voice deemed importance.
"Okay," was all you managed to let out through a breath. "See you tomorrow?"
Tsukishima stands up, eyes you up and down. Then looks into your eyes again and you swear that his gaze softens.
"See you tomorrow."
πβ
A few weeks pass by.
At mornings, Tsukishima has come to pick you up and you studied on the way to Karasuno. You spend your lunches together, along with Yamaguchi, as well as Hinata and Kageyama whoβwhile also bickering like childrenβlisten to whatever you teach Tsukishima.
After classes, you find yourself joining the boys at the volleyball club, with Tsukishima helping you practice your blocks and receives. Though you notice that the boys take their strengths down a notch, which you are somewhat grateful for β because they truly are strong, and you're not ready to catch up to their level yet.
And at nights, Tsukishima walks you home with a milk carton in hand and sharp remarks in his mouth.
There's still a thick smoke of hatred that covers the both of you, that string of annoyance wrapped around your fingers. Yet as days pass by, that smoke has been thinning at every civil interaction. Albeit that annoyance still lingered.
And until today, that smoke has turned into this very light fog, until you begin to question why you hated Tsukishima in the first place.
Your phone vibrates.
tsukishima. Where are you? 8:32am
you. almost there. forgot my bag at home. 8:33am
tsukishima. Hurry up. It's cold outside. 8:33am
you. will do. sorry :| Read at 8:34am
Tsukishima is standing outside the gates of Karasuno, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed as you quickened the pace of your walk.
"You're so slow it's annoying," his eyebrows furrow. "Why'd you forget your bag? Idiot."
"You pressure me, douchebag." You flick the bridge of his glasses. He yelps. "Hurry. I want to study already. We have a quiz at 9."
When you and Tsukishima sit on your respective seats, you quiz each other with lazily scribbled flash cards. He seems to have absorbed the passed on knowledge and had answered the questions with ease.
So after the quiz, he seemed content; confident.
"How well did you think you did, beanpole?" You zip your bag.
"Well enough to beat your ass," he replies. Then, he does something new.
He smiles at you.
It wasn't a bright smile. Not energetic, but radiates some kind of light happiness. Seemed like a smile of gratitude.
You feel your cheeks flare.
After classes, you meet outside the gym as always, both of you changed into training clothes. Then you spend hours and hours jumping and tiring your wrists out, squeaking your shoes off the floor.
By the time the sun has set, Tsukishima was waiting for you again.
"Let's study."
Your eyes widen and you look startled. Tsukishima looks bored. "I'm pretty sure you got yourself covered for the rest of the year, Tsukishima."
"And I don't think you can train by yourself in volleyball," he adjusts his bag. "Let's just study. Reap what you sow."
"You keep saying that."
He ignores you. "Let's study at my place."
"E-excuse me?"
Tsukishima begins to walk to his direction. And despite your reaction, you follow him either way. "Let's study at my place for a change. I'm sick of your living room."
He says it like he's spent years hanging out in your living room. Your feet runs on the cobblestone to catch up with him. "But- What else are we gonna study?"
"Whatever I want."
His house wasn't actually that far from the campus. When you've turned a corner, he opens the gate and lets you in. When you enter his home, it's warm and clean, so you set your shoes aside and walk in your socks.
No one's home.
Tsukishima could've led you to their living room. Instead, he goes directly to his bedroom. And when you don't move, he looks at you through the door with a raised brow, as if to say "well? why aren't you getting in?"
So you do.
You sit on the edge of his bed, watching him unzip his jacket and set it aside. You decide to stop acting so wary and let you back fall to his bed, taking your phone out.
"So when are your tryouts?"
You look at him, placing your phone on your chest. "Next week. Michimiya was nice enough to let me try this late into the school year."
"I'll be there." He sits down on the other side of his bed.
"Oh," you're stunned. "Okay. Um, what do you want to study?"
You pull yourself up until your whole body is on his bed, sitting up and resting your back at his headboard. Tsukishima brings his legs to the bed, resting them beside your socked feet.
"Chemistry." This is new. "Can you run me through it?"
And you do. You take your notebook our and run him by all the lessons discussed for the past week. Tsukishima's pretends to listen but he actually doesn't.
Instead he's staring at your scar at your leg, up and down your very exposed thigh, but mostly at your scar.
You notice this immediately. "Tsukishima, why are you staring at my scar?"
"It's Kei," he looks at you, his hand resting just beside your calf, index finger twitching to trace the ridges of your scar. "Call me Kei."
Kei.
"Okay, Kei."
Your voice, filled with dulcets, his name sounding mellifluous as it rolls of your tongue. Tsukishima's heart beats wildly, and has decided to come with the terms that he hates youβ because he likes you.
"Your scar looks... cool..." his index finger finally sets on the soft skin of your healed wound. You shiver at his featherlight touch.
And he's so near you now. As near as that time he walked you home and bent down to your height. And gods, he was so handsome. Even with his scratched glasses. Your mouth gapes the slightest, shaking hands reaching to remove the spectacles off his nose.
