#or put it into a half up half down pigtails (maybe)

[bobapplesimblr]

Considering getting a wig cause I love the look of long hair but hate the goddamn maintenance + I had a dream where I bought a super long wig that was so soft and amazing and I want one it shall be my christmas present for myself and I shall wear it whenever I want

[evie-sturns]

toddler - Matt Sturniolo

summary: having 2 toddlers isn't the easiest, espically when you're currently pissed at your husband matt after an argument. one night you get pushed to the point of a breakdown when the kids won't behave and matt's there to help you.

contains: dad!matt, fluff, slightly suggestive , crying, slight mental breakdown, comforting, angst?

a/n: this was loosely based off of how daddy matt was in today's vid.

----———--------------..••°°°°••..------------————

7:38pm

matt and i had an argument last night leaving me in tears, he’s been in his bedroom this whole day leaving me to deal with our two twins which are both 3 and a half.

i attempt to cook up something that somewhat resembles a dinner for our girls but the only thing occupying my mind is the events of what happened last night.

yesterday

“why is this house always so fucking messy!” matt’s voice booms throughout the living room as he abruptly stands up

“shit, i don’t know maybe because you got me pregnant at 18 and i’m the only one who does anything for the kids our this house!” i raise my voice back at him

matt lets out a shocked laugh “sorry that some people have fucking jobs and don’t lay on their ass with the kids all day and call it tiring?”

“lay on my ass? i clean, i cook, i take the girls to daycare and i bring them home, i do everything”

“if everything includes not having a fucking job and using up my money that i earn then sure, you do a whole lot” matt says with a slight attitude.

“all you fucking do is act like you have it hard when you don’t! get a fucking grip” he yells

the whole room goes silent, i erupt into tears and walk out of the room to our spare bedroom

“and always fucking crying.” i hear him scoff, only making my state worse.

—

my thoughts are cut off by a wail coming from behind me, my head spins back to see millie with a fistful of claire’s hair, yanking.

i instantly drop the wooden spoon into the pot before speed walking towards the twins

“stop it!” i yell, grabbing millie from under her arms and staring into her eyes angrily “go find daddy, not acceptable millie.” i raise my voice, placing her down.

she folds her arms with a huff, stomping her little legs down the corridor to matt and i’s shared room.

“you’re okay claire” i coo, fixing her pigtail which sits on the very top of her head

i pick her up and place her down on the couch with one of her stuffed animals before making my way back towards the kitchen.

i turn down the heat on the stovetop slightly with an exhausted sigh

suddenly i hear small giggles coming from behind me followed by the backs of my knees being pushed

“fuck!” i yell, stumbling over and grabbing the handle to the pot, spilling boiling spaghetti onto the floor, also splashing up onto my sweater.

millie goes silent before sprinting in the other direction with claire

as of things couldn’t get any worse right now i hear matt’s voice start something

“what are you actually fucking doin-“ he cuts himself off when he sees the state i’m in

i burst into sobs, matt looks down at me with concern painted across his face

“hey- shh sh you’re okay, you’re okay.” he says frantically, walking over to me and kneeling on the floor

“matt i can’t do this the kids aren’t behaving and i can’t fucking make them something they’ll like-“ i start, saying in between shaking breaths

he carefully picks me up from under my arms before switching his grip to the back of my thighs, i bury my face into his shoulders and feel matt take in panicked breaths

he speed walks us down into our bedroom at the end of the corridor, “are you hurt sweetheart?” he says, placing me down on the bed and peeling my sweatshirt off of me

“did the hot water soak through? shit.” matt says trying to stay calm.

“no-“ i sniff, rubbing my eyes. matt yanks his sweatshirt off his body and lays it across me like a blanket.

“stay right here okay? i’m gonna sort the kids out then put them to bed, then i’ll come back to talk, try get some sleep for me gorgeous.”

matt presses a kiss to my nose before rushing out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.

i have a clear view of kitchen from where i’m laying so i see matt walk into the kitchen before kneeling down

“c’mere.” he demands, sticking out his arms. millie and claire toddle over to him with a guilty expression across their face.

“tell me what’s happened.” matt says sternly, maintaining eye contact with both of them.

millie bursts into tears almost immediately as she looks at matt

matt runs his hand up and down her arm as he waits for a response

“we- we pushed mommy and she fell and spilt hot water on her and hurt her” she sniffs

“a-and.. and you’re mad at me” she continues.

“do i look mad sweetheart?” matt says softly, claire shrugs along with millie

“i’m really really sad that you weren’t behaving for mommy, and i know you know better than that right?” matt speaks

millie nods, wiping her nose with the backs of her hand

“and now i’m gonna ask you to go clean up the spill with claire and then we’re gonna go say sorry to mom okay?” he says gently, pressing two kisses to the girls forehead

they nod in unison before going into the kitchen, matt hands them the paper towels and they instantly drop down to there knees and attempt to clean the mess.

matt watches while biting his nails “why do you think you made mommy cry though?” he says, claire looks up at him with a heaped pile of paper towels in her hands

“because we were naughty.” claire sighs, matt nods while gathering the piles of drenched paper towels and throwing them away.

“what i’m ‘gonna ask you to do is sit down at the kitchen table and think about how you will say sorry to mommy tomorrow while i make you dinner okay girls?”

claire and millie run over to the dining table, more than hungry and tired now.

matt sorts through the pantry before settling on mac and cheese which i wasn’t even sure we had.

after a good 10 minutes matt brings over the two small bowls to the twins, who have been silent ever since they sat down.

“you have to eat all of this okay?” matt says while placing the bowls down. claire and millie nod

—-

8:56pm

matt finishes up the last dishes in the sink before walking over to the girls “you alright?” he asks softy before picking both of them up, one in each arm.

matt walks down the corridor, flashing me a quick smile as both the girls bury their head in his shoulders.

“they’re very tired” he mouths to me with a small laugh while walking into their shared bedroom.

i hear the door shut followed by matt walking into our bedroom. “you feeing better gorgeous?” he asks calmly as he flops down in bed beside me.

“thank you for doing that.” i sigh, rubbing my eyes with my palms.

“don’t thank me? i’m their dad and i realise that after yesterday’s.. argument that you’re right and i do need to start caring more.” matt looks over at me.

“you don’t have to just say that” i whisper

“i’m not just saying that, i actually mean it.” matt responds with an unreadable expression

“the shit you said last night..” i start, my voice wobbling “i’m gonna find it hard to forget, because i know that in that moment you meant it.”

matt goes silent,

“and i know that you’re busy but i try, so hard to make you and the girls happy, meaning that i don’t have free time to work because everything i do is for you?” i keep going, several tears now rolling down my cheeks

“so you saying that you should help our more around the house and pretending like everything’s perfect between us isn’t gonna fix shit.”

i physically can’t keep speaking unless i want to start sobbing so i stop, taking in a shaky breath.

matt doesn’t say anything back, instead sitting up and grabbing me and pulling me into a deathly tight hug.

the few tears that fell dampen the shoulder of his shirt as he rubs my back.

“i don’t even know how to apologise.” matt says, his voice trembling.

“please- don’t cry.” he whispers, “i’m just really tired” i squeeze out

“i know i’ve been a shit.. person for the past year or so and trust me, you and the girls are on my mind every single minute of every day and- and there’s no excuse for what i said yesterday except for the fact i wasn’t thinking straight.”

matt rambles

“i shouldn’t have yelled, or said anything. i know, i know you have it way harder than me, and i’m not just saying that it’s true.”

“you don’t have to forgive me at all today, tomorrow or in general for this but i love you and i’m so sorry.”

matt finishes by pulling away to look at my face, which he cups in both his hands.

“thank you.” is the only thing i reply with, somewhat shocked by that 2 minute long tangent.

matt lays back down on the matress, pulling me towards him. i lay my head down on his chest with a deep breath in, instantly falling asleep

————

9:56am the next day

the morning sun burns into the side of my face as i roll over in bed,

my eyebrows knit together when i realise matt’s not next to me like normal.

i sit up in bed, wiping my eyes as i attempt to run my fingers through my tangled hair.

i stumble out of bed towards the door of our bedroom, gripping the handle lazily and swinging it open.

the whole house is perfectly clean “what the fuck..” i mumble to myself as i walk into the living room where my eyes lay on my favourite sight

my 3 favourite people, matt claire and millie are sat on the sofa, matt’s in the middle and the girls are cuddled up to his side while matt holds open a picture book which he stops reading when i walk in.

“good morning pretty” matt smiles stupidly, i grow a small smile on my face.

“i think that someone has something to say to mom?” matt says, looking down at each of the girls.

they run up to me and wrap their arms around each of my legs “were really sorry” claire says, i bend down to their height and give them a smile

millie follows up with a “and i’m sorry for hurting you a- and i love you a lot!” she says with a cute smile.

“it’s okay sweetheart, i love you.” i grin, wrapping my arms around them before standing back up.

“and i’m gonna make it up to you tonight” matt says quietly while walking over to me

“matthew bernard! you horny mother fucker” i whisper.

————

@luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @recklessmatt @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209

[olivianott]

WHITE DRESS

Posting this again, because I can’t stop thinking about the Goddess moment and that one photo from pinterest 😌

ꕤ Theo Nott x fem!reader

ꕤ enemies to lovers, a little bit of smut - not for minors

ꕤ originaly part of the jinxedjuly challenge, with second week prompt nightswim, but now it’s too late I’m sorry 😬

It’s 3 am and you can’t sleep. It’s too hot outside, no air to breathe in your room. Putting your thin long dress on, you go take a walk outside around the pool.

It’s still hot outside, but the light breeze coming from the sea feels great on your skin.

You sit on one of the pool lounges and close your eyes, listening to the sounds of the night. Finally, you can relax, your mind a little more at ease.

Suddenly something doesn’t feel right. You feel compelled to look behind you and there it is. A silhouette. There. In the dark entrance to the pool area.

It moves closer to you and comes into the light. Theodore. You roll your eyes. The bane of your existence. You can’t believe your friends invited him and no one told you.

“What the fuck do you want? Why are you following me?” You don’t have a good relationship. He is a fuckboy with a body worthy of Greek gods but is such an asshole to you, makes fun of everything you do or say, constantly.

“Oh Princessa, don’t you think you give yourself too much credit sometimes? It may come as a surprise to you, but the universe does not revolve around you, you know?”

“You fucking…” but you don’t even bother finishing the sentence, you just stand up and with an angry and disappointed sigh stomp to him and try to storm around him back into the house.

You make it a point not to look at him but you catch a strange look on his face in your peripheral vision anyway.

His arm shoots out and catches you off guard. It curls around your waist and pulls you into him. What is happening?

Theo speaks right into your ear: “I think you need to loosen up a bit princess, maybe a little night swim with me will help you.” You can just imagine the smirk on his face but you don’t have any time to respond, because the asshole picks you up and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You can admit to yourself that the view of his ass in the swim trunks is not half bad but you don’t, because he runs towards the pool.

FUCK.

The shock of the water against your skin and all around you makes you panic for a second too long but strong arms pull you up and hold you above the surface of the water. Your angry scowl goes unnoticed by him as he leaves you leaning against the wall of the pool once you gather yourself.

“I hate you so much. What is your problem, asshole?”

He completely ignores you and swims to the other side of the pool. When he turns around, you know he has his stupid smirk on his face, even though you don’t see his mouth, only his eyes above the surface.

Your friends said he is “such a nice person”, but why is he always such a prick to you? Some say it’s because he wants your attention, pulling on your pigtails and whatnot. Maybe you should get back at him and test that theory at the same time.

You’ve never been shy, but this took a lot of courage from you. Getting out of the pool you walk across the deck to where he leans against the wall, his eyes so big, you already feel accomplished.

The thin material of the dress clings to the curves of your body, it’s completely seethrough when wet. Coupled with you not wearing any underwear beneath the dress, the look on his face is priceless. He can’t look away. You enjoy the sight of him with his mouth open, eyes big, not blinking. His stare travels all around your body and he seems like he is in a trance. You stop right beside him, the height difference that being out of the pool gives you goes straight into your head and you smirk down at him.

“Thank you for that, I was too hot. You can close your mouth now, loverboy.”

The way he looks at you from beneath your feet makes you feel like a Goddess, him your most devoted worshipper. You can basically see the hearts in his eyes. The theory has proven to be right.

Satisfied, you turn to leave, but his hand shoots forward and gently touches your ankle, careful not to make you trip, but it makes you turn around again.

Theo stands up on the higher pool step and it makes his eyes level with your chest. He grabs your thighs and the way he looks at you makes you drunk on his gaze. Shit. This was not part of the plan.

He picks you up, hands around your waist, pulls you down into the water again, and pins you against a wall of the deep end of the pool. With his hands caging you in, you can’t look away from his eyes behind the wet curtain of curls. The strange look is back in his eyes and his gaze falls on your still wet lips. You can’t look away. You follow the water droplet, traveling from the end of the hair strand, down his nose, all the way to his pouty lips. When it disappears into his slightly open mouth, you forget how to breathe altogether. His mouth is so close to yours. Suddenly your lips touch, and something between you, the tension that, unbeknownst to you, has been stretching, tightening, and growing for a long time now, snaps. You forget everything around you, the only thing you feel is his lips on yours, his hands in your hair, the length of his body pushing against yours.

Fingers caressing your nipples, but it’s not enough.

Thigh between your legs, but your dress is too long.

Hand pulling the dress up, trying to bunch it up against your thighs, but it’s too tight.

Head falling against your shoulder, Theo sighs into your neck, frustrated.

“Fuck! You know what Princessa? Tomorrow. Same time, here in the pool. Wear something easier to take off, or I’ll tear it right off of you.” He whispers in your ear and your whole body erupts in goosebumps.

He doesn’t look at you while he gets out of the pool, and walks to the mansion, but the evidence of his arousal is on display.

Time to find an even longer and tighter dress, for him to rip to pieces tomorrow.

IT CONTINUES

As always, thank you for reading, hope you liked it.

If you want more: 🖤here🖤

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Pretend It's Someone That Came for You (18+)

pairing: coworker!wonwoo x fem!touch-starved!reader

genre: coworker au, office au, strangers to lovers, angst w a happy ending, smut (MDNI!!), fluffy fluffy fluff fluff

description: you're lonely. you're so lonely you think it might actually kill you. but when wonwoo transfers to your office, he might just change that fact.

warnings: unprotected sex (do NOT pls my babes), soft dom!wonwoo, sub!reader, v loving sex, praise (f. receiving), confession of love, riding, fingering (f. receiving), pussy rubbing tihi, pet names (pretty girl, good girl, baby, darling, etc), VERY angsty beginning, yn is truly v sad so DO NOT READ THIS if u fear it will make u sad!!, they say i love u unrealistically fast but i had to do it, yn uses sex to feel less lonely/ends up feeling more lonely, relatable yn frs, slightly dramatized symptoms of touch-starvation (?), kinda boring plot but idc bc its CUTE AF

quotes from my creative director (@joshibambi): "finally!!" (she was fed tf up), "stanley is the most stanley man ever. i hate him but i love him.", (more r coming she actually didnt have time 2 read this and i didnt want to wait with posting.)

wordcount: 10.0k

a/n: this story was supposed 2 have more angst, like it was supposed to have this whole misunderstanding, but it just didnt feel right, it made me sad, so instead this is a short n sweet love story xx

Sometimes you think that the loneliness might kill you. 

You weren’t always like this. You remember being a sociable, joyful child; half-broken bikes and teddy bears and booster seats. You remember pigtails and popsicle sticks and Power Rangers, and what came after that? Being a moody teenager, became being a moody adult. High school became college, and college became an office job that served to keep you alive, even if it didn’t feel like being alive. College wasn’t that bad, you remember, so at what point had you mistaken isolation for privilege? And at what point had you gone too far into that tunnel-hole to turn back? 

 You must’ve been cursed, you think, putting on your outfit for work in the deadly still apartment. Dust dares not move, dares not give you hope that you are not alone. 

You must’ve been cursed, you think, coming into work to a string of half-hearted, mumbled greetings. Your office is off-white and black and gray and everyone inhabiting it is also off-white and black and gray, and their skin is faintly oily and sickly and their faces are dragging down as if the very earth was reclaiming them and you think that you fit in here better than anywhere else. 

You must’ve been cursed, you think, when you spend your day writing emails and organizing documents of information into different formats to send to huge corporations. Sometimes you fantasize about the other end of the transaction. Maybe their office is warm and brown with an accent of blue, and maybe people put hands on each other's shoulders, when they tell one another they’ve done a good job. 

Yes, there’s no other explanation, you think, and can’t even muster the energy to feel bad when you blame some old hag from your hometown. You think she must’ve conjured up the worst ingredients, something cartoonishly evil, and a spell befell you, sunk into the crevices of your skin and dug into your pores.

You lie on your couch with a glass of wine and the television going, but you’re not really listening. You don’t think anyone has touched you in six months. You’re not even sure you’re real anymore. You swear, you could live with no one hearing you out, because you’re not sure you’d have anything worthwhile to say, but you just needed someone to touch you. To reach out a hand and confirm, you’re real, you’re right underneath my fingertips, and I’m squeezing your shoulder, and I see you, and I feel you right here.

Sometimes you think that the loneliness might kill you.

Lying physically very still, you still feel like you’re scrambling, fighting the clutch of the curse, and tugging on metal chains. Maybe that’s where all your energy goes. 

What do normal people do when they feel this bad?

Sometimes you leave open the window, and when the wind tugs at your door, you pretend it’s someone that came for you. 

Tug, tug, tug. The door rattles against its hinges when the fatally empty sky brings to you, in outstretched palms, the wind interlaced with glimmers of hope. 

