#I find reading and drawing after doing heavy homework relaxing

[blu-ish]

Anyone have any Sonadow fanfic recommendations? Thinking about getting into one or even a fullblown series if anyone has any they wanna share shjshsjs.

My only condition is that they HAVE to be completed bc I CAN'T HANDLE A FOREVER CLIFFHANGER I WOULD DISINEGRATE.

[ofdetonation]

SEASONAL AESTHETICS .

bold what applies.

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑.

a chill right down to the bones. tobogganing. teeth chattering. sleeping all day. sitting by the fireplace. spending time with family. layered clothing. seeing another’s breath. loving the cold. a state of inactivity. cold hands. blistering winds shaking the closed windows. a bookcase full of brand new books and all of the time in the world to read them. cable knit socks. a bitter remark. a log cabin in the middle of nowhere. hating the cold. full-length windows to peer out of. pale skin. deep conversations. watching the snow fall. sharp edges. hot cocoa. smelling every candle in the store. a wild snow storm. melancholy. lighting candles around the bathtub. snow globes. expressing yourself but never finding quite the right words. the softest of blankets. liking, but not loving something or someone.

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.

the smell after it rains. being in control of yourself. a soft breeze blowing your hair. lightning when it strikes. cherry blossoms. bright mornings. the first sign of hope. the relief of finding something you lost. paris in the spring. birds chirping. the art of growing. a kiss on the cheek. the clap of thunder. a tornado in the valley. smiling at a stranger. planning. saccharine pinks. making promises. trying something new. hugs when you need them most. a bee sting. sitting on the steps of the met. coming inside drenched from the thunderstorm. picnics on a red checkered blanket in the new sun. that feeling you get when you put on a good dress. a long hike. rushing when you can take your time. going to the gym at ungodly hours. excitement for what’s coming. becoming yourself. rain boots.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑.

lanterns lit around a campfire. seeing the sunrise like its the first time again and again. melting ice cream. the warmth of sun rays upon skin. fireworks. the feeling of never wanting something to end. beach days. the lone blow up floaty left in the pool, drifting with the warm nights breeze and nothing else. music blasting at 3am, loud and proud. palms trees on sunset boulevard. longer days and shorter nights. wanderlust. nights spent staring at the stars. sand castles. road trips. blood orange sunsets. leaving the laundry to hang outside. flowers in bloom. sneaking out of your room late at night. pure contentment. barefoot in the sand. the street lights coming on. the sound of the ocean in a seashell. freshly squeezed lemonade. loose clothing. a cannonball into the pool. sunflowers. the hazy pink before dusk. relaxation.

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋.

the leaves changing colors. a heavy backpack. the smell of old books. eating until you’re stuffed. deep, dark woods. the silence in loudness. abandoned houses. ripped jeans. crunching leaves beneath feet. feeling like you’ve been somewhere before. sitting at a bay window. having endless amount of homework. charcoal drawings. screaming into a pillow as loud as you can. pumpkin patches. creaky floorboards. accepting that some things do have to change. museums. small talk. being ignored. procrastinating. a door slamming shut. going to bed early. baking pies. the fear of walking alone in the dark. feeling completely and terribly lost. a twig snapping. crisp, cool days. belly laughter. converse. foggy mornings at the shoreline. writing a daily entry in a journal. a lonely day.

tagged: lol i stole it tagging: uhhh go ham i just thought this was neat

[orlintommas]

Focus on playing and not on results

Work hard, play hard is a statement I’ve heard since I was in primary school. Everyone speaks of having a balanced life, where you play just as much as you work. This is not entirely wrong but I would like to believe that your real work is play. I believe that when you focus on playing and not on results, you can become more creative and in turn produce better results.

“Play is the work of the child and it is also the work of the artist. I was once taking a walk in the Mission in San Francisco and stopped to chat with a street painter. When I thanked him for his time and apologized for interrupting his work, he said, ‘Doesn’t feel like work to me. Feels more like play.’”

— Austin Kleon, Keep Going.

Growing up, I had the privilege of owning an XBOX 360 gaming console. During holidays my friends will flock to our home and we will spend the entire day playing games (usually FIFA or some other player vs player game). The rule was very simple, the winner keeps the controller and I must say I was very good, so I rarely gave away my controller. This winner-stays-on format was fun and it kept everyone on their toes, so every match was tough. But what this also meant is that we were more focused on winning than anything else (waiting for your turn after being beaten was no fun at all). This meant that the focus was on results and not on playing and enjoying the moment.

“The great artists are able to retain this sense of playfulness throughout their careers. Art and the artist both suffer most when the artist gets too heavy, too focused on results.”

— Austin Kleon, Keep Going.

During those times, I saw guys pick teams or characters they would never pick on a favorable day, let’s say an ordinary day, just because they wanted to win. That atmosphere encouraged everyone to focus on winning above everything else (I too am a proud victim). However, we would occasionally get visits from friends or other family members who were much younger than us (kids under 10). They would lose over and over again and often times the margins were astronomical. I remember taking a glance at their faces many times and I can not remember seeing anger or disappointment. They were having fun, and even when they did display anger or disappointment, you could tell it was just a pretense.

The writer Kurt Vonnegut once gave high school students homework to write a poem and then tear it up without letting anyone read it. I have tried to incorporate this principle into my work. Sometimes I draw and write and then immediately discard my work without allowing anyone to see it (I don’t recommend doing it all the time, you will have nothing to show at the end). But the premise is simple, you are resetting yourself and learning that results aren’t all that matters, having fun matters too. I would argue that it matters more. Good work comes from a place of excitement and enjoyment. When you are too focused on metrics, numbers, and results you miss the bigger picture which is “real work is play��.

“You must practice being stupid, dumb, unthinking, empty. Then you will be able to DO…Try to do some BAD work — the worst you can think of and see what happens but mainly relax and let everything go to hell — you are not responsible for the world — you are only responsible for your work — so DO IT.”