Tsukishima lets you. You see sweetness of his stare, all that hatred you used to see seemed to have melted and dripped from his sweat. This kind of Tsukishima is newβ foreign, yet seemed right. Seemed destined to happen.
"Kei," you murmur. "What are you doing?"
"Is your skull too thick to process your environment?" his laugh leaves him in a huff, smirking.
"You're so eager for me to teach you something you're already good at so you could keep training me," your brows meet in the middle the slightest, a crease on your forehead that Tsukishima wants to wipe away. "Why?"
"Because you're good, (y/n)." He declares. "Your injury isn't stopping you to perform your best. You're just scared."
"Then why not just train me without me having to tutor you?"
"Because I don't want to lose these kind of moments." he whispers. "Jesus, (y/n), I like you. It's why I brought you here, for fuck's sake."
His lips are warm compared to his cold hands.
You gasp, though eyes fluttering shut, and your eyelashes tickle his soft cheeks. Your fingers wrap around his wrist as he holds your delicate face in the palm of his hands, careful not to hurt you as his lips remain planted on yours.
When Tsukishima pulls away, he's not far from you. His lips hover over yours, breathing your air, his forehead resting just slightly on yours. Your fingers come up to tangle themselves on his silky hair.
"Lose moments like what, make out with me?" you giggle. "If you wanted to make out, Kei, just tell me."
"You never shut up, do you?"
His lips meet yours again in an open mouthed kiss, his tongue unabashed to graze your shy muscle. You hum in surprise, feeling yourself fall backwards when he gently cradles your head to rest on his sweet-scented pillow.
Somehow, you did meet up with your end of the bargain, only with something better.
Something betterβ like his hips slanted against yours as his mouth spreads shameless ardor across your body.
Something betterβ like how he whispers your name against your lips like a sacred prayer before he kisses you again carefully.
Something betterβ like a newfound relationship with Tsukishima Kei, someone you swore was your enemy, but now was someone you could spend your days with in his bed getting warm in ways fire couldn't.
Tsukishima looks into your eyes, tells you his secrets through his dilating pupils. His calloused fingers push your hair behind your ears, and then he kisses your forehead, followed by silk petal kisses on the plump of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and then your lips.
His hands wander beneath your shirt, palms no longer cold as they're heated by the fervor of your body.
"You're so pretty."
"What a sap." you tease. "You're in love with me."
"I am." His nose rubs against yours lightly. "I so am. I'm in love with a dumbass. My ego has exploded."
You hit his face with a pillow.
reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!
Ok so this is a big theory I have for season five so just bear with me and if you donβt understand just nod and smile. π
Ok so I believe that when max wakes up in from her little coma she is either gonna be A) Blind or B) Not blind. So what I am thinking is that she will wake up after a while and then boom she is gonna be Max blind or not.
But I believe that when she wakes up she would not remember anything about Hawkins Indiana. So that means she would not remember El, Lucas, Will, Dustin anybody. Like she wouldnβt even remember moving there in the fist place. She would believe that her mom and step father are still together, and sadly that Billy is still alive. Then she would have to learn about the upside down agian and we all know how that went in season two so itβs gonna be difficult for her to comprehend.
Anyways these are only theories let me know what you think and
!NO NEGATIVE COMENETS!
The Lost Boys (1987) dir. Joel Schumacher
Bucky: hey y/n
Y/n: yes?
Bucky: you have some pretty nice legs
Y/n: uh thanks?
Bucky: theyβll look even nicer wrapped around my-
Steve: WRAPPED AROUND IN SOME BLANKETS WHILE LAYING IN BED MHMM
//slight suggestiveness// dwayne and paul ur fav facebook couple π ft other online shenanigans
Yandere Serial Killer(s)
Your mother always warned you to never give rides to strangers, but the hitchhiker you run into seems harmless. What's the worst that can happen? Tags: implied noncon
Things originally start well. You and your buddies piled into your roommate's Jeep, roof down, pop music blasting. You're the driver - always the responsible one - hair tied back and sunglasses on the edge of your nose. You're all dressed for summer. Bikini tops and board shorts, smeared with sunscreen - the picture of college fun.
It starts well and keeps going even better. You're all in high spirits. Flushed and happy and young. Picking up the hitchhiker seems like a good idea. You see that he's handsome and around your age, that he's got an easy smile and a guitar on his back. You see that and nothing else. Not the too quick eyes, not the surprisingly light backback. Nothing.
He ends up riding shotgun, talking to you about classes and shitty professors. Smiling just a little every time you shift gears and your hand brushes his thigh.
You like him. You're the only single in the car so it's natural that he spends the most time talking to you. Lord knows it's hard to keep a conversation going with a couple when they look like they'd rather be tonsil deep in each other's throats.
You like him and you get the feeling he likes you too. When you stop at a sleazy motel for the night, he invites you to eat dinner with him outside his room. All your friends are off doing what couples do best - getting cosy in the hot tub, testing the speeds on the vibrating bed, finding new and interesting ways to use the ice machine. So you're glad for the company.