There’s never anyone at the door.  _____________________________

This particular day starts like any other. You wake to your alarm and you put on clothes and you get ready and brush your teeth. Then you trample down to the bus stop. The sky is smothered by a duvet of heavy rain clouds. The rain hasn't come yet, but you know it will. Your fingers become stiff and hard, where they adhere to the polyester strap of your bag, massaging it. The bag is cold and dead.

The bus ride is by far the greatest part of your day. It’s quiet - early enough that you’re only accompanied by a few other souls. You rest your head on the window, vibrating gently against the curve of your forehead, and watch the people in the street. 

 The bus hums a gentle tune and snakes down the streets. Then you’re there, and whatever solace that it offers you under artificial light and mediocre, felted seats is gone. 

Your office building is maybe the most depressing place on earth. It’s no glamorous feat of architecture. It is but a large, orange-y, puke-y, brick square, and the building is shared between yours and the Forester company. You don’t talk to the Foresters, but you know they eat cream cheese bagels on their breaks and throw birthday parties and once you saw the branch manager squeezing a salesman’s shoulder and telling him he had done a good job. His fingers squeezed down and the movement of the fabric revealed a shoulder pad built into the suit. You remember thinking it was a shame that it blocked the real touch. 

Today, you walk up the stairs with heavy steps and you idle into the office building, eyes cast down to the dirty, gray carpet. You begin the long trek into the back of the building where your desk is located.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Tina.

“Morning, Tina,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Gerard. 

“Morning, Gerard,” you mumble back. 

“Morning.”

“M-”

Wait a minute. 

Your greeting falls short. You don’t recognize that voice. Stopping in your tracks, your shoes scratch on the rough carpet, and lift your head to see him. 

The first thing you notice is that he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. He looks like he jumped out of an underwear commercial; he’s all strong jawline, sharp eyes, round glasses on his pretty nose, neatly trimmed, short dark hair stretching down the planes of his face. He’s wearing a button up (usually you wouldn’t even register the clothing your coworkers adorned, but something about how he wore it was noteworthy), a tie draping over the dress shirt, and formal slacks hugging his thighs. 

He smiles at you sheepishly, hands nervously smoothing down his thighs. 

“I’m Wonwoo” he says curtly, nodding to you. “Just transferred from the Wallingset branch.” 

You nod. “Right. Wallingset,” you nod more. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/n.” 

“Nice to meet you too, Y/n.” 

Something about your name on his lips makes your heart flutter. It’s pathetic, you know, but his peregrine being in his office chair, spilling your name from his pink lips makes you feel a little more real. You look at him and then you nod again-again, kicking your legs into gear again and walking the last stretch to your desk. 

You can see the back of his head from your orange-wood desk. Papers and sticky notes are scattered among the desktop. The monitor watches you accusingly, all big and square and black, waiting for you to open it up and begin working. Your eyes linger on him for a moment. Then you work. 

A few hours pass on emails and translating information from a company into a comprehensive sheet. However, today you’re having a hard time focusing on work. 

This is not new. 

Sometimes you briefly talk to a man at the grocery store, and your mind will wander to him for next week, wondering if he’s thinking about you too, imagining yourself cuddling with him, watching movies, imagining him telling you it’ll all be okay. Sometimes you briefly talk to a man on the street, sometimes it’s even a date, but whatever the case you obsess and you dream and you always end up alone. 

Today the victim of your depraved mind is Wonwoo. The guilt is easy to push away. You feel sorry for yourself. You think you deserve this. You think you can’t survive without this. And so you imagine him hugging you, stroking your hair, and you imagine him falling in love with you, and you imagine not being alone. Your fingers rest on your keyboard. It’s old and mechanical. You think it’s from a yard sale, probably an old woman whose children moved away. It’s plastic, and it curves inwards underneath the pads of your fingertips. The keys are cold and dead. 

You fully zone out, eyes blearing into the back of his head, but you don’t really see it, your mind has traveled elsewhere. You guiltily imagine his hand between your legs, on your chest, straddling him, kissing him. And it’s not rough, it’s loving, because in this world he loves you, and he’d do anything for you, and you don’t have to be alone again.

You don’t love Wonwoo. It’s not some magical love at first sight, it’s not a romance book, it’s real life. You’re lonely. You need this to survive. 

“Hey, Y/n?” 

You snap your head up. Maybe you were still daydreaming. But you recognized the voice well and true, and it was Wonwoo, leaned over your desk, hands in his pockets.

“Oh, uhm, hey-” your voice is shaky and you quickly rush to compose yourself, hands moving frantically and uselessly to glide papers over one another and, then, realizing that there was no point to your movements, stilling and looking up at him, cheeks flushed. “Hey.” 

Wonwoo smiles gently. “Uh, you know, I was wondering,” he looks around the office, as if surveying the area. “If you knew where to get a good lunch? I don’t know this area at all, so..” 

He trails off, looking at you expectantly for an answer. Now that he’s standing before you, it’s much harder to ignore the guilt you feel. You wanna gnaw at your nails until they’re nubs, you want to crawl under your desk and cover your eyes. Does he see how red your cheeks are? 

“Uhm- well- I don’t- I eat a packed lunch, so I’m-” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, no expert,” you giggle awkwardly and watch his gentle smile drop into pursed lips. “But! Uh- I hear the- the hot dog stand, uh, just a little down the street is good!” 

“Really? Maybe I should try it,” he contemplates, smile returning to his lips. “Would you mind showing me this mysterious hot dog stand?” 

“Uh-” 

Just seconds before you were thinking of his fingers in your pussy, and his hands caressing you, and him making you feel loved. He’s standing before you and he’s a totally normal guy, and you feel like shit. You feel like shit for using this fake image of him to comfort yourself. You can’t be around him, can’t convince yourself that maybe this’ll turn into something more - not when you always end up alone. Your brows furrow in determination.

“Actually, I have to, uh, get this done, so-” you gesture vaguely to your monitor. 

“Right! Yeah,” Wonwoo seems embarrassed, biting his lips and nodding. “It’s, uh, just down the street?” 

“Yeah, to the right when you walk out the building.” 

“For sure. Thanks,” he doesn’t even look at you then, just waves you off half-heartedly and starts trailing down the office. His shoulders are incredibly broad and his belt wraps tightly around his small waist.

You feel like shit.  _____________________________

Why is no one else cursed? 

You look out of the window, lying on your bed after work. Everything is very still and unmoving - your whole apartment feels like it’s knotted in strings, tightened until everything is snapped into place, and if you move the wrong muscles, the invisible hands will let go and everything will fly and hurdle through your home, and you can almost hear the sound, like the hard, empty sound of throwing a bowling ball and getting a strike. 

No one else is cursed. People crowd the streets with friends, family, partners, and they’re talking and laughing. You rest your head in the windowsill, a lone spectator in the window. The glass cuts you off from the streets. 

The afternoon after daydreaming the way you did about Wonwoo is always hard. Your apartment seems intent on suffocating you. Your daydreams serve as a reminder that you’re alone, that you truly have no one, and the act itself is so humiliating, you sulk into a glass of red wine and sometimes you cry. What do normal people do when they feel this bad, you wonder again, sobbing in your bed and spilling wine on your nightie. 

Nighttime falls early while you’re crying. You weep on and off, hug your knees, eat a microwave dinner and watch TV, light casting onto your pathetic form on the couch.

And in your most vulnerable state is when you most easily slip into your old habits. 

You press an old contact in your phone, one you’d tried to steer away from recently. You wipe mascara from your reddened cheeks, you wear pretty lingerie, and you lie, completely empty, void of any warmth, on your bed, awaiting.

It’s the first time he touches you in months. When his hand finds your shoulder, you shudder terribly. Sorry, he says, and he seems taken aback. Just ignore it, you plead, just ignore it. He does so, unsurely, and every time his hand grazes over your body you shudder and sob and every time he hesitates, asking if you’re okay, you cry at him to continue.

It feels good while it’s happening. Skin beneath your fingertips, hands on you, a face close to yours. You and him are the only thing moving in the apartment, synergizing on your bed, conjoining and writhing, and for just a moment, you don’t feel so alone. 

When you’re done the anonymous man stands back up, sliding on his pants in the late hour. He says it was great and you hum. But then he looks around, hesitating on every old piece of furniture, on every photo on the walls, and lastly on you.

“What?” you ask, lying naked in your bed. He grimaces at you, as if signaling that he can’t quite figure it out himself. 

“I don’t know,” he says slowly, hands on his newly-clothed hips and surveying the corners of the room, where shadows pool. “It feels haunted in here.” 

He leaves. 

When the warmth is gone, the bile rises in your throat. Old habits die hard, you think, and you feel totally empty. You couldn’t go on like this. It was nights like these you began to feel like a martyr - sacrificing yourself for a brief escape. Because when the door is closed with a click and you’re alone again, you feel yourself trembling and your heart is glowing red in the empty astral plane. Brief, easy forms of pleasure are often the most harmful.

It feels haunted in here. You remember his words, and before you finally fall asleep, you wonder one thing. You wonder if you’re already dead.  _____________________________

The next day is a pain to overcome. You’re slightly hungover, slightly sore, and very uncomfortable. But you comply with your routine, and you enjoy the bus ride, and when you get to the office everyone greets you. 

 “Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Tina.

“Morning, Tina,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Gerard. 

“Morning, Gerard,” you mumble back. 

“Morning, Y/n,” Wonwoo says. You look up from the carpet carefully, flashing him an apologetic smile. You hope he can read its intention: Sorry about being weird yesterday. You think he got it.

“Morning, Wonwoo.” 

And then you’re landing yourself at your own desk and beginning work once more. It’s boring, but today you ward off the daydreams and you focus, and you’re getting an exceptional amount done. 

The clock on the wall (off-white, but yellowing near the top) reads 12:28 when your boss, Stan, approaches your table. He’s half bald, and his suit is much too loose, and he has a ladder of wrinkles climbing his larger-than-life forehead. 

“Hey, N/n!” he calls, so loud that a couple of heads turn at the commotion. You’ve asked him several times not to call you that. 

“Stanley,” you breathe, tapping a stack of papers on your desk to neaten the pile. You wonder if you were in trouble, but if his smile is anything to go by, you’d guess not. 

“My favorite woman in accounting!” 

“Hehe,” you laugh half-heartedly. You catch the eye of Wonwoo, glancing over his shoulder with a small, teasing smile. You smile back. 

“I have a big- oh wait, wait, new guy, uhh, Jeon? Come over here real quick!” Suddenly his solid fingers waft the now scared Wonwoo over. The spectacled man’s shoulders hunch up as he moves off the chair, nodding respectfully. Wonwoo stands beside Stanley at your desk, and you focus your attention on Stanley, hoping to not get too lost in the idea of Wonwoo again - you were doing so good today. 

“I have a big job for you, and I thought you could work with Wonwoo on it,” Stan moves his hand up to cup the side of his mouth, as if telling you a big secret, “seeing as he was a bit of a star over in Wallingset.”

Shit. The guy you were daydreaming about was working with you? Wonwoo laughs, embarrassed, but you hardly have time to catch it. You can’t do this. Yesterday you were thinking about him fingering you while looking at you lovingly!

“We have a massive, new client! Just dropped a big competitor of ours, and they want us to do their six month report!” Stanley seems genuinely excited about this, so you can’t help feeling a little guilty that you’ll be a gobbering, slobbering mess, sitting beside Wonwoo on this. 

“That’s great-”

“I know! So, my two star members in accountancy, I’ll hand this off to you. The data should be coming into your emails soon,” without letting either of you react, Stanley hunches over, like a coach does before a little-league baseball game, wrapping his arms around both of you and Wonwoo. “You got this, troopers!” 

Stanley claps his hands on both of your backs, so hard you jerk forward at the movement, and then he bounces off to the elevator at the far end of the room. You sigh heavily from the interaction. It’s quiet for a moment, while you fiddle with the papers in front of you.

“What a guy,” Wonwoo muses finally, thin fingers resting on the edge of your desk. You giggle, unable to look him in the eye for fear that you might remember how you’d thought about starting a family with him. “Yeah.”

You and Wonwoo settle into an unoccupied meeting room, and it’s all very professional. Markers and post-its, trying to find the best way to structure the report, excel sheets to categorize and overlook data, double check numbers. 

However bad you think it’s going to be, you’re wrong. Wonwoo is easy to talk to - he’s quiet, but he’s intelligent, and he understands how to bring on conversation, even when you fold in on yourself like a used napkin. 

“Yeah, we used to steal signs from our neighborhood,” Wonwoo admits halfway into a conversation about your hometowns. “I don’t think that’s gonna fly anymore.” 

“Why stop now? You’re letting societal rules hold you back,” you joke, and the two of you laugh, and it’s so pathetic, you’re certain you haven’t laughed this much in years, and the conversation has lasted maybe 20 minutes. 

“Well, I could show you the craft, you know, it’s a delicate process-” 

While Wonwoo talks your phone buzzes and you absent-mindedly pick it up, reviewing the notification.

Your grin drops. Faintly, you hear Wonwoo stop talking. He tilts his head to study the way you frown at the screen. “What’s up?” he asks. 

It’s the guy from last night and he’s asking if you’ll be available again tonight. 

Maybe it’s how you could almost forget it - how you let yourself into positions that would hurt you, just to feel seen and heard and touched. Maybe it’s the dichotomy of that encounter and now, talking to Wonwoo, and having the laughter steal away the loneliness. But you’re reminded so terribly of your position. You’re reminded that this, too, will end, and that the loneliness will return. You’re reminded that once the shift ends, you’re alone again. 

Suddenly you’re a thousand daggers all pointing out. You shield yourself. 

“Uh,” you trail off, putting the phone down again. “Just some guy.” 

Wonwoo’s eyebrows raise. “Boyfriend?” 

“No!” you say quickly. “No, he’s, uh. Just some guy.” 

A pause. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says. You don’t even remember where you left off the conversation. You bite your lip because everything is all agony. The table is cold and dead beneath your hand. 

“I’m thinking we group these together,” you say, eyes now tuned to your screen and fully submerged back into your work. Work. That was all that could cover your beaten down, cursed self. 

The rest of the shift you feel Wonwoo looking at you carefully, as if he’s trying to read you. You don’t talk about yourselves anymore, no more banter, no more witty comments. You structure the report, and try to ignore how his eyes laser you open. You don’t like it. You feel like he can tell you’re a pathetic, lonely woman and that you have nothing and no one. You feel like he can sense the curse upon you. 

This would be torture.  _____________________________

It is not torture. 

The next day, to your surprise, Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen. You wait 5, 10, then 15 minutes in the meeting room you’d camped in, before you begin working on your own. It’s slower without him, but you manage. 

You can’t help but slightly worry about him. It feels stupid. You know you’re putting too much emotion into a person you’d known for two days, but you can’t help it. You wonder if he’s gotten hurt or injured, or if maybe he hates you and has transferred back. You think even Excel finds you pathetic. 

You sit there for three hours, among the ruins of paperwork and your open laptop, running your hand through your hair and typing in sentences that mean nothing, and the wallpaper is off-white and yellowing at the top, and the blinds are closed to the meeting room. 

Around 1 PM the door to the meeting room is opened, wood smacking against the glass that surrounds it, and Wonwoo stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath. You snap your head up to him, like the jerk of a lifeless doll, suddenly interrupted from a very disorganized Excel sheet.

“Hi, shit, sorry,” he gasps, slinging his bag off of his shoulder to sit down next to you. 

“Are you okay?” you ask immediately, and Wonwoo nods blindly, pulling his laptop out of his bag. “Yeah,” he says, cheeks slightly flushed and licking his lips. “My cat- my cat needed surgery, she got sick last night, it was an emergency.” 

You nod in understanding, “it’s okay-” 

You can hardly get the words out before Wonwoo rolls his chair back, wheels resounding hollowly on the floor, so he can look at you clearly. “I’m really sorry about this, it was not nice of me to leave you alone with this.” He gestures vaguely to the scattered papers, and you shake your head.

“It’s okay, Wonwoo, I get it,” you say reassuringly, peering up at him through your lashes. “You don’t need to worry about it. You’re here now.” 

Wonwoo seems less intent on personal conversations today - it’s probably because he was so late, and now is trying to make up the time. But it’s okay, in fact you’re somewhat relieved, because it dampens the false hope that blooms in your chest, whenever he asks you about your life. 

Even if you and Wonwoo work hard and quietly, you slip into the late hours of the night in an attempt to keep on track for your schedule. Outside the windows that separate you from real life, the sky turns orange, and then dark, muted blue, and stars begin dotting its impressive stretches. People begin to leave around five, and by the time you and Wonwoo finish all your work, you’re the last ones left on your floor of the office. 

Wonwoo lets out a loud sigh when he finally finishes the second segment of your report, and the both of you slump back in your seats. 

“It’s so fucking late,” Wonwoo limply throws his hand in the direction of the window. You smile a little, looking out. Smaller buildings spawn geometrically from the ground, and every once in a while someone walks by with their dog, spotlighted by the stretch of street lamps that stand outside the parking lot. “I really am sorry about this, you know. Really ruined your night,” he says quietly. 

You shake your head. “It’s fine, I had nothing to come home to anyway.” 

There’s a pause.

Wonwoo looks at you intensely. Oh shit, you realize, was that too obvious? Was that too pathetic? Has it just clicked that you’re a loser that no one wants? You nervously look back at him, but there’s no malice in his eyes. A totally unreadable expression adorns his features, where he’s leaned back in his leather chair, legs spread invitingly. You look away, feeling dumb. 

“At least we followed our schedule!” you say. Wonwoo snorts.

“Yeah, thanks to you. If you hadn’t completed so much before I got here, it would’ve been hopeless.” 