— Sol LeWitt to Eva Hesse

Learn to focus on playing and not on results. Write, draw, paint, create and discard. Sing without recording, invent without publishing. Or better yet draw awful pictures, write crummy poems, and sing obnoxious songs. I find that making terrible art is tons of fun. Look for new toys to play with. Set yourself free from the metric-centric world, and be the most awesome version of yourself and play, play, play.

[roscgcld]

GOJO SATORU || pretty eyes [pt.2]

anime: jujutsu kaisen 

character: gojo satoru

pronouns: she/her 

notes: high-school! gojo x underclassman! reader

the part two of ‘pretty eyes’ is here! read part one here.

“You really do have pretty eyes, senpai.”

Gojo prides himself as a man who just ‘doesn’t do relationships’. Besides the fact that there is a line of women who were just waiting to get with him, he had never really seen what an actual functioning relationship looked like. His parents had an arranged marriage to ‘keep the Gojo clan’s genes powerful’ - his father was barely around, going about his duties to the clan whilst his mother was out and about having affairs left, right and center. 

With that being said though, Gojo was a determined man. He may not know exactly what was it that draws him to a particular junior of his, but he’d be damned if he didn’t get to at least know her better. The problem? He has absolutely no clue on how to woe her. 

“Remind me again exactly what am I doing here?”

It was a Friday afternoon - and classes are always let out earlier on Friday. Usually Geto would spend the free afternoon just relaxing in his dorm after a long week of classes and missions; but before Geto can evens step one foot out of the stuffy classroom, Gojo had grabbed his arm and teleported them both out of campus. That’s how he found himself in a random café that Gojo had graciously dragged them into, narrowing his eyes over at his best friend as he raised his mug of earl grey to his lips. “If this is about copying my essay-”

“How do you ask a girl out?”

“Hah?” Geto asks with an annoyed scowl, to which Gojo just made a noise before he awkward sets his clean cake fork down; the multi-layered cookies and cream cake sat untouched before him. That alone should be concerning, since Gojo is known to have a strong affinity for sweets. “How do you ask a girl out? Like, on a date.” Gojo repeated with the utmost serious expression on his face, and for a few moments Geto just blinks at him owlishly. “Satoru, how the hell have you been asking women out before this? It’s the same damn thing.” 

“Asking a girl you actually like out and asking someone for a one night stand are two very different things.” Gojo stresses whilst Geto actually sets his mug down before him, the situation slowly dawning onto him. “You’re actually being serious right now.” He mutters whilst Gojo tossed him an annoyed look, clearly unamused by how little faith his friend has in him. “Well, first things first, you actually need to get to know them better first before you actually ask them.”

“Yeah, well - I’m trying to work on that.” Gojo grumbles out quietly as he picked his fork back up, digging into the corner of his cake with a soft frown whilst Geto leans back into his seat with a thoughtful look. “But I didn’t even notice her until recently.” He sighs softly to himself as he examined his forkful of cake, a slight pout tugging on his lips. “I am sure Ieiri might help. But knowing her, that means I’ll owe her another debt that she will use against me.”

Geto, for once, actually feels some form of sympathy for Gojo. Whilst he grew up in a functioning household with loving parents, Gojo was brought up in a lonely world, where he was treated like a prized position to be paraded about. So Geto wasn’t shocked at how unsure the usually overconfident Gojo is when it comes to something as trivial as dating. “Well...you can bring her out for coffee like you’re doing with me.” He offered, to which Gojo just made a face at his statement. “Sorry buddy, I don’t swing that way.”

“You little piece of shit.” Geto grunted with a light scowl as he kicked Gojo hard underneath the table, his annoyance growing at the familiar grin that was tugging at the corners of Gojo’s lips; and also the fact that his foot was stop by the Limitless that Gojo had activated before Geto can kick. “I mean an actual cute date dumbass - bring her café hopping about Tokyo or something. Or one of those pet cafes - people love pet cafes.” Geto said with a tired sigh, picking up his mug to take a slow sip from his warm liquid whilst Gojo actually pauses for a moment at Geto’s words. “Wait, that’s not that bad of an idea.”

Geto just rolled his eyes at that, taking soft sips from his mug whilst he watches as Gojo start googling about a few cafes that he can bring her about. “You’re welcome.” Geto said with a tired sigh as he sets his mug down, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks over at Gojo. “Now figure out a way to get to know her better and see if she’s even interested in your annoying ass.” He stated simply, to which Gojo just grins as he pointed the end of his fork as Geto, having eating that bite of cake whilst he typing away on his phone. “Who wouldn’t be interested in me?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

The next time he had gotten a chance to bump into her was actually by complete accident. 

Like usually, he had decided to slack off instead of doing his homework; so it was no surprise to find the young shaman cooped up in the library of the school with a variety of textbooks opened around him. To be honest, Gojo wouldn’t have done this essay if it wasn’t for the fact that it had a heavy weightage on his final grade, determining if he could graduate from high school. 

Even with that threat overhead, he decided to drag it out until the very last day to start writing it. Geto was just annoyed at him, since Gojo is actually really smart - yet he enjoys slacking off. It was infuriating, and since Gojo had already annoyed him enough with his entire ‘crush’ situation, Geto had just told him to go to the library before promptly closing the door in his face.

So there Gojo was, long limbs stretched out all over the place as he twirls his pen between his fingers. He had the most bored expression on his face as he tilted his head back with a sigh, his eyes blinking up at the wooden ceiling. If he was being honest, he had actually finished half of his essay - until he grew bored and wanted a distraction. He was about to get up to go and grab a snack from the vending machines when he heard a pair of soft footsteps and a quiet voice calling out to him.

“Oh, hello there, Gojo-senpai.”

Gojo widen his eyes in shock as he suddenly sat up straight, almost dropping the pen he was twirling between his fingers as he snapped his eyes up at the girl that had plagued his thoughts day and night. The same smile gracing her lips as she curiously walked towards the messy desk, casting a glance over the many opened books and the half-written essay before him. “Am I disturbing your research?”