Mostly.
You're almost done eating when he pops the question.
"Why don't you have a boyfriend?"
You look away from him. Take in the greasy boxes of takeout on the concrete, the neon red wash of the vacancy sign spelling across the parking lot. It's not an easy question. It brings up ugly memories.
"I used to have one. Things ended...badly. He's in Cook County Corrections now. Serving fifty to life."
He gives a low whistle.
"That bad huh? You ever go to see him?"
"No. Never."
He stretches out, folds his hands behind his head and looks up at the dull scattering of stars.
"You should. It gets lonely in there. A guy could use the pick me up, especially if the visitor is a pretty thing like you."
You shiver despite the balmy summer air.
"I'd rather not. I'll be happy to never see his face again."
Thankfully, he drops the subject. You go back to talking about awful first dates and the best dishes to order at a Chinese restaurant. He's a complete gentleman but you can't help the slight relief you feel when he stands to leave.
" 'Night gorgeous."
"Good night, stranger."
In the morning you walk out to see him reading the early paper. He crumples and tosses it before you can catch the headline.
" 'Morning. How did you sleep?"
You shrug. "Not the best. I swear these kinds of places all get their beds from the same supplier. Lumpy Mattresses Inc."
He grins. "Don't forget their trusty partner Damp and Musty Carpets LTD."
Your friends are slow to wake up and groggy when they do. Most of them nursing nasty hangovers. You and the hitchhiker have most of the morning to eat breakfast and shoot the breeze together. When it's time to leave, he takes his place in the passenger seat like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"I couldn't find any newspapers," one of your friends complains when you're back on the road.Β Β
"I wanted to see the football results."
"Eagles beats the Rams in the final playoff," the hitchhiker says.
"Aww man. Where'd you get a paper from?"
"I must have gotten lucky. Staff is 'sposed to leave the local paper at reception. Guess they must not have the budget anymore."
You stay quiet but something doesn't feel quite right about that statement.
The day passes fast. Your playlist is a lot more mellow, on account of the many lingering headaches. Still, you think there's nothing quite as fine as the open road. It's only near evening when the trouble starts.
"Shit. I can't find our reservations."
You look at your friends in the rear view mirror. They've already pulled apart two backpacks trying to find the papers. You can't help feeling irritated. The one thing you asked them to take care of...
You pull over and search the Jeep from top to bottom. Unpack almost everything. Check and then recheck your pockets. Nothing.
"I'm really sorry y/n. On the phone they said we needed the copies to check in. Maybe we can still stop by and get it sorted with the front desk but..."
You can here the unspoken thought in their words. You're all thinking the same thing - that hotels can get so uptight when their potential guests are rowdy students with still bloodshot eyes. You worry at your nail, thinking. You paid the fees in advance so maybe if you showed them your credit card...
"My friend has a cabin not far from here," the hitchhiker says. "Pretty big place. He'd be happy to let us crash there for the night."
You bite your lip. It's a two hour drive to the hotel. And if they turn you away you'll be off the beaten path with almost no cash, on a near empty petrol tank.
"You think he'd mind letting us sleep on his couch?" you ask. "We'll be well-behaved and I can pay."
He smiles at you, totally easy going about the whole thing.
"Sure we'll just have to call ahead."
You manage to track down a payphone and you wait with the rest of your crew while he calls. You can't make out what he's saying but every once in a while his eyes drift to you. No one else. Just you.
If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was talking about you.
When he puts the receiver down, he's all smiles.
"Got it all sorted. It's out of the way though, so I reckon we grab some chow first."
Your friends are quick to agree. What self respecting kid on spring break is going to say no to fast food and cold beer? It's only you that lingers, brow furrowed. It all feels too convenient. Your reservations go missing and the stranger you picked up just happens to have a place nearby? No way. The more you think about, it the stranger it seems.
You're still lost in thought when the hitchhiker swings an arm around your shoulders and half drags you along behind your friends.
"What's you got you so worried gorgeous?"
It's hard to be suspicious of him when he smile so easy, his shaggy brown hair dancingΒ across his forehead.
"Nothing. I just hate to intrude on your friend."
He laughs, squeezing your shoulders before letting go.
"Trust me he'll be very glad for the company. He doesn't get out much."
He pulls the diner door open for you. Your friends have already claimed a booth and a single harried waitress is struggling to jot down their long list of requests. The hitchhiker grabs your hand before you can join them.
"My friend is a great guy. I think you'll like him."
He smiles, crooked and amused, like he's laughing at a joke only he understands.
"Hell, I know for a fact that he'll like you. You're just his type."
Your smile is tight. The last guy who said you were just his type... well, you and the district attorney both know how that ended.
You take a seat and smile at the waitress. She looks beyond overwhelmed and you silently promise to tip her as well as your half drained credit card can manage.
"I'll take a steak. Rare. Bloody as you can make it," the hitchhiker says.