Now it’s your turn to scoff, blushing lightly and looking at the linoleum flooring. “I don’t know about tha-” 

“Seriously, Y/n, just take the compliment,” Wonwoo reaches a hand over, and you watch its movement.

It’s like time slows down, not like the movies, no, like you can stop time with the heavy weight of your gaze, pinning his muscles in place. But you can’t, and it lands on your shoulder with a soft thud. Fuck. His hand is warm and alive on you. 

“You did so well today, I-” Wonwoo cuts himself off, because suddenly you’re trembling. 

He feels your body shuddering and jerking under his hand, like the wind rattles your door when you leave it open, and he can’t see your face behind a curtain of hair, but he hears you gasp, and, fuck, you look like you’re sobbing. 

The man from last night had become so hesitant when you reacted this way. When your body trembled and shook and when you cried, but Wonwoo seems to understand. He peers at you from above the rims of his glasses, and his hand stays put right there on your shoulder. 

“Y/n,” he whispers, so sincere it causes a pathetic squeak to escape you. What must he think of you? The thoughts spiral and you can’t control a single one of them, they dance like freed souls in your head, and you can’t stop the spasming of your muscles, and you know you look so pathetic beside him right. “Y/n, look at me.” 

You don’t. You can’t. You can’t because there are tears spilling from the rims of your eyes, and rolling down your cheeks, wet and glossy. Besides, you’re an ugly crier. 

“Look at me,” he says seriously, finger tightening on your shoulder. You try to steady your breath and calm your tears, before you obey and begin to turn your chair. The simple motion requires so much effort - it’s like the air has become so thick, that the friction against your leather seat slows you down. 

Finally you turn to him, eyes first resting on his knees, then, carefully, traveling up to his face. He’s frowning. 

Your face is reddened and your eyes are puffy, your cheeks are shiny and you chew your bottom lip in a futile attempt to keep the tears at bay. 

Wonwoo looks genuinely devastated. The hand on your shoulder softens its grasp, then begins petting your arm, rubbing up and down. The action has you choking out gasps, trembling even more in his hold, and Wonwoo feels the need to roll his chair closer to you, so his other hand can grab yours. His thumb rubs over the back of it, and he lowers his head to look at you. 

“Shh, relax, relax, Y/n,” he whispers, and you try to nod, but it’s so overwhelming; being touched, being seen, being heard, all at once. For months, maybe years, no one has touched you like this - as if they care. Now the feeling is foreign, so scorching hot on your arm and your hand, your body can’t take it anymore. You’re stuck between wanting to lean into his hands, wanting to feel how real you are, and how physically true your existence is, and wanting to shy away. What must he think of you? 

“Y/n,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut to banish the sigh of your sobbing. “When was the last time someone touched you?” 

You hiccup painfully. “Uhm- I- I don’t, ” your eyes are bleary and your lashes are wet. Your lip trembles and your whole body shakes when you try to breathe. 

Apparently this was enough of an answer for Wonwoo, because he suddenly stands, somewhat harshly tugging you into a standing position too, and pulls you directly into the harbor of his arms. 

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his torso. His chest is pressed flat against yours, so, so warm, when he nudges your head into the crook of his neck, and presses his face against its side, sighing softly into you, and breathing warm air onto your hair. His palms push you into him, soothing your trembling body, and holding you like an anker. One hand travels up to your hair. 

“W-Wonwoo, you don’t have to-”

“Shh,” he quiets you immediately, voice the softest wind of a peach tree. “Just let me take care of you.” 

You do. Wonwoo holds you until you stop crying, and though it must’ve been twenty minutes or so, it feels like no time at all. Standing in his space, breathing in his dark cologne, and letting his heat thaw your dead heart is a totally timeless act. Joy and serenity flows from the places where your bodies touch. When you stop crying, Wonwoo holds you for longer. 

Eventually, he lets you go. 

You step back sheepishly, now much calmer and the red in your face faded. You wipe your tired eyes shyly with your sleeve.��

“Thank you, Wonwoo,” you mumble, voice thick and garbled. When you look up at him, he smiles softly, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says softly, arm extending one last time to squeeze your forearm. Then it falls limp again. 

“I, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Of course.” 

When you return home, you’re buzzing. Your entire apartment buzzes along with you, things seem to clatter and beam along with the bright, glowing of your heart. You snuggle into bed and nothing is still and even when you’re drifting into sleep, your nerve endings spin in joyful circles, and your feet are a static hum. Suddenly you are very, very real. _____________________________

You’d think the next day would be tense and awkward, and maybe it is at first, but soon enough you’re talking again, more intimately than before even. 

This is Wonwoo’s doing - you know this. You know he’s smart and you know he doesn’t want you to feel bad, so he makes conversation and builds trust between the two of you. You know he hopes you don’t feel insecure. Every word he says and every flick of his eyes is riddled with it. 

The conversation decidedly slows down your progress, so Wonwoo once more suggests staying overtime. You look at him for a moment before agreeing. 

You can’t tell what his end goal is. A chamber of your heart has been revived and rebirthed, and you’re more chipper, more bouncy, but the rest of your heart insists: you’re still cursed - eventually it’ll go back to how it should be. You listen. You try not to get your hopes up that Wonwoo really cares about you. Why should he, really?

Although when you’re done for the day, about an hour after your usual 5 PM, you stand up and begin to pack your things, laptop sliding into your bag and clustering pens in your hand. It’s gray outside, but the sun comes in a single strand through a gap in the smog and the clouds. The wind hoots by the windows, and it smells like the indian you ordered for lunch together. 

You stop your packing, feeling a set of eyes in your back. You twist your head to see him.

Wonwoo is sitting completely still in his chair, slack-covered legs spread open, and he makes no move to collect his own things. He just stares. 

“What’s up?” you quip. You’re slightly nervous. Just before it was all silly childhood stories, college and weed and life before the dead-end job. Now Wonwoo has that unreadable expression on his face again. 

He slowly lifts his hands from the armrest, eyes locked with yours, and claps his palms on the tops of his thighs. 

Your eyebrows furrow. 

“Wha-” 

“Come here,” he says simply. When you stand completely still, like a deer in the headlights, Wonwoo scoffs and rolls his eyes. “What? You think you’re cured because someone hugged you once?” 

“Cured?”

“You’re touch-starved, Y/n,” Wonwoo states matter-of-factly, “you need to be touched.” 

“Touch-starved?” you echo, a bewildered expression on your face.

“We can also just hug, like yesterday,” he suggests calmly. You envy his collectedness. “I just don’t want you to feel bad. So please. Come sit.”

To emphasize, Wonwoo pats his thighs again, patiently. You step away from your bag with hesitating steps, pursing your lips. Your cheeks blaze when you look at his thighs again - they’re so long, and the folds in his slacks stretch down and centralize on his crotch and- You’re being a pervert. 

“Okay,” you squeak and Wonwoo tuts. Why is that hot, you think, why the hell is that hot?

“We can just hug if you-” 

You feel bold.

Without letting him finish, you swing your leg over his, and plop down, straddling halfway down his thighs. You thank God you put pants on this morning instead of a skirt, when you look down at where you rest on top of him. 

Wonwoo is a little taken aback, but when you’ve settled on him, his hands find your waist and he looks up at you with a hum. Your breathing is a little shaky. Once again his hands provide a pumping of golden joy into your body, and more of you comes alive and becomes real, and you smile. 

What had Wonwoo been talking about? Touch-starved?

“What’s, um-” your question is cut off with a gasp, when Wonwoo uses his hands on your middle to tug you closer. You rest on the highest point of thighs that you can without sitting on his dick. Cheeks red and eyes squeezed shut, you hear how Wonwoo hums, pleased. “What were you talking about? Touch-starved?” you whisper, keeping your eyes shut. 

Wonwoo sighs, and once more, like the movement is entirely replayed, his hand finds your hair and pushes your face into the crook of his neck. You sigh against it, enjoying how his arms protect you and hide you from the evil of the world. 

“If you don’t touch anyone,” Wonwoo begins, his voice low bass in your ear, “you become touch-starved. That’s why you reacted the way you did yesterday.” 

His hands run up and down your sides. 

“But- but I’m not crying today,” you say quietly into his neck. Wonwoo hums.

“No, that’s good,” he says. “We can stop if you really want, I just wa-”

“No!” your voice squeaks immediately, and, as if he were running from you, you fist his shirt to keep him close. 

“Okay,” there’s a smile in Wonwoo’s voice. You can’t see it but you can imagine it. 

Comfortable silence. Wonwoo traces patterns on your back and you breathe deeply against the skin of his neck. The two of you function as one living thing, the only living thing left in the office. Chairs are turned halfway, a couple lights are left on. The desks betray the past presence of humans. 

“Wonwoo,” you pip. 

“Mhm?” 

“You don’t have to do this, you know? I don’t want you to do it if you- if it’s just.. Pity.” 

Wonwoo sighs, and you feel the way his torso deflates underneath you. He trails his hand up from your back to tap your cheek. You move back and look at him. 

Your faces are very close, you can feel how your exhales collide and then scatter, hell, you think you could count each of his eyelashes from here. 

“I already told you. I’m doing this because I don’t want you to feel bad. I-” he hesitates for a moment, pursing his lips. “I’ve been there. So I know what it’s like.” 

The thought of Wonwoo feeling like this, like you, is sickening. Genuinely sickening, you feel your insides turn to rot and mold and you frown so deeply, you think your lips might forever lock in that position. 

“I’m okay now,” he reassures, reading you immediately. His hand finds your cheek and he almost cries out at the way you lean into it blindly. 

“How did you-.. I- I always thought it was, like, a lifelong curse,” you say.

“A curse?” Wonwoo grins, thumb stroking over the skin of your cheek. It makes you happy, it makes you feel like your heart will burst. 

“Yeah. I guess I just blamed some old woman from my hometown,” you giggle, blushing a little because, yes, it did sound stupid when you weren’t just echoing the theory to yourself, like playing a team sport alone. 

“You’re not cursed,” Wonwoo promises, tucking your head into his chest. “I’ll help you, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you from now on.” 

He does take care of you. 

Every day you work overtime, and every day when you’re done with work, Wonwoo slides you into his lap and holds you, while you curl up in his chest. Then you talk and you laugh, and you listen to each other's music. His hands run warm up your back and in your hair and on your hips, gentle caresses, deeply intimate. For two weeks you and Wonwoo indulge in this nighttime ritual. 

You have not felt lonely since that night. And Wonwoo can tell. Your skin is warmer and brighter, you smile wider, your eyes twinkle, and there’s energy in every movement. Your body thaws under his warm hands every night, and sometimes when you smile, he gets so happy he could kiss you. 

You realize you like Wonwoo one particular night when you’re falling asleep in your bed and you can still feel the ghost of his arms around you and it lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep, and when you wake up you smell a little bit like his cologne. That’s how you realize. You like how considerate and how gentle he is, you like how sweet he is to you, you like how he looks when he smiles and when he laughs and you like how much he loves his cat. You like how his arms feel wrapped around you. 

And you like him, and suddenly your apartment is a song that you dance in, and every photo on your walls is smiling and your bed is always warm and so is your heart. 

There’s nothing dead in here, you think, when you cook a delicious meal on the stovetop, sauce bubbling in a stainless steel pan. Nothing haunted about your home or your heart. _____________________________

“We’re almost done.” 

“Mhm.” 

“I can’t believe we’re almost done!” 

Wonwoo looks up, bemused, lips made small and pointed. You’re staring at the almost-done document, scrolling up and down through long and arduous paragraphs. It’s nighttime again - not that you had to stay late today, it was a choice - and the city glimmers brilliantly in the coolness. You and Wonwoo wear sweaters to keep warm. 

“Feels like a lifetime,” Wonwoo murmurs, same smile upon his beautiful face. His cheekbones point out from beneath his skin. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, leaning back. You won’t put your fingers back on the keyboard. Not when it could be done so soon. You look at him, all snuggled up in a brown sweater. “What if..” 

A pause. He tilts his head.

“Well, are we still gonna talk?” you chew your lip dejectedly, feeling a little sad and desperate, but Wonwoo only laughs. It’s a beautiful sound, it’s one you associate with joy. 

“Of course,” he says, as his laughter quiets down. “If you want to.” 

A shy smile forms on your lips. You turn to look back at the computer, but you hear the now-familiar sound of Wonwoo patting his thighs. You flit your eyes back to him, teasingly scolding.

“We’re not done.” 

“We don’t have to be done now,” he shrugs, an equally teasing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes, but, unsurprisingly, you shift over to him, sitting down in his lap. He immediately tugs you closer, fingers searching for stimulation on the seams of your jeans. There’s something different about Wonwoo today, you realize, his touch is more feverish, his fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips and he looks up at you like you’re a diamond-encrusted chandelier, hanging from the ceiling, all glittering jewels. 

“What’s up?” you giggle nervously. It’s becoming hard to breathe with the way he paws at your hips. 

There’s something in the air between you, but maybe you’re imagining it. Maybe it’s your mind playing tricks on you, concocting the magnetic pull that lingers between you, the thicker, heavier air, that urges you closer. 

He sighs heavily, as if he was dreading this. All of a sudden composed, cool, icy Wonwoo is chewing his lip and avoiding your eyes, looking instead down where your fat gives way for his needy fingers. 

“I, uh, I really like you, Y/n,” his voice shakes. “Would you. Maybe. Want to go out some time?” 

At the last syllable his gaze locks on to yours, and you watch him visibly relax, because you’re fucking grinning. 

Not maliciously, not crudely, not a dime or a dab of evil, only genuine joy. 

“I-I would like that,” you control your smile, pointing your lips in the same way that Wonwoo does and blushing all over. Wonwoo grins too and it’s unbearably boyish. 

“Okay,” he says, as if he can’t believe it. “Okay. Great.” 

The window slams shut, the spell is undone by his hand, the dead defy their only law to bow to his necromancy. Wonwoo is alive and warm underneath you, and you are alive and warm on top of him, thighs pushed up against his and tugging at the fabric of his shirt. Your balloon of heart pops in your chest, and the bone-cage of your chest is filled with helium, that has you floating. Rosy and shiny, your heart beats at twice its normal speed.

There’s a lull in the conversation. It would’ve been a more comfortable silence, if you couldn’t see by how Wonwoo looks down and purses his lips, that he’s itching to say more. 

Sparked by his confession, you confidently snake your hand up to tap his cheek lazily. He turns to you with a loafy smile. “What is it?” 

He breathes out unsteadily.

“You’re-” he closes his eyes. “There’s so much I like about you. It- It makes me feel really bad that you weren’t feeling well, so I-” 

He cringes at himself, one hand pushing away his glasses to rub the eyes underneath them. 

“Can I make you feel better?” he asks vaguely. 

You huff out a laugh. “Are you trying to ask if I want to have sex?” 

He laughs too, behind his big hand. “No. It’s not the same, I want it to be about you!” 

You laugh more, and Wonwoo’s face reappears as he lowers his hand. He looks up at you adoringly, dotingly. He’s smiling.

“I’m being serious,” he says quietly, when you finish. He seems less embarrassed now, more so smug. “I want to make you feel good.” 

He’s paying an awful lot of attention to your hips, which he has not let up massaging and squeezing roughly. 

“Can I..?” he begins, eyes fixed on your hips in his lap. “Can I make you cum?” 

Then, slowly, Wonwoo lifts his hands and gently places them around on your face. His touch is always as soft as a hope-laced wind. He’s warm and he’s alive and he’s holding onto you, and you see it in his eyes: you’re real, you’re right underneath my fingertips. 

“Please.”

That’s all he needs, before he presses his lips against yours.

The kiss is everything you want it to be; because it’s loving. It’s slow, it’s deep, it’s gentle, there’s no tongue, just the soft, warm, real, alive flows of his lips against your own. His hands on both of your cheeks caress your cheekbones gently, and warm air is spilled in the small space between you. He pulls away, panting. 

“I don’t understand it,” he mumbles, before he’s pressing his lips back to yours hungrily. You let out a confused hum, and you have to gently push at his shoulder to back him off again. “What do you mean?” you ask.

“Why you were so alone,” he breathes, transfixed on your lips. “I want to be with you all the time.” 

Before you can respond, Wonwoo grips the underside of your thighs, lifting you and himself from the chair and placing you on the desk. You gasp at the impact when the glass table meets your bottom, and Wonwoo is standing over you, suddenly so tall and so broad, and slimming at the waist. His narrow eyes become hooded behind the reflection of his glasses. His head is tilted down to meet yours.

“Can I take off your clothes, pretty?” 

You don’t answer, only grip the edge of your shirt, tugging it over your head, so your bra-clad chest is exposed to him. He groans at the sight. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, nimble fingers dancing across your back to unclip the bra, sucking in a harsh breath the fabric becomes loose, sliding down your arms. “Such a pretty girl.” 

“Stop,” you whisper, face warm and red. Your heart has never beat this way. It’s utterly unbearable and addicting at the same time, it’s without rhythm or class, it’s wild. And it’s because he’s looking at you and it’s not just lust. It’s adoration. There are deeper strings to the make-up of his eyes, there are lines connected to his heart, and he’s all flushed.

“What?” he asks. “I’m just telling you the truth.” 

Wonwoo throws your bra on the floor next to him, hands finding the hem of your pants. “Can I take your pants off?” 

You nod, still so shy and abashed, because Wonwoo’s eyes feel like a pink spotlight, and you are bathed in its warmth. He unbuttons your pants and you gently slide off the table to work them off your legs. 

“Your panties are cute,” Wonwoo remarks (it should feel lewd, but he has a hand on your hip, that brushes the bone and he smiles at it). “Thank you,” you breathe, before you’re taking them off too.