“N-No.” Gojo said, cringing a little at how awkward he sounded - it was so unnatural and so unlike him, and he hopes that she didn’t notice it. Fortunately she hadn’t picked up on the awkwardness that he was basically radiating as she smiles and nods, gesturing to the free seat opposite from his with her free hand. “Do you mind if I take a seat there? I don’t really like studying alone in the library, it can get really quiet and boring.”

Numbly Gojo nodded, feeling a light blush coating his cheeks when he saw the grateful smile she tossed over at him casually as she made her way to the seat. He snapped out of it when he saw her pulling her own textbook from her bag, quickly shifting his mess into a neat pile so she has more space to work. She thanked him quietly with a smile, settling down in the free seat opposite from his as she started to flip through her book. He pretended to return to his work as well, but in reality he was watching her through his lashes, admiring how she can make something as simple as reading look graceful.

There was no way he was going to be able to do work now.

Closing his eyes a little, he reaches up to rub the bridge of his nose, this action causing his signature rounded sunglasses to fall down the bridge a little more. He was about to push them back when he felt a pair of eyes on him, causing him to look over the rim of his glasses over at the girl before him. When she was caught staring she just smiles at him, causing Gojo’s now calmed cheeks to flare up once more. “You really do have pretty eyes, senpai.” The girl stated simply, tilting her head a little as she casted him another smile. 

And once more, the simple act of a smile caused Gojo’s breath to hitch, his eyes widening even more as he watches how she just casually looked down at her textbook once more. If only she knew just how that one sentence had basically shot-circuited his brain - rendering him useless for a few seconds. Somehow though, he managed to slowly return to his senses and start on his essay, the sound of having someone else studying with him getting him into the groove of things. Without even knowing it, he wrote the last sentence of his essay; smiling victoriously as he picked the essay up and flipped through the sheets of writing. He gave them a quick scan, reading it briefly to make sure everything looks alright before he slipped his essay back into his folder.

He had started to pack his books up when he spotted the clear look of confusion that was splashed across the face of the girl opposite from him. For some reason she reminded him of a kitten, and for a brief moment he just wanted to reach over to gently squish her cheeks in his hands. Instead he gave into his smaller temptation; gently kicking her slipper clad foot with one of his own to grab her attention. “Need some help with that?”

The younger girl gave him an embarrassed smile as she nods, rubbing the back of her head softly as she glances back at her textbook. “I wouldn’t mind...it’s just - I’ve been reading over the same chapter for a few days now, but I just don’t understand anything.” She admitted with a tired sigh as she hangs her head a little, sporting what looks to be a soft pout of frustration that caused Gojo’s heart to skip a beat at how adorable she looked. Wordlessly Gojo got up, grabbing his seat from his end of the table as he made his way towards her. 

Settling down beside her, he leaned closer to scan over the page of the textbook, a memory jostling in the back of his mind at the same lesson he took back in his first year. “Oh, I remember this. I can help you if you want.”

“Really?” The younger girl said with an curious look as she glanced back at the man seated beside her, Gojo widening his eyes when he realised just how close their faces were. He can feel her soft breath against his cheek, and what smelt like mint coming from parted lips. This caused him to blush as he hid his widened eyes behind his sunglasses, wondering how the hell was she not outwardly reacting at how close their faces were. “Y-Yeah. I mean, I’ve already finished my work...I don’t mind killing some free time helping you.”

The girl gave him a grateful smile before she rubs the back of her neck gently, feeling a soft flush appearing on her cheeks that caused Gojo to stare shamelessly. “Thank you, senpai. If you need anything from me after this, don’t hesitate to ask.” She offered shyly as she glances over at Gojo, who blinked before he decided to take his opportunity. “A-Actually, there is something you can help me with.” Gojo admitted after he took a deep breath to steel his resolve, but the tone of his voice was still far too shy for how the third year.

His words caused the girl beside him to cast him a curious glance 

“Would you maybe...be interested on going on a date with me?” He asks her, biting his lip a little as he stared at her from behind his sunglasses. For a brief moment the girl just blinked at him before her face suddenly blossomed in a deep shade of red, her hands coming up to slap over her warm cheeks as she stared at him with wide eyes. “M-Me?”

A shy nod was given before Gojo awkwardly glances down at his lap as well, rubbing the back of his neck with one of his hand whilst the other rested on the desk before them; anxiously tapping against the wood. “Y-Yeah.” He mumbles in a soft voice, and for a few moments there was silence that caused Gojo’s heart to beat painfully against his chest. 

Screw whoever says that facing a Special Grade Curse would be terrifying - Gojo feels like he might just die from the anxiety of asking someone out for something as simple as a date. 

He was about to start babbling about some random reason as to why when he heard her shy answer. “I-I mean...I wouldn’t mind going out on a date with you...”

Cue short-circuited Gojo once more.

“O-Oh.” Gojo spluttered out with wide eyes, having not expected for her to agree so readily as she gave him a shy smile, her face still dusted in a light shade of red as she nodded her. Her answer caused him to smile, biting his lip a little to stop his face from splitting open in a huge grin as he tilts his head a little. “Does 5pm tomorrow sound alright for you?” He asks her quietly, to which she grins softly and nods her head, her action causing her hair to fall over her face in perfect waves; the action causing Gojo’s already poor heart to do another flip in his chest. “We can meet up at the front of the school.”

With a final nod and another shy smile shared between the two, both of them returned to the work that hand. However there was a certain atmosphere between the two; the slightly excitement that was clearly on their faces at the idea of their date tomorrow, the light bumping of shoulders as Gojo reaches over to point at something as he explained it to the girl quietly, soft comments that leads to soft giggles and the shy glances they both share. The soft smiles on their faces sealing the scene for anyone to walk past to know that there was definitely something brewing between the two 

Who knew all it took was a simple complement to land them where they are today.