You raise your brows. Not exactly the typical order for an out of the way little diner. He sees your look and grins.
"Been a while without good meat. You have no idea the craving I've had this past few days."
The booth is packed tight and his thigh is flush against yours. Warm, even though his jeans.
"We all get cravings now and again. I get it."
He tilts his head at you and it must be a trick of the light, because his pupils are blown out wide. It looks like you're staring into oil. Just... emptier somehow. You wouldn't go so far as to say he feels soulless, but if it's not in the same street it sure as hell is in the same neighbourhood. Like oil, it leaves you feeling dirty in a way that doesn't easily scrub off.
"Do you?" he asks quietly.
You open your mouth to say something along the lines of I'm only human and of course I do but his eyes stop you. He isn't talking about food or meat. No. It feels like he's asking about flesh.
One of your friends cracks a joke and you turn away from him in a hurry, pretending to laugh at something you only half heard. You don't talk to him for the rest of the meal. Try to avoid looking him even. But you can't avoid the feel of his leg against yours. Warm and solid. Can't ignore the way your heart jumps when he reaches for his wallet and his fingers accidentally scrape you inner thigh.
You're the last one out of the diner. You throw away the dirty napkins and, true to your word, tip the waitress as well as you can manage. You're half afraid that he might wait for you, but when the door clicks shut behind you, you see him with the rest of your friends. Joking around with some of the boys.
The second you start towards them, his eyes fix on yours. You aren't sure how he does it - always narrowing in on you like you have your own gravitational pull. Like he's aware of your every move.
"Ready to go?"
Are you? You aren't sure. Some dull instinct is making you want to turn tail and run. You try and talk yourself out of it. What concrete evidence do you have? What has he done wrong, besides be a little intense? Folk do that all the time and it doesn't bother you. And it's not like you'll be alone. Your whole pack of friends will be right next to you.
"Yeah, let's go. Time doesn't wait for anyone."
It's a long drive. The highway splitting off into a main road and then splintering into a half-dozen country tracks. By the time you arrive, you're beyond grateful for choosing the Jeep. Heaven alone knows how much more jostling and bouncing your teeth could take.
It's a nice place. A big cabin out in a clearing, the trees thick for miles around. Much nicer than the crummy hotel you'd otherwise have to settle for. You can't even hear the traffic.
Your friends grab their bags and the hitchhiker holds the front door open as you all file in. The entryway is clean and bright, and besides the lingering tang of bleach, there's nothing to set your suspicions racing. Honestly, you feel a little silly for being so paranoid. Must be the bad memories. They make you jumpy regardless of actual circumstances.
"Where's your friend?"
You turn just in time to see the hitchhiker slipping something small and metallic into his pocket.
"Is that the key for the -"
"My friend will be here soon," he talks over you, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "I'll show you guys your rooms and once you get settled, we can grab some beers and hit the hot tub."
He brushes past you and ignores your half-hearted grab for his arm. Your friends are already pounding up the stairs, too hyped to notice your expression. He pauses on the landing and looks back at you - the only one still standing by the door. His eyes are bright and almost hard.
"You coming?"
Nothing to be scared of, right? It's a common habit to lock the front door, especially out in the woods.
"Yep. Right behind you."
But no matter what you tell yourself, your feet still drag along when you follow him deeper into the cabin. Further and further from escape.
You're the only one who gets a room of their own. Everyone else is piled two and three deep in the guest rooms, half your buddies on couches more than beds.
You're also the last to get a room, so by the time he shows you your bed, it's only you and him. You wonder if he planned it on purpose.
"Quiet out here."
He hums in agreement, standing at your window and watching the woods. He stays silent while you unpack. Whatever he's watching for takes all his attention.
It's only when you hear your friends start splashing around in the hot tub that he speaks.
"You should probably take a shower before anyone else. The water is unreliable out here."
You silently agree. It's s been a long day, and while a quick dip in the jacuzzi sounds good, a hot shower and a cool bed sound even better. He pauses at your bedroom door to say good night. You're already heading to the bathroom and you only half hear the rest of his sentence.
"Sleep tight. And don't worry too much about any noises you hear. There's mountain lions around and the sound carries funny sometimes."
He closes your door softly behind him. Your en-suite is echoey, and when you turn on the water, you don't hear the quiet click of him locking you in.
After your shower, you're totally exhausted. You don't even bother leaving your room to check on your friends. You just curl up under your borrowed duvet and drift off. When you half wake at three in the morning to the dying echo of a scream, you mutter something about mountain lions and fall right back to sleep.
You don't see it but the figure in the corner of your room smiles. Moonlight catching for a split second on the butcher's knife in his hand.
"You always were a deep sleeper, baby. Can never remember your dreams."
Morning comes fast after that. When you wake, the only evidence of your midnight visitor is a slightly misplaced pair of sneakers that you're too drowsy to notice.
Your room door opens easily and you're half way down the stairs before you even start to wonder where your friends are.