Wonwoo doesn’t need to, but he still insists on gently lifting you back onto the table, and he kisses your nose when you’re sitting before him. He’s standing in between your legs, and then he’s looking down at where wetness drips onto the glass table. 

His hand slides down your stomach, resting on the fat of it. He’s smiling, he’s so gorgeous, because he’s smiling the most gentle smile at how wet you are and how it leaks onto the table and his hand is so warm on your stomach, doing nothing, yet turning you on even more than you’d ever been before.

He sighs like he’s carrying the greatest burden on his broad back. “You’re so pretty,” he says, almost exasperated by it. He pinches some of the fat of your stomach between his fingers lovingly. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.” 

Then the hand on your stomach slides down further. His large, veiny hand cups your pussy, the tips of his fingers just barely teasing your hole. You whimper against him, hands finding his biceps for support. Wonwoo studies you, craning his neck down to peer at your face, while his fingers begin swaddling your folds. 

“You’re so wet, baby,” he mumbles, trying to catch your eye where you bury into his chest. One finger dips into your hole, penetrating slowly and settling knuckle-deep. 

“Wonnie!” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Mmm, clenching down on Wonnie’s finger so hard. My beautiful girl.” 

He begins pushing his finger in and out of you, pace slow and torturous. His other hand slides up and down your body, squeezing your waist then your thigh, then coming right back up to fondle your chest. He pushes your back flat against the glass, so you’re all splayed out for him and you watch him from there, eyes hooded and legs spread to accommodate him. He breathes in shakily at the sight of you. 

“Shit, Y/n. What were you doing hiding all this from me?” His finger picks up the pace, as another finger slips in alongside it. You’re moaning and panting, lips red and hair mussed, unable to focus on his words, when his fingers curl against that spongy spot inside you. Apparently Wonwoo expects an answer though, because he speaks again, voice lower and rougher. “Hm? You didn’t want to go have lunch? What, was it that guy?”

“W-What?” 

“Just some guy,” Wonwoo echoes your past words, emphasizing with a harsh thrust of his fingers. 

“N-No, I- Hng!” you cry out, when Wonwoo’s thumb presses onto your clit. He rubs it torturously. “I-I was embarrassed because I- I was thinking about you!” 

“Oh?” this catches Wonwoo’s attention, as he diligently works his hand within you, staring down at your naked form, fully clothed and tall. “Tell me what you were thinking about, baby.” 

“This!” you cry out, too high off the pleasure to really feel embarrassed about it.

“Pretty, sweet, dumb baby. You were thinking about you whimpering and writhing while I fuck you with my hand, hm?”

“N-No,” you mumble, cheeks aflame. “W-Was thinking about you l-liking me.” 

At this Wonwoo hastily leans over you, pressing his lips onto yours again, and this time his tongue pries open your mouth, wet and warm in the cavern of your mouth. You moan into the kiss, hips canting into his hand. There’s something so desperate about him then, something so eager in the way he crooks his fingers, and how he kisses you, panting and covering your face in warm air. You feel a tight knot in your stomach.

“Cum on my fingers, please, pretty, sweet, baby, darling,” he mumbles into your mouth, rushing out the words before he’s sealing your lips again. 

“God, I think I might fall in love with you.” 

That makes you cum. You cum so fucking hard, clenching around his fingers like an air-tight seal, and your cum spills onto his fingers and his name spills into his mouth. The curse comes out with it, escaping like the air that spills out from an ancient, rediscovered chamber, and dissipating into the night. Your heart is beating and you’re breathing into his mouth, nose brushing his. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, finally releasing your lips and letting his lips fall heavy and wet on your cheek. 

He pulls out his fingers, unbearably wet and slick, and you think for a second that he’ll let you calm down and then maybe he’ll put his dick in you, but as soon as the fingers are out of you, they’re settling back on to your clit, rubbing heavy-handed circles.

You whine, arching your back off the table and wiggling your hips at the overstimulation. His other hand catches your hip and he shushes your cries softly. 

“You can cum again, can’t you, baby? You can take it,” he says, so nonchalantly, while his slick fingers rub you. You cry out. Your legs are shaking. “Think you can cum again from just this?”

“Y-Yes,” you sigh and when you look down, his entire hand covers your pussy, as he pets your clit in circles. He smiles at your words, pinching your clit teasingly. It causes a squeak to escape you, hips struggling against his hold, where he pins you to the table.

“Good girl,” he praises, purring. “Letting me use your pretty pussy like this, letting me make you feel good.” 

His body in front of you prevents your legs from closing, but, God, do they try, knees pinching his thin waist, and hair bunching up on the glass when your face scrunches up in pleasure. 

“A-a-ah!” you cry out. Your hips involuntarily begin to inch away from him, but Wonwoo pulls you back with one strong hand, tutting. 

“Don’t do that,” he mutters, pouting. “You need to be touched, remember?” 

The whole thing is so heart-achingly intimate. The way he stands, still fully clothed and with a huge fucking tent in his pants, simply rubbing your pussy and looking at you with heart-eyes. Seriously, eyes swimming with adoration for you, teasing words slipping from his mouth unable to mask the genuine wonder he feels, at how you gasp and you arch and you clean and you jerk from the simplest of his movements. And your pussy is so warm and wet under his hand, and his body between your legs is so warm, and you cum again from just that; from how much love he looks at you with, and from the fingers crooking to pinch your clit again, wet and swollen underneath his glistening fingertips. 

“W-Wonwoo!” you cry out, cumming again, and your body convulses around his, when it oozes out of your hole. Wonwoo’s fingers gently work you through it. His gaze on you is so intent, so careful and insistent, you can’t bear it, the way he sees you totally lost in the pleasure he brings you. 

“There you go,” he whispers gently, fingers letting up and disappearing from your pulsating pussy. 

“Wonwoo,” you mewl tiredly, pushing yourself onto your elbows to look up at him. He looks at you, so sweetly, so attentively, hands immediately finding your back to stabilize you. “Can I please have your cock now?” 

“We don’t have to-” 

“I want to!” you interrupt him, brows furrowed and lips in a pout. Wonwoo grins at that and though he may deny it, you don’t miss the red that twinges his cheeks. 

“It’s just if you were too tired..-” 

“I’m not,” you say decidedly, and Wonwoo nods. 

“Okay. C’mere then.” 

You’re confused when Wonwoo sits back down in the office chair, fingers working his slacks open. He doesn’t answer to your grimace though, only manages his pants unzipped and in one lift of his hips, peel both them and his boxers down. 

His cock springs free, and your confused grimace is replaced with one of awe. It’s pale and veiny, the head is red and thin, white liquid oozes from it, like melted candle wax. And it’s huge.

You’re too slow to mask your amazement, it seems, because when your eyes return to his face, he’s already looking at you, smiling smugly. 

“Come ride me, baby.” 

You don’t need to be told twice. You slide off the table eagerly, lumbering over to where he’s relaxed against the back of the chair. He looks up at you, all naked and pretty, with a grin. 

The top buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned, but he must’ve given up halfway. Either way, the milky plates of his chest are exposed, shining gloriously in the warm office light, and he discards his glasses, face fully exposed to you. He’s beautiful, and you think to tell him.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, planting each leg around his, so you’re straddling him. Like your ritual, Wonwoo grips your middle and pulls you closer, but this time it’s even closer than normal. Your stomach meets his dick, all heavy and hot on your skin, and your breath hitches at the sensation. 

“You’re beautiful,” he teases, looking up at you. You smile. 

“Can I put it in?” you ask. 

“As if the answer was ever gonna be no?” 

You snort out a laugh, raising yourself by your thighs and gripping the base of his dick to steer him inside. He hisses at the feeling of your hand grappling with his impressive size, and he hisses once more when the head of his cock buries into your heat. 

His hands on your waist anchor himself while you slowly sink down, until he’s so fully sheathed in you, you think the tip of his cock must be brushing your heart, because it feels like it’s swinging in your chest. 

“You’re so big,” you whimper, clutching his broad shoulders, and scrunching the fabric on top of them. 

“Don’t say shit like that, I’m gonna cum, babe,” he grits out, fingers bruising your waist. You mewl, clutching his shirt. Then you begin to bounce. 

Your thighs flex on either side of him as you heave up and down his cock, the both of you gasping into each other, and clutching each other for stability. 

“Shit,” he pants out, genuinely out of breath. “Fuck, you’re the loveliest girl in the world.”

You cry out, pressure already welling in your stomach and burying yourself in his neck like you’ve always done, and it’s so intimate and he’s warm, and, fuck, he wants you. You can feel it in his grip, in his cock, in his words; he wants you more than anything. The thought makes you wanna cum. 

Wonwoo is not quiet at all. He grunts and whines and his words are strangled and garbled, but frequent, showering you in affection and praise, while you bounce eagerly on his huge cock. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” 

“Your tits are so perfect, shit.”

“Pretty girl.” 

“Loveliest, prettiest, sweetest girl, bouncing on my cock, fuck.”

Praises spill from his lips in purrs, one after another, and when you cum you can’t help but return it tenfold. 

“Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonnie, fuck! Gonna- fucking cum, I think I’m- f-falling in love with you”

You and Wonwoo come alive. Cum spurts from his cock and into your pussy, and you both cry out, entangled and completing one another in the space where you meet. 

And it’s true, falling in love with him is so easy. And falling in love with you is easy too, you realize, because the second he’s spilled his cum in you, he pulls you from his neck to kiss you so deeply, so thoroughly, you think your lips might never unpuff from his hasty, bitten kisses. 

His cock, now soft, still inside you, his warm chest against yours, his nose nudging yours, his eyelashes fluttering against your skin, the kiss is totally perfect, and you’re warm, and the windows are all closed and fogged up and there’s no curse other than the most fatal and most perfectly tantalizing of them all: love. 

You are not alone. You’re sitting in his lap and you think if you give it a day or two more, you might want to spend the rest of your life with him. 

You catch your breaths. 

“You’re really good at that,” you say finally. He grins again, perfectly undone, hair tousled and cheeks flushed. “Yeah?” he asks. You hum. 

After some minutes of keeping him inside you, kissing lazily, running your hands over his pretty chest and arms, you pull back, beginning to flex your legs to pull him out of you. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, hands wafting to still your movements. You furrow your brows, confused. 

“Am getting your dick out of me?” 

His hands sink down on your hips heavily, fully encompassing his dick again. You sigh at the feeling. 

“Don’t do that, silly. You’re touch-starved, remember?” 

He tilts his head teasingly. 

“So why don’t you just sit snug on my cock, so you can get all the closeness you need?”

[miguelhugger2099]

Punk!Miggy using Pastel!Reader’s hair ribbons as handlebars as he takes her doggy style 🤭🤭🤭

me when i’m NOT TAKING REQUESTS but the miggy simps discord server went ballistic with the punk!miguel headcanons (you KNOW who u r) 🫵

You were too soft for him, too sweet, it was intoxicating. Miguel loved to look at you when fucking you. Normally he did missionary, the sight of your face moaning and teary eyed from his cock was better than any position he could’ve put you in. If not missionary, then at least any position where he sees every single reaction.

So far, because of your inexperience, you never really asked him of anything kinky except now.

At first, you came to him shyly. It’s already a few minutes into making out, his ringed fingers bumping against your swollen folds as he curls them inside you. Miguel always preps you first, easing you open for his girth to slip inside.

But you stop him with a hand on his chest. “Wait, can we…” You lick your lips, your cherry lipgloss smeared off you and transferring it onto his lips. “I-I wanna do something different. Try something different.”

Miguel cups your chin between his thumb and index finger and gives it a little squeeze. “Of course. Que quieres, mi muñeca?”

He expected you wanted some more praise, you did love his sweet talking. Or maybe even some extra foreplay on your wet cunt, you always creamed earlier than normal when the ball of his pierced tongue lapped up inside you.

He’s pleasantly surprised when you’re on your knees, arching your ass up with your head turned over you shoulder. His cold silver bracelets graze your ass as he gropes the flesh in his hand. You feel his jewelry run down your back and stopping at the nape of your neck. It makes you arch higher, presenting yourself to him like it was the first time.

The new angle is heavenly and it’s much easier to roll his hips in thorough strokes, slowly becoming used to the sight of your ass jiggle when you back up on him. His hands grip your hips, pushing you on and off his cock while he rolls up, stuffing you and feeling your slick coating his balls with each plap, plap, plap.

For you, your knees shake, body weak when he decides to start slow—like always—to tease you. His tip hits your walls and your pussy pulses and clench when you tighten around his throbbing vein. You desperately want to go faster but Miguel keeps you at his pace, enjoying the view of your body jerking forward, eyes half lidded against the pillow.

Today, your hair is in pigtails, your usual signature white ribbons tied to the scrunchies tied in your locks.

An idea lights up in his mind, his cock twitching with agreement. Miguel reaches forward to grab a pigtail, tugging the white ribbon along with it, and pulls your head up and back. You gasp and quickly set yourself straight with your palms on the sheets, neck bent backwards as he pulls you back. A whimper escapes your lips, pussy fluttering in excitement—which he notices.

“Oh, you like that?”

Your body arches, ass slamming against his pelvis as he makes you feel him, securing his hand around your hair. Fingers curl into the sheets and your arms are tense to keep yourself upright while he ruts into you.

Eyes rolled back and your moans are stuttering since he makes quick and hard thrusts against your body. Each rough fuck makes your tits swing that makes you wail in embarrassment and arousal.

He grunts and pants heavily as he’s overcome with desire. The pretty bows compared to the whore like position you wanted to try- your pretty makeup smearing down your cheeks from the pain of his pulling and the pleasure of his cock ravaging you in a new area. One that directly hits your spot to make you cum.

You scream and shudder, body tensed and weary from being used from behind. You need a minute to catch your breath, to process after trying something new but Miguel holds you up.

His hand is practically glued to your pigtail and when he feels you falter forward, he drags you back up again and keeps pumping. He hears you babbling and crying, whining about your sensitivity but he feels you. Your body is sucking him in deeper, your body can’t lie to him.

Miguel becomes addicted, adding his new favorite way to fuck you. He can never look at your pigtails the same way again. Not when you moan so prettily, forcing your mouth open by yanking your head back and seeing the way your white ribbons flail around while your cunt gushes around him, body bouncing on his cock.

A/N: i hope i described it as well as i wanted to i was stuck in the mental image of it all 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[dira333]

The Gremlin or how to get over yourself - Suna x Reader (Angst to fluff)

A/N: I moved my writing schedule to write only on weekends. Things will take a lot more time but my health will be better off. Please enjoy this Suna Fic, it's my first time writing for him.

Words: 7,1k - tagging @emmyrosee because she loves Suna

It’s seven p.m. on a Thursday night when Suna’s phone rings, Keeping up with the Kardashians is playing on low volume as he swallows the rest of his Chuupet, a necessary entree prepping his stomach lining for the slightly burnt Rice he’s having for Dinner.

Samu’s curt in his greeting, kitchen noise in the background as usual.

“The Gremlin’s having a week off.” He says. “I’m not supposed to ask, but do you still own that pull-out couch?”

The Gremlin. He hasn’t heard that name in months.

Suna’s the one who came up with it, a silly joke that slipped out at an unfortunate time.

-

“That’s our sister,” Tsumu comments on the high-pitched wailing coming from the kitchen. “Just ignore her.”

“She’s not that bad.” Samu tries. “Just don’t look at her too long.”

The wailing stops abruptly, followed by the tell-tale sound of someone snuffling loudly.

“Samu? Tsumu? Are you home?”

Red-rimmed eyes peer into the hallway, silver braces glinting in the dim light. Your hair’s a mess that might have been pigtails sometime before. 

“You look like a gremlin.” Suna points out. He half expects you to cry again. Instead, you kick him in the balls.

-

“Uh, sure.” He manages to pull himself out of the memory, the pain still fresh in his mind even if it’s been years. “She could just ask herself, she’s got my number.”

“Ah,” Osamu chuckles half-heartedly. “I didn’t like her last boyfriend. She’s still mad about that.”

“Boyfriend?” He hears himself ask, mind going a little frayed trying to picture you with a boyfriend. 

“Yeah, I don’t know if you know him, but he was Nekoma’s Captain when we went to Nationals? Black hair that made him look like a Rooster?”

A chill runs down his back. “You let your sister date Kuroo Tetsuro?”

“Hey now, it’s not like I got anything to say in that matter. You know how she is.”

“Yeah, I do-” He mumbles, mind already drifting back.

-

“Why would I do that?” Gremlin asks, nose pointed to the sky. The braces look almost cute on you when you smile like that, a little arrogant and so very pleased with yourself. The new set of pimples across your nose ruins the look a little bit, but there are more important things to think about.

“Come on.” Tsumu whines. “It would be so funny! You just have to ask him out on a date.”

“Nah.” You blow a bubble with your chewing gum, clearly feeling very important. It’s rare that your brothers ask you for help and you like to lord your power over them. 

“If you do it, I’ll ask Kita-san to let you train with us for one day.”

Your eyes light up at the prospect, even as both Samu and Tsumu groan in annoyance. The girl's Volleyball Club isn’t to be messed with, but you’re as competitive as your brothers. There’s a long-standing battle of who’s best and you’ve gotten better since you got into High School, yearning to show off.

He can’t quite understand why, but he respects it. You’re one of the youngest in your Class, born on the last possible day to make it into one school year below your brothers. Maybe it’s because you’re born prematurely. Tsumu calls it your obsessive need to be part of absolutely everything, Suna thinks you’re obsessed with proving yourself. 

“Fine.” You huff. “So I ask the Basketball Captain on a date and then I just stand him up?”

“Yeah!” Tsumu nods eagerly, Samu a little preoccupied with his Bento. “I’ll even toss to you during training if he accepts.”