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform

[mindninjax]

The Way It Blooms

Pairing: Wakatoshi Ushijima x virgin!reader 

Rating: M for the sex but it’s FLUFF

Warning: it’s fluffy smut, pure fluff. 

Word Count: 3.4K

a/n: Do you remember the moment you fell in love with someone?  The very first moment the two of you made love? This fic is kinda about that. Ushijima has quickly become one of my comfort characters as you will see in this soft ass shit.

This was used as inspiration and it’s beautiful. Also, you should listen to  Get You by Daniel Caesar during the smut lol. 

Dedicated to one @dymphnasprose for dropping so much Ushi content in my DMs and making me fall for him more and more and for this fucking adorable ass pet name that I will always use and associate with both you and Ushi. I love you babe! 

Plucking the strings idly of your old acoustic guitar, you feel the familiar rush of calm wash over your body. You haven’t picked it up since your sophomore year of high school when you—embarrassingly— serenaded your boyfriend at the time with a dumb love song you wrote him after only dating for 3 months. It was Valentine’s day, you thought it’d be special. He broke up with you and called you “clingy”. And being the dramatic but valid—because that guy was a major asshole— teenager, you’d stopped playing. 

As you got older, you’d forgotten about it, shifted your focus on getting into college, becoming a journalist like you’d planned. Something changed in you in the last few weeks though. You were braver, more confident, happier with who you were as a person. 

It could be because the winter months were coming to an end, the sun was shining more, beating down into your dorm room and warming the cold dark depressing atmosphere you hidden yourself in for the past few months. Or it could be...him. 

Your face heats up and you pluck a sour note on the guitar as his face fills your mind. Piercing moss green eyes gaze into your subconscious and make a home there. Your heart flutters when you think about his voice, the last words he said to you, “I’ll be back to you soon, don’t worry”, before it becomes heavy with yearning and you remember he’s across an ocean right now playing an intense volleyball match you’re sure his team will win. 

Wakatoshi pulled the deepest emotions from you, the deepest and most forgotten portions of your personality, the ones you used to enjoy the most before society squeezed it from you. He admired your creativity, and his blunt comments or questions always caught you by surprise, in a good way. 

“God, I wish I could go up on stage and sing like that!” you’d said one date night while watching  a woman perform karaoke. 

“Why can’t you?” Toshi asked in a deadpan voice as he stroked the back of your hand. You blinked at him, not able to give him a clear reason of why you couldn’t go up on stage. It’d just felt natural to say, like you weren’t supposed to go. By the end of the night, you were on stage laughing and singing, full of joy as you watched him clap along to the music and his eyes followed you around on stage. It was the happiest you’d been in a while, and it was one the first few dates you’d gone on with him.  

You strum a few chords, humming to yourself as you get caught up in the music. You’d forgotten how calming it was, how much strumming and humming helped you feel when you allowed yourself to just be you. It was strangely how you felt every single time you were around Wakatoshi, comfortable yet protected. You pick up your phone and check the time, an idea forming in your head. He’d be in the middle of the game right now so he won’t have his phone until it’s over. 

You prop the phone up on a pillow with it facing you. Your face is bare with no makeup, your hair is a little messy from the wear and tear of the day and you were in the middle of getting ready for bed so you’re wearing an old cami and tiny shorts. You shrug, electing not to worry about your appearance, prop the guitar up on your leg, clear your throat, and press the record button on your phone. 

You strum a simple tune, something that repeats where the beat can be easily kept. It’s a swaying melody, one that tiptoes up and down the score with light steps; like a soft lullaby intended to serenade and rock the listener into a dreamy slumber. You’re not nervous, you don’t worry about what anyone might think about you, you just close your eyes and think of Toshi and how much you miss him.

 You focus on how much you want to feel his arms around you, how he makes your heart jump into your chest when his fingers lightly draw over your skin. You giggle when you think about his dry attempts at jokes just so he can see you smile and the way he will poke at where the dimple would be if you smiled when you're frowning. His own little silent gesture to say “smile little doe,” because he's not a man of many words. 

You lose yourself in the melody, start to sing the words that sashay around your head and heart. You’re not sure if they make sense, or if they fit the tune, you only know you want him to know how you’re feeling and for some reason this feels like the perfect way to show him. You pour your heart into each word you sing, communicating in the most intimate way you know how to while he’s away, and it’s evident in the passionate way you float to each note.  

Your voice wavers when you sing about how much you wish he was here with you, how much you want him to touch you and hold you and feel you, even going so far as to mention making love to him. You two haven’t been dating long a few months at most, and you’re astounded at just how much you crave him. Except that isn’t the word you want to use. The word you want to use scares you, so you’re hoping, praying that he will feel it when he hears this. 

You end the song and stop the recording, softly and with purpose as if to solidify every feeling you’ve contained in this beautiful little song for him and before you become too afraid and erase it. No, he deserves to hear this song for him. A message in a bottle that you send across the ocean and with it, hope and comfort that there is someone out there in the world who understands him and sees him. 

You type a quick message and attach the video quickly before you talk yourself out of it: 

Toshi, here’s a little something to help you sleep! See you in two days! ❤️

You hit send and chew on your lip before tossing the phone aside and quickly finishing your night routine for bed. 

--

“Get some rest Ushiwaka! You deserve it after the win you got us today!” 

Wakatoshi waves off his teammates silently as he shuffles to his hotel room and pulls out the keycard. He sighs heavily when he hears the affirmative beep and the lock clicks. He’s exhausted, the long 5 set match finally done. The other team put up a great fight and he’s always appreciative of a team who has a fighting spirit, but he’s exhausted and hasn’t been able to see or hear from you all day. He collapses on his bed and digs through his bag for his phone. He turns it off before matches so he can keep his focus but he always sends a quick message to you before he does and he never turns it off until he gets a text back from you. 

