#Lap-top Decals

[halimafashion]

A set of 50 stickers, in various colors and shapes, in the form of a dinosaur or T-Rex.

[harryslittlefreakk]

it’s just us

(late night talking part 5)

summary: the 4th and final night of wembley, y/n and harry reflect on their week together and think about the future 🥹

warnings: super fluff, smut, bf!rry

a/n: i know these 2 are MY imaginary characters but i quite literally giggled and kicked my feet writing this !! i love these 2 so much 🤭 this will be the final ‘proper’ part but i have lots of extras planned! thank you so much to everyone for enjoying this series with me 🥹

you can join my taglist here! and find my masterlist here 🫶🏼 happy reading my loves!

part 1 2 3 4

“Hi, sunshine,” Harry smiled down at you as you awoke. His glasses were perched on the end of his nose, a crinkled and yellowed book in his hands. “Sleep ok?” he asked, setting the book down on the nightstand as you scooted over to nuzzle into his chest. “Meh,” you shrugged, draping an arm over his belly. “Miss you while m’sleeping.”

He laughed at this, pressing a kiss into the top of your head. “Mum and Gem are coming over soon, asked if you want to have lunch with us,” he told you. “Really? I won’t be intruding?” you asked him, nibbling at the skin around your fingernail. “No baby, never.”

“You already missed a whole day with them yesterday, H,” you told him as he tangled his fingers in yours, pulling you into his lap. “Missed it for you, and missed a whole day with you too,” he said, wrapping his arms tight around you. “Just want to enjoy all my girls together, f’you’ll let me.”

“I’ll allow it,” you smiled. “M’a bit nervous though,” you confessed, suddenly frozen with the fear of meeting his closest family. Harry pressed a soft kiss to your lips, pulling one of his arms from around your body to brush stray hairs out of your face. “Don’t need to be nervous darling, they’ll love you.”

You slid off his lap suddenly, rushing to into your wardrobe. “Harry,” you groaned. “I only have one nice outfit and it might be a bit much.” You’d packed with one intention - go to the show, go home, sleep, repeat. You’d bought one fancy dress to wear for dinner with Joanie tomorrow night, your show outfits, and pyjamas and loungewear for the day time. “Show me,” Harry smirked, sauntering over to where you were rooting through your clothes in a frenzy. You yanked the dress of its hanger, slipping Harry’s stolen t shirt off your body before stepping into the dress.

“You look beautiful,” Harry smiled, arms folded across his chest as you twirled for him. It was one of your favourite dresses, a white midi dress with a deep neckline and light blue beach-themed decals dotted all over. You loved the way it looked against your tanned skin in the summer, the way the elastic waist cinched you in. It was simple, but made you feel incredible. “It’s not too much?” you asked Harry, smoothing the front of the skirt with your hands. “No, it’s perfect,” he told you, tapping on his pouted lips to tell you he wanted a kiss.

You padded over to him, peppering kisses all over his face before planting one firmly on his lips and slipping back out of the dress. “Now this is even better,” Harry smirked, stepping forward to land a blow on your ass cheek as you bent to pick up the dress. His strong hands grabbed a hold of your waist before you managed to pick the piece of clothing up, flinging you over his shoulder and marching back towards the bed as you shrieked and kicked. “It’s gonna get creased,” you half-yelled, words almost incoherent through your laughter. “I’ll iron it,” Harry replied, dropping you down onto the bed before climbing over you. He kissed all over your body, holding your arms down as you tried to push him away. The beginnings of stubble tickled you from head to toe, snorting and squealing as you writhed under him.

He stopped suddenly, pausing to gaze over you like an animal planning its attack. Harry moved back towards your face, lingering before you wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him closer. Your noses nudged over each other’s, smiles mirrored on your faces. He kissed you deeply, pulling your thong to the side and sweeping a finger through your folds with his free hand. He always kissed you like every time could be your last, like he never knew how much of your lips life would offer him so he had to savour every moment. It was impossible not to fall in love with him - the way he gave you everything you needed, romantically and sexually, too much to resist.

His thumb rubbed on your clit as his mouth grazed over your cheek, lips dragging slightly before he nibbled at your earlobe. Harry was definitely more sexually experienced than you, evident not just from his skill, but the way that he anticipated what you needed even before you realised. The tiny nip of his teeth sent your back arching, the pain giving you just the edge you needed. “You’re so beautiful,” Harry cooed, his voice delicate against your ear as he rubbed faster at your button. He slid two fingers into you, thumb still rubbing persistent circles against your clit. He found your g-spot almost immediately, knowing your body like the back of his hand by now. “Fuck, Harry, I’m gonna c-” you moaned, hips pressing deeper into the bed as your body tensed. You were cut off by a loud cry tumbling past your lips, thighs clamping around his hand as you came. Harry finally pulled away as you came down from your high, kissing you deeply before padding back to the bathroom, satisfied with his attack.

—

Though he’d wanted to take you all somewhere nice, Harry had settled on ordering food in and enjoying the sun on his hotel room’s balcony, not wanting to risk being spotted with you again so soon, especially before anybody else knew. You were helping him to tidy up his room now, desperate to do something to combat the ball of nerves in your stomach. “Relax, baby,” he told you, pulling you in for a hug. “I can’t, Harry. You only get one chance at a first impression and I’m so nervous about messing up.”

“Did you mess up the first time you met me?”

“No, but I was awkward. And shy. An-“

“And nothin’. You were adorable, even though you w’nervous around me. Now look at us,” he said. “If it gets too much or you need any help just squeeze my leg or something, okay pet?” You nodded, feeling somewhat calmer. You knew Harry could be shy too, and he knew exactly how you were feeling right now. It wasn’t long before the door knocked and Harry pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before opening it, Anne pulling him into a hug as soon as she saw him. “Hi, my darling,” she cooed, eyes crinkling as she looked him up and down. He looked especially adorable today, wearing wide legged jeans with (as he’d told you many times that morning) his favourite brown duck cardigan, a tight fitted white t shirt underneath. You loved his snuggly daytime outfits, and adored what he wore to shows, but seeing him pick out his favourite pieces and the way he styled them was your favourite thing yet.

As soon as she saw you standing meekly behind Harry, Anne almost shoved her son out of the way to take a look at you. He greeted Gemma as she stepped towards you, immediately wrapping you into a warm hug. “You’re beautiful,” she gasped, gripping the tops of your arms as you smiled. “What on earth are you stuck with him for?” Anne laughed, winking at you. “He’s got his perks,” you said. “It’s so lovely to meet you, I hope you don’t mind me being here.”

“Nonsense,” Anne insisted, “we were so excited to meet the girl Harry’s been obsessing over.” He blushed at this, shy smile taking over his face. Gemma pulled you into a hug next, exchanging names and hellos as the four of you walked towards the balcony. Harry wrapped an arm around you as you lingered by the sliding door, calling out to ask if anyone wanted something to drink. “I’ll get them,” he said, fingers dancing against your skin. “You sit, it won’t take a second,” you told him, turning to walk towards the coffee machine.

“You are smitten,” Anne gasped as Harry sat down opposite her, eyes following your every move. He shook his head in his hands, bright smile peeking through his fingers. “I know,” he confessed.

It wasn’t long before conversation turned to the leaked photos, and Anne gave you both a motherly lecture. “It won’t be long until more photos come out. And it won’t just be your face plastered on the front of magazines,” she told you. “I’ve seen first-hand how this information gets about, they will know everything about you, more than you know about yourself sometimes. I don’t want to nag, but if the pair of you are serious then you need to start telling your family and friends before they wake up and see you all over social media.”

“I know,” you sighed, rubbing a hand on Harry’s denim-clad thigh. “I’m just so frightened to be painted as some sort of groupie, like this was my evil little plan all along,” you told her. It was something you hadn’t even spoken to Harry about yet. You knew your friends and family would just be happy for you, but the world wouldn’t see you as someone who just fell in love, you’d be blindly hated by millions of girls. Harry had confided in you a little about the stress that the media creates in a relationship with him, the hatred and vitriol of journalists and ‘fans’ towards any woman he was spotted with. You understood why he wanted to protect this relationship as much as you did, and truthfully you thought he could be even more nervous than you were about going public. “It’s a risk you’ve got to take,” Anne told you. “Besides, within 5 minutes of walking into this room I could see how besotted you are with each other, and you’d have all of us behind you both, sweetheart.” You knew she was right, and your first hurdle would be telling Joanie.

—

Harry had booked a car to take the four of you to Wembley, having promised his mum and Gemma a behind the scenes look at everything going on. It was one of their favourite parts of him touring, he’d told you, seeing the tiny touches of him in his dressing room and stepping out onto the stage, imagining what it was like for him. Even after seeing it so many times, it never got any less incredible. “This is amazing, Harry, I can’t believe you get to do this every day.”

“Joy of my life,” he grinned, watching the three best women in his life looking out across the empty stadium. He picked up the tiny blue polaroid camera that sat in the wings, ready to capture little pictures of his band and his team. “Smile,” he called out. The three of you shuffled into position, arms around each other as you beamed in his direction. Anne insisted on taking a few of you and Harry next, 3 different pictures so you could all hold onto a copy.

“You gonna stick around?” he asked you, pulling you tight against his front. You checked the time on your phone, sighing as your head lulled back onto his shoulder. “I should go, Harry. Want to get a good view for my favourite concert.” He laughed against the top of your head, promising to walk you out once you’d all exchanged goodbyes.

“I’m gonna talk to Joanie tonight,” you told him. Your heart hammered in your chest at the very idea, but you knew how hurt she’d be if she found out via the press. It just seemed so soon, despite the fact that you’d usually tell her everything about who you were seeing, from the second you’d first laid eyes on them. It was all so different with Harry, and you knew it wouldn’t change your friendship with Joanie but it would definitely take over things for a while. “You sure?” Harry asked, fingers dancing across your forearm. You nodded. “Just want to get it out of the way. Feel like you’re my dirty little secret,” laughing through the nerves. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “you scared?”

“So fucking scared.”

With this, Harry grabbed your arm, pulling you in a complete different direction than where you’d been heading. He dragged you into his dressing room, locking the door behind you before pressing you up against the door, legs wedged between yours. He was looking at you with the same animalistic gaze you’ve grown to understand, his breath hot against your mouth.

His lips ghosted over yours, tongue slipping past your teeth and licking circles around yours. You could feel him growing against your inner thigh, the tiniest taste of your lips enough to make him want more of you. Harry slid his hands behind you, palming at your soft ass before scooping you up and placing you down on the vanity, eyes dark with hunger as he gazed over you. “So perfect,” he whispered, hand cupping the nape of your neck as he dived in for another taste of your soft lips. He was insatiable, starved when it came to your pleasure - always like it was the first and last time he’d touch you, needing as much of you as he could get.

Harry bundled your dress up around your hips, groaning when he saw the wet spot on your panties, crisp from where your cream had soaked into them earlier in the day. He’d insisted you keep them on, the heavy material a reminder of how good he could make you feel. “Y’already wet for me, baby?” he rasped, slipping your tiny panties from your legs and stuffing them into his pocket. “Got you all worked up, huh?” Harry smirked as you shivered, the slightest brush of his fingers against your entrance shooting electricity through you. He licked the pad of his thumb before pressing it to your clit, leaning down to nip at your jawline when you whimpered beneath him. “Too sensitive, just fuck me please,” you whined, hips rocking back and forth to try to relieve some of the pressure that bubbled up inside of you with his one touch.

“Daddy’s needy little princess,” Harry cooed, lips soft against your cheek as he unbuttoned his jeans and let his hard cock spring free. He spat in his hand and rubbed it over his tip, guiding himself towards the centre of your parted legs. He entered you slow, one hand slipping under the bundle of fabric around your waist to grip onto your hip as he stilled inside of you, a groan slipping out as he felt your walls relax around his shaft. “More, H,” you pleaded, hooking your ankles around his back. He pulled out of you, looking down to see his head enveloped by your folds, cock twitching at the sight of your pretty pink lips wet around him. He fucked into you fast, thrusts brutal as he slammed his hips into you, catching you off guard. Every single time his tip hit your sweet spot you were crying out, your earlier orgasm only leaving you hungrier for him. Your hands gripped at his shoulders, desperate for something to hold on to to keep you grounded. It was as if you were on the outside looking in, watching your head lull back as he fucked into you, soul hovering somewhere separate to your body. He shifted slightly, angling you slightly upwards to hit a new, deeper angle inside of you. “So fucking big, so deep,” you whined, words tumbling out as you lost yourself in his cock. Your thighs tensed around his hips, pulling him tighter into your core as if there were anymore of him to take. Your orgasm washed over you quickly, the heat in your core bursting apart and rolling into every inch of your body. You cried out his name as you reached your climax, eyes rolling back in your head and stars all around you.

He’d never get enough of seeing you fucked out, cheeks pink and rosebud lips parted as you panted. It could send him over the brink in an instant, the combination of your walls spasming around his length as you came down from your high and the sight of what he’d done to you forcing his hot come out of him, even taking him by surprise as he painted your inner walls white. A hot and dirty little quickie was exactly what you both needed to clear your minds, keep your focus only on each other.

“Helped your nerves?” Harry grinned, wiping away a stray tear from your eye. You laughed, still dazed from your high. He slipped two fingers inside of you as he pulled out, stuffing his come back into your entrance. “You okay, sweet girl?” he asked you, helping your shaky legs to land back on the carpeted floor. “Mmm,” you hummed appreciatively, wrapping your arms around his chest as you fell into him, unsteady on your feet. “Took my cock so good, huh? Left you all broken?” Harry mewled, words muffled against your hair. He slipped an arm around your waist as you stepped away from him, holding you up as he unlocked the door. “Come on, I’ll get my driver to take you home,” he smiled, content in his post orgasm bliss.

—

“I need to tell you something,” you said, words bursting out when you finally couldn’t bite them back any longer. “What?” Joanie asked as she dropped her phone into her lap. You handed her the same gift bag Harry had given you, the necklace and note placed inside with two of the polaroids you’d taken earlier. “There isn’t a pregnancy test in here, is there?” she gasped, blue eyes wide. “No! It’s about what I’ve been up to this week,” you smiled, eyes glinting, suddenly brimming with excitement to finally tell her everything.

Joanie pulled out the pictures first, squinting at them both she passed them between her hands. She looked up at you, back down at the pictures, back up to you. Mouth agape, brows furrowed as she reached back into the gift bag. She pulled out the note next, unfolding it gently before her eyes grazed over the writing. “What the hell,” she whispered, searching in your eyes for any hint of mischief, certain this was some kind of elaborate prank. You picked up the necklace box, turning it in Joanie’s direction before you opened it and showed her the pendant inside.

“What is this?” she murmured, frozen still except for her eyes wandering over each item. “This is who I’ve been seeing,” you squeaked. You peeked out through scrunched up eyes, unable to gage her reaction at all. She gasped suddenly, drawing a hand to her mouth. “This is where he was pictured, in this hotel.”

You waited for it to hit her, the pieces already slotting together in her head but not making sense yet. “Call him,” she demanded suddenly. “If this is real then you have his number.” You giggled, pulling up your text chain in your phone.

y/n: do u have a second to call? X

Joanie grabbed the phone from you as you turned it around to show her, scrolling quickly through your messages. She paused on the first message he’d sent you, his pre-show selfie. Just as she started to zoom in on the picture, your phone started buzzing with a call. She thrust it back into your hands quickly, whisper-shouting for you to answer. “Hi love, you okay?” Harry asked, his slight northern rasp a clear giveaway now. Joanie fell back into the bed, hands clutched over her heart as she kicked at the bed, all the pieces finally coming together in her mind. ���I’m okay Harry,” you laughed, watching your best friend thrash around. “Just got instructed to call you to prove you’re real.”

“Hi Joanie,” Harry called out, laughing as she squealed in the background. “I’ll let you get back to your dinner, meet me later?”

“Of course sweet girl, let y’know when I’m done,” Harry said before hanging up the call.

“Oh my fucking god, y/n! What the actual fuck?” Joanie shrieked, bolting back upright. “I know!” you laughed, grabbing a hold of her hands as you squealed with her. You told her everything, from the way you met him by chance, to your first kiss, the ‘date’ he set up for you, and everything in between.

“It sounds mental saying it out loud, I’ve felt nuts all week,” you told her, running your hands over your face. “It is nuts,” she said, still blinking quickly, trying to clear some of the shock clouding her mind. “He’s incredible, honestly. It’s been the most insane week of my life, and it’s been so difficult to keep it from you. But it’s such a big thing, it’s like, life changing already even without people knowing,” you sighed.

“Do you think he could be the one? Joanie asked. “He could be,” you grinned. “If things keep going as they are, I don’t see why we couldn’t make it.”

“I need to fucking scream. Harry fucking Styles! The Harry Styles could be your one. No wonder he was looking at you like that the entire show, here I thought he just fancies you. Turns out you luuurve each other,” Joanie babbled, throwing herself back against the mattress again, shaking her head in her hands.