Midorima-san does not accept your confession. But Suna gets to be there, phone ready, when you kick him in the balls. Midorima-san screams like a little girl.

-

“Anyways.” Samu pulls him out of his reverie again. “I’ll text Kita to let her know you’ll pick her up from the train station.”

“Hold up.” Suna puts his phone between his ear and shoulder, trying his darned best to save both his dinner and his last remaining brain cells. “Why do I have to pick her up and why can’t you just tell her yourself?”

“Dude, keep up. Mom would kill you if she knew the Gremlin had to take an Uber in a foreign city when you’re perfectly capable of picking her up. Who raised you?”

“True.” He huffs, wrinkles his nose at the perfectly burned rice on his plate. Oh well, Take-out it is. “And Kita?”

“I told you she’s still mad about that Kuroo thing. She could never say no to Kita.”

“True,” he repeats, an acid taste on his tongue. He used to hate that, how Mr. Perfect could make even you swoon, the Gremlin, the monster every boy at school secretly feared. 

“So, what did you do? That made her so mad?”

“Ask Tsumu about it, I have to work.” The call disconnects with a dissatisfying click and Suna grunts, orders Pizza, and calls Tsumu. He’s invested now.

-

Five days later he’s as well informed as he can be.

You’re arriving at exactly 5:24 p.m. and you broke up with Kuroo over both his workaholic tendencies and a job offer too good to decline.

Samu and Tsumu decided to throw a party at the news which didn’t go over well with you, even though you did decide to get drunk with them - Tsumu woke up with half his eyebrows shaved off and Samu still misses a box of his favorite cookies that he swears you took.

You like Tamagoyaki for breakfast and you’re here to decide between three different offers for three different teams, all Division 1 of Japan’s V.League. You’re a Libero now and a pretty good one too.

-

“Why are you crying?” He asks, offering you a Chuupet. You like the pineapple flavor best and that works out okay because it’s his least favorite flavor. 

“Doesn’t matter.” You wipe your nose on your sleeve and stare down the roof. He can hear Tsumu somewhere below them, yelling some curse words into the wind. He’s probably fighting with Samu right now.

“Did you get asked out by someone ugly?” He asks, taking a seat opposite to you. “Do I have to beat someone up?” 

“Kita-san is leaving after this year.” You point out. It’s a fact and you don’t sound too upset about it, yet it feels like you’ve dropped red-hot coals into his stomach, the acid bubbling from the heat.

“Uhuh.” 

You pull your knees up and he averts his eyes, lest someone accuses him of looking up your skirt. It’s not his fault you never seem to remember that you’re not wearing shorts.

“Kita-san told me that Tsumu’s going to be Captain next year.” You mumble into your arms. “And he asked me what my plans are.”

“What did you say?”

“What do you think?” Your voice is sharp now, the usual sting of your words a welcome sensation. This is the you he knows well, unbothered if your truth makes others uncomfortable.

He leans back as far as he can, lets his eyes rest on your shoulder, the smooth curve of your neck. You’ve grown a few inches since you came here and it suits you well. 

“You want to be better than Tsumu.”

You snort, hit his thigh with your fist. The touch lingers even when you take your hand back.

“Kita-san said I can never be better than Tsumu.”

Suna’s never moved this fast before. His head almost knocks into yours.

“He didn’t!” His voice is almost shrill, his chest tight with a weird sensation. You seem calm, brows arched.

“He’s right, isn’t he?” You tell him, too calm. You’re the most dangerous when you’re calm. “I’ll never be an Original. Tsumu will keep playing, Samu won’t. If I keep playing, I’ll be just like Tsumu. If I decide to do something else, no matter what, I’ll be just like Samu. It just sucks so much!”

“Be a Libero then.” It’s a slip of his tongue, nothing more. But your eyes are big and bright and he wants to forget the way you looked before, desperate and desolate, so he keeps talking.

“You’re tall for a Libero. You’re average for a Setter. You’ll always be at the back of the Court and always wear a different shirt. Tsumu’s receiving sucks anyway. You’ll never be Captain, so you’ll never have to argue with him who’s been better at that. You can keep playing Volleyball and do your own twist of it.” He shrugs. “Just… Just an idea. I mean, you can do what you want. It’ll always be original. You’re the Gremlin after all.”

He forgets how to breathe when you pull him into a sudden hug. You’ve never been one for cuddling, never been into touch that doesn’t lend itself to violence.

But it’s nice, how you fit right in his arms, like you’d grown just for that purpose.

-

“Suna!” It seems that he might have been able to forget quite some things, but not your voice.

“I’m here!” He lazily raises his arm, counting on his height. There are too many people on the platform right now, the bustle making it hard to spot you.

But then you step out from behind a gaggle of businessmen and his mouth runs dry.

It should be illegal to wear shorts this… well, short. Your legs are way too long to be real. You could probably break a watermelon between your thighs. Why is it suddenly so hot?

“Hey Stranger!” You greet him with a grin. Where you used to have braces is now a perfectly white set of teeth in a perfectly formed mouth. Oh, wait, no, there’s the dimple and the slight curve to the right. He feels a little faint and curses the fact he’s not had dinner yet.

“Hey.” Should he move to hug you? Offer his hand? Slap you on the back?

You take that decision from him, knock your left knee into his right like you used to do back in High School. “What’s up with you? Did you forget how to talk?”

“No, I’m fine. Just tired. How was the train ride?”

“Long. Boring. Are you hungry? Can we go eat before we drop off my stuff or do you have a ‘No girl stuff in my car’-rule like Tsumu?”

“Tsumu’s still single then?” He asks, directing you toward the exit. “Both’s fine with me. We can order take-out. What are you in the mood for?”

“You eat take-out? How shameful.” You wrinkle your nose at him in mock disgust. Would it be weird if he leaned in and bit into it, dug his teeth into your skin? Probably.

“You gonna rat me out to Samu?”

“Probably.”

“I’m letting you stay in my apartment.”

“I said probably. My Silence is expensive.”

“Hey, Suna!” A familiar voice yells over the crowd. He turns, surprised to see Komori.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nohr got a craving for that one Pork Belly Dish, so I drove over to get it for her. Is that your friend you mentioned? Hey, I’m Komori Motoya.” 

There’s that familiar tightness again, building up in his chest as he watches you chat with Komori. It’s Highschool all over again, how you swooned over Kita, had private discussions with Aran or the fact that you regularly went over to Ginjima’s place for some kind of secret meetings. 

It’s not that he dislikes you having friends. Or that he hates the fact that his friends like you too. But he’s him and that’s Komori, the nicest guy that ever decided to play Volleyball. Well, at least Komori’s not single.

“Oh, hi Suna.”

“What are you doing here?” 

Washio furrows his brows at his less than friendly tone.

“Wow, I know I messed up a little today, but are you really still mad about my Block?”

Your eyes are on him too now and he swallows the bile down yet again.

“Sorry, I’m being a dick.”

“When are you not?” You ask, a teasing lilt to your voice. It still stings, but less so when you knock your knee against his again. “You’re both on his team then?”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Miserable is our Middle Blocker. I’m the other Middle Blocker and Komori is our Libero.”

“Oh, a fellow Libero.” You grin easily. “I’m here to check out a few teams in the area. We could get together some day, maybe? When the Grump’s not so obviously hangry?”

Washio laughs. “Sure. Sunday works well for me. What do you think Komori?”

“I’ll talk to Nohr and let you know, but I think I’d be fine with Sunday.”

“Don’t I get asked too?” Suna grumbles and you elbow him. “Pork Belly?” You ask him instead, nodding at the take-out containers both Washio and Komori carry.

“Sure.” He agrees, because at least that will get him out of this conversation.

-

It’s almost time to go home and he’s still in possession of his second button.

Suna refuses to give it up and both Samu and Tsumu seem to think it’s hilarious.

“Hey.” In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, you weedle yourself under Tsumu’s left arm, press yourself into him as you peer up at Suna. “What are you guys doing after School?”

“Mom’s making Hot Pot!” Samu decares from your other side, finishing off the rest of the Yakisoba bread you had brought in as a present. You got all of them graduation presents. A book for Ginjima, new shoes for Tsumu - though you declared that you wanted his old ones - a mixed bag of Chuupets for Suna. All of the pineapple flavors have been taken out and while he should find it annoying, it’s a little too endearing to him.

“You’re invited, by the way.” Samu points out. “But Mom said it’s okay if you can’t come. Your parents probably planned something for you too.”

“Not sure.” He mumbles, fiddling with his second button. 

“Oh, we’re going soon, right?” Samu flings the wrapping paper of his bread into the waste basket at the door and pulls at Tsumu’s arm. “Come on, you still need to confess to that girl from the Crafts Club.”

“What?” Tsumu looks at him like he just declared he’d start playing Basketball from now on. “Yeah, come on.” Samu tugs again. “We’ll get back to you later.”

 And just like that, it’s the two of you, the air around you growing dense with unsaid things. 

“You still have your second button?” You ask, pointing at it.

“Yeah.” With one last tug, the string gives away and he holds it in his hands. The button’s not even that big, he thinks as he rolls it between sweaty fingers. Just a tiny thing made from plastic that holds so much meaning.

“Were you planning to give it to someone?” Your voice sounds weird. He can hear his pulse in his ears, way too loud and way too fast. He’s going back to Aichi in a few weeks, doesn’t know much about his future but the fact that he’s got into College there, will have to get into their College Volleyball team if he wants to make it Pro. And even then, nothing’s sure. Not if he’ll make it Pro, not if his team will win the important matches. He could be doomed to be average for the rest of his life, living from the memories he made right here, in those last three years.

When he looks up, you look different than before. 

You’ve got the Miya Gene of Stubbornness, and are the worst of all three when it comes to not letting go of your dreams. You’ve managed to turn around and beat everyone’s expectations in the last year alone, making it from an average setter to an extraordinary Libero. You almost won the Nationals last year and there’s word of it being a sure win the next time around.

It’s not a conscious decision, but it feels right. To open his mouth and say “No. I’m not giving it to anybody.” To fling that damned button out the window. 

Still. He’ll probably never forget the way your mouth curved at the sight, like you were trying to hold something inside that was trying to burst out of you. 

He misses your graduation because of a stubborn cold. He watches most of your matches until he gets so busy with training and College and just, life, that he falls off, little by little. 

Soon enough you’re nothing but a memory and he’s probably less in your head.

After all, you’re dating Kuroo Tetsuro and making a name for yourself, aren’t you?

-

His heart is a traitorous thing, it seems, but at least it calms down over Pork Belly. You’re eating on the Couch you’re going to sleep on later, your legs familiarly thrown over his. Keeping Up with the Kardashians plays on TV, but it’s basically background noise now as you talk, laugh, and wave your chopsticks around.

It’s like old times, hanging out at your house after school. Any second now, Samu’s going to come in from the kitchen with his second helping. He can almost hear Tsumu’s nagging voice in the background, telling you “Shut up! I didn’t sound like that.”

“Hey, Gremlin.” Your head snaps around at the nickname and his mouth runs dry.

“What?”

“‘s nothing.” You mumble into your dish. “Just not used to getting called that way again.”

“Oh.” He’s suddenly not hungry anymore but stuffs his mouth nonetheless to think of a comment.

“You want me to stop? It was a stupid nickname, really.”

“Nah.” You shake your head and dig your heels into his thighs. “It’s okay. I am a Gremlin.”

“You totally are. Like, you didn’t even bring me a present. Didn’t your Mum teach you about housewarming gifts?”

“I totally brought you a gift!” You jump up and pull something from your suitcase. He recognizes it by sound alone, the crinkling plastic wrap a tell-tale sign.

“You bought me Chuupets?” He laughs, his heart tightening when he realizes that you pulled all the pineapple flavors out. 

“Samu said you’re still eating them.” You point out, handing them over in a way that tells you this is just as awkward for you as it is for him.

“Course. What do you think of me? I don’t change like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me!”

“Okay.” He claps his hands on his thighs and sits up, grabs his phone from his pocket, and connects it with his TV. “History lesson. I’ll catch you up on what happened in the years since I graduated.”

“Oh wow, are you going to let me write a test on that too?”

“Only if you keep asking stupid questions.”

-

His alarm goes off way too early for the late night he’s had. 

You just kept swapping stories, drunk on nostalgia. 

The girlfriend he had in College, the most awkward affair of his life to date. “She was obsessed with my hair.” He spilled what he hadn’t even told Samu, “Cut off a few strands of it and kept it in her purse for personal reasons.”

How you got to play for the Tokyo Tigers and your awful first date ever with a guy who thought he could get free Onigiri through you. 

“Kicked him in the balls for that.” You said, grinning smugly. He couldn’t help the “That’s my girl,” that slipped out of his mouth. But you smiled like you agreed.

“Morning Gremlin.” He calls out as he moves toward the bathroom. Your head pops up, dried spit sticking to the side of your face, hair sticking out in odd angles.

“Bathroom’s mine.” You declare with something like a war cry. He’s got a headstart, but you still beat him there, your body trained by years of living with the twins. 

“What the f-” You kick him in the shins and slam the door in his face when he goes down. Long-forgotten memories of sleepovers resurface. What does it say about him that he’s still grinning when you step back out?

“I’m so sorry.” You tell him, your hair less messy, your face void of spit. He focuses on your eyes because your sleep shirt is a little too revealing for this early hour.

“Nah, it’s good. I like being heckled right after getting out of bed.”

You snort. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Hey, I’ve gotten way better! I bet I’m better at cooking than you.”

“I’ll let you try.” The Challenge lights a familiar fire in your eyes. He’s going to have to come up with excuses to eat out if he doesn’t want to turn into a sore loser.

-

“Morning loverboy,” Komori greets him at training.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Suna’s probably never been this diligent with his stretches before, but it’s a welcome distraction now.

“Nohr said she could do Sunday, by the way.” Komori’s not letting the topic go, however, and Suna can’t even blame his stubbornness. He’s grown up with Sakusa, after all. 

“Great.” If negative excitement is a thing, he’s projecting it right now.

Training goes smoothly, however, which he’s thankful for. 

It’s hard enough to deal with Komori’s excitement - he’s been trying to set up Suna since before he met Nohr, his enthusiasm only intensified by his own personal happiness - and Washio’s weird sense of humor on any day, but he doesn’t dare imagine what it would be like if he sucked. They’d probably tell him that he’s lovesick or something equally stupid.

“So, your girlfriend-” Washio starts when they gather for a quick break.

Suna barely avoids choking on the sip of water he’d just taken, can’t even be happy about narrowly avoiding death when a smug smile appears on Komori’s face.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” He points out hastily. “Remember the Miya-Twins? She’s their little sister.”

“Ouch.” Komori pulls a face. “That must have been a rough childhood.”

“So you’re not with her because they’d kill you if you’d try?” Washio asks and Suna’s glad his mouth is empty this time. 

“No, I’m not with her because I’m not with her. We’re just friends. She’s the Gremlin, okay?”

“The Gremlin?” Washio’s brows furrow in the same way they do when he thinks about Bokuto. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suna points at his shin, the darkening spot on his skin.

“She kicked me in the shins today because she wanted to use the bathroom first.”

“She’s a guest. Of course she should get to use the bathroom first.” Washio points out. Suna grunts in annoyance and turns to Komori.

“Don’t ask me for help there, I always let Nohr take the bathroom in the morning.”

“Yeah, because you’re whipped.”

“And you’re not?” Washio’s eyebrows are now doing the “Coach is saying something but I sense he means something else”-Dance.

“Weren’t you listening? She’s the Gremlin. There’s nothing there between us!”

“Good.” Washio puts his watter bottle down with a nod. There’s something there, maybe in the sound of plastic hitting the floor, or maybe it’s in his voice, but the knot in Suna’s stomach pulls taught to the point he’s afraid he might vomit any second. “That means I can ask her out.”

-

Suna’s good at what he does, because he’s not only observant but has a Poker Face to match it. He’s a strategist, plays the long game, all of those things.

So the fact that he did not see that coming from a mile away should scare him way more than the prospect of you dating Washio. 

Oh god, what if you date Washio and it works out? And you move here? And he has to see you every time they do teambuilding stuff like movie nights or Karaoke sessions? 

His mind races with a speed formerly unknown. His face is completely blank, at least he’s still got that going for him, but his mind is tormenting him with a terrible picture of you and Washio at the altar.

“I mean, you can ask her out, but I can’t tell you if you’ll have a shot with her or not. Remember Kuroo? They broke up recently.”

Washio nods slowly. He doesn’t know that “recently” is a very vague description. He’s not so sure about the timeframe himself, but it sounded like a few months have passed since that incident. Not that Washio has to know that.

“Can you give me her number?”

“Only if I want to get neutered in my sleep. But I’ll tell her you asked for it and offer her yours.”

Washio nods even slower and Komori’s face looks like he’s doing his best to hold back diarrhea. 

“Well, do that, and if she’s not into it, I can still ask her properly on Sunday. She’s staying till Wednesday, right?”

“Right.”

“All right Boys, get back into position.” Coach yells from behind them. Suna’s never been more glad to get back to training.

-

Suna spends Friday and Saturday evening sightseeing with you, which is in itself an exaggeration. He’s never been one for sightseeing like the typical tourist.

“Okay, stop. And don’t smile, this background is serious.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t look around - you’ve learned from your previous mistakes. When he flips his phone around, you can see yourself leaning against the railing of a footbridge, behind you the central landfill.

“The Gremlin in its natural habitat.” He teases. You punch his shoulder as hard as you can.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Oh, come on,” He slings his arm around your shoulder. “You get to take one of me next. How about the mural with the poop emoji? Will that suffice?”

You lean your head back to look up at him and your face is so close now that your breath washes over his face. Your lips open and close as you speak, but there’s an odd noise in his ears. 