When the screen lights up and comes back alive he smiles to himself. It’s your face on his phone background. One that he took when you both visited the park near campus. You’d picked a huge sunflower and you were beaming. He’d had to move quickly and figure out how to open his camera to take it before you realized, but it came out stunning. You looked so happy, the dimple in your cheek deepening as you caught his love-filled gaze on you. 

Your face smiles back at him on screen now and he frowns when he realizes how much he misses you. He wishes you were here with him. It’s very seldom that you aren’t at one of his games, cheering him on, watching his every movement, being his motivation. He plays harder when you’re watching, he wants to make you proud, although you’re always proud of him. But the way your eyes light up when he wins a match, how you jump on him and squeal when he leaves the court sweaty and still full of adrenaline from the match, makes the win all the more worth it. 

Wakatoshi doesn’t know exactly what it is about you that he likes so much. He finds himself pondering it as he watches you do mundane tasks. When you twirl your pencil while you work on homework, the way you bite your cheek when you’re thinking of something, or the way you gravitate toward him when you’re sitting next to him, he finds it entertaining. He could watch you all day and never get bored, and that’s a first for him. It’s a first that anything other than volleyball has kept his attention and he’s not bothered by it. 

He opens the message from you, swiping up to unlock his phone and his eyes grow a little wide when he sees you’ve sent him a video. He reads the message before getting up, grunting as he stands to go take a shower. If the video is to help him sleep, he figures he should get ready for bed before he watches, plus he likes the idea of your face being the last thing he sees before he drifts off to sleep. 

When he’s showered and his muscles are relaxed and dripping from the shower, he pulls on his boxers, dries himself and climbs into the stiff hotel bed, wishing once again that he was climbing in next to you. He grabs his phone again as he lays on his back. He opens the message once again, smiling at your face—he misses so much—and plays the video. 

The guitar strums surprise him, he didn’t know you could play guitar. It’s automatically soothing and he stores this fun fact in his brain, vowing to never forget it as it’s information on one of his favorite things. The tune you strum is simple yet beautiful, maybe because it’s you playing it or just that your fingers so meticulously strum the strings. He can tell this is your craft and you’re good at it. 

He closes his eyes as he continues to listen to the repetitive melody and he’s immediately thankful that you sent him this. It will help him sleep and he can drift off knowing that even though you aren’t here, you’re still helping and supporting him from afar. 

His eyes shoot open when you start to sing. Your voice is astounding. It is unlike anything Wakatoshi has ever heard before. It twinkles like a delicate little bell, rings loud and strong as the words continue and pierce his heart. It swirls, sways, rocks and swaddles him in all the love you project through these lyrics. Your voice is sweet, relieving, like ice cream on a very hot day after practice, and when you sing his name and about making love, he grunts in approval. It’s suddenly all he wants. His body, his heart aches for you and all he wants is to be with you again. When the song ends on a tender note, he plays the song again and again, hanging on every lilt of your voice and committing it to memory. 

Right before he drifts off to sleep, he texts back a quick message to you, a vow he intends on keeping. 

I am coming back to you soon little doe.

--

Your hair is brushed from your forehead and you sigh in contentment. You’re sure you're dreaming, it’s been the same recurring dream every night since Toshi has been gone. When you feel a hand cradle your face, your eyes shoot open to see him, sitting on the edge of your bed caressing your face in his large hand. Tears well in your eyes when you see him and you jump up to wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Toshi!”

He pulls you into his lap and cradles your body against his. You can hear his gym bag slip from his shoulder and you peep over his shoulder to see his luggage in the corner of your room. His luggage. You pull back to look into his eyes. 

“Toshi, did you come straight here when you got off the plane?” you ask looking concerned and trying to wipe the tears from your eyes. He’s faster than you, reaching a long finger out to catch a falling one and swipe it from your cheek. 

“Yes. You don’t have to cry. It was no trouble,” The deep baritone rumbles his body and moves through you. It’s only been a few days since you two have seen each other, but his voice still sends a shiver up your spine whenever you hear it. 

You shake your head in defiance, “Wakatoshi, you should’ve gone to your dorm. You need to rest,” you say furrowing your eyebrows and trying to be serious. 

He stares at you with an intense stare and you’re momentarily worried. Wakatoshi has never looked at you this way before. This stare is usually intended for his teammates or a rival, when he’s serious and focused during a match. 

“No. I needed to see you.” 

You’re not sure what comes over you but his words ignite a fire in you and you kiss him, hard and passionate. Ever the prepared sportsman, he kisses you back matching your passion and groaning into your mouth. All the yearning the two of you shared over the last few days rushes out of you and into the kiss. It’s sloppy and you both have to pull back and catch your breath. 

His hands fall to your hips as he pulls you closer against him. Your hands roam down his chest, up his broad shoulders and down his bulging back muscles. You breathe his name against his lips and he growls, picks you up and places you down on your back on the bed. 

He crawls over you, fixating himself between your thighs. You’re both still clothed but the aching for each other is more than just the sex. You just want to be close to him, to feel him wrap his arms around you, to feel his lips against yours again. He bends down to your face and kisses you again. Softer this time, as if he’s afraid to hurt you or lose control. He kisses down your jaw, bites and sucks on your neck, marking you as his. 

You hear him rumble into your neck, “Mine” before he bites down and makes another mark. You moan at the sensation and Wakatoshi momentarily stops to savor the sound. It’s almost as sweet as your lovely singing voice, and he’d give anything to hear you moan his name. You paw at the hem of his shirt as he continues to kiss your cheek and neck. 

“I want to see you Toshi,” you whimper. He gazes into your eyes for a moment before removing  his shirt and you marvel at his rippling muscles. He’s so big, his herculean frame always able to make your mouth water. He can see the pride of having him be yours in his eyes and he likes it. 