Still sleeping probably. Had a late night.
The only sign that someone else is awake is a half empty pot of coffee and a dirty mug in the sink. You don't really feel comfortable rooting around in someone else's kitchen, but the hitchhiker did say to help yourself... You end up snatching a small Greek yogurt from the fridge and taking it out to the porch.
The forest is alive with bird song, dew still melting in the grass. It's peaceful. Tranquil. For the first time, you're entirely happy that you accepted the hitchhiker's offer.
The only thing that disrupts the picture perfect scene is a single discarded sneaker, thick with mud and left right in the middle of the yard.
You sigh. Did one of your friends really lose a whole shoe and not notice? You pick it up and knock the worst of the mud off.
So much for being well-behaved. You'll have to check over the whole place before you leave, make sure they haven't somehow tanked to the property value. The edges of the laces are stained a rusty red but you chalk it up to spilled wine or something.
You drop the shoe at the door and make your way back into the kitchen. It takes some searching but you finally find the dustbin, half hidden in a cupboard. Ugh, why do rich people always have to hide the trash away in the most obscure places?
Yesterday's paper is shoved under some tea bags, the edges of the front page barely visible.
CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY
You frown, you gut suddenly nauseous and rolling. You dig the newspaper out of the trash. Slowly. Hesitantly. Amost afraid that the reality will be twice as bad as your suspicions. There's a massive stain on the front but you can still read the print clearly.
CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY CORRECTIONS. MANHUNT UNDERWAY.
You don't bother to read the article. The pictures alone tell you everything. You feel sick enough to faint.
You didn't think you'd ever see his face again, but here it is. Mugshot slightly blurry and the ink starting to run. Scowling at the camera like he's more pissed at being caught than anything else.
Your ex boyfriend.
You might have been fine if it was just him. Might have called the DA and the lead homicide detective, begged for witness protection. But trouble never visits without company. There's another mugshot under his, this one captioned Serial Arsonist & Convicted Killer.
The hitchhiker wasn't smiling when the cops lined him up for his red carpet shoot. His eyes are as black and empty in his mugshot as they were last night. When he looked at you and said he was craving meat. Meat.
You might have laughed if you didn't think you were about to vomit. Yeah, he was probably craving meat alright. The roasted and still screaming kind.
You drop the newspaper, hands shaking so bad you can't hold onto it even if you wanted to.
"I told him to take out the trash. But does he listen?"
You whirl around. The hitchhiker is blocking the back door and holding your friend's lost sneaker, rolling the stained laces between his fingers.
"Thanks for grabbing this, gorgeous. If we missed it, the pigs would be back on our asses in no time."
You run.
You don't bother hearing him out or rationalising. You turn away from him and bolt straight for the front door.
You almost make it.
Your fingers just brush the metal of the doorknob before someone grabs a handful of your hair and yanks you towards them, hard enough that you end up on your back. Winded. Your scalp burning.
"Gonna leave without even saying hello? C'mon baby, is that how you greet your man?"
Your boyfriend is standing above you, smirking like this is all a game. He's still in his prison jumpsuit, the sleeves knotted around his waist. He's wearing a white tank and one glance is enough to tell you that prison has been great for his gym journey. His muscles - always toned to begin with - are positively huge.
He's always been strong, but the sight of him like this has your heart racing. How much harder can he hit, with all that extra bulk to back him up?
He slams you back onto the floor when you move to get up, his boot pressing into your sternum so hard you can almost hear your bones creaking.
"Aww, don't get up baby. Let's just talk. We've got so much to catch up on."
He presses his heel into you. Hard enough that you can't breathe out it hurting.
"Where to start... Oh, I know! Have you fucked anyone else while I've been gone? Gotten yourself a new man? Who's been between your legs while I've. Been. Rotting. Away?"
He punctuates his sentence with sharp jabs of his boot.
"No one," you managed to choke out. "Didn't have anybody."
He takes his boot off your chest and you suck in a painful breath, your lungs and ribs on fire. You roll onto you hands and knees, coughing.
Shit. Fuck.
He squats down so he's level with you, voice a sickly sweet drawl.
"You promise?"
"I-" Another painful coughing fit. "I swear. No one else."
"I don't know if I can believe you, baby. You said you loved me, and then you ratted on me to the cops. Not the best record."
He grabs your hair and hauls you to your feet, totally unbothered that you still can't breathe right.
You shriek and try to pull away, only for him to wrap a hand around your throat and pin you against his chest.
He squeezes hard enough that your larynx feels like it's going to collapse.
"What do you think I should do?"
You think he's asking you, but it's the hitchhiker that answers. He's leaning against the kitchen door, arms crossed like he's watching two kittens at play rather than seeing your boyfriend almost choke the life out of you.
"I reckon we should check. Her cunt should be all tight and wet after months without cock. And if it isn't...well, there's your answer."
"You hear that baby? We're gonna make sure you've been well behaved."
We?