Harry really had been focused on you for the whole concert, your position only a few rows back in Jonny’s place meaning he could see you clearly throughout the entire thing. Knowing that you were going to explain it all to Joanie anyway gave him permission to be as flirty as he wanted, acting as if you were the only person watching. You were certain your pre-show activities had riled him up to end too, and thank god you’d jumped his bones before watching him up there. Shirtless under his overalls, thick biceps and tanned chest on display, he’d looked delicious. He got you hot under the collar anyway, but to see the way he was acting while looking like that, you could’ve easily blown off telling Joanie in favour of getting fucked into a coma by your favourite man. “Come on, let’s get you home,” you laughed, suddenly burning up as you thought about your man. “And not a word to Tom,” you warned, jabbing Joanie in the ribs as you stood up.

You messaged Harry to let him know you wouldn’t be long, you were only walking Joanie to the nearest tube station so just long enough for Harry to finish his meal with Anne and Gemma before coming to meet you.

Once you’d hugged Joanie goodbye and promised to give her the details of your evening with Harry, you lingered by the entrance of the station, bouncing on your heels as you waited for him. It was so silly but so exciting, meeting him in a public place and not worrying about prying eyes or how you’d explain your appearance on the front of tabloids to your best friend. You could hear laughter from across the street, and your heart bubbled in your chest when you looked over. There he was, laughing and joking with fans he’d bumped into. You strolled towards him, somewhat subconsciously, drawn to his presence. Harry glanced over to see who was approaching and his face lit up, a huge toothy grin taking over his features. “Thank you girls, I’ve got to run,” he smiled at the young fans, eyes sparkling as he watched you where you stopped, leant against the wall just a few feet away from him. “Hi darling,” he grinned, whipping out an enormous bouquet of roses from behind his back. You gasped, eyes flitting between the flowers and his smile as he held them out for you, planting a gentle kiss to your lips as your hands met around the paper-clad stems. They were the biggest and probably most beautiful roses you’d ever seen. Twice the size of the ones you’d see in supermarket aisles, the perfect pale pink and ivory. “They’re incredible, H. What did I do to deserve these? Or what did you do?” you laughed, taking a big sniff of the floral scent. “Jus’ saw them and thought of you,” he smiled, taking your free hand in his. “This is nice,” you told him, head resting against his arm as you walked. He hummed appreciatively, squeezing your hand in his.

“Look, H!” you pointed, spotting a familiar sight that you hadn’t noticed before. The starbucks where you’d first met, only 5 days yet somehow a lifetime ago. “Can you imagine if we hadn’t both gone there?”

“Can you imagine if I didn’t work up the courage to talk t’you?” Harry laughed, tugging you across the road to get a coffee.

—

“How many kids are we going to have?”

“Hm?” you looked over at Harry, swilling the last dregs of your latte around the walls of the cup. You were back on his balcony now, looking out over the city that had brought you your love. It was so comfortable now, so right between the two of you that even sitting there in silence felt like something you’d done so many times, for so many years. It was scary, terrifying and yet so exciting. You were almost waiting for the other shoe to drop, scared to look around the corner in case a secret girlfriend or personality change was waiting to trip you up.

Harry repeated himself, lips curving into a tiny smirk. “Start with one and see how that one turns out I think,” you told him. He laughed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he looked over you. He watched you like he wanted to drink in everything about you, searching for any new detail to memorise.

“What are you thinking about, princess?” he asked you, noticing how lost in thought you were.

“I’m just frightened, H. It’s only been 5 days,” you told him, looking over at him with big brown eyes. “I know, sweet girl. S’a lot so soon, huh?” he replied, holding one of your hands to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss to the skin. You nodded, “yeah. And I- not that I don’t think we could work but it’s scary. Having the world know my name and forever being associated with you if the distance is too much.”

“Then come with me,” he pleaded, “be my little groupie.” He was smirking now, though his eyes remained serious. “I can’t, Harry,” you groaned. “It’s too late notice to take any longer off work and not all of us are rich.”

“Then quit your job. Let me help you just until the tour finishes and then you can find something else.”

“You are so out of touch,” you laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t just quit my job, not work my notice and then expect something else to come up in a month.”

“Says who?”

“Says the world, you doughnut.”

“Marry me.”

“Harry! You are so insane,” you shrieked.

“I’m serious. Marry me, be with me forever, have my babies.” He really was dead serious, toying with his rings as he looked at you.

“I am not marrying you after 5 days.”

“Then we’ll just date.“

“Date?”

He stood up as you questioned him, suddenly rushing out of the hotel room. You followed him slowly, laughing as he knocked on the door. “Come in,” you called out. “Open it, woman,” Harry shouted, fist banging on the wood again. He was standing there grinning as you opened it to let him back in, totally confused by what he was up to.

“Hi, I’m Harry,” he started, holding out a hand for you to shake. “I know we’ve just met but I’m falling in love with you, and I’d love to take you out tomorrow night.”

EEEEE!!!!! my little loves. i thought this was a nice place to end it but rest assured i have about 7 ideas for extras already half drafted so this won’t be the last you see of these 2!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

taglist: @ameerakane20 @sleutherclaw @slutforcoffein @harrysolaf @opheliaofficial07 @dragonslayersupremacy @nikkisimps @michellekstyles @im-an-overthinker @fangirl7060 @indierockgirrl @palmettogal508 @thereunion1d @angstygyal @hannah9921 @harryshotpocket @daphnesutton @poojasdesk @averytermaat @tenaciousperfectionunknown

[saytrrose]

Can we see More about your racing AU please?

Looks so amazing and i love It so much

I do suppose I could share the character design line up!

I really just need to finish designing all the go karts, (atleast most are done!) and then I can make proper cards for them and really get into the written details.

To be honest it’s a little hard to just ramble about info and details without specific questions to go off of, so I’ll try my best hhh

for starters, the tent? Not a tent!

It’s actually a stadium, the amazing digital race!

And rooms? Sort of tweaked, they are more like each character owns a personal garage, a large open space where they store their vehicles and then have a loft above that showcases their cozy safe havens. Bed, entertainment, basically a small room in a much larger one.

I haven’t revealed Ragatha, Zooble or Gangles karts yet but I’ll go ahead and just talk about all of them!

Caine:

Caine has a motorcycle, specifically one inspired off of the motorcycle I’m saving up for this summer, a Kawasaki Eliminator. It’s a cruiser, I’m thinking he has a 600cc model but considering Bubble is his right hand man and operates as the races pit crew- he’s definitely tinkered with Caines bike, making adjustments and improving the engine. God only knows what the little psycho did, but it’s a damn good bike that’s not supposed to rev as loud as it does.

Pomni:

Her kart is inspired off a Volkswagen Beetle, seemed very VERY Pomni to me. Her car mimics her outfit design a lot, I might do some color changes to be honest but it will be super minimal, it’ll be final when the cards are done! She definitely stops at the pit the most often despite her placement in a race, are my tires okay?? Do I need my oil?? I know you just filled it but it went down- is anything damaged?? Sweetie you did one lap..

Jax:

Jesus Christ he has a giant supercharger on the hood of his car, and he is absolutely one of those annoying mfs that reva their engine OBNOXIOUSLY loud all the time like he’s super cool. If you’re wondering who most of the skid marks on the track are from, that’s also Jax. Hes the best as drifting, and he loves to show that off. His car isn’t based too much on an actual vehicle?? I stared at Mario karts and pieced it together, but also gave it a very sports car look, the wing on the back fr fr I think Jax would dig that.

Kinger:

OHHSOSK I was so creative with his little wagon,,, it’s castle shaped!! And the best part? Operates like a rocket. In the back past the battlement (the crown looking thing you see atop castle pillars) ARE GIANT exhaust pipes and yes, they do spit fire !! Operates like a rocket. It’s very cool! (Also he has a great muffler because unlike Jax he’s considerate of others hearing 💔) Oh also, he has one of those silly horns, I forgot how to describe it but you can just look at how I drew it on his kart and you’ll know heheh!

Zooble:

Our second motorcyclist, owns a trike! If you don’t know what that is, picture a bike with training wheels but super badass. 3 wheels! It’s inspired off the Harley Davidson freewheeler, I like that design a lot but it’s def not actually a Harley because istg when you buy those bikes your just paying for the fancy name brand- expect it to be in the shop all the time, smh not good- BUT ANYWAY!! The looks are inspired off it though and I can’t wait for this one because it’s just as crazy kooky as Zoobles design is.

Gangle:

Her kart is based on my favorite car, classic style but not too cool because you can bet she has anime stickers on the back and a decal that says “please let me merge before I start crying.” It’s similar to a karmann ghia convertible, 1963. Cherry red (so so pretty) She always has the top down, unless competing because damn you gotta go fast. That car itself is really slow, top speed normally is 68mph, however people have modified them enough to get up to 120mph. Thats still pretty slow compared to others, but her kart only reflects the appearance of the ghia! It’s much faster and I assume Bubble works on all their vehicles if asked to.

Lastly, Ragatha:

Our 3rd motorcyclist. 4 Karts, 3 cyclists. Her bike is a futuristic style, if you want a good idea then look up “icare bike”! Not so much a straight forward posture, she leans over ofc, you’ll likely get the idea when you see her bike. I’ll be honest, I haven’t gotten too into her design yet because I haven’t started drawing but!! Dark blue leds,, everywhere yes yes so cool ❤️

Sorry that’s so much 😭 but yeah! Just need to finish 3 kart designs for you guys and I can make official ref cards 👀

[rainydayandmondays]

Thanksgiving Potluck

Summary: It’s time for the annual Thanksgiving potluck at work. Andy wants to make sure that he brings something special for you. You worked so hard, you deserve it.

Pairing: Andy Barber X Reader, Jake Jensen

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+ only. Explicit language, explicit sexual content, male masturbation, slight non-con

Author's Note: This came about after seeing a challenge to write a spicy Thanksgiving story. With the blessing of @georgiapeach30513 to use Andy Barber, this is what I got.

You had been planning the department’s Thanksgiving potluck for weeks. Running around, trying to get everyone to sign up to bring in something, even if it was just silverware and napkins. Andy never participated in these get-togethers. They were some weird kind of team building bullshit that he had never really subscribed to. Why play nice that one day, while all the remaining days everyone was trying to one up each other. Comparing their win-loss ratios like they were some goddamn a-list athletes. The fucking Red Sox, they were not.

But you had started earlier this year, right around Valentine’s day. He remembered your first day, you wore your pink button down shirt the first two buttons undone and your simple gold necklace nestled in the crux of your shirt. Your pencil skirt was knee-length but seemed to hug from your waist to your hips. He imagined his hands could skim down the sides of it as if it was a second skin. Then your sensible flats, all that up top and did you finish with three-inch heels? No, just sensible flats. The red nail polish on your fingers with a small heart decals on each ring finger, let him know that you enjoyed celebrating holidays.

He watched you as you grew into the department, quickly planting roots and befriending each person you met. You were easy to get along with, never really asked for much, but always willing to give. He had spent most of October working with you. You were assisting on the research for his latest case, spending nights in the conference room with law books spread out in front of the two of you and boxes of half-eaten Chinese in each of your laps. You had asked about his story as you took a break from the mind-numbing reading of passage after passage. He had given you the cliff-notes version. The “everything is pretty on the outside” story. Loving wife at home and kid excelling in school. It was easier that way. Even if he could tell you didn’t totally buy it, you let him lie.

You on the other hand, were open. Told him everything. You were a paralegal, barely starting out with dreams of making it to law school one day. A sick mother at home had meant your law school dreams had taken the back burner. Your mom had been part of the last of the baby boomers and their idealized version of marriage. She had taken care of the household, you and your dad. With her bedbound, your dad was completely lost. You took over and everything else had been pushed aside. No sign of any romantic partners or life outside of work and home. But the glint in your eye talking about becoming lawyer, let him know you had more to offer. You had told him how you had aced your LSATS, spent every night up until 4 in the morning studying for them. You were younger then, could handle the late nights. Shit, you are younger now. Just barely hitting your late 20s, if he had to guess.

After those nights spent over cold takeaway dinners and finishing the McDonald v. City of Newton case, he realized that family dinners with little more than polite conversation paled in contrast to those talks and stale fast food. He had tried to get you on his next case, but Neal had snatched you up the moment you were free. He remembered the apologetic look you gave him when he swung by your desk with some briefs to review.

“Sorry Mr. Barber. I’m already working with Mr. Longudice. But you can leave those here and I’ll look at them when I get a chance.” You fidgeted with your pen, twirling it between your fingers. It was your nervous tick, he had noticed it the first night when you had found a passage that completely derailed his current case plan.

He nodded and walked away, noticing Neal looking on from the corner smirking. Fuck him, he wasn’t going to just use you to improve his standing in the department. He watched as the month progressed and Neal worked you into the ground. He found you more and more frequently in the break room, loading up on coffee. You were up to four glasses a day. That couldn’t be good for you. Not if you still had to go home and get your mom ready for bed.

He started to stay later and later, just to make sure someone was still here when you left. Neal took most of his case work home, leaving you with a list of readings to cover and present the next day. He watched as you flipped through pages, making notes in the growing stack of legal pads, and only the small desk lamp providing any light. He told Laurie that he had a big case he was finishing up. It was easier to keep working at his desk, instead of making the trip home, only to end up in his study. It didn’t take much to persuade her. He was pretty sure she preferred having the time to herself, she barely moved when he finally made it home to bed.

One night, he had timed it just right to meet you at the elevators at the end of the night. He walked up behind you, watching as you raised your right foot to scratch at the back of your left calf. Your pencil skirt rippled around your hips as you ran your foot down your leg. The sensible flats, the same ones you had worn that first day skimmed down the back of your left calf and he wondered what it would be like to have you run those sensible flats down his pant leg. He could feel himself twitch in his dress pants. This was a first. Up until this point, he had found you endearing, wanting to help you as much as you helped everyone else. But now, right now, he could imagine grabbing onto your hips, dipping his head into the crook of you neck as he ground against your pert ass. He felt his cock harden that bit more at the image, starting to push against the fly of his dress pants. Using his overcoat from that day’s chilly morning, he covertly covered the front of his slacks.

It wasn’t until the chime announced the elevator’s arrival and you turned around, that he came out of his brief stupor. You smiled and waved him into the waiting lift. That smile did nothing to help him, he shoved his hand into pocket to discreetly adjust himself before walking towards you. Standing next to you, he could smell those last remnants of your perfume. Was it your perfume? It had been a 12 hour work day, maybe that smell was just you. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? You chatted with him, promising that you were going to get to those briefs he left. It would be the first thing you would work on the next day. He listened and tried his best to feign interest, but you then looked up at him as you made your promise to him, and all his brainpower was immediately redirected to willing away his excitement. His hand still in his pocket, it brushed against his tip and he cleared his throat to cover the small groan that wanted to escape.

Reaching the garage, he offered to walk you to your car. You had gestured to the nearly empty lot, but he only uttered, “Better to be safe.”

You only nodded, leading him to your small late 2000s sedan. Reaching the car, you opened the squeaky driver’s door and threw in your workbag and handbag, before easing yourself into the seat. Andy held the door open for you, only to close it once you had settled. Lowering your window, you gave him a smile, thanking him for the escort, “You really didn’t have to do that. You’re a good man, Mr. Barber.”

He leaned down into your window, sighing before bidding you a good night, “You get home safe, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t meant to let the term of endearment slip, but your bashful smile was all it took to let him know he would be using that name again. Watching as you drove off, he made his way to his car. Popping the trunk on the Audi and throwing in the coat and briefcase, he hustled back to front of the car. Giving one more look around the lot, he noticed the security cam pointed at the opposite corner of the garage. Slipping into the driver’s seat, he only took a second to think through his next action. Closing his eyes, he remembered your big eyes looking up at him in the elevator, promising him something and his hand reached down to his pants.

He hadn’t gone down, no matter how he tried to calm himself, his coat had been his only saving grace, hiding away his reaction to you. Wrestling with his belt and button of his pants, he shoved his fly open, grabbing onto himself through his boxer briefs. He had already been steadily growing a nice wet spot on the front side of his briefs. Admittedly, bumping against himself with his hand in his pocket as he walked with you, might have gone a long way to making that spot. A couple of strokes, he reached in and pulled himself out.

Fuck, his hands were still cold from outside. It made his cock jump in his hold and he imagined your little hand taking him. You would apologize to him about your cold hands.

“Sorry Mr. Barber. Let me warm up my hands.”  The imaginary you whispered to him.

“Andy. Call me Andy, sweetheart.” He mumbled into the empty car.

He spit into the palm of his hand, before wrapping it around himself. He could feel you next to him, cuddling as much as possible against him, reaching across the console. Your hand stoking up and down, making sure to twist around the head of his cock. He dribbled onto your fingers and you took your thumb rubbing it along the tip urging more to come out.