He wants you to be proud to have him, the same way he’s proud to have you. He grabs the end of your shirt and slowly pulls it over your head. Large hands clumsily grasp the clasp of the bra He observes you like a work of art, committing every freckle and mole to memory. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says and the way the word “beautiful” falls effortlessly from his lips when describing you makes your face grow hot. There’s nothing you want more than him, now. He removes his pants and underwear and slides yours down your legs as well. When you both are left staring at each other in awe, you pull him back down to kiss you again. 

You can feel his engorged cock twitching against your thigh as he hovers on his elbows over you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, desperation escaping with your next exhale. He kisses down your chest, covering every inch of you with the sweetest embrace of his lips. He licks at your nipple, nips softly and when he hears you gasp he bites down a bit harder before licking to soothe the brisk pain. 

Your heart beats faster with every kiss, this feeling inside of you overwhelms you and when you push your hips up to meet his, a silent plea, he pulls back to look at the exquisite fountain between your legs. He holds his weeping cock in one hand and for the first time you look at him nervously. Will it fit? What if it doesn’t? Will he still want to be with you? He reaches a large hand to caress your cheek and the tumbling storm in your chest calms with his sweet gesture. He stares into your eyes and that same intensity burns there, passionate and solicitous, like the sun. 

“Don’t worry little doe, I’ll be gentle,” he says running a thumb over your cheek. The anxiety is gone instantly and you look at him with the utmost trust as he places the tip of his dick to your entrance. He rubs it against your slippery folds, slathering your slick over his copious length and preparing you for all his glory. You nod to him when he looks at you for permission to enter. 

He pushes inside of you, moving slowly and passing the first ring of muscle. He grunts when the crown of his cock is sitting comfortably in your fluttering walls. You whimper as you become accustomed to how full you already feel. When your heaving chest slows down from the initial insertion, he continues to slide into you, hips moving closer to yours in a welcoming embrace. You stretch around him and it burns, but you clench as well, your body’s way of telling him not to stop. 

When he’s fully sheathed inside of you he grunts and you moan in unadulterated pleasure. Your eyes are shut as you concentrate on how he feels inside of you. Despite the fullness and the stretch it doesn’t feel foreign as you expected. It feels like he belongs, like your body will mold to his because it knows it’s supposed to be him. 

Little salty droplets bead at the corner of your eyes as you think about this, and when you open them Wakatoshi is staring with an unknown expression. The emotion, the love, grows inside of you like a sunflower reaching for the sun. It tumbles from your lips when he, while never severing your gaze, pulls his hips out ever so slightly and plunges back into you.  A quick chaste “I love you” that you’re sure and are slightly thankful he doesn’t hear. The fear and insecurity bubbling and shielding the sun again.

You cry out instead, “Oh god Toshi!” He wraps his arms around your body, leaning his weight onto his arms to avoid putting it all on you but wanting to pull you closer to his body. Your arms wrap around his neck as he pulls out all the way and slowly plunges back inside you again, starting a slow sensual pace. He rocks his hips, latches his lips to your neck as you dig your hands into his hair and you lift your hips to feel more of him. 

His pace quickens as he becomes lost in the passion of your warm velvety walls, what he assumes is heaven. You’re moaning his name over and over, tears now falling down your cheeks as your ecstasy creeps upon you. When you feel the coil inside you snap, you pull him closer, nails digging into his back as your thighs shake and wrap around his waist. You cry out again, no longer able to hold it in, “I love you! Toshi, I love you so much!” 

The words tumble from your lips as his cum spills inside you and grunts your name loudly. He connects his lips with yours as the two of you ride out your orgasm together, as one. When you both come down from your high, he rubs his forehead against yours brushing his nose against yours before whispering in his deep baritone voice something you almost don’t make out. But when you do hear it, you wrap your arms around his neck again and hug him close, intent on never letting go. 

“I love you, little doe.”

--

Thanks for Reading!!

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[karmasuna]

did i just scroll through your entire blog reading every one of your fics? yes. yes i did uwu may i request bakugou dabi and shinsou's rubbing their cat quirk gf's belly and them being surprised that she enjoys it a little bit too much

Awww thank you so much sweetie (´･ᴗ･ ` ) i’m sorry this took so long,i decided last minute that i was gonna do entire paragraphs rather than hcs because i liked this request a little bit too much hehe  ♡( ◡‿◡ )

Bakugo Katsuki

“Dumbass, why are you even in my room if you’re gonna sit so far away,” Katsuki grumbles. You were currently sitting on opposite ends of his bed, you reading manga while he scrolled through the social media that Kirishima had forced him to make accounts for, just barely touching toes as you both did your own thing. 

You quickly scoot over towards him, shuffling so that you could curl up with your head on his lap and continue to read. The blonde’s hand finds the hem of your shirt, toying with it before slipping under, absentmindedly drawing shapes with his fingertips on the soft skin of your tummy, enjoying the way you let out soft purrs from his touch. 

Soon his actions become full-on belly rubbing, and you feel yourself start to lose focus on the panels in front of you, your attention instead focused on the warm feeling in your stomach, everything else becoming hazy as you close your eyes for a moment to relish in the sensation. Slipping your bookmark in and closing the book, you turn to face him, admiring your boyfriend’s features through droopy eyelids before your gaze becomes unfocused. 

“You alright?” he murmurs, voice soft and gentle as he continues his actions, his heart warming as he sees the lazy smile stretched cross your features. You nod, pushing your manga away and stretching out so that he had better access to your tummy. “Feels good,” you mumble, closing your eyes as he puts his phone down to trace your soft features with his thumb, taking in your blissful expression and lazy smile as he continues to rub at your belly gently with his other hand.

“Didn’t know you would like this so much, baby,” he chuckles, making his chest rumble. You press your face into his chest, inhaling his comforting scent as you continue to purr, your mind so clouded by the pleasure that you could barely form an answer. 

“Mmm. Love you, ‘Tsuki.”

“Hmph. Love you too, babygirl.”