You start fighting all the harder. One murderer is enough. You don't want both their hands on you. You'll never be able to scrub yourself clean again.
The hitchhiker smirks and pushes himself away from the wall. His pupils are all wide again, twin blackholes hungry enough to swallow you, your friends, the whole damn world.
Adrenaline is a hell of a thing but you're up against two convicted killers who've had nothing but time to get stronger. Who've had the world's hardest lessons in cruelty.
Your boyfriend lets go of your hair and grabs one flailing wrist. He bends your arm up your back until you heads tucked under his chin and you're standing on your tiptoes to alleviate the pressure.
The hitchhiker twists one ankle behind yours so you can't kick out of him. It feels like a move cops and wardens might use. He must have had it done to him plenty, if he can so easily put you in the same position.
"I'll scream."
That makes them laugh.
"Go on then gorgeous. Scream. No one heard your friends last night. What makes you think they'll hear you?"
Your friends... You were panicking so bad you hadn't even considered them. The hitchhiker sees your eyes go wide and grins that easy, friendly grin of his. The one that made you trust him enough to give him a ride.
"Oh, we took good care of them. I'll spare you the grisly details but there's no one left out here but us."
It's too awful to consider. Too visceral. Too unreal. Your mind blocks it out and changes your whole train of thought to focus on escaping.
You focus on your boyfriend. He isn't acting like himself. The same man who put his hand on the bible and swore before the court that he killed all those people because of you - that man - was suddenly willing to share? Was inviting someone else to enjoy your body?
"You're going to let him touch me? You killed my lab partner because you said he would jerk off to pictures of me. What the hell changed?"
Your boyfriend hums.
"A whole lot. He's my cellmate."
Like that explains anything!
The hitchhiker slips his fingers under the hem of your top, nails running along your waistband.
"He wouldn't shut up about you. Had your pictures pinned up above his bed and everything. It was so fucking annoying at first. My girl this, my baby that. But after a few months..."
He pops open the button of your jeans with a flick of his thumb. You jerk away but your boyfriend twists your arm even harder and you're forced to hold still.
"After a few months, I started to understand the appeal. Could see why he was so into you. And hell, I wanted a taste myself. Wanted to see if you lived up to the hype."
Your boyfriend is smiling. You can tell from his voice.
"And is she worth all the hard work we put in?"
The hitchhiker's hands are cold. You flinch when he slips his fingers past your panties. He rubs his thumb against your slit, savouring every inch.
"For her? I'd kill twice as many as we did last night."
He sighs as he feels your slick starting to collect around his knuckles. Without warning, he slides two fingers inside you. Cold, uncomfortably cold.
He has a guitarist's hands and you can feel the callouses on his fingertips scraping against your walls. Too rough. Too much.
"Just like I thought. Tight and wet. Your girls loyal to a fault."
Your boyfriend practically purrs.
"Been so good while I was gone, baby. You deserve a reward, dontcha?"
He leans down and nips your cheek. You feel sick. His teeth so close...
"Don't worry. We'll fill you up so good that you'll never try running again."
Your spring break road trip starts well and gets better. But the end? Well, it ends with a cock down your throat in and another in your cunt. It ends with a hand around your neck and teeth marks on your thighs. It ends with a reminder to always trust your instincts and to never, ever give rides to strangers.
I think The Lost Boys speaks the most to the hurt people--the lonely teens, the people who feel unloved. That's how the Boys lured in Michael: he was lonely, desperate, and alienated.
The Lost Boys represent belonging to a group that will never ever leave you--a dream too good to be true.
And I think we all have a bit of Michael in us.
lives were changed on july 31st 1987 when joel schumacherβs the lost boys was released
these freakin guys
age difference - ukai keishin x reader
word count: 2,406
kinktober masterlist
The bell above the door dinged as you entered Sakanoshita Mart, your ears immediately being filled with the soft retail music that has always played in the store. Your nose twitched with the smell of cigarette smoke, an old familiarity to the scent that you had come to associate with a certain man. Said man was sitting behind the counter, feet pulled up and crossed on the desk before him, ruffling through what looked like a sports magazine, and the same old cigarette dangling lazily from his lips.Β
He briefly glanced up as the door chimed, before looking down at the magazine again. Seconds later his head shot up again, eyes wide this time, staring at you with his mouth dropping open, using a hand to pluck away the stick between his lips before it fell to the ground.
βHi.β You smiled, still standing just inside the door, suddenly feeling shy after seeing his reaction. You had told yourself over and over that you would be confident when you met him again, that you would finally answer his sarcastic quips instead of just giggling silently at them like you used to. You werenβt the same as you were back in high school. And you needed to show him that.