“Fuck sweetheart. That feels so good. You’re making me feel so good.” He grunted, his head falling back against the headrest.

He could hear you giggle at that, pressing hard against the vein on the underside of his cock, causing it to throb in your hold.

“Ah shit, sweetheart, squeeze me. I know your hand is so little but try my sweet girl. Come on, try for me.” You would hum at that, reaching between his legs and grabbing onto his sack. Rolling his balls in one hand as you steadily stroked him with the other, giving a squeeze to his cock before a squeeze to his sack.

“What do you need Andy? Whatever you need, I promise I’ll give it to you. Please Andy, tell me what you need.” The imaginary you nipped at his neck, murmuring another promise into his neck.

“Fuck me, sweet girl. Look at me, watch me cum for you. Just for you, sweet girl. Just for you…” He reached for the empty coffee tumbler in his console, placing it under the tip of his cock as he let go. Groaning he pulsed a couple times, continuing to stroke himself until he drained himself fully, because that’s what you would do. You would never do a half ass job.

Sitting back, he looked into the tumbler, seeing a layer of his cum coating the bottom of the cup. He hadn’t cum that hard in a long time. But he supposed a sexless marriage would leave him with a lot of pent-up energy. Remembering Laurie, he grabbed a couple of napkins from the glove compartment, wiping himself before shoving them into the tumbler. After buckling his pants, he started the car, backing out lot and turning onto the freeway for home.

That night had been a couple of weeks ago and he found himself hovering around your desk as much as possible, asking for help finding a text. He would time your coffee breaks and bump into you in the breakroom to make small talk with you. Each time he saw you, he tried to get you to smile. Even on your most stressful days, your shoulders hunch, he would make quick jabs at Neal which would inevitably cause a small giggle to pass your lips. He liked those times, the sound of your laugh would get stored away in his mind, coming out only in the shower as he painted the walls for you.

When you came by with the potluck sign up sheet earlier this week, you mentioned that there were still a few sides left that no one had chosen. Looking at the list, he saw the mashed potatoes listed and quickly jotted his name down beside it. He could probably get Laurie to make it for him. She had been in a better mood recently. Had waited up for him when he worked late. She would welcome him to bed and curl into his side, rubbing circles along his chest. He wasn’t sure what had changed, but if it meant not having to deal with a moody Laurie daily, he would take it.

The day of the potluck, he walked in finding most of the office milling about. It didn’t look like much would be getting done today. With Thanksgiving tomorrow, most had spent the last few days easing into their vacation. He looked at the conference room to see the spread already laid out, you were flitting around making sure everything was set up just right.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” you jumped a little as he came up behind you, placing the dish of mashed potatoes in front of you.

“This will be perfect,” you took the dish moving it next to someone’s version of cornbread stuffing.

Turning around, you smiled at him. He thought about stepping back from you, but instead stood still. Reaching up to his arm, you grabbed his elbow and let out small breath, “I should let everyone know it’s ready.”

Slipping from around him, you walked out to the bull pin area, inviting everyone to come and dig in. He watched as everyone hustled to the conference room as he stepped out of the other door. Making his way towards his desk, he settled down, starting up his computer to check some late correspondence. He needed to spend time with you but not with everyone around. He placed his coffee tumbler on the clay coaster that Jacob had made him back in 4th grade. Sighing, he would wait to talk with you later.

The din in the conference room started to slowly die down and looking at the clock he saw that it was nearly half past 2. Most of the office should be heading out for their holiday and he figured, now would be his best bet. Grabbing his stuff together, he headed back out to find the room mostly empty. He couldn’t possibly have missed you, could he? Staring out to the row of desks, he spotted your workbag and handbag still on your desk. So, you were here, just not in the conference room.

Walking into the breakroom, he saw you at the sink scrapping off food into the trash and rinsing off dishes. Standing in the doorway, he watched this small glimpse into the domestic side of you and fuck, if it didn’t do something for him. Imagining coming home to you in the kitchen, prepping dinner for the two of you. You would still have your work clothes on but only now you would be barefoot. You would relax into him as he came up behind you, arms circling your waist.

He let out a quick breath, shaking himself from his daydream, before setting down his bag on the small table in the room. Coffee tumbler in hand, he approached you, quietly interrupting your dishwashing, “I bet you haven’t even made yourself a plate.”

Looking down, followed by a small bashful smile, you nodded, “There was so much to do.”

Grabbing onto his mashed potatoes, he looked for a spoon before starting to serve a portion onto a plate, “Come on. It’s your potluck too. You should get to enjoy it too. Besides, you got to at least try these mashed potatoes. A lot of effort went into making them. Go on now, sit down.”

Watching you sit down, he turns back to the counter, grabbing the gravy boat beside the sink. Taking the coffee tumbler, he had set down, he carefully removed the lid before emptying the contents into the remaining gravy. He stared as the viscous liquid drizzled out. With the spoon, he quickly mixed the gravy with the new ingredient together before pouring out the mixture on the mashed potatoes.

Turning back towards you, you sat at the table patiently waiting for him as he set the plate in front you. Quickly thanking him, you dug in, spooning a generous amount, gravy and all, onto your utensil and bringing to your mouth.

“Mmm, that’s really good Mr. Barber. Kind of earthy tasting. Are there mushrooms in the gravy?” You looked at him, a small amount of gravy stuck to the side of your mouth.

“Something like that,” he whispered, eyeing that speck of gravy and reaching out to clean it from your lip.

“Oh, I’m a mess,” your cheeks heated as you grabbed a napkin to clean the corner of your mouth.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he replied, taking his thumb with gravy still on it and licking it clean, “Go ahead, finish it all.”

You followed his direction, cleaning your plate, your spoon making a sound as you laid it down. You had eaten it all. Enjoying it, if he were to go by the little happy noises you made as you ate. He knew you would love it.

“Here, let me put this up for you,” he took the plate and spoon back the sink and as he rinsed the plate, he asked over his shoulder, “Did you like it, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mr. Barber. I promise.”

He gulped, steadying himself against the counter at your promise.

“You know, what, why don’t you take the rest home? There’s still a little bit of mashed potatoes and gravy left,” he asked already reaching for the lid of the Tupperware Laurie had used when packing it this morning.

“I couldn’t do that. You made it, you should take it home,” you answered next to him, and he realized that you must have gotten up from the table.

Locking the lid on the dish, he turned to you, already handing over the remaining potatoes covered in his gravy, “I insist.”

He had made that gravy just for you. After stroking another one out in the front seat of his car in the courthouse parking garage, he had sprayed another load into his tumbler. Looking at the cup again, he swore each session’s load was getting bigger even though this was a daily occurrence at this point. It had ended with a particularly bountiful finish, as he imagined you between his legs. Head bobbing on this cock, tits hanging from your top, before you had spit onto his cock, trapping it between your breasts and finishing him with a hard snuck to just the mushroom head of his cock.

It hit him then what a waste it was to rinse out his tumbler every night when he got home. You would love the taste of him. He knew would. Over the next few days, he collected each load, storing it in his coffee tumbler on the top shelf of his fridge at home. He had a couple of close calls when Laurie asked why he was keeping his coffee cold. He brushed it off, saying it was just water. He was trying to stop drinking so much coffee. Bad for his health. She had just nodded, leaving the tumbler alone.

“Thank you, Mr. Barber,” you nodded taking the dish with a smile.

“You can call me Andy. Promise you will?” He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, giving himself room in the suddenly tight pants.

“I promise. Thank you, Andy,” smiling up at him, he swore you could feel what he did. He swore you knew exactly what he had given you. Swore that you were happy and willing to take it. His sweet girl would take anything he gave her.

“You almost done, Ace?”

Andy was interrupted from his trance, hearing a male voice enter the room.

“Jake!” You called to the blonde man walking into the room. His shirt was untucked and his tie not quite knotted straight.

“I’m supposed to take you out for a Friendsgiving dinner today, remember?” Jake moved towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

Who in the ever-loving fuck is this guy? Andy watched as you hugged Jake around the waist, shaking your head, ready to apologize, “I’m sorry Jake. My day got away from me. Oh, this my kind of boss, Andy. Andy Barber.”

Jake reached out a hand to him to shake while his other still stayed slung along your waist, “Jake. Nice to meet you.”

Andy looked at the hand in front of him, before nodding and giving this fucker a firm handshake. If he squeezed a little harder than he should, well that wasn’t on him.

“Go get your stuff together and then we’ll head out,” Jake whispered down at you, to which you just nodded and flitted out the room.

Stuck with just Jake in the room, Andy leaning back against the sink giving this other guy a once over. He wouldn’t be an issue. No way did this guy have the prowess or charm to lure you away. You were his sweet girl. This fucker wouldn’t change that.

“I’m only going to say this once, leave her alone.”

Andy looked back at Jake, eyebrow raised, before scoffing, “And who are you exactly?”

“I’m guy who knows how to download the feed from the parking garage’s cameras.” Andy swallowed hard as Jake stared him down. He refused to nod, instead crossing his arms and looking down.

“I’m ready Jake!” You came back in, your handbag slung over your shoulder and the mashed potatoes in your arms as Jake took your workbag from you.

“Let’s shake a leg then, Ace,” you giggled at Jake and Andy frowned. When did that giggle change from just being his?

“Bye Andy. I’ll see you next week. Happy Thanksgiving!”

Waving goodbye to the two of you, Andy waited to hear the ding of the elevator before grabbing the tumbler and throwing it across the room. It clanked against the wall before rolling back towards his feet.

Hands on hips, he looked down at the cup. It was okay. Jake couldn’t do anything to him. He had checked to make sure the cameras were never pointed at him. But you, his sweet girl, he needed a new plan. Grabbing the cup from the floor, he rinsed it before setting it next to the empty coffee maker.

It hit Andy then. You did love your coffee. And you always made sure to have cream with it.

@buckybarnesisdaddy, @theinheriteddutchess, @sarahdonald87

[yuzukult]

crush 02 | jww & oc/reader

title: crush 02 / part of the attacca series pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader/oc (ft. seokmin) rating: 16+ (mentions of sex, but no act of sex) genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, racecar driver!au, mechanic!au wc: 5.2k summary: all he knows are fast rides, drag-strips, and speed ovals until he meets you, someone that’s got his heart racing instead of his car. warnings: explicit language, smoking, suggestive content (but nothing follows through), mentions of sex a/n: yes i know im better at updating this than ybny but what of it

You could almost feel the piercing glare that lasers in the direction of Wonwoo from Seokmin.

They exchange glances, both adjusting the shield attached to their helmets in unison. Hopping in, they both start their routine the same: pulling their seatbelt over themselves, clicking it into the plug connector—the front clip, rear clip, and middle section for security.

While Wonwoo’s car has a matte black body with a white circle decal of his designated number five, Seokmin sports a flashy lime green with a three spray painted on the side. Their vehicles are slimmer than the ones on the streets; there’s barely room for another passenger, the roll cage taking up majority of the inside, nose of the car tapered and pointed for the best aerodynamic features, and the suspension is low to allow less air to allow them to stick to the ground.

Or so, that’s what Seokmin says.

You don’t really understand the mumbo jumbo about racing.

But what you do understand is that everything happens quickly. 

Their engines start with a roar, a soft rumble following, with smoke puffing out of their exhaust pipe like a bull kicking their feet against the dirt with a bellow and gruff, except in lieu, it’s on an asphalt road with drivers. The crowd goes wild, waving their banners and flags, displaying visuals of their favorite racers and teams on their attire, tearing up the merchandise stands and tossing their money in the sellers’ way. You never really understood the temptation to overly purchase on celebrity goods, but with the smile that stretches across the audiences’ faces, it’s hard to argue why not to.

The cars begin to leave their pits, one by one, and into their grid positions. You recalled a time where a guy who competed against Seokmin had been running late—apparently from stumbling out of a hook-up’s apartment the night before, realizing she lived across town which was a hike to get here. That’s when you guiltily learn about how when cars don’t leave their pit on time, the drivers have to start from there… after the field completed their first lap.

The personnel finally shuffle off the tracks when they complete their final touches, and that’s when you spot Seokmin in the midst of the chaos. He does a slight wave, and it brings warmth into your chest until you realize the girl in a neon yellow crop top that stands beside you who waves back. 

What’s the human traffic cone doing here?

You want to be mad, you truly do, but there’s always a part of you that remains soft for Lee Seokmin. The way he drops the shield of his helmet, attaching his steering wheel into its slot, and doing that shoulder raise of his that becomes habitual, everything about him makes you feel vulnerable.

But your thoughts and feelings are immediately interrupted at the sight of Jeon Wonwoo waving to you instead.

He’s… infectious, you’re slowly beginning to learn. When he smiles, it’s enough for the people in proximity to imitate. His eyes curve into half moon crescents, shining brightly just as they do in the night sky, and when you don’t immediately return the greeting, he chuckles in amusement instead of annoyance. He treats his team like they’re his friends, pointing at them prior to getting into his car earlier, teasingly saying, “No modding, right? It’s a stock car, gotta be built just for this. It ain’t supposed to be like those machines you’re ridin’ on late night cruises with a babe in the passenger seat,” as the boys laugh in unison before shoving him away. 

You slowly wave back.

Wonwoo only grins wider before popping down the cover of his helmet.

You notice the lineup—as the cars begin their positions one by one, you realize Wonwoo’s vehicle is placed last and Seokmin is located in the top five. With a nudge, you gesture with your chin to the cars on the speedway with your tongue poking your cheek. “Chan. Why’s Wonwoo last?”

“He didn’t race in the tournament two weeks ago,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wonwoo only qualified because one of the sponsors for the cup saw him race in the streets that same week. But because of the rules, that means he can’t be placed anywhere near the top.”

Nodding slowly, you open the lid of your thermos. The steam fills the air, brushing against your nose, and you tap your pointer finger against the stainless steel. Impressive, you think, because you’ve heard of the stories of how difficult it was for Seokmin to get his way here. The constant begging, the bugging, and the praying—he had to find people that had even an ounce of belief in him to invest in him so he could get to where he wanted to be.

But Wonwoo didn’t jump those same hurdles as Seokmin.

Seokmin knows the deal. He memorizes the track like the back of his hand; where the tight turns are, when the perfect and exact moment to drift, and how to move just close enough to his opponents to intimidate them. He’s known to be able to determine the required timing for every motion, down to the second of when he’s supposed to have his foot pushing down the accelerator. 

Seokmin was a professional.

His favorite thing about driving a stock car is the only thing he loves about driving stock cars. The way the gearshift falls into the palm of his hand is swift—there’s no hesitation and the evident comfort is there. It’s his strongest suit, behind the wheel of a vehicle with a manual 4-speed transmission, switching gears when he knows right when the perfect millisecond would be. 

It’s not the same as riding on the highway, wind blowing through his hair with the smell of the ocean salty air infiltrating his senses, and it’s not the same as weaving through the traffic of a busy city. He gets to push his limits here, see how far he can go, and the rush he gets is one that can’t be replicated. 

The car is heavy duty—engines 3.5x faster than regulation cars. He can accelerate the car from 0 to 60 in the matter of seconds; the sound of the soft zoom from the engine revving, the stiffening of his body, and tightened grip on the leather steering wheel has become a feeling Seokmin has grown addicted to.

It gives him a blast from the past. Speed had always been a priority; recalling how his onyx grease stained hands were from all the constant modifications on cars in a garage. He could hear an older male, around his early thirties, yelling in his ear about how fast he needs to go, and that it was Seokmin’s job to make it happen.

Now? He’s the one demanding it.

On the oval track, he’s so used to his competition’s habits. They’re repetitive, he learns, all his opponents seemingly never finding themselves in a situation where maybe they should change their tactics. They’re the same. They never change.

And honestly? It gets a little boring.

Releasing the pressure on the clutch, he pushes the sole of his shoes flat against the accelerator. He shifts the gears readily, weaving through the crowd of cars that he “allows” to pass him initially, letting himself fall behind just so he could catch up. A little bit of entertainment doesn’t hurt, right? Notably when the trophy isn’t up for grabs for anyone else anyways.

Lee Seokmin is made for racing. A smirk pulls on the side of his lips, eyes darken and zeroing onto the end of the lap when he notices an unfamiliar car in his side view mirror.

Jeon Wonwoo.

His skin burns—and it’s not from the sun piercing through the window. Every time he sees—no, even hears Wonwoo’s name, he can’t help but seethe with anger. How dare he enter the tournament, especially all that he’s said about those with money and race professionally? The audacity of Wonwoo, stepping onto Seokmin’s turf, like he owns the track when this is merely his first taste of professionally racing.

He’s good, Seokmin admits. Wonwoo expeditiously glides between the cars fluidly, no hesitation with each move, turning and drifting at the right parts of the oval tracks. He doesn’t let the competition scare him, in fact, he looks… comfortable behind the wheel. The expression on his face doesn’t display anything concerning, and if he was anxious, he was good at keeping a facade. 