Shinso Hitoshi

“What are you doing, Y/N,” your boyfriend says, eyeing you from his desk as you roll around on his bed. “I’m bored,” you complain, looking at him and pouting. “Can’t you do your stupid homework later? I wanna cuddle.”

“It’s not my fault my class has more homework than yours, so suck it up or go do something else.”

“Noooo,” you whine, getting up and climbing onto his lap, straddling him and forcing his attention onto you instead of his homework. Hitoshi lets out a very audible sigh, but he doesn’t make any move to push you off, letting you wrap your arms around him and nuzzle your face into his neck. 

“God, you’re such a brat.” Strong hands lift you off his lap and flip your around so that your back was pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around you tight so that you wouldn’t be able to escape.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” he sighs, slipping a hand under your shirt and poking at your tummy, letting you get used to the feeling of his hand on your sensitive skin before slowly rubbing cautiously, peeking at your face to see what kind of a face you were making. The last time he had tried to give you a belly rub you had flipped out and left him with multiple scratches on his face, and so needless to say it was not a great experience for either of you.  

This time around you seemed to react a little better, your body relaxing and falling back toward his. He takes this as a good sign, continuing to rub at your belly as you being to turn into putty under his ministrations, purring as you feel everything else start to melt away, focusing on the growing pit of warmth in your belly. Your head tips back, falling into the crook of his neck as your eyes slowly close, becoming compliant under his touch, mind too fuzzy to even process what was happening as he sat up and picked his pen up again to finish his homework.

“Good girl. Now just stay like that for me until I’m done and we can go cuddle, alright?”

Dabi

The front door of your apartment creaks open quietly, and familiar footsteps come toward the living room, where you were curled up on the sofa watching TV. 

“Hey,” you greet quietly from your spot on the sofa, not wanting to wake your neighbors or surprise him too much and get burnt to a crisp. 

“Oh? You’re still awake,” he says, shrugging off his coat before making his way towards you and flopping down next to you.You wrap your arms around him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips and he smiles, letting you curl up close to him. “It’s late, babydoll. Why aren’t you asleep yet?” 

“Can’t sleep,” you sigh, tapping his nose gently and tracing the piercings there with your finger. He chuckles at how adorable you looked all wrapped up in your blanket burrito, letting himself admire the soft and loving expression painted on your features for a while before lifting you up, turning off the TV and carrying you to your shared room.

He sets you down on the bed, quickly stripping down to only his underwear before getting in after you. You scoot over and tangle your legs with his, making him let out a small yelp when your freezing cold feet touch his warm legs, giving you a light nudge in the ribs in retaliation.

“Stop squirming around, kitten.” he pulls your back into his chest, slipping warm hands under your shirt, giving your boobs a teasing squeeze before moving them back down to rest on the pouch of your tummy and giving it a few gentle rubs. 

“O-oh. That feels really nice,” you mumble, relaxing into his touch and sighing happily. He hums, continuing his actions as you start to let out soft purrs, a comforting feeling taking over your senses as you feel your eyelids start to become heavy instantly. 

“Thank you, Dabi. I love you.”

“Love you too, my little kitten. Sleep well.”

[peaches-writes]

party night

prompt 2: “But it looks like it’s enjoying itself!”

member: minho / lee know wc: 1.9k genre: fluff, bakeneko au, neighbor au, the crackiest fic you’ll ever read in a while warning: explicit language note: finally it’s done it took a while and it’s not even good it’s so trippy sldjflskdf but i’ve been slumped with work rawr + idk i didnt do my research im so sorry this was quick bc i still hav hw lskdfjsldjk

“Swswswswsws...” You hiss continuously as you point your flashlight into the darkness of the forestry ahead, turning your head to your neighbor after. “Ji, what’s your pet’s name again? It might respond if we called it by its name, you know. It’s been five minutes since we’ve been looking for it.”  

“P-Pet? I don’t—”Jisung briefly stops walking and squints his eyes at you, accidentally pointing his own phone’s flashlight to your face when you turn around to face him at immediately noticing his pause. You hold your free hand up to your face in instinctive response to his accidental action, wincing in pain of the bright light to which Jisung guiltily heaves a sigh at. That was close! “A-Ah, I mean!—L-Lee Know! His...yeah, the cat’s name is Lee Know!”      

You furrow your eyebrows and bring your hand down once Jisung apologizes and points his flashlight elsewhere, a confused frown settling on your lips. “Lee Know? You named him?” 

“Y-Yeah?” He raises his own eyebrows curiously, jogging up the remaining distance to you when you beckon for him to continue walking deeper into the forest with you. It’s time like these when the eco-friendly agenda our village has going on is such a hassle, Jisung groans internally to himself, Minho could be anywhere in this forest...that idiot. “Why’d you ask?” 

You shrug, flinching when a distant rustling faintly goes through your ears. When you point your flashlight towards its direction, however, you only see, much to your disappointment, a raccoon scurrying away. “It’s just—and don’t get offended!—Lee Know sounds a bit of a choice for a cat’s name.” You explain sheepishly, looking away in case he does get offended. “I actually thought Minho named him...given his generally weird tendencies. Maybe he got tired of naming pets cutely like Soonie, Doongie, and Dori or something so I thought, you know...”

Jisung snickers under his breath as you explain, frantically shaking his head and waving his hands when you surprisingly hear and ask him about it. Tell that to him when you see him, he so badly wants to tell you but he opts to quietly continue looking for his roommate instead, mirroring you and pointing his flashlight towards every inch of the path. 

“It’s that ridiculous, huh?” He jokes, to which your eyes widen at. When he peers over your shoulder and notices this, he immediately lets out a hearty laugh. “Don’t worry, it’s cool. I think it’s ridiculous for a cat too.” 

Your shoulders unintentionally relax at this and you muster up a laugh as well. “It sounds like a stage name.” 

“It’s swag, apparently.” 