Your little crush on Ukai Keishin was an age old story, starting from your third year in high school. You had been managing Kurasunoβs volleyball club when Takeda sensei brought Coach Ukai in, announcing that he would be taking the role his grandfather once held. You had sucked in a breath as you gazed at the man, taking in his casual orange hoodie and sweatpants, hair pulled back with a headband and the laziest little eye roll you had ever seen.Β
You were enamored.Β
That had been the start of your little schoolgirl crush, spending most of your time during practice staring at the man while he barked orders at the team. You had barely interacted that year, apart from volleyball related matters you needed answers to. You were unbelievably shy, and equally quiet. It had never bothered you, considering that you were surrounded by people who were larger than life and more than happy to take over the room. The year had been spent daydreaming about the Coach and taking in every little detail about him that you could.
That was three years ago.Β
Miyagi had not changed upon your return from college. It was no Tokyo, of course, where you had spent the last three years, the city that changed you as a person, but there was still that quiet charm to Miyagi that Tokyo just couldnβt emulate, a deep understanding of nature that you had missed during college.
That, and Tokyo could never quite replicate the man who had periodically haunted your dreams since you graduated high school.
You thought of him every now and then, maybe once a week you would wonder what he was up to. You knew from old friends like Daichi that he was still coaching for Karasuno, and the thought made you happy. He had found purpose with your team and he had carried on that legacy.Β
You wondered if the new managers thought of him like you did in your day. You wouldnβt be surprised.Β
You watched him now as he pulled his legs off the counter and sat up straight, watched as he traced his eyes down your figure. It made your breath hitch, and you tried not to smirk.
You hadnβt just gained confidence in the last three years. Tokyo had been really good for your body too. And you knew what this sundress made you look like. There was a reason you had put it on today.
βHi.β Ukai finally breathed in reply, after what seemed like an eternity. You smiled and stepped closer to the counter, hands meeting the surface softly when you reached him. You watched him squash the cigarette into an ashtray and throw the magazine next to it carelessly, giving you his full attention.Β
βDidnβt know you were back in Miyagi.β He began, smiling up at you as he leaned against his arms on the counter.Β
You shrugged. βThereβs no place like home.β
You immediately cringed at your reply. Ugh, so corny. This is not how you wanted things to go today. You were supposed to act sexy and alluring. To pull him in.Β
He chuckled a bit, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. His eyes never left you, only occasionally dipping down to look at your chest. You could tell he was trying to be subtle, but Ukai Keishin didnβt have one subtle bone in his body. The thought made you laugh internally.Β
βHowβre you doing?β He asked.
βGood! Iβm good. You?βΒ
βGood.β
βOh, good.β
You visibly did flinch this time, and Keishin snickered before standing up. You blinked in surprise when he leaned over the counter, closer to you.
βWhy are you here, Y/N?βΒ
He had never called you by your first name before. You stared at him and how close he was. Merely ten inches or so away. And you couldnβt find your voice to answer his question.
βWeβve never been close.β He continued. βIn fact, we barely spoke. You being here now, wearing,β a pause as his eyes skimmed over your figure, βthat. Thereβs a reason for it. Tell me.β
Your heart was beating a mile a minute, nearly shivering when his eyes lingered on your deep neckline. Your face felt hot.
βI think,β you breathed. βI think itβs pretty obvious. Donβt you?β
He hummed before leaning back again, popping the little tension filled bubble you had created. You let out a breath, watching as he rounded the counter. You stayed rock still, ears perking up when you heard a little click, realizing it was the door being locked. Your nerves buzzed with excitement. Was this really happening?
You nearly jumped when his hand skimmed your side, fingers splaying out over the material of your dress. His breath brushed the shell of your ear, and your eyelids fluttered.
βI wonβt do anything unless you say so.β
His voice was so low, so gruff, you bit your lip to keep from moaning. You could feel yourself getting wet at the proximity, wanting nothing more than to be closer to him. So you pushed back, your ass brushing his crotch. You sighed when you felt how hard he was, and the thought of it turned you on even more.
Keishin hissed at the contact, hands grabbing your hips tight to hold you in place.
βDonβt make me repeat myself.β
Oh fuck. You flushed. You had missed that, truly. You had missed him being authoritative and imposing, ordering around a whole team to do as he wished.Β
βUkai-san. Please.β You felt your face burn. βWant you.β
βWant me where?β
You whined, making him chuckle before he finally let your bodies come in contact. His front pressed to your back firmly, until you felt every shift of his muscles. His hands that were previously on your hips began to wander, stopping just below your breasts. His hot breath skimmed over the skin of your neck until goosebumps arose, and you pushed back against him again, this time harder.
βYou naughty girl.β He breathed, teeth grazing over your skin before he bit down slightly. You leaned your head the other way to give him more access. βYou came here just for this, didnβt you? You wanted to sleep with your old volleyball coach?β
At this point you were desperately grinding back on him, his lips mapping your neck like he was starved for you.Β
βI donβt see you hesitating.β You replied, loving the push and pull of your bodies, loving how his hips chased after you when you pulled away from him even slightly.Β
βYou think I can resist this?β His hand traveled under the hem of your skirt, brushing your bare thigh. He traced the skin up, up, up until his fingers skimmed the edge of your panties. He dipped a fingertip into the fabric, feeling how soft you were, how warm you were. And wet. You were so wet for him.