Seokmin inhales deeply. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.

Seokmin snatches onto the clutch. His brand new shoes lay flat against the metal pedal; eyes narrowing in onto the finish line. Freshly painted and he could almost smell the chemicals from the spray can, his chronic need to inhale in that scent of victory, the sound of the crowd cheering his name, as the flag waves behind him after he crosses the line. He doesn’t just want it–he needs it. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, the heat gusting over his shield that nearly blinds him for a brief moment. Switching the gear quickly, he does it automatically as if the car is one with him, an extension of his arm. “Jeon Wonwoo can’t fucking win.”

Here’s a thing about Lee Seokmin.

Whatever Lee Seokmin wants…

Lee Seokmin gets.

“Fuck off,” he growls under his helmet, moving side to side to block off Wonwoo from cutting him off. 

It doesn’t take long for Seokmin to pass the finish line as the flag waves down.

He sucks in his cheeks in content, a smirk tugging on his lips as he eases into his station, slipping out of his seat and tossing off his helmet. He waves to the crowd who cheer his name. 

Body shot with a wave of dopamine, he feels like he’s conquered it all. All the rejections, the doubters, and his haters—they used to fuel him with rage but they now give him a sense of relief. Without them, he wouldn’t be where he is now, arms up and encouraging the crowd more. This is it for him. Everything he has ever wanted, all in one stadium.

When Wonwoo hops out of his car, his eyes meet with Seokmin’s.

Expecting Wonwoo to be pissed, Seokmin has his fists resting at his sides, but when he sees that gratified smile on his face, confusion washes over his face.

Is he really satisfied with losing?

Seokmin will never understand Wonwoo—from the past when he went by Dokyeom up until now, he can’t loop his head around the fact that Wonwoo race but at the same time, he doesn’t understand why Wonwoo still preferred to keep his hands stained with black while underneath a car.

Deciding to shove the thoughts away, he turns back to the sea of people calling his name. Wonwoo doesn’t matter now, especially since Seokmin won the tournament. Nobody is better than him.

“I didn’t know you were a racer racer.”

“I didn’t know you were a Kyeom stan. Seems like a lotta info was missed over our text exchange,” he grins with a playful tone, hands in the fronts of his pockets. “I don’t judge. Kinda wish you were on my team though.”

He’s out of his overalls by now, in the comforts of his blue jeans and black t-shirt. Wonwoo looks more like himself; the ruffled hair, metal rim glasses that sits atop the bridge of his nose, and the genuine smile on his face is welcoming. Being behind the wheel of that car didn’t feel like him—the look he’s sporting  while standing beside his Prius feels right.

“Are you disappointed?” You ask teasingly–what was that? Was that… an attempt at… flirting? This isn’t like you, and the fact that Wonwoo effortlessly pulls you out of your comfort zone without you noticing is appalling. It’s barely been a night. “I um,” you clear your throat, straightening your posture when you catch yourself in the midst of the act. “I um, I didn’t really want to be here, I was requested to be.”

“Mm, possibly,” he answers, pearly whites all out on display. “But I think with a lil’ convincing, it won’t be too hard to get you to come over to my side. What do you take for bribes? A sweatshirt? I can whip up one.”

“Hm, I’m thinkin’ socks.”

He nods approvingly. “Socks, socks. I think I could do that. What do you want on it? My name, my car? Or what about my face? An iron-on picture of my face on your ankles?”

You quirk a brow.

Wonwoo laughs, shaking his head. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But, I gotta admit that I am a bit disappointed that you’re Kyeom’s lucky charm.”

“You want me to be your lucky charm then?”

“Nah, I just want you to be a cheerleader in the stands for me. I’m already winning if you’re on my side.”

Oh. Is that heat rising to your cheeks? Touching the side of your face, you feel the warmth radiating despite the cool air hitting your skin. “I–Oh. That…”

“I’m kidding,” he reiterates, the soft look on his face is enough to cause the butterflies to release in your stomach. “So… did Kyeom come and thank you yet? You know, for being here and helping him win. For someone being their good luck charm, he seems to be taking you for granted.”

You wave him off–it’s almost an instinct to defend Seokmin even when you don’t have a good reason to be. “Oh, pft. Please. He doesn’t need to thank me. I… I came willingly.” Not a lie–you did come willingly. But, what… is a lie is that you sorta… feel like you want to be thanked. Not with a huge extravagant gift or a heartfelt card, but a simple “thank you! You coming means so much to me,” would’ve been nice. Acknowledgement! Any kind. Watching him walk off with a girl after every event wasn’t really making him feel appreciated.

“Mm,” he hums, nodding slowly. He doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he doesn’t probe any further. “Well, I thank you for being in the audience today. It was nice having a familiar face around, especially since this is new for me.”

Your lips curl up unconsciously. “You're welcome, then. Glad I could be that for you.”

As the two of you walk outside of the arena, a bright yellow car is parked by the curb. “Well, this is me.”

Startled, you point at the car then at Wonwoo. “This… This neon yellow Prius–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he whips out the key fob, and with a click of a button, the Prius’ lights go off with two beeps. “This lovely, cute car with a great personality is mine. I know what you’re thinking—”

“This is so funny.”

“It’s such an attractive–what? Funny?” You know that he’s joking when his lips curl up. “Well, maybe next time I can show you around with my whip. It’s not necessarily a Corvette, but I’m sure we can have just as much fun as some other racer with a flamboyant car.

“Mm,” you hum in response teasingly, eyes narrowing as you cross your arms and tap your chin with your finger. “We’ll see. I may have to up your offer. What other cars do you think you can show me that in?”

Wonwoo smiles sweetly, hopping into his car with a wink. “I got a Ford F-250,” he says, shutting the door before rolling down the window. “See you later then, yeah? Since I don’t think that Kyeom would let me drive you home.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you feel the heat rush to your cheeks. “I don’t think ‘Kyeom,’”—the name is unfamiliar when it falls off your tongue but the context remains the same—“determines who I can hang out with.” Why are you flirting so boldly? This doesn’t feel like you. 

“Really?” Wonwoo says, a brow raised in amusement. “So… it wouldn’t be a bad thing if we went on that date soon?”

“I… I’m not sure if–”

“She’ll go.”

Both you and Wonwoo turn your head to the culprit of the voice, only to find Lee Chan standing there with the brightest grin plastered across his face. “She’ll go, and if her car breaks down, I’ll even pick her up to meet you.”

You turn to glare at Chan – the lasers darting from your eyes could pierce through his skin and burn it with a hiss, but he could care less. To Chan, if there’s a sliver of hope for you to move on, to find anyone else that isn’t Seokmin, he wants you to dive for it. 

“Chan –”

“Hear me out,” he begins, showing his hands. “What’s wrong with a harmless date?”

Looking over at Wonwoo, he only cheekily smiles as he rests his chin on his car door. “What can I say? People like me. But regardless of that, don’t feel like you gotta accept a date from me if you don’t wanna. No pressure–I know that there might be somethin’ between you and Kyeom, I just didn’t know if it was somethin’ you were plannin’ on pursuin’.”

Inhaling in a deep breath to calm your nerves, you pick at your fingertips. It’s true, there’s nothing wrong with going on one date with Wonwoo. Plus, just the last thing he says alone gives away that he’s exactly that–respectful, honest, and… it’s harmless. It’s not like you’re committing to be his long-term girlfriend or are agreeing to wed.

“I–Okay. I’m… I’d be interested in a date.”

That stupid grin of his grows even wider. How’s he this adorable without even trying?

“Great! Then… I’ll text you then?” 

“Sounds good,” you reply back before you exchange your goodbyes and he drives off in that traffic cone Prius.

“You realize you’re only causing trouble when you tell me that I should date Wonwoo, right?”

Chan freezes before the loaded hot dog—cheese, relish, ketchup, mustard, and the shack’s famous in-house chili to top it off—reaches his mouth, and he blinks blankly at your question. “I… What?”

You swipe your finger on the droplet of chili that falls into the red striped disposable paper tray. Slipping it into your mouth, you pull your lips into a straight line. Salty. “Seokmin, you know. He doesn’t even like Wonwoo, and if he ever found out that you were trying to nudge me in his direction, you’re fucked.”

Chan rolls his eyes, saying his final words so he could shove a portion of the hot dog into his mouth. “Not like he’s seeing other girls or anything.”

Stealing the fry that sits in the basket at the center of the table, you let out a heavy sigh. There’s a part of you that still clings onto the what-ifs when it comes to Seokmin, but when Chan is here, attempting to lure you into another man’s arms, you’re not sure if this is the right thing to do. 

“Do you really think I should go through with the whole Wonwoo thing?”

Chan looks at you with disbelief. His cheeks are full like a chipmunk’s, but he still reaches for a fry and stuffs it into his mouth. “Seokmin scares me, yeah, but I'd rather you be happy. So, if Wonwoo is that potential case, I’ll be here to back you up—even if I lose my already ‘special privileges’ with Seokmin.”

You eye the younger male carefully. He makes a statement when he declares something like that, and you wonder with all the passion he feels for you finding someone new, if other people saw it from the perspective he does. “Is it really that bad?” 

He sighs, pulling his lips into a straight line as he slowly nods his head. It’s not the answer you were expecting, but it’s one you’ve gradually come to accept. “I want you to be happy,” he reiterates once more. “And Seokmin can’t do that for you.”

So, maybe you’ll go on this date with him. One time wouldn’t hurt, right?

Seokmin is the main reason for your hesitance and he always is. But when you get a glimpse of him from across the stadium, arm around the flag girl with a smirk dressed upon his lips, your reluctance dissipates and reality sinks in once again.

If Seokmin isn’t ready for you, then you wouldn’t be ready for him either.

The taste of victory permeates all his senses; each time he crosses that line with the pretty gal in a short skirt while waving a flag isn’t the only benefit of racing, but the amount of zeros behind the first digit that gets cashed into his bank account is the fundamental cause.

For Seokmin, this lifestyle is a dream. The days where he laid underneath a car, sliding in and out on a creeper with grease stained hands and soiled clothes are long gone–he could recall those moments he’d pull his clothes out from the wash and question where the origins of the blemishes were. Some new, some old, he didn’t quite remember, but what he knew was that he couldn’t afford to buy a new wardrobe. He didn’t own a single spotless shirt.

And here he is, present day, at a private table of one of the most expensive clubs in the city with a Huge Boss suit and Gucci black leather oxfords. Seokmin only purchases top shelf liquor; swirling the drink in his hand, the ice clacks against the glass adequately as he watches a pretty girl dance on the main floor with eyes glued onto him. 

He brings the cup to his lips, the cool whiskey on the rocks reaching to his lips, sweet when it hits his tongue and smooth when it slides down his throat.

The quick arch of his brow is an invitation for her introduction.

“Hey,” she says, voice silky as she slides onto the couch beside Seokmin. “Rumor has it, you’re a racecar driver.”

Of course he’s a race car driver—he loves hearing the saccharine words of achievement leave from people’s lips. He’s a professional, accomplishing a goal that people consistently told him would be hard to reach. Now with his arms resting on the back of the sofa at a high end club with girls practically lining up to sit on his dick, he’s gone beyond what he chased for.

He couldn’t ask for anything more than this — other than more money, of course. 

“I am,” he smirks, patting the cushion beside him. “Want me to order you a drink? In exchange, you can tell me your name.”

As she giggles over a fancy mixed drink (he doesn’t even know what she got, all he knows is that it’s pink with an orange slice on the rim and it’s making her eyes swirling with intoxication), he tells her about driving on the track and how it feels to have a crowd of people cheering his name. 

Then the thought of Wonwoo appears in his mind.

It wasn’t always like this—the sharp eyes, fire burning in lieu of the chocolate irises; Jeon Wonwoo was a friend he admired in the past. They both worked together—in a body shop that seemed simple on the outside, providing service for regular people and nothing more.

But there was definitely more beneath the surface.

All the illegal activity that went on behind the scenes is what made Seokmin leave. He was welcomed into the car shop and stayed when they offered him training, learning so much from a team that he looked up to, only to realize that he’d been a part of a scheme he never wanted to be in. Wonwoo was one of the guys who held the information back. And Seokmin swears he won’t forgive Wonwoo for that.

Truthfully, he should’ve suspected something when on the first day, one of the mechanics named LNY (which Seokmin later learned wasn’t even his initials, it fucking stood for Lunar New Year and he would never learn that guy’s real name) advised Seokmin to come up with a pseudonym for working hours and any association to the auto shop. That’s when he came up with Dokyeom. Realistic enough, but far from his birth name in avoidance of putting his family in danger.

“Mm, I looooove peaches,” the girl sings, and honestly, he already forgot her name but he knows what flavor her drink is. 

“Sweet,” he grins, thumb pressing against the corner of her lips. She doesn’t have anything there, but it’s rather charming for a guy to pretend to wipe something off a girl’s cheek, right? “Kinda like you. Can I call you that for the night? Peaches.”

Her cheeks flush pink as she nods slowly.

Hook.

Line.

“I bet your lips taste like them too.”

Sinker.

Needless to say, Seokmin can report the next morning that her lips were indeed sweet like peaches.

He admits he doesn’t think of you on these nights; his thoughts are disgusting and disrespectful for someone who promised himself to end up with another. Fumigating his head would be the only route in making himself even remotely good enough for you — even he knows that.

But nonetheless, there’s something in him that plagues these ideas that this is what he wants, despite the empty promises he makes you. In his mind, there’s this fucked up mentality that you’ll stay, regardless of what decisions he’s made and what girls he picks up because that’s just it—he knows you’ll stick around.

The girl in his sheets that night creates a temporary bliss for him. It’s exhilarating, being able to swoon a woman into his home on a late night out with words and touches as intoxicating as the alcohol she indulges in earlier that night. Just like driving on a racetrack, it has his adrenaline rushing, and he craves for more.

“Gasp!” she exclaims in unison with the drop of her fork. It clangs against the porcelain plates, and you’re just grateful that she didn’t chip or break anything. “You’re joking. You’re going on a date?”

“Would you hush, P?” You shoot back, grabbing her utensils and pushing it far from the other dishware on the table. “I know you’re shocked, but you don’t gotta be dramatic.”

P’s your best friend–P being the initial of her legal name that she forbids anyone from using. She’s told you at least once before what it was, only because on a trip to Cancun, customs yelled it out when she filled out the form with the duty free limit nearly reached. “P****?” you recalled reiterating, and P was so quick to hush you. (Yes, you realize that every time you try to censor her name, it just looks like you’re redacting genitalia. But that’s besides the point). P works for one of the biggest luxury designers in the world–attending parties, runway shows, fashion weeks–name it, and she’s done it all.

Except design her own line and bring her boss the correct coffee order. “Who the fuck orders a matcha latte with six pumps of vanilla, two scoops of protein powder and three egg yolks? Of course I fucking get the order wrong. I don’t think any local coffee shop even has raw egg yolks on hand.”

“No, no no, I-I think P’s got the right reaction,” your other friend says, patting P’s back in assurance. “Last week, you sighed so hard that the lettuce in my salad blew out of my bowl because Seokmin was talking to you while checking out a girl from across the room. You wouldn’t stop gushing over him and now suddenly… there’s a new guy? Where’s you even meet him?”

P slams her elbows onto the table. “I’m with Sunny on this one. Tell us more.”

Sunny is also a nickname (now that you think about it, does anyone go by their actual name?) She earned it for her bubbly nature; generous, bright, and warm, she exhibits behavior that would be like a boost of serotonin or the equivalent of vitamin D for people (or eggs. You read somewhere that two eggs a day provides at least 82% of sunlight for the average person–makes sense why P’s boss is so insistent about getting it). You and P met in high school, friendship lasting up until… well, now, and Sunny was an easy and seamless addition when she got stuck rooming with you and P freshman year.

Rolling your eyes, you plop back into the booth seat. “I just wanna make it clear–it’s just one date. Nothing crazy. Not like he can swoon me off my feet in seconds and all of the sudden I forget everything I promised Seokmin.”

“Promised Seokmin?” P scoffs, waving her pointer finger dramatically. “Mr. Seokmin promised you a handful of things. I don’t see him following your agreement. So why should you? Go on that date with ummm…”

“Wonwoo.”

“Yeah, yeah, with Wonwoo. Speaking of, you got a pic of him?”

You furrow your brows. “What? No. I don’t have a picture of him. What year is it? Why would I keep a picture of him?”

“No, you idiot,” Sunny chimes in, whipping out her phone to open Instagram. “Like, do you have a picture of him on Instagram. Facebook, Twitter–all the social media platforms. Sure, you know he’s real, but is he a psycho?”