Pain erupts from his cheeks as you pinch and twist them.

“Ouch, what the f-”

“You were zoning out completely. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Oh, good call.” Suna turns away to regain his composure. “Take-out or do you want to actually sit and dine.”

“Or we could cook?”

He pulls a face. “Do we have to?”

You laugh. “I could teach you a few things. Mom wouldn’t let me leave for college without knowing how to feed myself. And Samu asks me to help him every chance he gets. Cheap labor, you know.”

“So you’re saying that your cooking is better than Takoyaki from a street vendor?” He points at the sign he’d noticed a few seconds ago. Your confidence falters. So it is still your favorite food…

“What if, and hear me out, we get Takoyaki, enjoy your weird little poop emoji mural, and drop into a Konbini on the way back. By the time we’re home, you’re going to be hungry again anyway.”

“I’m not Samu, I don’t eat that much.”

“No? Well, I do. And I’m your guest, so what I say goes.”

Suna laughs along, ignores the tingling that erupts whenever you knock your shoulder into his as you walk. It’s nice, to be like this with you. Relaxed, at ease, no dangerous thoughts rolling around in his brain.

-

It’s only when you’re pushing the shopping cart down the aisle that things change.

Your phone rings and you pull it out, frown at the display.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this. Can you pick up some more rice and vegetables? I only need five minutes.”

“Sure.” Suna keeps his face neutral as ever, but he’s seen the caller ID. It’s Kuroo.

“Hey Tetsurou, what’s up?” He can hear your voice as you walk away from him. You sound too friendly for a chat with your ex-boyfriend. He desperately wants to hear more, but he’s not a creep, so he pushes the shopping cart away from you, down another aisle. 

By the time his mind clears a little, he’s far far away from the produce aisle and staring at an assortment of Shochu. He picks up two bottles at random and drops them in the cart before making his way back to where he was supposed to be going.

-

Suna’s not sure what wakes him. 

He knows it’s a Sunday because his body, conditioned by years of training, tells him to stay in bed. His head feels a little fuzzy, telling him he drank too much last night, but it’s Sunday, so that doesn’t really matter anyway.

His blanket must have slid off during the night, so he pats around, eyes closed. What he finds instead is a face and his eyes snap open to dawny morning light and your annoyed grumbling.

His heart, usually a rather chill fellow, thrums in his throat. He’s frozen in place, his hand still somewhat cradling your cheek. His mind unhelpfully supplies him with the information that your cheeks are warm and soft, fit perfectly into the palm of his hand.

He tries his best to block out this information in favor of checking if he’s still wearing clothes.

He couldn’t… he wouldn’t… You blink and he goes completely still.

“Suna?” You ask. “Are you okay? Your face looks weird.”

“I…” He manages before his voice gives out. 

This is both his biggest nightmare and his sweetest dream. If only he could convince himself that it’s not real, he could slip back into his dreams and consider it private. 

Something on his face must have tipped you off. This is worrying, because since when can others read his face?

You pull his hand from your face and slip out from under the covers. You’re wearing boxer shorts and a tank top, reasonably dressed for what he feared might have happened.

“You have not changed at all.” You say, your voice way too calm to be harmless. He’s not sure what he’s done, but he’s going to regret it.

“What do you mean?”

You stop at the door and level him with a look he’s only ever seen directed at people you never want to come across, ever again. This isn’t going well for him.

“You’re the king of mixed signals, Suna. And I’m sick of it. Make up your mind.”

“Where are you going?” He follows you, a little less balanced than you.

“Out.” You pull clothes over your sleepwear, drag your hair into something resembling a messy bun. “I need some fresh air.”

“Look, whatever happened-”

“I know.” Your voice is as hard as steel now. “Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens.” 

The door clicks shut behind you with a sound of finality.

-

You're still not back when Suna drags himself out of bed hours later.

His head hurts and his mouth is dry in a way that even three glasses of water cannot seem to fix. He calls you over the first cup of coffee, but you don’t pick up. 

Five unanswered calls and plenty of messages later he’s ready to call the police. Sure, you’re one to hold a grudge, but accidents happen.

The thought of you hurt on the side of the road, will not leave his mind. His hands shake as he moves through his contacts, his first instinct as always to call Kita. 

He doesn’t get that far, however. 

“Why are you calling?” He asks, his voice doing some weird thing he’s not exactly proud of.

“Your friend.” Washio’s voice is serious in a way he hasn’t heard before. “She’s with me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” There’s the sound of a door closing. Suna can’t help but picture it. You’re probably on Washio’s Couch right now, the massive green beast he helped carry up the stairs a year ago. He’s probably made you a decent Lunch or a cup of coffee that does not burn away your stomach lining. You’ve probably told him everything already. Whatever. It’s not like he can fall any deeper in Washio’s eyes.

“Suna?” That’s Komori’s voice. It sounds like he’s on speaker phone now.

“Yeah?”

“I’d rather do this in person, but you’re both stubborn as hell. Everyone can tell that you like her.”

“I don’t-”

“Lying about has got you into this mess, you could be honest for once.” Komori’s voice stays the same, friendly and light as ever, even as his words pack a punch.

“It doesn’t matter.” Suna presses out. “I’m not good enough.”

He didn’t mean to say those last few words. It seems as if the truth is like a Chuupet, slippery in his hold - but a lot less sweet.

“I think she’d disagree.” Washio grumbles along with his deep voice. “Apparently you’re totally her type. Snarky assholes who don’t know when to stop teasing and stuff like that. Trust me, she’s not stopped talking about it since we picked her up.”

“How- How did that work out anyway?”

“Sakusa’s on Atsumu’s team, remember?” Komori explains. “I think she just needed someone to vent who’s not her brothers. Someone who knows the current you. Nohr is currently with her and they’re talking to someone called Kita on the phone.”

Suna flinches. It would have been less painful for him if you’d called the twins.

“I’m not sure if you know.” Komori starts again after a few seconds of silence. “But she doesn’t have an offer here. I’m not… I’m not telling you more about that, but I think you guys should talk. And be honest for once. You’re both grown ups, for goodness sake.”

“Sure.” He huffs. “Like she’s going to listen to me now.”

“Get over here.” Washio declares. “I’ll send her down as soon as you’re here. It’s on you to get her to listen, though.”

-

“Never have I ever served a ball into someone’s head.” Suna declares confidently. 

“It was on purpose.” You point out as you down your Shochu. 

“Tsumu?” He asks. You grin smugly. 

“A Lady doesn’t tell.”

“You’ve never been a Lady.”

“I totally am!”

“You totally are not! You’re the Gremlin.”

“Well, at least I’m one of a kind.”

“That you are.” The words weren’t meant to come out this soft. But your eyes seem to mirror his sound, now pools of warm liquid that seem to pull him in.

…

“Never have I ever had a crush on someone in my school.” You drink right after you say it, but he’s too far gone to complain about you breaking the rules as he downs his own shot.

“Who?” You ask, giggling. You’re swaying in your seat, barely able to hold yourself up. 

“You should get to bed.”

“Not without knowing who you’ve had a crush on.”

“You should get to bed first.” He gets up, utterly convinced that the Shochu won’t have any effect on him until he can barely keep upright without the Couch cushions stabilizing him. He pulls you up all the same, dragging you across the room. “Come on.”

“I sleep on the Couch.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Who did you have a crush on?”

“Who did you have a crush on?” He asks back. “Kita, right?”

“Everyone had a crush on Kita.” You brush it off. “Whataboutyou?”

He pushes you onto the bed, giggles when you bounce off the mattress. It looks so soft and he lets himself fall too, lands a bit too close to you to be comfortable, his head knocking against your shoulder as he tries to wriggle away. He can’t look at you properly in this position.

“The teacher.” He declares with all sincerity he can muster while going cross eyed looking at you. You’re so close now, he can count your lashes. One, two, three…

-

Your eyes narrow the moment you spot him.

You turn back towards the still open door but Suna’s faster, grabs your arm to pull you back.

With everyone else, he’d feel bad about this, but you’ve kicked his ass enough times. You respond in kind, gift him a few more bruises on his shin and pull him down into a headlock. He’s not fighting it. At least you’re not pushing him away, right?

“What are you doing here?” You ask. Your knuckles are no longer rubbing over his head, but rather brushing through his hair. Are you aware of that?

“I want to talk.”

You huff, let go of him. He grabs your hand before you can step away, drags you down the sidewalk by your hand. Your fingers intertwine as you fall into step with him.

“I’ve had a crush on you.” Suna points out when the park comes into view. “I don’t know when it happened, but I had a crush on you. In high school.”

“I know.” You point out, your grip on his hand neither tightening nor loosening. “Everyone knew.”

“Excuse me? I have the best poker face in the prefecture.”

“Oh please, you suck.”

“You suck!”

“Suna!”

“Rintarou.”

You stop, suddenly breathless as you gaze at him.

“What?” You ask, your voice raspy.

“You should call me Rintarou.”

“No.” You glare at him. “No, we’re not doing this. You can’t push me away and pull me in right after just to push me away again.”

“I know.” He looks down, surprised to see that you’ve still not pulled your hands apart.

“Tell me one thing.” He purses his lips, tries his best to make his words sound less pathetic than they are. “You could have had Kita. Or Ginjima. Even Midorima-san was kinda impressed with you. Washio has the hots for you too. Why would you even care about little old me?”

Softness washes over your face. You’ve never looked this good.

“I’m the Gremlin.” You tell him. You obviously are, in your layered slept-in clothes and your messy bun, your tendency to kick his ass even when he’s not asking for it. “You like me for what I am. I like you for what you are.”

And there’s a truth to that he hadn’t considered before.

You’ve been at his side for long enough, know how he acts after a loss or a win. You know he can’t cook for shit, have seen him block, have heard him snore.

A strange lightness takes hold of him. He feels like giggling.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

You nod. 

He leans in, heart beating in his throat again, but for different reasons this time. 

His lips brush yours, the softest of touches he’s never thought possible. 

When you respond it feels like coming home.

-

They’re almost too heavy for the swings, you’re on his lap on the tiny set.

“So, Kuroo?” He asks when everything else has been talked about, over and over and over again.

Your head’s a comforting weight on his shoulder. He could get used to this, being so close he only needs to lean down a little to kiss you.

“We’re still friends if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, but good to know.”

“Since when are you jealous?” You furrow your brows at him. He looks away.

“Rin.”

“Yes, love?”

“Since when are you jealous?”

“Since you fancied Kita, I guess.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you said you loved me, so jokes on you.”

You straighten up and glare at him.

“I told Kuroo that I wanted to try, one last time, to get with you. He was the one who got me interviews in this prefecture. So if you have a problem with him helping me-”

“I don’t have a problem with that, I just-”

“You think he’s better than you and wants me back eventually?”

“It sounds awful when you say it like that.”

You laugh. “You’ll have to work on that. It’s cute now, but your jealousy won’t be cute forever.”

You kiss the comeback from his lips. His stomach grumbles loudly.

“Lets get back to the others.” You pull him up from the swings. “It’s time for dinner anyway.”

“Do we have to? We could just go home and have fun instead.”

“Suna Rintarou. Your friends just helped you get over yourself and you want to repay them like that?”

“You’re only here until Wednesday and you want to spend time with my friends instead of with just me? Shame on you.”

“We can call in sick tomorrow? How does that sound?”

“Oh, you are a dangerous influence.”

-

Rintarou hollers loudly as the ball connects with your outstretched arms and soars through the air. Nohr claps exitedly next to him.

“That was a good one.” He calls out. “The Fans are going to love this.”

“How many followers do you have now?”

“About 500.000 and counting. Tsumu is still salty about it.”

“How many does he-” Nohr interrupts herself when Komori drops on the chair next to her and passes her a cup of soda. “Thanks, Baby.”

“Get a room.” Rintarou teases, already zooming in on you as you prepare for another receive. 

“I bet they’re going to win. Who dares to go against me?”

“I will. We have a strong Offense on the other side and the Game just started. Loser has to pay Dinner?”

“Deal.”

…

Your expression is thunderous when you exit the changing rooms.

“Hey Gremlin,” Rintarou calls out to you, watches as you part ways with your teammates and march over.

“You played good.” He points out and leans forward, softly bites your nose as a way of greeting.

“Not good enough.” You knock your head against his shoulder. “And it was the last game of the Season. This sucks so much.”

“I know, I know.” He rubs your back, pulls you closer even. “But it wasn’t your fault. Number seven messed up a lot of the blocks. You couldn’t do anything about that.”

“I know.” 

“You wanna go out with the Guys? Or go straight home and pack for tomorrow?”

You’re quiet for a while. He lets you stew on the decision. There’s no formula on how to feel better after a loss, no other way to go over this than to listen to what your body and your mind tell you.

“Can we get drunk?” You ask finally. “At that bar that serves fried chicken? We don’t have to leave that early for Osaka, right?”

“No, we can get drunk. Do you wanna take some stupid selfies and send them to Tsumu?”

“Yeah.” You nod, press a kiss to his chin. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Great. Also, we have to pay for Washio’s dinner.”

“No!” You whine. “You need to stop betting on me. Rin!”

He laughs. “You say that now like you’re not going to bet on me during my next game.”

“That’s different.” You point out and take his hand. “I only take bets that I’ll win.”

“Ah, what’s losing one bet or two if I’ve got you?”

“Sap.”

“Gremlin.”

“Yours.” You grin, smug about it.

“Mine.” He agrees.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[shoyudon]

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐎 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 .ᐟ

starring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, choso kamo

heads up. non-sorcerer! au, college! au (choso)

note. i have a thing for college aus if you can't notice — yay to not so cliché first meetings!

──────〃★ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

both gojo and you had a rough start. nobody was to blame, except maybe . . . the both of yours love for kikufuku mochi that is. you could guess it, the two of you met and fought the first time over the last box of kikufuku mochi — which in the end, nobody managed to land a hand on because somebody else got it instead.

"i laid my eyes on it first, you blue eyed freak!" you yelled, crossing your arms as gojo's face scrunched up in frustration upon hearing the name you called him.

"blue eyed freak? my brain thought about it first, you weirdo!" he yells back loudly, also crossing his arms in annoyance. he stood still, staring down at you — his navy colored glasses slightly slipping down the bridge of his nose.

the cashier laughs nervously at your banter with him, trying to calm both sides; you swore she had tears threatening to fall down, "sir, ma'am— the . . . kikufuku is sold out, please calm down!"

that statement made the both of you stop almost immediately, your eyes averting towards the shelf where the last kikufuku was supposed to be resting on; now just void. your face fell a bit, "what the? it was just— damn it."

"damn it, indeed." gojo mutters out, dejected.

──────〃★ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

messing up his order just for him to come back for a complain was the last thing you were supposed to be doing. you were risking your job for a man you didn't even know — yet, here you are, standing behind the cashier whilst he stood in front of you.

as you await for his complaint, all he said was, "hello, can i please have a cup of coffee, no sugar." the same thing he had ordered the other day. and you at least gave him half a tablespoon.

blinking in confusion, you just nodded, "will that be all for today, sir?" your voice came out unsure and confused, as if still waiting for the complaint you've been expecting since yesterday — but no, nanami nods his head curtly, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

"that'll be it, thank you."

he handed you a bill, your mouth itching to say something about why he hasn't said anything about it, "you know, i put sugar in your black coffee the other day — i thought you were going to complain about it today," you finally said, handing him his change.

nanami stares at you, head bobbing forwards a bit, "yes, i've noticed. i expect that it was just an accident, so i've said nothing about it. it's not then, i take it?"

you curtly gave him an awkward smile, "oh, oh. no, i mean yeah, definitely an accident— yes, an accident, mhm. i apologize for that."

nanami pursed his lips silently. he could see through you like an open book, but brought nothing up about your little act, "it's alright, i don't mind a little sugar in my coffee," he mumbles out, a little amused.

──────〃★ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

"this is y/n, a library committee, she's your age so you both should probably get along well. and y/n this is choso, he's my . . . student, yes, my student," your eyes shifted to the male standing in front of you — his hair tied up into cute little pigtails, "y/n's going to be monitoring your works during your library punishment, so make sure to be on your best behaviors."

in all honesty, you never expected to be given a task to look after a grown man to monitor his punishment for at least the next month, "i expect you to inform me if he does anything beyond proper behavior, yes?"

frankly, it's funny how you almost immediately recognized him. just a few weeks prior, choso had caused a ruckus in the library with his group of friends — yet, he was the only one caught and the others were still out there. being a committee in the library wasn't the easiest, especially with grown adults acting like complete brats.

you nod, " . . . yes, sir."

choso yawns out boredly the moment your professor left the empty and closed library, "you were the one that messed up shelf thirty-four to thirty-six, i heard," you mumble out in disdain, one of his eyes opened and he grunted out in response.

"i didn't do it, my friends did, i'm held beyond my rights here," he mutters out — half true. as he never got the idea to mess it up, he was just caught because he was friends with the actual perpetrators, "they had the idea, they did it. just got caught because i was with them at the time."

you rolled your eyes, "i had to pull money out of my own wallet to get the broken shelves fixed, thanks to all of you," choso raised a brow at your accusations despite his explanation, "your job for the next one month is to help me monitor the library flow during working hours, your classes will be marked as arrived as long as you do your work well here — materials will be sent to your college e-mail, and missed assignments will be given extra durations to it. any questions?"

he sighs, "no. i start tomorrow, right?"

© shoyudon 2024 . no copying or reposting allowed !

[violetscanfly]

It's been a while huh? How about a long ass trolls au post? Would that be anything?

Ok but seriously I'm obsessed with them and wrecked my sleep schedule for two nights in a row because I was having so much fun drawing them. I haven't seen any crossovers yet and I have many thoughts about how the mdzs/trolls lore works.