βFuck.β He groaned, pushing your panties aside just enough to slide a finger through your slit. The pad grazed your clit and you moaned loud, eyes closing in relief.
βYou think I didnβt notice how much you stared?β He continued. βI knew. Way back then, I knew. See, I thought it was just a little crush. But here you are, three years later, all grown up and spreading your legs for me. Dirty girl. Youβve been wanting me all this time?β
You cried out when he chose that moment to sink a finger inside you, up to the knuckle, curling it immediately to rub your walls. You squirmed in his hold, but he was strong, strong enough to hold you in place and maintain the pace he had set inside you at the same time.Β
βYouβre so tight, baby.β He grunted out, another finger joining the first one. βYou done this before?β
βIβm not a virgin!β You bit out, trying to keep your legs from shaking.Β
Keishin laughed at that. βSorry, sweets. Did I offend you?β
You wanted to say yes. Wanted to tell him you werenβt some goody-two shoes that he probably always thought you were. You wanted him to know that you wanted this. That you craved it. That the thought of sleeping with someone so much older, someone who had been a (sort of) teacher to you, was such a turn on that it made you drip right down his fingers and across his palm.Β
The next second, all sensations left you. His fingers and his back disappeared, leaving you cold and empty. Your hands gripped the counter tightly as you watched him round it again, settling lazily into the chair and watching you with half-lidded eyes. You blinked at him in shock.
βYou want it bad, right?β He started. βCame all the way here for it. Well, come take it.βΒ
He leaned back, spreading his legs. Your eyes fell to the massive bulge in his pants as he lit another cigarette, taking a long drag from it.Β
You didnβt have to be told twice.
You shakily stumbled to where he was, wasting no time in bunching up your dress and swinging a leg over him to straddle his hips. His smirk was sleazy and so sexy, fumbling with the strings on his sweats to pull them down just enough that his cock sprang out, hard as anything and drooling at the tip. You licked your lips.Β
You threw your head back and moaned in satisfaction when you finally sunk down on him, feeling him hit every spot right as he carved into you. He was bigger than any youβd ever had before. It felt heavenly, and as you watched him moan, eyes trained resolutely on you and cigarette still hanging from his lips, you felt like every dirty, wet dream you had ever had about the man was nothing compared to this.Β
You rolled your hips, testing the waters with him. His jaw ticked and you knew he was clenching his teeth, hand running over your bare thigh. You reached up to pull the straps of your dress down, lowering the neck until your breasts popped out.Β
βOh, Jesus.β Keishin breathed, hand immediately reaching for one and squeezing. You started bouncing on his cock in earnest, loving the drag of him against your walls, but unable to go as deep as you would like, as deep as you knew he could go, unable to scratch that itch deep in your core. You whined.
βUkai-san,β you bit your lip and gave him a pleading look. He stared at you for a few seconds before grinning, picking you up by the waist and pulling you off him. You stood on shaky legs, letting him manhandle you, turning you around and bending you over the counter, sliding back in immediately afterward like he couldnβt stand to be out of you for even one more second.
You nearly choked as he set a brutal pace, hands immediately scrambling to find purchase, anything to hold on to as he pounded into you. You let out a long, broken moan when he reached deep, deep inside you, toes curling from the sheer satisfaction of it. God, this was leagues above the dirty fantasies you had cooked in your head. Bent over this counter with your coachβs dick inside you. And he was so good, taking only a few thrusts to figure out the perfect angle to make you scream and clench around him, vision bursting with stars at the sensations coursing through your body.Β
Fingers carded through your hair at the back of your head, pulling hard until you were arching off the counter and making contact with Keishinβs body, his other hand reaching up to pinch your nipple hard. You yelped.Β
βLook at you,β he moaned, voice lower than you had ever heard it before. βCanβt stop screaming. Slut. Any of your college boys fuck you like this?β
You shook your head as much as his grip would allow, clenching harder around him at his words. You were being entirely honest. In your limited sexual experience, no one had come close to making you feel like this. Whether it was the raw anticipation of it, or if Keishin was really that good, you were already nearing your end. And it had barely been two minutes since he started.
He chuckled, sinking his teeth into your neck. Your eyes rolled up at the feeling. The knot in your stomach was getting tighter and tighter.Β
βYou needed me to make you feel good, huh?β He groaned into your neck. βLittle princess wasnβt satisfied. Needed a man to show you how good a cock can feel.β
You screamed as your muscles seized and the knot snapped, your orgasm washing over you in waves. Keishin fucked you through it, cock driving into you at an unforgiving pace. Your breaths were broken and struggling, trying not to completely fall apart as your vision clouded with tears.
Keishin pulled out of you abruptly, turning you around and setting you on the counter. One look at your flushed, sweaty face had him humming in approval, hooking his hands under your knees to pull your legs apart.
βIβm not done with you yet.β
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A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!
"Writing's hard.""There only noodles, Micheal."HUGE FANDOM HOPPER!
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