“He’s not a psycho,” you add, shoulders slouching in annoyance. Well, you’d hope he isn’t a psycho. The only red flag you saw was that Seokmin doesn’t like him but to be fair, Seokmin himself is a walking red flag. “But… Seokmin hates him.”

P and Sunny’s full, undivided attention is on you. 

“You’re kidding.”

“Why does it matter what he thinks?”

You shrug. “I mean, that’s the one thing I can think of that would be considered a red flag. Seokmin doesn’t like him–but mostly because Wonwoo street races and now he wants to do it professionally.”

P turns back to her own phone and taps away on the screen.

“Okay, but that’s not really a bad sign. So what if Seokmin doesn’t like Wonwoo? Get a taste of his own medicine. We’ve been telling you for what feels like forever that you gotta move on. Like–there are so many candidates out there. Have you even checked dating sites yet? Maia from my International Business Master’s Program met her husband on Tinder. Now, they have a house in the hills, two kids–”

“--Found it!” P interjects, shoving her phone in both your faces. “Jeon Wonwoo. Mechanic–a detail you failed to mention, by the way–and he’s 26, likes KBBQ and oddly enough, for a car guy, doesn’t obsessively post cars.”

Sunny snatches it out of P’s hand. “Oh my god, he’s so cute.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” P exclaims, flailing her arms theatrically. “If you don’t go out with him, I will.”

You let out a sigh. It’s almost equivalent to the one you exasperated at the last outing. “I already told him that I would, so it’s not like I can back out. Plus, Chan was pressuring me! For someone whose eyes practically sparkle when they see Seokmin, he’s so anti-Seokmin when it comes to me.”

“Yeah, because even though he looks up to Seokmin, it’s for racing. That’s all it is. He’s been treating you like shit, love. This story you think will have an ending might not exactly have the word happy in it.”

It doesn’t matter how many times you hear it, it never gets easier with each reminder. P and Sunny have good intentions, Chan does too, but you’re not ready to raise a glass to this so-called tragedy that’s known as you and Seokmin.

← last chapter | next chapter →

[omg-a-wild-td-fan]

Total Drama Island 2023 Headcanons (Pool Day)

Priya is wearing a one-piece that is optimized for swimming the fastest, and a swim cap for speed. She practices swimming laps, then takes a break to beg Millie to get in the pool and play Marco Polo with her (they’re the only two playing).

Millie wears a simple one piece suit with one of those swimwear cover up robes on top. She doesn’t actively get into the pool, she just sits on the side of the pool and dips her feet in. Her main activity is just talking to Priya and reminding people to not run or splash in the pool too much. She will complain if you get her wet.

Ripper wears a pair of ratty cargo shorts. He doesn’t know how to swim very well, but will not admit it. He walks around with his chest puffed out like he is the hottest thing to ever grace the Earth, but anytime any man (especially Chase) happens to glance at him, he flips out. 

Damien wears a simple pair of swim shorts and forgoes his usual hat, though he complains frequently that he feels almost naked without it. He swims with Wayne for a bit, chats with Nichelle, and even briefly joins Priya’s game of Marco Polo. He honestly is just there to have a good time, though he becomes increasingly frustrated by Chase and Ripper trying to get him to referee their swimming matches.

Axel is the self-appointed lifeguard and patrols the pool in a wetsuit with a life preserver under her arm half the time. If someone falls in or seems to be in trouble she is immediately there to help, though her response time and gentleness is highly dependent on if she likes you or not. If Nichelle starts drowning she’s there in a split second, hefting her out of the water and treating her like a princess. If Ripper starts drowning she leisurely swims over, picks him up by the scruff of his neck, and tosses him onto dry land.

Chase wears a basic, solid colored pair of swim trunks and some douchey designer sunglasses. He walks out of the changing room/shower room thinking he’ll be the hottest shit there, and is quickly shown up by Wayne, Bowie, Raj, and Caleb just minding their own business. He spends his time eyeing up Emma, trying to show off, and yelling at Ripper that it’s gay to look at him.

Zee wears the same outfit they always wear, just without the hat and with a different prosthetic leg. Their swim leg is exactly the same as their main one, just covered in pink hibiscus flower decals to make it swimming themed. They spend most of their time at the pool hanging out with Emma chatting and back floating around lazily. At the end of the day they just air dry by lounging on a pool chair, instead of changing into new clothes or using a towel. 

Scary Girl wears a simple black bikini, but adds to it by covering herself in large chains and a small anchor that hangs by her feet. People can’t tell if the chains are real or fake, until Ripper starts drowning and she uses the chains and anchor to pull him onto dry land. Ripper avoids swimming in the deep end after that, as he doesn’t want any more bruises on him from the anchor.

Caleb wears a speedo, not to show off but because it’s better for swimming. Julia eyes him up the entire time, but he completely ignores her. Man just wants to swim laps in peace.

Nichelle wears a cute, understated bikini. She doesn’t know how to swim because her handlers haven’t let her learn. Bowie tries to teach her, and when she starts to freak out a little bit, Axel is immediately in the pool to save her. She fakes little freak outs a few more times just to get Axel to come and save her. 

Julia wears an extremely expensive, flashy bikini that shows practically everything. She actively looks for attention by bending over in front of as many men as possible and takes an obscene amount of selfies. Chase and Ripper are the only two that pay her any attention. She slathers on sunscreen, not because she’s scared of cancer, but because she’s scared of aging. She also refuses to get her hair wet - chlorine will ruin her bleach job. 

Bowie wears super cute short shorts and a crop top. He spends his time wading in the shallow end with Raj, gossiping by the side of the pool with Emma, and teaching Nichelle how to swim. He also tries to avoid getting his hair wet, he did pay a lot to get it done after all. 

Wayne simply wears a pair of cargo shorts and his usual hat. He spends most of his time at the pool running around with Raj, doing cannonballs and racing with anyone he can. Occasionally he goes off to get himself a drink while Raj and Bowie talk, but after a while he always ends up back at Raj’s side waiting for his buddy to be ready to hang out with him again. 

Raj splits his time as evenly as he can between hanging out with his boyfriend, and hanging out with his best friend. When with Bowie he mainly chats, flirts, shares fruity drinks, and idly cheers Bowie on as Bowie swims. When it’s his time to hang out with Wayne though, he becomes a poolside nightmare. He and Wayne practice diving, start splash fights, and play mermaids for ages- occasionally roping Priya, Zee, and Nichelle into their games. By the end of the day Raj is completely drained but happy, and spends a while in a pool chair with Bowie just relaxing.

Emma wears a modest two piece, similar to the style that Taylor Swift wears. She usually goes for a one-piece, but feels the need to show that she’s hot without Chase too. However, she doesn’t like to push herself too far out of her comfort zone. Bowie hypes her up, and Chase tries to chime in but just objectifies her. Zee compliments her bathing suit, and she compliments their swimming leg, and Emma plays up their flirting a little bit to show off in front of Chase. 

MK wears swim shorts and a swim top. They’re mismatched - she just swiped the easiest ones to steal from Urban Outfitters. She wears a scuba mask and swims around near the bottom of the pool looking for things that others have dropped, and she ends up seeing a little bit too much of Julia in the process. She’s able to swipe some things from Zee because they’re just wearing their normal clothes, including everything they normally carry with them (soda, a lighter, a pipe, some loose change, a rubber duck, and a concert ticket from 1983).

[ashes-in-a-jar]

[ID: Digital art of Jon and Martin from TMA. They are driving through the countryside in a green van with an eye decal on the side. In the back window, parts of the van’s kitchen are visible. Jon is a medium-brown skinned person with long, dark grey hair and a long beard. He wears a red shirt, glasses, and there are pink flowers in his hair. He sits in the driver’s seat, with one hand on the wheel, and one gripping the top of the window frame. There is a brown cat on his lap. Beside him is Martin, a light skinned person with ginger hair, wearing a blue jumper and glasses. Martin smiles at Jon. The background of the image is full of rolling green hills, with two highland cows standing together on one of them. End ID.]

Sigh

(EDIT: forgot they drive on the left side of the road so I flipped it, now it's fixed 😌)

The flowers were really fun to draw

ID by @saintbleeding (thank you <3)

[southbendswimclub]

Weekly Announcements for Week of 10/15-10/21

Dear SBSC families,

Practice Schedule

We have received some more unfortunate news about the NPHS pool.  The heater is down and in need of some immediate repairs and/or replacement.  The pool is currently too cold for our swimmers to practice.  So for the time being we will only be able to offer practices at RHS.  That is all the information I have now.  Coach Ashley will better be able to answer questions regarding the timeline for repairs.

Riley High School

Group 1 Monday and Wednesday 6:00-7:15

G1 Elite Tuesday 5:30-7:15

Group 2 Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday 5:30-7:15

Group 3 Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday 3:45-6:00

Group 3 AM Monday, Tuesday 5:30-6:45, and Wednesday 7:00-9:00

New Prairie High School

No practices scheduled

Practice Notes: 

We will not be offering practices at Riley on Thursday or Friday.

Riley families please use door #22.  This is the door on the northwest corner of the building and faces Fellows Street. If you are planning to stay to watch practice there is a stairwell that is adjacent to this door, and this will lead you to the seating area.

Upcoming meets: WAR Oct. 28/ NASA Nov. 4&5/ CON NOV. 3-5

Here is our WAR Monster Splash entry at Warsaw High School on October 28..

Here is our NASA Sprint meet entry at Northridge High School November 4 and 5.

Here is our CON Skypoint Invite entry at Elkhart Aquatic Center November 3, 4, & 5.

You can always login to your account on our website or by using the Sports Engine (or On Deck) app to see your swimmer’s entries. I will post all other pertinent meet info in the Sunday emails prior to those meets.

Swim-A-Thon

Thank you to all the families who were able to raise money and big thanks to those who gave up a couple of hours to help count laps yesterday.  Our fundraiser officially ends on Saturday the 21st.  We are still not quite to our goal of $15,000.  As of this morning we are about $700 short.  There is quite the battle between RHS training groups.  Group 2 has a $100 lead over Group 1 and a $303 lead over Group 3.

Our top 5 fundraisers so far are:

Will Scarlett (G3)

RaeAnne Hasting (G2)

Kadison Berkson (G2)

Ava Bittle (G1)

Catalina Martinez-Stockskill (G1)

We now have 31 swimmers that have raised at least $200 and will be receiving a logo’d team suit.  (See next section for more info on the suits).

Our training fees for our members have remained the same since we started in 2006 but our costs have grown exponentially.  The Swim-A-Thon has helped keep our fees the lowest in the state (and possibly the country!).

If a swimmer did not raise $100 the family’s account will be billed.

Suits for Swim-A-Thon

If your swimmer is one of the 31 please email me their suit size and possibly their suit preference.  All Group 3 male swimmers will receive a brief.  Any Group 1 or Group 2 male swimmer will receive a jammer unless you let me know they would like a brief.  If you have a female swimmer they have one of three options.

Sprintback.  This one has larger back straps.  Our younger swimmers have preferred this one.

Xback. This one has thinner shoulder straps.

Flashback. This one also has thinner shoulder straps and more revealing lower back.  

If you click on any of the links you will be able to see pics of the suits to help determine which suit is best for your athlete.

Parent and Family Spirit Wear

The spirt wear order forms are in.  You can download the form or you can pick up a paper copy at practice.  

This is not for the T-shirt you paid for when you registered.  Those shirts are for the athletes and coaches and will be delivered before our first meet at the end of the month.  This apparel was specifically designed so our parents and family members could all wear similar gear when attending meets.

A couple of new items were added including a license plate and a window decal for your vehicles.

The due date to have the form returned is Wednesday, November 1. Checks should be made payable to the South Bend Swim Club. If you have any questions please let me know.

Help Wanted

We are still looking for one more coach for our Group 1 this season at Riley.  If you know of anyone who might be interested have them contact me at coachvandriessche@gmail.com

Team Apparel

The local swim shop in town is Milinko’s Scuba & Swim (formerly Just Add H2O).  This is a great place to find a good practice suit or pick up a spare pair of goggles.  

We are also partnered with A3 Performance.  You can purchase a logoed team suit directly from this site (these will once again be offered as prizes for raising enough money during our Swim-A-Thon). Here is the link to the A3 Team Store. When your swimmer is old enough to purchase a tech suit (13 and over) this company is who I recommend purchasing from.

USA Swimming Memberships/Birth Certificates

All athletes need to complete the USA Swimming Registration.  This should be a priority for all of our families.

Here is a link to the document with instructions on how to register with USA-S.  A few of our members have had trouble adding their swimmers once they created their own account.  If you have trouble after creating a parent account, try using this link. If your swimmer qualifies for the Outreach Membership (free/reduced lunch at their school) click on this link.  Remember, if you use this link you will need to provide documentation to me that your athlete qualifies.

If your athlete has never competed in a meet for SBSC (or another USA Swimming club) you will need to send me a copy of their birth certificate.  The preferred way is to electronically send a pdf.  If that is not possible, please email a 

USA Swimming Guidelines - MAAPP/Safe Sport

USA Swimming issued a directive with regards to electronic communication and social media contact between coaches and athletes.  Most of what is being implemented is common sense and falls in line with our club's policies.  One new requirement we will need to adhere to is how your minor child communicates with all coaches.  For several years we have asked swimmers in Group 2 and Group 3 to text/email their coach if they would be missing practice.  Moving forward, swimmers will be instructed to include a parent on all communication with me or any of our coaches.


If you are the parent of a Group 2 or Group 3 swimmer, and have never sent me a text before, please text me so I have your contact info in my phone.  This way if I need to contact your swimmer about missing practice I can be sure to include you.  My cell phone number is 574-276-6057.
  I encourage all parents and swimmers to read the full policy.  We are required to keep this policy on our website, here is the link.

Fall and Winter Meet Schedule/Dates of Meet/Location/Deadline to commit

Below is our fall/winter meet schedule. The first date listed is the day(s) of the meet and the second date is the deadline to commit. 

Swimmers wanting to compete will need to commit to those meets.  The deadlines are based on deadlines that were set in previous years. They may change once the meet hosts posts the meet information.  When committing to multiple day meets, if the option to select the days you want is not available, leave a message in the notes section stating the specific days you would like to attend. 

Meets marked with an * require swimmers to meet minimum time standards.  All pool locations can be found on our website under the "Pools" tab.  

Intrasquad Meet/Riley High School/Oct. 4/Oct. 3

WAR Monster Splash/Warsaw High School/Oct 28/Our Entry

CON Skypoint/Elkhart Aquatic Center/Nov. 3-5/Our Entry

NASA Sprint Meet/Northridge High School/Nov. 4 & 5/Our Entry

ELK Rudolph Romp/Elkhart Aquatic Center/Dec. 1-3/Nov. 12

IA TW Invite/Elkhart Aquatic Center/Jan. 5-7/Nov. 25

CON IMX/Concord High School/Jan 19-21/Dec.31

CON Last Chance/Concord High School/Feb 23-25/Jan. 28

*IN Swimming Divisionals/Valparaiso High School/Mar. 1-3/Feb.18

*IN Swimming Senior State/Elkhart Aquatic Center/Mar 7-10/Feb. 25

*IN Swimming Age Group State/IUPUi/Mar 15-17/Feb. 25

ELK 8 & Under Superstar/Elkhart Aquatic Center/Mar 16/Feb. 25

*USA Swimming Speedo Sectional/IUPUI/Mar 21-24/Feb.11

As always, if you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me.

--

John VanDriessche

Head Coach

South Bend Swim Club

South Bend Riley High School

(574)276-6057

www.southbendswimclub.com

#SBSCForLife

[ghostspiritnovel]

GhostSpirit: Chapter 5

They sit at the table quietly eating cookies. The vibes are tense. Evan hasn't spoken a word in a few minutes. Celine whispers something to Lu, who whispers something back.

“WHY DIDN'T I KNOW ANY OF THIS!?” Evan half shouted pulling his hat over his face. “Why didn't she tell me…”

Celine gets up to comfort her new friend. “I'm sorry, I know it's-it's a lot. But trust me. I will help you get your answers.” Celine then asks if he wants a hug.

A small nod.

Celine Jax and Lu give Evan a big hug. Quiet sniffling. Too many thoughts, head full, need to go home. He tries to move and everyone lets go.

“C-can we come back an-another time, Celine?” Evan asks quietly. “I-I'm sorry”

“Hey, hey, of course. Take your time to process.” Celine leaves the room for a moment, Evan still has his hat covering his face and looks down. “Take these home, as a welcoming present!” she hands a circular box with a pentacle on it to Lu. Lu softly smiles at her while Jax convinces Evan that he needs to see and re adjusts the hat.

“Thank you Celine,” says Lu going over to the two boys.

“Thanks” says Jax.

Evan just nods quietly.

They leave the house of the witch and walk down the path leading to town.

The sun is starting to set.

Evans things are still in boxes. This thought overwhelms him to the point of crying again.

They reach their boy cave on the other side of town. The walk was quiet and the sun had fully set.