I was thinking about making each clan a different type of troll (the lans would fit classical so well etc but I wasn't really into the cupid aesthetic lmao) but the point of this at the beginning was just to get rid of major art block by drawing cute trolls so I just did whatever :'D

The gist of it is Wei Wuxian is a rock troll adopted into the pop troll society by the jiangs and in his yiling laozu era he fully leans into the rock side of himself that he used to suppress to fit in. I had to make Chenqing into an electric guitar, obviously, (rip wangxian duet) and he uses it to control rock zombies. As usual he gets resurrected by Mo Xuanyu (Did he die by being eaten? Maybe.) and his final form reflects both his love for pop while embracing his rock side as well. Also yes, the Jin trolls are yellow, so.

Since the Lan clan are not really classical trolls I thought they're instead more of the love ballad type of pop, (fits the lans only love once thing too!) so, very sentimental. Which makes Lan Wangji stand out by being cold and seemingly closed off while he's secretly composing love songs for Wei Wuxian. Design-wise I felt the lans would wear more layers and keep their hair tied but I wanted to differentiate the style from Wei Wuxian's ponytail so it's either a half tied up (down? since troll hair goes up??) or a bun. I thought it was funny to give Lan Wangji a huge hairpiece to keep the high hair thing going even when it's tied. Also it kinda marks his age, the taller it is the older he is. Maybe it's a status symbol as well.

I didn't really put too much though into A-Yuan since I just randomly decided to add him cause baby trolls are adorable but basically just Wen colours and the pigtails are homage to manhua A-Yuan whom I love.

Overall I tried to mix design elements from both ips and I really like how they turned out. I think that's all for now. :'D

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic january 9 - write - 946words - feat. fem!harry because i was craving girldads

(this one also esp goes out to @veryinnovative)

“Papa?”

“Yes, mon chou?” Regulus responds, shaking a curl out of his eyes to look over his shoulder as he keeps stirring.

Harrie is still bent over her artwork, crayon held in a tight fist, pigtails standing askew with half her hair falling out of them and in her little face anyways.

“Will you help me write my name?”

Regulus lowers the temperature of the stovetop to let the sauce simmer as he puts on the lid, “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

He crouches down to check the potato wedges and veggies in the oven, satisfied when they look according to the alarm he set, and gives his hands a quick rinse before he saunters over to his daughter.

The soles of his plush slippers are a faint noise against the whirring of the oven and the soft bubbling of the pot. The air smells warm and cozy with the home-cooked meal and the drying clementine peels that are still on the table from Harrie’s earlier snack.

Regulus bends over her to regard her painting, nose buried into her wayward hair, inhaling. It smells like her Strawberry Shortcake (the kid’s show) shampoo, like James’ cologne and still that distinct brand of baby that Regulus is utterly obsessed with and hopes she never loses. Well, at least as long as she’s small enough for him to still pick her up.

Harrie is unperturbed, keeps drawing little blue petals around a flower besides what Regulus assumes must be their cat, Mochi. Or maybe a very oversized ant. His little artiste.

“Can I give you a kiss?” Regulus mumbles into the crown of her head.

“Yup.” 

Harrie squeals when Regulus plants a loud smooch on her chubby cheek. She smells like grapes and walnuts there too. James must’ve packed them for her lunch in kindergarden.

She tapers off into a hearty giggle when Regulus keeps peppering kisses before he lets himself fall into the kitchen chair beside her.

“So,” Regulus says pointedly, making a show of granting her his undivided attention.

Harrie nods her head, making little, silly Mhm-mhm-mhm noises. Like she’s trying to convey the importance of what follows. Or like she has a tune stuck in her head. Regulus bets his money on both.

He grins, tucking a strand behind Harrie’s ear that just falls right back into place. “Where do you want your name?”

A tongue pokes out of the corner of his daughter’s mouth and she turns her pen to point at the top edge with the end of it, “Right here.”

“Alright.”

Harrie chooses another color for her signature and then they begin to write together.

“An H. Huh—as in house,” Regulus makes, Harrie repeating the sound automatically. “Two straight lines down and then one across the middle. Good job.”

“Then Ay,” Harrie continues. The beginning of the alphabet she’s already got memorized.

“That’s right, mon chou.”

“Ha-rrr.”

“An R—that’s a straight line, with a bump on top and a leg on the bottom. That’s it. We need another one of those, remember? Your name has two.”

Just as Harrie sets onto the next letter Regulus hears a car rumble up into their driveway, head instinctively swiveling around to the window.

When he looks back down the second R isn’t entirely correct. “Whoops—look, this one has its leg on the wrong side, honey.”

“Oh,” Harrie makes, eyebrows rising, and she goes to grab her eraser.

She corrects her letter and then proceeds to draw the I without prompting from Regulus, adding a wonky heart on top.

“Good job. And an—”

“E–like eeeraser,” his daughter sings, adding the three horizontal lines to the last letter, right as Regulus hears a keychain jingle against the front door.

Harrie is now drawing a little star next to her name as James comes into the kitchen with Mochi in his arms, a leaf sticking to his paw.

“Daddy,” Harrie yells, scrambling down from her chair and hasting into James’ arms, Mochi already fleeing for his cat tree, presumably.

James hums delightedly, smiling as he squeezes their daughter to his chest, “Mm, mi amorcito.”

He’s still in his coat and beanie from outside, glasses fogging up—though luckily for him, he’s had the mind to slip out of his boots at least.

Harrie rubs her palms along James’ stubbled jaw when they pull apart, making him chuckle. “Missed me?”

“A little,” Harrie shrugs.

“Oh, only a little, huh?” James challenges, whisking Harrie up and whirling her around in the air, twirling himself and making her scream with joy.

He sets her against his hip after he successfully lost one of her hair ties on his little escapade, never to be found again or for Mochi to play with.

“Smells amazing, love,” James says warmly, gazing at Regulus before helping Harrie gently pull out the other hair tie too.

Which reminds him Regulus to check on the sauce again. 

He smiles sweetly at his husband and wanders back over to the counter, grabbing the lid with a kitchen mitten and stirring the thickening sauce as he gets hit by its savoury tang and hint of black pepper and parsley.

At his back he hears Harrie and James babbling, conversing about something or the other as she takes her seat again. Something about finger paints and Ron and tea cup and pee accident.

Regulus is just stretching to get some plates when there’s strong arms wrapping around him from behind, prompting his lips into another immediate smile.

“Mi vida,” his husband mumbles, pressing a soft kiss behind Regulus’ ear.

James is warm and smells like caramel latte and outside air and the same hint of cologne found in their daughter’s hair.

[tinytennisskirt]

overhated hair era i need to grab it sooo bad i need to tuck it behind his ears i want to put it up into half up half down or maybe even pigtails. you don’t understand.

[saltpepperbeard]

Poison into Positivity: A List of What I Liked in OFMD S2

Hello hello everyone! Things have been a little rough around here. Even away from the more heated takes, I've still seen a few "down in the dumps" murmurs. To which, I'm giving y'all big hugs, but also offering up some little bits of warmth! I wanted to share quite a few bullets of the things I enjoyed about this season. Maybe it'll serve as a reminder, or maybe it'll just serve as a chaotic, silly little read as per usual PFFF.

But I invite you to read along, and even add some of your own points should you feel inclined! Also, this might not even be my full list; these are just the ones that came to me quickly/off the top of my head. Still, let's dive on down like a fantastical, dazzling goldfish, shall we?

All the callbacks/parallels. My goodness. When I tell you I'm a SLUT for metaphors/parallels/callbacks/etc etc. Seeing so many things and being able to just *Leonardo Dicaprio pointing meme.* I know people might not share that same opinion because some might view it to be excessive, but I personally LOVED being able to point at my screen and be like "oH EYYYYYYY!!!" Maybe because it makes for such immaculate gifset/meta material <3 SJKJDLHSK

The costuming and makeup. WHEN THEY TALKED AT ECCC ABOUT EVERYONE GETTING HOTTER, THEY WERE NOT KIDDING LMAO. EVERYONE LOOKED SO, SO GOOD. and listen, i am on my knees begging for them to give ed with his hair up back to us. i need Her back,,,ALSO, SOMETHING SOMETHING COMPLICATED EMOTIONS TOWARDS STEDE'S LATTER HALF LOOK, BUT ALSO...GOD DAMN, MR. DARBY,,,,,,

Speaking of Mr. Darby, the acting in this season. The ACTTTINNNGG. Everyone acted their ASSES off. Everyone put their entire piratussies into this season. Though, I'm PARTICULARLY impressed with Taika and Rhys, because again with their "oh we're comedians lol so idk drama can be Difficult Difficult Lemon Difficult." MMMM I THINK THE FUCK NOT, MY GUYS LMAO??? They both did SO well with all the drama and painful moments. The acting in episodes 2, 3, 6, and 7 in particular like...God. GOD!!!

I loved so many characters in this season, and I'll of course have to give two individual shoutouts to my two favorite new ladies, but man. LET'S GO FRENCHIE!!! ALWAYS A DELIGHT!!! FANG/KEVIN MY ABSOLUTE SWEETHEART. JIM SERVING ABSOLUTE FUCKING GENDER THIS SEASON. OLU OLU DARLING OLU. PETE NEVER MISSING WITH HIS ONELINERS. LUCIUS BEING SO THEATRICAL AHDJKSDK LIKE NATHAN PLEASE YOU KILL ME. ROACH MAKING ME LAUGH OUT LOUD NUMEROUS TIMES AS HE DOES. WEE JOHN AND HIS KNITTING AND DRAG!!! AND THEN OF COURSE MY DEARLY BELOVEDS, ED AND STEDE. I JUST LOVE THEMMMMM!!! But okay okay okay-

Zheng my beloved. I just love this badass pirate queen with her sweet little pigtails and her IMMACULATE LINE DELIVERIES SDHJKSKL. A lot of my favorite deliveries from the entire season came from her quite honestly. Please see: "Girl, how ARE you?" and "Hiiiiiii. I KNOWWW it's been a day" and "I've killed mediocre men. I've killed exceptional men. But you're the worst kind: a mediocre man who thinks he's exceptional."

AND ARCHIE MY BELOVED. She kills me because I remember seeing like, those ~*~audition tape whispers~*~ WAY back in the day, and subsequently thinking she was going to be quite a different character. Only for this silly goofy bubbly energetic darling to pop up and snag my heart. HER deliveries kill me also, like when she goes "Like...STEDE Stede?" and the whole "I was IN the fuckin' snake!" also hhngngngngnershkfhslkds tattooed ladies Hot :(

Speaking of which, the comedy. THE DELIVERIES. THE WAY I LAUGHED OUT LOUD NUMEROUS TIMES THROUGHOUT, EVEN WITH THE DEEP UNDERCURRENT OF DRAMA/ANGST. The whole bit where Stede is in hysterics over his cursed coat is just hsjkdhsklds; it will NEVER not make me wheeze. And then, like I said, almost EVERYTHING Pete says this season kills me; another thing that will never not make me laugh is "a doggie...?" weird little pirate show with weird little humor my beloved

The ROMANCE??? I genuinely was going into the season with the expectation of getting maybe like, one or two Gentlebeard kisses. Imagine my shock and utter delight when we ended up with FOUR, AS WELL AS AN INTIMATE SCENE, THE LETTER SCENES, AND THE LOVE PROFESSIONS. Like, one of them dropping a legitimate "I love you" felt like an unrealistic expectation--the HIGHEST dream tier really. And then wouldn't you know it. And that doesn't even account for all the rest of the couples either! The murder wives having their chaotic little moments of fucked up affection??? LUCIUS AND PETE GETTING ENGAGED AND THEN MARRIED??? HELLO??????

The sets! I know people have pointed out that the world felt a bit simplified this time around, due to budget restraints and what have you. But I still loved what they did with the world even with the various constraints. The market in episode 6 is a PARTICULAR favorite of mine; it's just so lush and colorful. I also love what they did with The Revenge during episode 6 too!

Also, this might be an unpopular opinion, but I really actually liked that they filmed on location. First of all, love that the Kiwis got to be right at home in Aotearoa. Love that they have an even more special connection to the show now. But second of all, I just like when scenery is...actually THERE? It feels way more TANGIBLE. Don't get me wrong; that hugeass wraparound screen that they use to film a lot of sets is a technological marvel. But I'm a sucker for practical.

The deeper and more complex dives into character motivations/trauma. Like, homie lol...When I tell you episodes 6 and 7 utterly set my brain alight in the best way possible. I was CHUGGING through thoughts. You know those gifs where someone is walking around and ranting/passionately talking,,, yeah. Yeah. Maybe because a lot of it "struck a chord" with me indeed, but I love love LOVE getting brain food like that.

Speaking of brain food, in PARTICULAR, the deeper dives into Ed's self-loathing and into Stede's troubles with confidence and masculinity. A lot of Stede's choices were fueled by those two things, and it was SO friggin fun to catch all of them, put them in a jar, and shake them around. I've seen a lot of people fearing his actions in the latter half were out of character, but to me, I don't see it that way. I just see a man who has been so spurned, so left behind, and SO deprived, a man who is stuck thinking he has to be someone else to mean something. And I think that plays a lot into even the EARLIEST developments we saw in season 1, so it was just so intriguing to watch everything messily play out.

THE INNKEEPER. THE INNKEEPER MY BELOVED. SO much about that episode absolutely has my heart. All the different developments, the stakes, the pacing, and the payoff at the end. Not to mention that I had a FEELING that mysterious figure in the trailers was Hornigold, so it was so SO validating to see him pop up PFFF. And also, all those dream/gravy basket sequences were so so good too. I don't know if it's the chemistry between Taika and Mark, or the deeper symbolism, or the lines that have become vocal stims for me SJKDLS (please see: ooOOoooO eddie eddie eddie...you're laying some heavy shit on me, bro), but man. MAN.

And this one gets its own bullet because of course it does: the fucking mermaid scene. Like, are we kidding. ARE WE KIDDING. THE ROMANCE OF IT ALL? THE FANTASTICAL-NESS INDEED?? THE WAY IT WAS ALL FUCKING PRACTICAL AND RHYS SWAM DOWN TO TAIKA AS A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE GOLDFISH AND THEY HAD TO THROW HEART EYES AT EACH OTHER UNDERWATER??? WHAT THE FUCK!!! And don't even get me started on Kate Bush lol. This Woman's Work might easily be one of my favorite songs, if not my FAVORITE song from the season. And man. Man. The whole meaning behind Ed seeing Stede as this beautiful, sparkly being, and not some hypermasculine/extraordinary thing. He fell in love with Stede for who Stede really is. And so I ADORE that acknowledgement.

Speaking of songs, the MUSIC!!! Absolute bangers all throughout. And I loved how there seemed to be even more intermixed within the episodes. Like God... "These are the kids..." 🗣️ HELLO MY LOVE I HEARD A KISS FROM YOU 🦗🦟🦗🦟🦗🦟 . And all the beautiful classic piano pieces and NINA SIMONE AND JUST HSJKDHSFJKLHSKD????

Okay, I've always had and STILL have complicated thoughts and opinions on Izzy, but man, seeing him interact with the Revenge Crew was really something. Seeing Stede's influence come over the lot of them like a warm blanket, extending its welcoming and familial hands...It was just lovely. I love seeing our little sea family care for each other so much. They've probably all hurt so so much in different ways, so to see them all being a collective heart is just so nice.

Speaking of which, the queerness of it all, the queer celebration of it all. The way the whole crew is just...a representation of queer people finding each other, and subsequently finding love and family in each other. Like, when the whole world wants to cast you out, you pull each other in. When no one else wants you, you take refuge in each other. And just...the joy, beauty, and wonder that can be found in that.

And speaking of which x2, the overall care that was put into the entire thing, the effort that was put into the entire thing. I know Max fucked us over with the budget, which subsequently fucked things like the intricacy, the amount of characters, and especially the pacing. But, I don't know; I personally could still tell everyone involved was trying so so hard to deliver for us. Based on the little details, the little callbacks, and the little moments that felt so catered to us, it just seemed so...gifted to us. Not to mention of course, the way they so deliberately chose to end on a hopeful note in case we never get a third season. They care about us. They've always cherished our excitement and passion, so it just...idk; it feels so special to have a bit more of an intimate connection like that. I've never been involved with a piece of media that so avidly SEES its audience, and celebrates along with us. So, despite everything, despite any sort of troubles, despite any sort of lows, that's a big part of what has me clutching all of this so closely to my chest. And I really hope they can still see that love, because I want nothing more than for them to see this beautiful story through.

Also, getting to enjoy this with everyone. Getting to ride the wave from the beginning of filming, all the way through the finale. Getting to see all the excitement, all the theories, all the art, all the fanfiction, all the gif sets, all the meta, and everything in between. It has carried me through some nastiness in my personal life, and has subsequently served as a very welcomed distraction. It's been such a pleasure getting to delight in this new content with you all, and I hope we get to do so into the future. <3

[kindaasrikal]

Exploring the stupidity of the fact that Garmadon and Morro, two of the most biggest menaces in Ninjago, are trapped together in one realm, part 3 :

Part 2 - Part 4

Morro: let go of me.

Garmadon: Morro, I am not letting you scrounge through a couple of trash cans because you think you’ll find the realm crystal in there.

Garmadon: Not just that, but why would it even be here?

Morro: destroyed things end up in the departed realm 2.0, and useless things end up in the trash, why would it not be here???

Garmadon:….I’m still not letting you go.

Morro: *cannot be considered short until placed next to the absolute BEAST of Garmadon, who is holding him by the back of his gi high off of the ground.* LET GO-

Garmadon: And let you rummage through the trash like a hobo? Just because you look like one, does not mean I should let you act like one.

Morro: well, MAYBE, just MAYBE, i wanna return to my roots.