The wind starts up. Its cold.

Lu pulls out the key and walks up onto the porch the other two follow. Unlocking the door, a large carpeted room with a TV to the left, a kitchen to the right, further back some extra hangout space and some stairs.

“We can do your stuff tomorrow, you had a long day. Sorry about that..” Lu closes the door behind then and takes off his dark black boots.

“But-” Evan starts but immediately stops.

“Sleep in my room man, ill take the couch. Honest I'm not that tired. If you trust me enough I can get your stuff into your room.” Jax offers

This feels like just a big sleepover. Evan thinks.

Jax leads Evan upstairs, pointing out the bathroom also. They come to the upstairs where it leads to another common room. Evan rubs his eyes.

“Wait… I need my meds…” Evan goes to turn around but sees Jax is already holding the bottles with a small smile. Evan hugs Jax. In this moment. This chaotic night. Evan remembered a feeling.

“My room is the one with the grungy stickers on it. Ill be down here if you need me.” he playfully gives Evan a light punch on the arm. “You'll be good buddy.” He gives Evan the bottles and heads downstairs. Lu dashes his way up. No longer wearing his red jacket and now in a black tank top and shorts he speeds up the stairs and goes for a few laps around the common room. This makes Evan giggle yet wonder why is he full of so much energy.

The door has black yellow and Grey decals on it in the shapes of street signs. Evan opens the door and truest to turn on the light. Jax isn't allergic to light, he can stand in the sun, and he can see bis reflection. Growing up Jax had been bullied by others because he wasn't good enough. So he started some interesting habits. One was. No light in his room. If it was a figure that had LEDs, turned off at night. The sun was an exception. Cant turn that off. Plus its warm. Jax was always cold hence his nickname The Cold One. And his sarcastic speaking tone.

Evan uses his phone as a flashlight. The bed is made, next to the bed is table. On the table a small box sits. Evan chooses to let Jax keep his privacy. Evan sits on the bed, takes his meds, places them on the counter, and rolls into bed.

“Too many thought,” he whispers not even bothering to take off his hat. “Head full,” he says as he falls asleep.

[cartattz1]

Dad Bod Decals can be used to show support for a favorite sports team, advertise for a local rock band, or publicize your business, among many other things. It is possible to save money by applying the decals on your own instead of paying a professional.

[tojigasm]

Guess who's back with another coping piece 🤣🤣🤞 im doing better today, just had a lil rough patch yesterday and wrote like this and finished it up today. Just posting in case anyone needs some comfort right now or is going through something similar.

Tw: implied E.d's, insecurity, weighing, panic attack, crying, choking, gagging, sobbing, toji trying his best to comfort you

Words:

Toji doesn't like it when you talk bad about yourself, in fact, he loathes it. Can't stand the idea that you see yourself as anything less than perfect - the thought makes him sick.

Doesn't like it when you scowl at your reflection in the $2000 dollar mirror he had custom designed for you - fit with a silver peach color that twists and turns over Birchwood engraved flowers and decals.

Doesn't like it when you cut down on the meals you eat, finishing your food dinner and scraping the rest of your food onto his plate with a kiss to his temple.

Doesn't like it when he wakes up to find you missing from his arms; only to realize the bathroom light's on and you're weighing yourself.

Doesn't like it when he takes you for dinner at the diner downtown where you usual routine is to beg him for a milkshake, except you merely order a salad and rush to get home while Toji eats his burger.

"What's goin' on with you, kid?" He swallows, placing his burger back onto his plate before leaning back against the rubber red booth.

You shrug, and push your bowl of salad off to the side of the table, turning to look out the window, eyes trailing over the moon-lit motorcycles and cars.

Toji brings you back, because of course Toji knows somethings not right. He always knows.

His knee rubs against yours gently before he's clicking his tongue and cooking his head, "Finish your food."

"Not hungry-"

"Yeah you are." he cuts you off sternly, lips tight and brows raised.

you sigh shakily, hands pulling at the ends of your sleeves as tears bubble up in your eyes, "I-" your voice cracks immediately, breath hitching in your throat in a struggle to swallow your sobs.

Toji watches you, reaching a hand across the table to grasp your shaky one. he doesn't speak, running the pad of his thumb over your skin gently. He comforts you the best he can before he recognizes your hitched sobs and wide eyes, your hand rips out of his own, desperately grasping at his forearm for stability. your mind's spiraling and you can't focus when your vision blurs.

"Hey, hey, hey," he fumbles with his wallet, throwing a couple 100's onto the table before stepping out of the booth, pulling you along with him.

You don't remember getting to the car, now studying the Impala's polished interior as Toji tired to calm you.

"Look at me, baby, look—hey," he cups your chin in one hand, holding your arm with the other. "Baby, talk to me, tell me what's wrong," he pleads.

You've never seen Toji look so upset, sure he's cried in front of you before and gotten upset but never like this. There was desperate need in his eyes, a need to fix what was wrong and mend your broken mind back together.

"Please..." he whispers, releasing your chin to stroke your cold cheek. "Baby..." he nearly whimpers, "You're so cold, sweetheart."

That breaks you, your voice shatters into heavy sobs that wrack your body as you cover your face with your hands, dragging your knees up to your chest.

"Honey," Toji coos, pulling your head into his chest he presses a kiss to the top of your head, letting you sob, letting you relax into his hold, he promises to protect you.

Doesn't like it when you fall apart in his lap, grasping at his hoodie for some sort of stability while you're drooling, sobbing, and choking on your own tears.

Doesn't like it when you hide yourself away from him, building up a wall before your mind cracks and you come tumbling down into shattered pieces.

Doesn't like it when he has to listen to you sob, wondering why you're in so much pain, why things won't change, why you can't just be happy.

Doesn't like that he can't fix everything for you. He hates the fact that he can't rip the pain away from you, carry the heavy load of sorrow and sickness you feel.

"Why?" You're gasping, hyperventilating into the thick fabric of his hoodie, "Toji, I'm so sad, jus' want it stop," you mumble, words falling after one another like your mouth is filled with cotton- choked and warbled.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," he cups your head closer and let's you cry, let's you sob and crawl into his lap in the seat of the impala in the parking lot of the diner, because its all he can do.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Could we pretty please get a villain whumpee in a straightjacket?

Oh I had so many ideas for this one, so I hope you like what I came up with! It’s a bit of a different kind of whump, but I hope it’s still good :3

CW//Dehumanization, baby talk, medical settings, straightjackets, medical malpractice

Villain hardly got to see the outside of the building.

Nearly as soon as the vehicle sped up to its front, they were trundled from its interior, feet stumbling to asphalt for a moment before the privilege of walking was taken from them-- their body swept up in a pair of strong arms.

They hated being carried. No, there was not enough strength in that word. They detested it. Loathed it. Those weren’t enough either. No, they felt that, if they were to encapsulate their sheer fury at the situation with language, they would need to begin digging in dictionaries of obscure Kanji.

But there was no time for that, because they were being carried right now.

Usually, Villain would have struggled. Writhed and squirmed until they were dropped to the floor. Or thrown. Whichever happened quicker.

Yet, unfortunately, at that very moment, there was no time for that either. No. At the moment, there were much more acutely focused on an emotion other than rage. One that went by the name of terror.

Every villain knew of the Metropolis Rehabilitation Center for Extraordinary Cases. After all, they were the extraordinary cases.

But no one ever thought they would see the thing in person. Much less be carried into it by Hero, of all the noble, goody two shoed assholes.

It was a gargantuan structure-- towering blocks of concrete, stacked upon each other, and covered with shimmering white tile, bright enough to blind anyone who dared to look upon it directly. There was one thing worse than that tile, surface dancing like freshly fallen snow.

The only thing worse than the Center’s exterior was its front door. The pair of them, in fact, glass and steel. That fact was terrifying in and of itself. Being close enough to those doors to examine them was a fate no villain expected to ever have to face.

The second time that Villain began to thrash, there was no fury in it. Nothing was locked around their body, not a chain or cuff in sight, but Hero’s grip was more than enough to turn the menace of the city into the much larger equivalent of a kitten, held by the scruff of its neck.

“Let me go! I don’t want to go!” Their thoughts flew from their mouth as freely as their panicked voice. “T-The prison! Wouldn’t that be much better?”

“Come on.”

The villain shivered at the soft voice, a second quiver shaking their spine when a hand stroked its way through their sweat-soaked hair.

“They’ll love you here.” Hero’s voice curled, coaxing a frightened dog. “I’m sure you’re be their new favorite.”

There wasn’t an ounce of perceptible mockery in the tone. As though a hero genuinely gave the slightest shit. As if they weren’t taking them to the place half-drunken villains told horror stories about, only to be accused of fabrication. ‘It can’t possibly be that bad.’

But everyone knew, everyone knew full well, that there was no falsehood in those stories.

They didn’t want to be a favorite. They were a villain! Even as they approached the double doors, Villain could not help but fantasize about the 10 foot high walls of the Metropolis Villainous Correctional Facility, topped with their electrified barbed wire.

It would be horrible, certainly, but it wouldn’t be the Center!

Yet, with a tinny bell, the hellish building’s entrance swung open.

Inside, the Metropolis Rehabilitation Center for Extraordinary Cases smelled like flowers. The particular scent was unrecognizable-- neither rose nor marigold, lavender or coral-bell. Yet, the aroma was overwhelming.

Villain’s struggling turned to thrashing.

The walls were blue. A light, baby blue, with a sickeningly joyful air about it. Abstract paintings and plaques hung along hallways and lobby walls, marked by tacky statements of motivation.

‘Mistakes are proof that you are trying.’

‘Make it happen!’

‘I can and I will.’

The captive villain felt sick. Their straining was useless, not gaining them an inch of freedom even as it cost them feet of dignity. Not that they expected to keep hold of that for long.

The lobby itself was bright, disgustingly colorful. The walls were lined with chairs painted in blinding technicolor, while the front desk itself danced with decals of butterflies and birds.

“Let me go!” Another screech tore itself from their throat.

A receptionist, lab-coat the color of a summer sunflower, looked up with a warm smile.

“I see our newest friend is here.” They chirped. “I’ll call up our welcoming party.”

“No need!”

From one of various, straight hallways, clattering footsteps sounded. Two lab coats, dyed in that same sickening, jaundiced color, ran forward at a jog. Shame forgotten, Villain buried their face in Hero’s chest. Anything to not have to see the doctors. Anything.

“Oh, what a cutie!” One of the lab coats exclaimed. “Aren’t they a sweetheart?”

“Oh, Villain, you’re going to have so much fun here.” A second voice smiled.

“I’m sure they are.” Hero’s hand stroked once more through their hair, though it did nothing to aid their incessant trembling. “Come on, bud, there’s no reason to be scared.”

“I fucking hate you!”

Three voices turned to roaring laughter.

“Come on, they’ve even brought you something.”

“Yeah.” One of the doctors chirped. “It’s a nice jacket, to keep you warm. We don’t want you getting cold.” Their tone switched on its head, from high-pitched to clinical, as they whispered: “Put them down, please.”

Gently, Villain felt themself lowered to the floor. In an instant, they were kicking out, struggling, straining, screaming and screeching. Their attempts to get to their feet, however, were thwarted by firm hands on their shoulders and a leg across their own.

They didn’t need to see the jacket to know what it was. As soon as the canvas touched their skin, they knew. Yet, it was a three on one. No amount of hysterics could stop the sleeves from slipping onto their arms, compressing their hands against the sewn-shut ends. Leather rubbed against metal buckles, canvas ribbing against itself, as, with terrifying speed, the jacket was applied.

The straightjacket.

It was far too taut, tight enough that, in their hyperventilation, Villain felt that it made them unable to breathe.

“Take it off!” They wailed. They noticed only then that the garment around them now was dyed the same color as the walls-- that unnerving, baby blue.

“Shh, shh, it’s just a jacket, buddy.” The hand in their hair was unfamiliar and nerve-wracking.

They had their legs, still. Only half of them pulled in terrible, suffocating tightness. Fury focused, Villain kicked out, desperate to get their legs under them.

They had no chance.

And, of course, their last ounce of dignity had to be wrought from them.

Villain’s shoes had been lost hours ago, though they couldn’t remember the exact scenario. Perhaps during the fight, perhaps afterwards, when they were thrown into the car and harnessed to its restraints.

It didn’t matter. To the doctors, so it seemed, all that mattered was that they could stand. And, to them, that was a problem.

They looked like socks, and, going on, they felt to be as such. Yet, as Villain at last got their feet under them, they realized otherwise. The bottom of the garments seemed to be formed in such a way that, when they tried to stand, their legs shook with the effort of simply retaining their balance. The curves and form of their feet, countered by fabric and plush.

“W-What the- What did you-” Villain gasped.

“Oh, those are just your wobblers, honey.” One of the lab coats smiled. “See? They make you wobble!”

“I’m gonna fall, you piece of shit!”

“Oh, don’t worry, dear.” Another voice, followed by a pair of arms, braced against their back. “You won’t fall. We’re here to help.”

“I don’t want your help!”

“This one’s funny.” The voice came with a smile. “Come on, then.”

Another pair of arms, practically lifting them. Their legs felt to be singed by lapping flames from the strain upon their muscles alone.

“We have a room all set up for you! And once you get your medicine, you’ll feel so much better.”

“So, so much better.”

It was with hysterical shrieks, rapidly weakening, that the patient that had once been Villain was helped down the hallway.

They would never again see the outside of the building. The nice doctors would make sure of that!

[twilitty]

By The Moon

By: @twilitty

Chapter 3: Settled

Word Count: 2.3k

image from this post by @stregoni-benefici

After the Blacks leave, it is just Charlie and I alone for the remainder of the evening. I enjoy his company, regardless of how silent he is. It takes me a couple minutes to settle, to come to terms with the lack of work needed to be done. The dishes and food are all put away where they should be, the laundry has been folded and put where it belongs, there is nothing to clean or organize, there is no company to call and freeze memberships for. It’s just done. I can sit.

I take a seat on the faded brown couch across from the flatscreen TV, an old baseball game playing in high definition with the volume turned all the way down. Charlie sits in his recliner, with a pile of papers on his lap and a notebook and pen poised to write something down. I see a badge decal printed on the top corner of a paper and decide it must be for the station. Chief Swan never seems to truly get a day off.

While the house sits like a relic of the life Charlie once had with Renee, it also has touches of him throughout. This warms me inside, knowing that he hasn’t been sitting in silence waiting for his errant wife to finally return home. His gun belt is hung at the front door on a wooden hook-shaped like some sort of a fish, clearly hand carved. He has a few pictures printed and placed in the corners of other framed photos on the mantle, pictures of him and Billy smiling widely with Harry’s laughing caught in the still frame.

Charlie has adorned the soft recliner with a new-looking crocheted blanket, shades of dark green and yellows. I look between the books stacked under the coffee table and the old coffee mug beside his recliner and realize that he has a life here. He chooses to wake up early and go to work, to eat at the diner because he enjoys it, to read old crime novels to pass the time. He visits his friends and puts their pictures around the house, he drinks coffee from the same Worlds Greatest Dad mug that I had gotten him ten years ago.

When I was in Arizona, nodding along to my mother venting about the horrid weather of Washington, he was enjoying the rain. He was enjoying this small, insignificant town.

I cringe inwardly at the harsh words I had spat in the silence of my room in Phoenix. The self-pitying thoughts I had formulated late at night while dreading my inevitable next visit to this old home.

I sit soundly on the couch for the remainder of the baseball game, my mind absently focused on the writings of Jane Austen in my lap. Occasionally Charlie will mutter something under his breath, flipping through papers and old handwritten notes. But, other than those small disturbances, we sit in complete silence. It’s refreshing.

After the game ends Charlie replaces all his papers on the side table and brings his mug into the kitchen to clean it and put it away. I sit silently, reading my novel without truly understanding what is written on the pages. “Bella,” Charlie says from the kitchen. I turn around to face him, his hands wrung out before him with a dishtowel. “Do you feel comfortable driving that thing,” the truck has a nickname if nothing else, “to school tomorrow? I don’t mind giving you a ride in the cruiser, getting you acquainted-”

I cut him off quickly with a wave of my hand and a forced nonchalant response, “No, no, no.” He quirks up an eyebrow. “I’ll be fine, I’m sure everybody there is really nice. They’ll help me out if I get lost or something.” I ignore the rising tightness in my chest at the idea of starting school tomorrow. New school, new people. Nothing about this pertains to my interests. Nothing about this seems enjoyable, but it’s necessary.

“Well,” he says gruffly, trying to pick apart my demeanour. “I suppose you are old enough to drive yourself around.” He turns back to the kitchen, mumbling something about how old I’ve gotten. I release a sigh of relief, turning back to my novel and dogearing the page I’m on.

I creep into the kitchen, holding the novel against my chest. “I, uh, was hoping to maybe go out for a drive.” I try to phrase it like a statement, not a question, although my words tilt upwards at the end, and it comes out sounding like I’m asking for permission. Charlie turns to look at me with his back pressed against the counter, socked feet sliding outwards from him casually. “I will make dinner once I’m back, I was thinking-” Now he cuts me off with a wave of his hand, his eyebrows still drawn down over his eyes. Still watching me with some assumedly analytical intentions. Always a cop. “Go, take the truck out. You don’t have to make dinner; I am a grown man after all.” I can hear the teasing in his voice, so I smile lightly, but beneath it, I suspect there’s another meaning. Or perhaps he has seen something in my expression and his analysis leaks into his words. Because although he sounds sincere and lighthearted, I get the impression that there is an underlying meaning.

I try not to question it too hard.

I back the truck out of the driveway, careful to not clip the cruiser parked alongside it on the pavement. The radio is old, no outlet to plug my phone into for music, so I’m stuck with FM channels. It’s not awful and I flip through until I come up with the same 80s channel Charlie had tuned into when he picked me up from the airport.

I drive to the end of the road, the rumble of the truck nearly loud enough to drown out the music playing through the aged speakers. I take a left turn to head towards town.

I don’t have any destination in mind and instead, drive with the sole intention of driving. The music provides a backdrop to my experience, the soaring notes and heavy guitar guiding my mind through the town that I will call my home for the next few years at minimum. I pass through the residential streets slowly, children screaming happily on front lawns, before I hit the main highway and ride it down fifteen minutes.

I pass the church my parents were married in, the foundation cracked and brittle with age, the cemetery eery but beautiful in the mist. It reminds me idly of Romeo and Juliet, the mausoleum they find each other in and the cloak of night that provides them refuge from the prying eyes of others. It’s a romantic destination in a gothic way. It’s hard to imagine Renee had ever stepped foot into the church, nonetheless, gotten married within it.

I pass the church and a few other sparse buildings before reaching the blanket of trees that line either side of the long highway. The truck refuses to budge past sixty on the odometer, and I don’t push it past fifty-five, both because I surprisingly enjoy the experience of driving slowly and cannot afford a mechanic. I have money saved up from Phoenix, but not enough to do any extensive work on this old vehicle.

I wince at the thought of filling the truck with gas, banishing the thought quickly so it doesn’t ruin my good mood.

I drive for nearly another half hour before pulling a wide turn down the highway and heading back towards town.

My alarm goes off at seven in the morning, my hand reaches over and silences it easily. I was abruptly woken up an hour ago by the hammering of rain on my window. It sounded like an army of men thundering down the driveway, their footfalls echoing across the town. But it was just the rain.

The bags under my eyes do little for my complexion, my skin looks translucent with its contrast. I shower and dress quickly, applying a couple dabs of sunscreen to my cheeks more out of habit than necessity. From the look of the sky outside my window, the sun won’t touch me at all today.

Charlie is waiting for me downstairs, thankfully without a camera or a proud smile on his face. Some things are better done without ceremony. He hands me a warm cup of coffee, light brown with creamer, and resumes his reading of the newspaper. I pop two pieces of toast in the toaster and stare out the window above the sink. It’s raining heavily, puddles forming on the road, patches of grass submerged in the water.

I turn when my toast pops up, methodically applying butter to both slices and then cutting them each diagonally. The same way Renee would always cut them. Charlie watches me sit down across from him, his eyes settling down on my plate before me. I wonder if he’s thinking of Renee. I don’t ask.

He gives me a brief explanation of how to get to the school, informing me that it is just off the highway. He laughs, I suppress a groan. Everything is just off the highway.

I double-check my schoolbag before leaving, throwing an offensively bright yellow rain jacket over my sensible long sleeve. Forks is cold, much colder than I am used to.

Forks high school has a staggering population of three hundred and sixty-five students, now three hundred and sixty-six. I can barely comprehend how so few students could fill the assortment of buildings standing before me. Unlike my school in Phoenix, which boasted well over three times this study body, Forks high school is not simply one large, institutional building.

Forks high school boasts many outbuildings with classrooms divided amongst them, the main office marked by two large glass doors at the very front of the parking lot. Charlie had gone through the trouble of acquiring a map of the campus for me, printed out and laminated from his corner office at the police station. I had taken it gratefully before leaving the house, trying not to push too much emotion into the sentiment. I wonder if he had anticipated that I would be nervous for school, or perhaps he just didn’t want me to get lost and marked absent on my first day.

I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and pull the garish yellow hood up over my face. It’s now or never, I tell myself sternly when my hand refuses to push open the cab door.

The rain continues to fall menacingly across my windshield. I choose never. I ignore the fearful voice in my head and steal myself for the wet walk up to the main office.

The woman sitting behind the desk lifts her head up as I enter, not at all alarmed by the amount of rain that had assaulted me on my way over. She’s pretty in a motherly sort of way, her cheeks round with age and red hair a shade too bright to be natural. Large glasses frame her eyes, which crinkle with a smile as I approach her desk.

“Let me guess,” she says in turn of a greeting. “Isabella Swan?” It’s less of a question and more of an exclamation, so I school my features into as close to a smile as I can muster. It feels grotesque.

“Uh, it’s actually just Bella,” I inform her, pushing the dripping hood off my head. My fingers twine with each other before me, fidgeting as the secretary produces a small folder of papers for me. The cover is a bright yellow and decorated with my name in large lettering, a small smiley face next to it.

“Well, Just-Bella,” she smiles largely, exposing big square teeth stained faintly yellow. I smile on cue, and this seems to appease her sense of humour, so she continues. “Your schedule is at the front, the next few pages are for your teachers to sign, okay? Just bring all that back here at the end of the day.”

I thank her, take the ironically coloured folder, and stick it into my backpack after inspecting the location of my first class.

English class is rather painless. The teacher is kind and doesn’t have me introduce myself to the class. The syllabus is similar to that of my Phoenix education, so I’ve read all the material. I still write my notes meticulously as Mr. Berty presents his lecture.

Class ends and as I stand to leave, placing my notebook into my bag and producing my schedule and the map, a boy approaches me with a confident smile. “Hi,” he says loud enough to draw the attention of a few classmates. They watch the interaction, clearly interested in the Police Chief’s daughter but not wanting to instigate conversation. I am not sure whether to be relieved or annoyed. “I’m Eric. Writer for the school paper and most eligible bachelor in all of the Pacific Northwest.” Someone snickers and Eric shoots them a knowing grin. All in good fun, someone calls out for his autograph, and he waves them off like adoring fans.

“Bella,” I extend my free hand to him as he peers over at my schedule. His skin is darker than mine, his cheekbones tilted upwards with his jaw. He looks back up at me with wide eyes, tapping my next class.

I look down, it’s trigonometry.

“Lucky for you, I have Spanish in building six, this is in four. I can walk you!” He doesn’t wait for my response, just hands me my schedule back and escorts me out the door.

He’s nice, I’ve decided, albeit incredibly talkative. It’s not that I’m shy per se, just that I tend to have some mild introverted tendencies. I blame that aspect of my genetics on Charlie.

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[rfadaydreaming]

hands of the rfa (v+saeran)

jumin’s are on the broader side. you can usually spot a couple of cat scratches or paper cuts here and there, not particularly soft, but not rough either. he’s almost always holding tension in them, so they get pretty veiny. subconsciously flexes them out of habit, or rubs his palms to get rid of the ache that can sometimes grow there. your favorite thing is watching him pet elizabeth, he’s so gentle and soft with her that it melts your heart. he carries that same softness whenever he touches you, one of the only times his hands fully relax is when he’s running them up and down your arms, maybe even holding your face in his palm. he likes to rest his hand on your thigh or run his fingers through your hand idly while doing paperwork. his hands are cold most of the time, not icy, but the chill is still noticeable. he has steady hands and a good grip. he likes to wear rings whenever he gets the chance, gothic style ones especially. when the vampire that he invited had come to the rfa party, jumin was obsessed with all his fancy rings. he usually has his hands crossed over his lap, and he doesn’t talk with them often. a wave of the hand to employees is most all you’ll get.

zen has soft soft soft hands. spends a lot of money on lotions and salves, so when he touches you it feels like genuine silk. not super lanky, but not broad either. they're just… very even and pretty. has a very tiny dusting of blood freckles on his knuckles, but you’d have to look closely to notice them. probably hand models in his free time. fluid motions whenever he uses them, it’s nice to watch the way his hands move especially while he’s acting. he holds a lot of passion in his hands while he preforms, it’s like they tell a story of their own. you like to hold your palm against his, twirling and twisting your hands around at random. he loves to run the backs of his knuckles down your jawline before placing down gentle kisses there, while telling you how much he loves you. he wears jewellery whenever he’s feeling it, likes a lot of different kinds too, wears fashion rings most of the time. his hands are on the warmer side, so if you’re cold all you need to do is hold his hands for a few minutes and then bam, you’re all nice and cozy again. his hands are usually in his pocket, playing around with a pack of cigarettes, or resting at his side.

yoosung’s hands aren’t particularly soft, but they aren’t exactly rough either. on the shorter side compared to everyone else too. his touch is still so gentle and comforting, especially whenever it comes to you. he holds your hand tight and tells you how much you mean to him, it feels safe and secure, he feels like home. his hands are insanely hot all the time, even when it’s cold outside, so he’s like your own personal little heater. has a barely visible coat of freckles over his knuckles and a few scars here and there, faded now but still noticeable. most of them are from cooking accidents, some from cats. he likes to run his fingers through your hair, or up and down your arms. in the middle waiting on game lobbies he’ll hold your hand, running his thumb across your skin with a smile. you like to watch as he plays video games sometimes, his hands get so tense during tough matches, so you help him massage out the tension when he’s done. he gets horrible shaky hands whenever he gets really nervous. doesn’t wear rings or anything, doesn’t like the way they feel, but he does like bracelets. has a matching bracelet with you that he wears pretty much all the time. he talks with his hands a lot, but when he’s idle, they're shyly tucked away in his pocket, fiddling with his thumbs in front of him, or crossed over his chest.

jaehee’s are soft, she uses a lot of hand sanitizer so there’s almost always some lotion at her side, her hands are silky and smooth because of that. not as much as zen’s, but still close. she gets a lot of papercuts is the only thing, but besides that her hands are overall smooth, shorter nails, she has a nail biting problem, and she’s a lesbian!! 🗣 so she prefers them that way. she taps her fingertips on things whenever she’s thinking. her hands are warm, not hot, but it’s comfortable and cozy whenever she holds your own. she likes to run her fingers up your wrists, leaving little kisses behind the trail. cups the side of your face with a big smile while telling you how much she loves you, running her thumb across your cheek. like jumin, holds tension in her hands so they have a tendency to ache sometimes. she holds them together or rubs them when she’s nervous. if she's still working under jumin no, she doesn’t wear jewelry or nail polish often. the most you’ll find is ink stains on the sides of her hand. but in the coffee shop she’ll start to explore more, finds she likes dainty little rings and neutral polishes. she talks with her hands when she gets excited or when she’s really into talking about a topic. her hands are usually busy tapping a table or holding something most of the time.

seven has some long lanky hands, we’ve seen his hacker fingers. a mix between broad and lanky. they aren't delicate and soft, but not bulky either. his hands are hot, like absolute furnace level hot. he gets sweaty palms easily. he has a rather rough touch, but not at all bad, it feels like saeyoung if that makes sense. he likes to squish your cheeks between his hands, run his fingers down your palms, warm your hands up in his own. a little rough when he touches you, kind of when you see something really cute and you get all tense and you just wanna shake it around, he has that with you sometimes. he has really short nails, some scars scattered around as well, a few burn marks from his childhood. he has a ton of freckles all over his knuckles especially in the summer. shakes his hands around for awhile whenever they get sore, which is often due to his job. steady hands and grip. he wears jewelry while in cosplay, besides that not very often. but he does paint his nails when he feels up to it or is bored, which is more often. probably did dick decals once because he thought it was the pinnacle of humor. talks with his hands heavily, very animated while he speaks. when he’s not using them they’re usually in the pockets of his hoodie, or busy annoying someone. pokes saeran’s cheeks which earns him a slap of the hand in return.

jihyun has the prettiest hands, lanky but sturdy. no shakiness at all, steadiness of an artist, but when he gets nervous, emotional, or has caffeine, they do shake pretty bad. super soft and silky, and like zen, his hands are very fluid and lovely to watch as he works, especially while he’s painting. surprisingly warm hands, never hot, but they're comfortable and cozy. he does get cold very easily though, so you’ll have to help him warm up on occasion. his touch is gentle and careful, touches everything like it’s art, especially you. he’ll trace your skin with his fingers, leaving kisses in their wake. he always touches you so softly, like you’re glass or the finest of arts. he likes to “paint” your skin with his fingertips sometimes. he holds his own hands and rubs them together when he’s feeling anxious. he has well kept nails, he’ll wear nail polish if you want him to hehe wears rings but only with meaning. has matching rings with you and jumin. bracelets sometimes too, the cute woven ones. but again, they need meaning for him. you can normally find paint stains scattered across his hands. he talks with his hands very gently, it’s not super animated and fast like seven, it’s slow and calm. his hands are usually kept behind his back, or loosely at his sides.

saeran’s are very pale and almost translucent. blue veins, cherry fingertips, red knuckles. they’re big like seven’s but a little skinnier. surprisingly they’re insanely soft, he doesn’t use anything for that, it’s just natural. his freckles are much more faded than saeyoung’s, he has some scars, more burn marks than his brother does. he’s incredibly insecure about his hands, so he’ll pull his hoodie down to cover most of the skin there. freezing cold most of the time, he has bad circulation. so he loves when you hold your hand within his, running your fingers down his own, kiss his knuckles and whisper “pretty.” when you look at them. while he’s not sure he believes you, it still means a lot to him. he likes to trace things you’re insecure about and whisper “pretty” back. his nails are short, he bites them from anxiety a lot. you suggest painting them so he won’t bite them as often, at first he’s not sure, but quickly finds that he really likes the way that looks. prefers when you paint his nails though, claims he doesn’t know how to do it, but he does. he just likes being close to you. very shaky all the time, doesn’t have a steady grip. he’ll only wear rings that you get for him. doesn’t talk with his hands unless he’s really excited about something, almost all of the time they’re in the pocket of his hoodie, or intertwined with your own.

elizabeth the third’s hands are the softest out of the entire rfa, so soft that even zen can’t compete. warm and cozy, but can be painful when shes hard at work making the meanest batch of muffins you ever did see directly on top of your stomach. watch out. looks cute, but still deadly. when jumin’s walking past the couch she’ll stick her paw out and take a swipe at his leg when he’s even a minute later past feeding time. rolls all cutesy if she does manage to draw some blood, because she knows absolutely no one, not even zen, could stay mad at a face like that for too long.

thanks for reading! find more on my mysme masterlist ♡!

[haik-choo]

request: i read your haikyuu as boyfriend headcannons and 🥺 they were so cute!! if you don’t mind can i get some hcs of your first kiss with noya and hinata 💞

a/n: yess!!!! YES!!!!! your mind...i decided to do all of the first years and add in noya because i really wanna,,,ALSO THESE ARE KIND OF LIKE SCENARIOS??? AGAGAG

@dearkozume because you wanted me to tag you in posts!!! <3

[FIRST KISSES WITH KARASUNO FIRST YEARS + NOYA]

-nishinoya, hinata, kageyama, yamaguchi, tsukishima

nishinoya yuu.

he’d kiss you when walking with you, his mind would probably already be filled with thoughts about kissing you when he realizes you’re giving signs of wanting to be kissed and he. panics

has probably been dating you for a week and keeps on thinking about how to kiss you

he doesn’t want to be pushy and kiss you when you’re not ready, but baby really wants to kiss you

but he won’t if you’re not ready! 

but you’ll be walking back from practice with him, hands intertwined as he complains about tsukishima being an ass or something

and all of a sudden he notices that you aren’t responding like you usually do, not even an ‘uhuh’ or a ‘mhmm’

and he just looks over at you to see if you’re okay, and he notices that you’re literally just staring at him, seemingly not even noticing that he’s stopped talking

and he stops walking and realizes that you’re not just staring at him,,,,,,you’re staring at his lips

WHEN I TELL YOU HE ALMOST SHITS HIMSELF. HE’S BEEN PREPARING AND EVEN TOLD HIMSELF THAT IT WOULD BE LIKE A MONTH BEFORE YOU WERE READY BUT YOU’RE GIVING THE SIGNNNNSSSSS

he takes his hand from yours and grabs your shoulders and pulls you in really close, and his breath shakes when he opens his mouth; you’re a little shocked, but in a good way 

“can i please kiss you?” 

it’s a whisper, and his eyes are wide and his cheeks are painted red; you can even feel his fingers twitch on your shoulders, which is cute because he never gets nervous

and you just...nod

and he nods back at you, closes his eyes, and you close yours. and his lips gently press against yours in the middle of the sidewalk, it’s nighttime, and it just feels so right

he pulls away, his face a mixture of “did i just fuck up” and “OHEIHGroigerngrGUvk” and it has to be the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen. and you wanna see it again sometime soon

just not when he looks like he’s about to pass out from the nerves

“w-....was that good?” he’d nervously ask, his hands still gripping your shoulders, and you’d just nod and laugh, kissing his cheek and intertwining his fingers with yours again before starting down the street

“it was perfect, yuu. let’s do it against sometime.”