Garmadon: If you wish to ‘return to your roots’ maybe go blonde, I personally believe it would suit you.

Morro: how you almost took over the world multiple times when having such disturbingly bad ideas is beyond me.

Garmadon: *has not seen Morro for a week, and is worried. So, he visits Morro’s ‘house’ in the departed realm.* Morro? Are you home?

Garmadon: *walks in when the front door creaks open, it’s eerily silent.* Morro?? Child?? Where is this brat….

Morro: *mumbling from afar* mother of- dammit!

Garmadon: *walks up to the slightly open bathroom door and pushes it open, worried beyond belief now.* Morro, are you alright?-

Morro:

Garmadon:

Morro:

Garmadon:

Garmadon: *snorts and turns away*

Morro: *wearing a tank top covered in dye, a good amount of his black hair put into a side pigtail as he lifts up the green streak in his hair up away from the rest of his hair, half of it covered in blonde hair dye, the other half of the dye having just been blasted onto his face.*….it’s not funny.

Garmadon: nO NO ITS NOT-

Morro: *embarrassed and resigned to his fate of being laughed at.* just help me. Please.

Garmadon: Wha-*snort*-whatever you say, Child. *chuckling, he walks over to grab a towel and wipe Morro’s face, who’s obviously wanting to kick Garmadon but literally asked for his help.* You should not be this bad at dying your hair, haven’t you done this since young?

Morro: *looks at Garmadon in bafflement.* ….old man, the green in my hair grew from my damn scalp, i didn’t put it there.

Garmadon:

Garmadon: Well, you learn something new everyday.

Gave you guys a short one because i couldn’t be bothered. I have no idea if this one is funny but i wholeheartedly believe this would happen once Morro accepts his family. (And stops being a wet cat)

Garmadon absolutely mocks Morro for it afterwards but deep deep down he hides the fact that he found it rlly sweet

[voxsremotec0ck]

What's even better then reader secretly doming all the vees? All the vees secretly trying to get reader to dom them.

(Veader hanging out with all of them at night)

Velvette: Can you believe that some bitchboy thought he could manhandle me? Like can't they see this outfit is for stepping on people, not to be stepped on? Hashtag AreYouBlind?

Valentino: I understand all too well. The new bitch thought that bring out handcuffs that she could top, so I had to remind her of her place.

Vox: Yeah, just had to 'fire' the star of my latest show. He thought that being bigger and broader than me ment he should be 'in charge'. You know how it is, right Veader?

(Veader flashbacking to that morning)

Flashback!Velvette: (wearing a skimpy outfit) Hey Veader~ Look at the new outfit I just released. It's sooo trashy~ I can't believe how well its selling! I look like a bratty succubus, just begging for someone to put me in my place and feed me their lust! Does this look make you want to feed me your lust? I'd like an 'honest opinion' from you~ ...Where are you going Veader? Doesn't these pigtails atleast my hair look pullable?!

(Veader flashbacking to that noon)

Flashback!Valentino: (half under the table) Oh hey there Veader~ I dropped my cigarette holder and it rolled under the coach. I tried to get it but now I'm stuck! Maybe if you grab my hips, you could pull me out~ ...Where are you going Veader? Come back! I actually think I really am stuck.

(Veader flashbacking to that evening)

Flashback!Vox: (Tied up by tons of computer wires) H-Hey Veader. I don't know what happened but I appear to be a little tied up now. I got my legs free but I can barely move my arms! Everytime I move it just gets more tangled! It's getting pretty tight~ Maybe you could help me out~ W-where are you going Veader? No seriously, get back here. Please, this will take hours to sort out!

Veader (in the present): I have no idea what ya'll are on about.

Veader looking at them all like “I know what you are”

VELVETTE LET ME SEE YOUR OUTFIT PLEASE I BET YOU LOOK SO PRETTY AND YOUR PIGTAILS ARE PERFECT HANDLEBARS DW

VOX HOLD ON BEFORE I GET YOU DOWN LET ME JUST SUCK YOUR DICK REAL QUICK

Valentino… I hope the couch breaks and crushes you tbh sorry not sorry

[ladysomething]

hi mads!!! i’m on a vacation rn and was just thinking about max and charles going on one and what would happen so i just wanted to ask if we are gonna get a scene like that or probably not? 🩷🩷

well I guess we'll get summer break?? that kind of counts??? but I'm not telling you what happens! hahah

instead you can have this completely unrelated fic I started while I was just on holidays!!!

completely unedited, haven't read it back so it might be garbage but have everything I wrote for it anyway

The year Max retired from F1, Charles won his second Championship. 

Max had been going to win it, probably, because he’d had such a lead over Charles going into summer break. Even Charles hadn’t thought he’d be able to overturn the deficit, not with with shitty car Ferrari had built that year. 

And then, two days before the season was going to start up again after summer break, Max had announced his retirement from F1—effective immediately. 

Charles had called and texted, and called and texted, but eventually the number had come back as disconnected. 

It’s been five years since then, and every day Charles wonders what happened. He’d asked all their mutual friends, and then he’d even tried just Max’s friends, and eventually he’d even decided to bother Sophie and Victoria, but nobody would tell him anything. Charles has thought of everything in that time: maybe Max was sick. Maybe his mother was sick. Maybe Red Bull had wanted something Max couldn’t give. Maybe Max had just decided he simply didn’t want to get in a car one more time. 

Without a single photo of Max in the last five years, Charles had even wondered whether Max had died. 

Now, standing in a patisserie, in a tiny rural town in France, Charles finally has his answer. 

“What the fuck?” Charles demands, stalking up to him. Max’s shoulders go tense, and then he spins around, jaw dropped. “What the fuck?” 

Max claps his hands down over the ears of the little girl he’s with, then says, “Language!” like that’s really the biggest issue right now. 

“Don’t you—I thought you were dead!” Charles shrieks, feeling half insane. The staff member and the only other customer in the shop stare at him, but Charles doesn’t care. “Max—you!” 

He rushes towards Max, probably looking half insane, which is confirmed when Max tenses up like Charles is going to punch him, but instead Charles throws his arms around Max’s shoulder and pulls him in as close as he can, hooking his chin over Max’s shoulder and pulling their chests so tight that Charles can’t really breathe. 

Max is clearly surprised, but Charles doesn’t let him go, just pulls him in tighter until Max puts one arm around Charles’ waist too. It’s clearly what Max needed, because he sighs into it and then is hugging Charles back fiercely, face buried in his neck. 

Fuck. Charles has missed him so fucking much. 

He breathes him in deeply, but Max doesn’t smell like he remembers; there’s not even a hint of petrol on him, no smell of oil or tyres. He just smells . . . normal. 

It’s Max who lets go first, and Charles reluctantly follows. 

“I missed you,” Charles tells him, terribly earnest. He’ll feel humiliated about it later. 

Max gives him a small smiles, and then says, “I missed you, too,” with the same raw emotion in his voice. 

Maybe Charles won’t feel humiliated about it, then. 

Beside Max, the little girl tugs on his hand. Max turns to look down at her, expression so fond and open that it takes Charles’ breath away. It hasn’t hard to guess who she is: she looks exactly like Max. 

Blonde hair up in two little pigtails, round, pink cheeks, blue eyes, and dressed in a baby blue and white checkered dress. She has on little white socks with frills around the edges, white sneakers, and a little chain bracelet with a star on it. Charles thinks the star might be inset with diamonds, which he wouldn’t put past Max, really. 

“Papa,” she whispers urgently, tugging on his hand again. 

Max smiles at her and crouches down, letting the girl whisper into his ear. She’s staring nervously up at Charles as she does, but when Charles tries to give her an encouraging smile her eyes widen and she looks away from him. 

“This is Mister Leclerc,” Max says, straightening back up. “Charlie, this is Céline.” 

Lump in his throat, Charles kneels down himself, not caring that the floor of the patisserie is probably going to ruin his white linen pants. 

“Bonjour, Céline,” Charles says softly. “I like your dress. Blue is my favourite colour.” 

Céline lights up, smiling at him widely. She’s got the same smile as Max, her full lips pulling up her cheeks so she’s smiling with her whole face. Charles wonders what parts of her mother she has in her; as far as he can see, she’s all Max. 

“It’s my favourite, too,” she confesses with a heavily accented voice, and then looks like she’s concentrating very hard on something, before she turns back to Max. “Papa, hoe zeg ik in het Engels dat ik de ogen van meneer Leclerc mooi vind?” 

Charles looks up at Max, who looks like he’s about to burst into laughter, and says, “Why don’t you try French?” 

In almost perfect French, she says, “I like your eyes.” 

Charles’ face flushes red as he glances up at Max, who is grinning widely. 

“I like your eyes, too,” Charles answers in French, because that’s clearly easier for her. Max has clearly been putting in a lot of effort with her, if she can already speak three languages. “They look like your father’s.” 

Céline beams at him and leans into Max’s thigh, burying her face into his pants as she giggles. When Charles looks up again, Max’s cheeks have gone pink, too. 

“Are you staying in town?” Max asks Charles as he stands back up. “Céline and I are on our way home from the park for nap time, but maybe you can around for dinner tonight?” 

Charles isn’t staying in town. He’s actually only here because he got hungry and decided to stop for a pastry on his drive back to Monaco—he’s got plans there tonight, and all of tomorrow. 

Instead, he blurts out, “Yes, I’m staying in—I’d love to come over. For dinner. Tonight.” Max stares at him like he’s an idiot, and Charles finishes with a lame, “Please.” 

[veemunson86]

Meet your daughter

He's baaccckkkkkkk for pt 4!!

Series masterlist

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･

*Eddie's pov*

I gasp as my eyes shot open, my body aching.  The memory of what happened ran through my head, but it was all alittle fuzzy. I remembered y/n holding me and crying.. I remember her telling me about the baby, wait! The baby!

I got up as fast I could and looked around. Where was everyone ?? It felt as of I just closed my eyes for a minute, but everyone was gone now. I need to get out of here.

*y/ns pov*

It's now been a year and a half. The our beautiful baby girl was now about 9 months old and she was perfect. She didn't fussy a whole lot, and loved babbling. And she looked just like Eddie, she has his eyes, and his frizzy hair.

It's been a Rollercoaster. The first few days with her were crazy. I barely slept, but Steve and Dustin came over every few hours to help with her The best they could. They come over just about every day, and Amelia adored them both, especially Dustin. She couldn't speak yet, but she definitely made lots of noise, and loved being outside and around animals. She was very gentle. She was perfect.

There wasn't anything we had planned for the day, so as it was a beautiful day, I was gonna take her to the park. That was until I saw him.

I took Amelia a bath last night so I wasn't going to bathe her again just for her to get dirty at the park. I got her changed I to a new diaper, and a cute outfit Mrs wheeler bought for her, which was cute white and yellow dress with a diaper cover.



I put her frizzy hair into 2 little pigtails which were small and stuck straight up, and I put 2 little matching bows on each pigtail.

She sat still as I did so, every so often looking around. I carried her down to the kitchen, while I made myself a cup of coffee in my little Mason jar with a lid and straw, that was about the perfect serving to get the morning going. I knew she would be getting fussy when she got hungry so I pre made her a bottle, as well as a few teething snacks she grew to love. A big smile grew on my face as she babled "ready to go beautiful?" I kissed her chubby little cheek. Little did I know in about 30 seconds my whole life was change change.

I got her strapped in her stroller so we could walk to the park, and I grabbed my Mason jar with the coffee, and I walked to the door. As soon as I opened I saw Dustin and Steve about to knock, both out of breath and looking like they had seen a ghost. Maybe because they had.

"Wow you guys okay?  You look like you just saw a ghost" I said with a slight giggle.

"Y/n you're not gonna believe this, take a breath. We don't know how how, but he's here, said he got our through the watergate." I felt my heart race "w-who got out where through the Watergate?..." it couldn't be..

My eyes went wide and my breath caught in my throat. I dropped the coffee cup, glass shattering, and coffee going everywhere as I saw him. Eddie. My Eddie. How was this possible?

*Eddie's pov*

I saw the glass shatter, and my heart broke as I saw the baby girl in the stroller next to y/n. I slowly made my way over ." Y/n.. baby i- I don't know how I'm here. But I am. I woke up in that place a few hours ago. I went around trying to find my way out. I- I tried finding you at your parents house, but someone else lives there now. So I found Dustin, and he told me you lived here.."

Her eyes were glossy with tears, and I couldn't tell if she looked happy or sad, but I could tell she was shocked. "It all felt so quick. Like I closed my eyes for a minute and then I was all alone. I could breath fine, my wounds are healed.. I don't know what happened .. please say something .."

*y/ns pov*

I heard everything he was saying, and I heard his voice soften at the end of what he was saying. "I-.." I paused before just running Into his arms, hugging him with everything I had in me. Tears ran down My face as I felt his arms wrapped around me. "I - I thought I lost you for good." I sobbed softly.

I felt him kiss My head softly and say" I'm here baby.. I'm here now. And I promise I'm not going anywhere. " he rubbed my back. For him this must have been so weird, not knowing. "I uhm.. was just about to go to the park with Amelia, wait Amelia! Yeah we had a girl.." I said happily with tears streaming down my cheeks.

He teared up and looked over to the stroller" oh wow.. a baby girl.. I'm a dad.. and you're a mom.."

He said in a bit of disbelief.  "Henderson told me it's been a year and a half.. so she's already 9 months..." I nodded "she is. She's so big. Come on let's see her."

Amelia was sitting in her stroller clapping and babbling as Dustin made funny faces at her. "She loves dustin.." I said smiling softly. "Amelia, babygirl I have someone very very special for you to meet." I said taking her out of the stroller, picking her up.

I saw Eddie tear up at the sight of her and my heart felt so happy in the moment. "Oh wow.. she's beautiful. She looks just like you." He said through some tears.  He quickly wiped them away, and picked her up.

*Eddie's pov*

Wow. My daughter. Hard to believe just a few hours ago, I was just a regular  guy. And now I'm a dad. She was beautiful, just like y/n. " hi there... I'm your daddy.." I said bouncing her a bit "you are so beautiful." I said kissing her cheek softly. I chuckled softly as she squealed and grabbed a bit of my hair, pulling it in different directions. Y/n giggled softly and pulled her little hands away. "Careful babygirl. " y/n told her. This was My life now. A perfect t girlfriend.  A perfect daughter.  This is something I never imagined would be my life.

Tags:

[sopiao]

Soap and Gaz that likes to play with and style your hair (>_o)*

At first it started when Soap noticed how you always kept one or two hair ties on your wrist. Whenever your in the middle of missions you’d tie your hair up, away from your face. Or to keep your neck cool from the heat.

But sometimes you’d forget to take a hair tie and end up irritated with the wind blowing hair in your face. Huffing and groaning whenever hair poked your eye or got in your mouth. Soap tapped your shoulder to get your attention.

When you turned around Soap had his arm up, showing that he kept a hair tie for you. How sweet!! But before you could open your mouth to thank him he spoke, looking slightly hesitant but in a curious way.

“Can I do it for you?” Soap asked, worried that he sounded silly or weird for asking. Of course, you had no problem with it so you nodded and faced your back to him. He slid the band over his fingers and started to bunch your hair into one place.

Soap tried his best to try and get your hair into a low ponytail so he would mess up in the middle of it and would get frustrated. Gaz noticed this and decided to step in, noticing how wrong he was doing it.

“Let me do it. Your getting it all uneven” He sighed, Soap stepping aside, feeling slightly embarrassed and defeated. Gaz was surprisingly very swift and clean when tying your hair together. He didn’t pull too hard or leave any pieces of hair out.

“I could’ve done it” Soap grumbled.

“I was just warmin’ up” He made up an excuse, which sounded much more stupider when it left his mouth. Making the two of you chuckle and Gaz roll his eyes.

—

After that, they both started to play with your hair more frequently. Whenever you sit between the two they’d both take a lock of hair and start to braid it. Gaz actually knew how to style hair very well. He knew all of the different types of braids, how to do it, and the most popular hair styles for youngens your age. But regardless, he still likes to just play around.

Once during free hour, they both sat at either side of you. Gaz was guiding his comrade at how to do a french braid, while he simultaneously braided his side. You ended up with french braid pigtails, a little wonky and uneven but still pretty.

Soap remembered something, the idea popping in his head after he looked over his and Gaz’s work, and ran outside. Both you and your comrade looked at each other slightly confused but also in amusement. When he came back he had a handful of small flowers. Where the hell did he even get that? Maybe plants that grew between the cracks of the cement.

You felt like Rapunzel in that scene where the town children braided and put flowers in her hair when the two soldiers started to decorate your hair in flowers and colorful petal.

“What the hell?”

They all turned to see Ghost walking into the common room. Seeing two hard and assertive men playing with their teammates hair like they was an American Girl Doll.

—

For the curly hairs, Soap’s favorite hairstyle to play around with his low pig tails, he likes how fluffy they look and how overall pleasant it is to look at when he’s finished. He likes keeping hair in the front, like your bangs (if you have :3) and the face framing strands.

Although sometimes you’d let out a little ‘ow’ when he accidentally snags a lock when he’s combing his fingers through your hair.

His favorite it accessory to add to your hair is still flowers, but he likes to mix it up sometimes, with small crystals or gems. Even after every hairstyle he does, or Gaz helps him with, he ends up always twirling one strand around his finger.

Gaz on the other hand likes a more bolder style. The half up-half down, top buns. He likes how flowy and busy it looks, not too boring or too much. But he also really likes just a high bun or ponytail with face framing pieces. He likes how beachy and casual it looks.

Gaz does the same thing that Soap does, playing with a single lock. At first just to mess with you, but now he does it unconsciously, feels the need to keep his hands busy.