“yEAH o-OKAY” (he says as his voice cracks)

hinata shoyo. 

you’d kiss him at night, in his room with no one home, it’s a chaotic kiss because he probably doesn’t see it coming, like at all, and he does something stupid before melting

you guys are used to being at one another’s house like,,,,all the time

you’ve been friends since his middle school says, and when he told you he was going to karasuno, you decided you’d go too

and now that you’re dating, it’s all basically the same. except you wanna kith him and he wanna kith you but you guys are each other’s firsts and just.awkwardness pursues

you’re at his house, but natsu is out with his mom getting groceries for dinner that night (you’re staying over for the night because it’s a friday)

and you’re waiting for hinata to be done with his shower, just finishing up the homework for the weekend so you can 1) spend time with your boyfriend and 2) so you can help him with his homework later

“y/n, have you seen the lotion anywhere?” he calls from the bathroom

“oh, yeah, give me a sec” and you get up and open the door, remembering you put it in the cabinet instead of on the counter, and you just stop,

his hair is wet and he has a towel on his shoulders, his cheeks red from the heat of his shower, his eyes raking over the counter and shelves

“i-its in the bottom cabinet” you manage, and he smiles and opens to cupboard, laughing, “why’d you put it there?” 

his voice is just. perfect. it’s smooth from the steam and yet it’s still a little grainy

and you briefly wonder what it would sound like after a make out session bUT YOU STOP YOURSELF

“what’re you staring at???” he tilts his head to the side and just. doesn’t realize your heart is beating out of your goddamn chest

and you decide to just go for it

in one swift step you’re right up next to him, both hands on his cheeks to bring him down and kiss him, his eyes are wide, not really processing what’s happening, and he’s pretty shocked

so shocked, in fact, that he drops the bottle of lotion on your foot

“OW whAT THE HELKE”

“AH IM SO SORRY IM SO SORRY I DIDN’T MEAN TO --”

you sigh and hold your foot, jokingly saying “you could’ve just told me you didn’t want to kiss instead of smashing my big toe, shoyo --” but he doesn’t even let you finish before he dives in for a second kiss, lips tightly pursed together, inexperienced, but eager, hands squishing your face

and he pulls away, his large eyes staring straight at yours, breath ragged and ears glowing red

“hehe, shoyo, you’re getting your wet hair all over my face”

“sorry i just really wanted to kiss you again” 

kageyama tobio. 

he kisses you because he just can’t take it anymore. it’s probably out at a park after he’s done practicing, and it’s unexpected because he doesn’t know how to do anything; but he goes for it anyway because he just wants to let you feel how much he loves you

i’m surprised he even has an s/o anyway--

he texts you saying ‘hey can you come to the park with me. i was practicing with the idiot but he left because it was late and now’

‘now???’

‘i’m lonely :(’

and now here you are, sitting on a bench, laughing with kageyama as he tries to practice by himself 

“kageyama! it’s already nine pm, take a break and then let’s get something to eat”

he reluctantly nods and moves to sit next to you on the bench

you smile up at him and lace your fingers with his, resting your head on his shoulder and staring at the night sky, peacefully thinking

and kageyama is sure you can hear his heart beat like a drum against his chest

he texted you because he wanted to kiss you but he didn’t know how to say that, and chickened out and just said he was lonely

kageyama knows that he’s not experienced, and that if you were in a relationship with someone like tsukishima or sugawara you’d have already kissed by now

and he’s just...so thankful that you’re so patient with him, and that you respect his boundaries

and he knows that you’ve probably been wanting to kiss him, and damnit, he wants to kiss you too

so he just tests the waters...and just kisses your temple, causing your head to shoot up in shock, because he never kisses you

and you can’t even say anything now because his beautiful steel blue eyes are staring at you so intensely that your breath is stolen from you 

before you know it, he leans down and firmly presses his lips against yours

but he doesn’t pull away for a few seconds, which you don’t mind because fuCK hE”S KISSING YOU YES

but then a few more seconds go by

and then a few more 

and then you finally pull away, “kageyama?” but he doesn’t respond and then you get a good look at his face and almost burst out laughing because it’s literally SO RED

his brows are furrowed together, his lips are tight, and his cheeks are so pink and he just softly mutters out, “i didn’t know how long to kiss you for and then i freaked out because i thought it was too long and i froze up please don’t break up with me i’ve never done this before--” and you cut him off with a kiss that, this time, only lasts for a few seconds

“there. is that better?”

and he can barely manage a nod with how hard and fast his heart is beating

tsukishima kei.

he’d kiss you the morning after you’ve slept over, both tired and lazily watching tv with a cup of joe in his hand and breakfast in your lap, a warm atmosphere taking over you both

it’s probably a sunday morning, and you and tsukishima are sitting on his couch with the tv playing a documentary on dinosaur fossils after you wake up from spending the night 

and he had a cup of coffee in a white mug with a stegosaurus decal on it, and you have a finished plate of toast on your lap 

“did you know that a stegosaurus’ brain was the size of a dog’s?” he mindlessly says, taking a sip of coffee

you hum and look up at him, taking him in with all his glory. his hair is messy and slightly curled at the end now that let it grow out a bit, his glasses were slipping from his nose and his typical piercing eyes were less so, now seeming just a little tired

but your eyes got caught on his lips, and how the coffee left them with a wet sheen

it had already been a month of dating, you had met him when you both took the same extracurricular class in college (’art before the modern ages’ it was called, all about art from the cavemen period and around there) 

after suffering through the boring lectures from a rather untalented professor, he ended up asking you out to coffee one day (surprising you) 

and now here you were, sitting with your sides touching, heart beating in synch

‘well. might as well kiss him’, you thought

“hey, kei, put your mug down real quick” “???okay, weirdo.”

he gently places his cup on the coffee table in front of you both, and he looks over at you expectantly “why'd you wan--” but alas, his words are cut off as you pull him down on top of you, your back hitting the cushions with a soft ‘thud’

but despite having the confidence to initiate pulling him on top of you, his honey eyes are wide and right in front of yours and you didn’t plan for them to be so mesmerizing

needless to say. it’s silent and awkward before he opens up his mouth to tease you

“so you aren’t going to kiss me?” he’d say with a smirk, before rolling his eyes and repositioning himself so his lips are hovering right over yours

“guess i’ll have to do it myself” 

and he laces his fingers with yours as he kisses you passionately. the sun is filtering in, and it looks like he has a halo of light coming from behind his blonde head of hair. it’s so breathtaking that you just close your eyes and lose yourself in the feeling of him on top of you

he pulls away from you with eyes filled with love, something you’ve noticed he’s giving you a lot lately, and gives you a small, genuine smile

“god, i have to do everything around here”

“oh my gOD shut up” 

yamaguchi tadashi. 

he’d kiss you when you’re doing something domestic together, like making dinner together when you both are blaring music in the kitchen and you’re crushing him with the back hugs you love to give

“tadashi, the salt is in the cabinet above you head!”

“thanks, baby!” 

he’s stirring the pot for the spaghetti, putting salt in the boiling water before he puts in the angel hair

and you’re finishing up the homemade sauce, deicing to let it simmer for a few minutes while you decide to go and bother tadashi 

“mmmm, that smells good, baby!” you say as you go behind him, peering over his shoulder. he laughs and shakes his head, “it’s just pasta” you shrug, “still smells good.”

the domestic scene just fills your heart with so much content that you’ve just GOT to let it out

and you want to let it out on your wonderful boyfriend, tadashi 

so you press your face in the back of his olive green sweater, letting your hands slowly slip over his sides and across his stomach, interlacing your fingers together before letting out a sigh of satisfaction

you almost giggle at the way his body tenses up and he twtiches in your hold

“wha-what’re you doing! you’re going to make me burn the spaghetti!” 

“you can’t burn spaghetti, tadashi”

“watch me!”

“i can’t help it, you just smell like...”

“like what?” he’d ask, his face red as he finally pours in the pasta, the corners of his mouth poking upwards

“like my future husband~” CUE HIM DROPPING THE BOX IN THE WATER, BABY BOY IS SO SUPRISED

“w-WE’VE ONLY BEEN DATING FOR TWO WEEKS, I--”

“i”M KIDDING TADASHI AGAGAGAA CHILL OUT” 

a few seconds pass, and his heart is still going a thousand miles per hour, you know because you can hear it thumping against your hands that are now on his chest

you start to giggle, face propping up on his shoulder

he can’t help it, and he starts to laugh too, laughing at how he gets flustered so easily when it comes to you 

and after a minute of loud tear-inducing laughter, he finally just turns around and wraps his arms around your waist, his eyes staring down lovingly at you and your dazzling smile

time slows to a stop, and you both just lean in at the same time, lips connecting at the halfway point, perfectly. he’s smiling against your lips, scrunching up your shirt in his grip. :(((( this is so cute

and his heart jumps a little at the way your hands fist his shirt, and he thinks about how he could do this all night (which he will) before he separates from you with hearts in his eyes, placing his chin on the top of your head

“uh, i think you burned the spaghetti babe??? how the hell--”

“i TOLD YOU THAT YOU DISTRACT ME” 

[skellebonez]

I wish you would write a fic where Xiaojiao and Xiaotian try to convince Red Son to build a pillowfort with them for M A X I M U M S N U G G L I N E S S

I hope the wait for this was worth it, I was very happy to get such a nice prompt!

"You have to be joking," Red Son said with a groan as he looked upon the veritable mountain of pillows and blankets and a few scattered chairs. At some points in the pile he saw what appeared to be strings of lights and stuffed animals. "You really expect me to help you build a... what did you call it? Pillow fortress?"

"Pillow fort!" Xiaojiao corrected with a wide smile and a bounce in her step as she dropped even more pillows onto the pile. There were so many pillows. Who owned this many pillows? "Well, it's more a blanket fort with the chairs, but that's just for structural integrity. It's going to be way more pillow than anything else! And yes, we do."

"What is the point of a pillow fort?" Red asked in a tone of genuine confusion and frustration at his lack of understanding. "It's just... pillows! And blankets and chairs and-and stuff!" He waves his arms wildly in the general direction of the mountain of mentioned stuff that Xiaojiao had seemingly finally deemed enough. "What does it do?"

"Be comfy!" Was her answer, almost as perky as ever but with a soft undertone to it that matched her smile. Red could tell she really wanted him to do this with them. She only sounded like that when she was serious and concerned, and the fact that he acknowledged his recognition of this was testament to how much he had gotten to know the dragon before him. "It's just... comfy, Red. You build it and you sit in it and you enjoy the feeling of being in a pillow fort."

"That sounds-" He wanted to say stupid, but he stopped himself short. Xiaojiao seemed so excited to do this, and she and Xiaotian had been so insistent on including him in things they enjoyed. And he had not disliked most of them so far. If he was under threat of destruction he might have even admitted he found some of them... fun. So instead he sighed before continuing with "- ...like something you would think I'd enjoy."

Xiaojiao's smile softened even more at this for just a moment. Then there was a knock at the door and she smiled her usual wide and jubilant smile as she opened it to welcome the other member of their little trio.

"Sorry I'm late," Xiaotian apologized as he rushed in, bags and a cooler in his arms. "There was a lot of traffic and the store I usually go to didn't have that snack you asked me to grab, but I found it at another one so we're all good!" He paused, looking over at Red Son with a half smile. "We, uh... are all good, right? You're gonna..."

"I suppose if it will make you both satisfied in my progress on 'learning to chill out already'," Red Son said in a half mocking tone, earning a snorting giggle from Xiaojiao. "Then yes. I will help you build your Pillow Fortress."

"Pillow fort," Xiaotian and Xiaojiao corrected in unison.

"It is Pillow Foretress or Pillow Nothing."

~

It took a good minute for the duo to finally gather themselves back after that. Red Son's completely serious tone with his final declaration sent that both into a frenzy of giggles and full on laughter, and Red almost stormed off before Xiaotian insisted they were only laughing because the sentence itself with ludicrous and they weren’t laughing at him.

Red Son eventually conceded that, yes... that was quite the ludicrously bizarre thing to insist on. But the two did their model best to call their creation a Pillow Foretress (with more bit down giggles every time it was stated). And it was... enjoyable enough.

There wasn't much to it. They set chairs up in a very large circle. Placed blankets under and over them. Surrounded them in the absolutely mind boggling amount of pillows, making sure to make three little sections for each of them to sit in. There were stuffed animals in places that were almost deliberately haphazard, and Red realized he recognized one as Xiaotian's little monkey from his own apartment.

Xiaojiao had taken the lights on strings, a mix of soft pink and regular lights, and draped them around the chairs before pulling in her laptop on a little lap desk and some comics and other items. Xiaotian in turn set out what he had brought, a cooler full of drinks and buns and sandwiches and sweet and savory snacks from presumably a convenience store.

"Alright, climb on in Red!" Xiaojiao said with a gesture.

Red Son stared for a moment, looking at the two of them in confusion. "This... doesn't look finished."

"It's not," Xiaotian admitted, mimicking Xiaojiao's gesture. "But trust us, this will be way cooler seeing it from the inside!"

Instead of arguing, Red sighed and did as asked, finding it silly that he was sitting on the floor surrounded by pillows and chairs and blankets and-

They finally took a large blanket that Red Son swore could cover an entire average sized room floor span and draped it over him and the rest of the fort, moving the chairs so the feet holding down most of the corners, pulling some up to let in fresh air and leaving the front loose entirely. The top dipped a bit in the middle and Red realized the blanket was far thicker than he had realized. Then the lights went out.

Red Son had relatively good night vision, but the room they were in deep inside the Long estate had no windows. That not that it mattered, it was likely past dark by now regardless. Even to him it was pitch black, only the light of Xiaojiao's phone screen providing any illumination. He almost wondered if this was it. If this was some kind of prank and the two had finally grown tired of him and they were going to leave him here or dump water over him through the blanket or... or something!

Until the little lights inside the fort came on.

And it felt completely different in the dim light. It was... soft. Warm. Welcoming even. Like he was in a world entirely made of just these blankets and pillows and nothing else was outside of it. He finally took the time to realize how plush and soft the blanket and pillows under him were. How the pink light made the seams in the top blanket give off a sheen that he realized were woven bits of metallic thread.

"Whoa..." was all he could say as Xiaojiao and Xiaotian lifted the loose flap of the front of the blanket to join him. He felt completely out of his element, unsure of how to even react now.

"Comfy, right?" Xiaojiao asked, and he only nodded in reply as Xiaotian held out two things to him. His little stuffed monkey and a bar of spicy chocolate. Flame decal and hot peppers branding the wrapper. He took them both without question as the two made themselves comfortable next to him. Each pressed into one side slightly despite the room in the pillow fort. "Tonight we're just going to stay in here in our Pillow Fortress and relax. Stay awake, sleep, it doesn't matter. Just. Be comfy with us, Red?"

The last part was clearly a question. Both of them looked at him for a moment, waiting for him to react. He didn't for a moment, looking down at the items in his hands before moving the stuffed monkey to the crook of his arm and unwrapping the chocolate bar and taking a bite.

It was sweet. Bitter. Rich. And had almost enough spicy heat for him.

"... sure."

Xiaojiao smiled wide again and opened up her laptop to find that one show he told her he liked. The one about how different things were manufactured. He thought that they would both find it boring when he told them about it, but it seemed now that their interest in watching it with him had been genuine. In time they all laid down on their stomachs or sides to watch, drinks and snacks being eaten up by the minute.

Xiaotian nodded off first, though he lasted longer than Red Son thought he would. He seemed to have actually enjoyed the episode about vinyl disks in particular. And Red Son supposed that after a long day of work and his short personal training session he was bound to be more tired than the other two of them.

Xiaojiao lasted much longer, but it didn't surprise him that even she had to nod off eventually She loved every episode that had anything remotely mechanical.

Soon it was just Red Son and his show and the soft glow of the lights as he laid between the duo that brought him into a trio of sorts. Both pressed into his sides in some way (though Xiaotian had kind of starfished his way into his back and an arm laid over Red). And he gently tossed the little stuffed monkey over to Xiaotian when he started to reach around for something, smiling when the other held tight to his prize.

Red Son didn't think he'd... ever felt this comfortable. At least not in many centuries. And it didn't take him long to follow his friends into slumber with a soft, almost imperceptible rumbling purr in his chest.

He hoped they got to do this again one day.