After five more minutes of walking (and not much progress in finding clues as to where the cat went but misleading footprints of foxes and more raccoons), you stop right under the warning sign your village’s Homeowners Association, placed right before the forest’s restricted area. “Nothing.” You turn around on your surroundings twice before concluding against the stillness of the night and the distant cricketing, facing Jisung again with a disappointed expression. “We can’t go beyond the subdivision limits, Ji. I’m so sorry.” 

Jisung glances between you and the angry ‘No Trespassing’ sign in thought, biting his lip down as he ponders on what to do next. It’s either he risks having you see more than one supernatural creature tonight and drag you with him past village limits or he pretends to go back to the village with you then run all the way back to the other side of the forest and continue looking for his escaped roommate. Then why did I ask Y/N to help me look for Minho in the first place? Jisung asks himself as he scratches his head in the hopes that his last functioning braincell could make a quick decision. 

“Ji?” You elbow him gently when he takes too long to think. Only then does he notice that you’ve already taken a step back from the village limits, body twisted and facing the path back. “Let’s go back, maybe it’s better looking for Lee Know in the morning.” 

“A-Ah, but—” Jisung raises his free hand, as if reaching out to you and tugging you back. Before he could finish his thought, however, he sees a brilliant white light reflect back in your eyes and when he turns around, his eyes widen at colorful lanterns approaching from the trees. “Oh, shit...” 

“What the fuck is that?” You ask in a whisper, instinctively going back to Jisung’s side in fear. When the lanterns draw nearer, you start making out figures of raccoons, foxes, rabbits, and cats dancing on their hind legs. “What the hell?” 

Jisung slaps a hand up to his forehead and purses his lips, gritting his teeth hardly in frustration. Too late, he thinks to himself as he turns to you, eyes wide and mouth agape in bewilderment. “Y/N, listen to me—” 

But again, he’s cut off by a certain orange and white cat catching your attention, waving at you with its paws. “Hi, Y/N!” Minho waves at you casually in his cat form, his smile peeking out of the rainbow towel on his head. “We’re doing a conga line around the forest if you want to join!” 

“I...” You freeze, leaning back in confusion. “T-That’s...Lee Know?” 

“Um...” Jisung turns to you, meeting your unreadable expression. You look simultaneously shocked, horrified, and curious but with a small smile threatening to slip into your features. “I can explain!” 

“He sounds like—” 

“My roommate, Minho. Yeah, um...” Jisung scratches the nape of his neck again, instinctively stepping in front of your view to block the sight of dancing forest animals. “Listen, it’s not what it looks like! Minho, he’s...” 

“Jisung—I mean, wilder things have happened in college—” 

“Yeah but—” Jisung stops halfway, staring back at you as if you’ve grown a second head. “You’re not—you’re not freaked out?” 

“So you are admitting that your roommate is half-cat?” 

“He’s a bakeneko...” 

“Bakeneko, sure, okay.” You repeat, rolling your eyes. “As I was saying, you dragged me out here at 2 AM to look for ‘your cat,’ knowing there’s a slight risk of me finding out who the cat actually is, then you react like this when it does happen? I’m surprised, of course, but you really should’ve thought about that.” 

A part of Jisung heaves a sigh of relief but another part of him panics even further which is only amplified with the music growing louder behind him as more animals pass by. “Yeah, well, I did thought about that but I really needed help looking for Minho because he left without a note and I didn’t expect that he’d be out here partying tonight!” 

This time, it’s you slapping a hand to your face. “Jesus Christ, and here I thought you guys were at least sharing one braincell.” You sigh, to which Jisung immediately protests at. You ignore, him, however, and gesture for the growing line of dancing animals. “So, should we stop him? But, then, it looks like it’s enjoying itself! “But it looks like it’s enjoying itself!—I mean, Minho! Minho looks like he’s enjoying himself.” 

Jisung opens his mouth to speak but, for the second time tonight, he’s accidentally cut off again by Minho, this time by said roommate suddenly materializing on his shoulders. “Are here to pick me up?” Minho asks him, the way his normal human voice comes out of his cat form momentarily surprising you from the corner of his eyes and catching his attention. “Oh, hi, Y/N! Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to see me like this! Ya, Han Jisung, why did you bring Y/N along?” 

“Because you just left the house without telling me where you’re going, dumbass! How would I know if you weren’t suddenly kidnapped or something!” Jisung complains in response, flicking Minho’s forehead. “And get off my shoulder, fatass, you’re so heavy. Have you been eating spirits food again?” 

You clear your throat awkwardly, waving at the two boys before they could engage in a full-on argument. “Yeah, I’m still here, guys?” 

Minho and Jisung glance back at you then to each other, as if in contemplation. You raise an eyebrow nervously at this. 

“Hyung, is it okay that Y/N saw you?” Jisung asks Minho in a hushed whisper. 

“Do I really look fat tonight?” Minho frowns, to which Jisung groans at. 

“Dude, come on, I’m asking you a matter of your security and you ask me if you’re looking fat.” 

“Because Y/N saw me!” 

Jisung sighs. “Fine, then, yes you do...you look like a really really fat cat tonight.” He answers reluctantly, to which Minho pouts even deeper at. “It must be those brownies that other cat, Felix, is always baking at these parties.” 

Minho then immediately hops off of Jisung, walking over to you and encircling your ankles once. “Alright, then, I guess, Y/N, you should see me like this on another time, when I’m looking cuter! You’ll have to forget everything you saw tonight, okay? I can’t have my crush seeing me as a fat cat!” 

“W-What?” You try stepping away from Minho’s circling movements but before you could even get a foot out, you already start feeling lightheaded until your vision’s fully clouded in nothing but white. 

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!” Minho’s voice echoes in your ears before you. 

- 

Jisung is waiting for you by the fences separating your houses the next day, a seemingly rehearsed smile on his face. From what you can hazily remember of last night (which is oddly few, you’ve noticed), you last saw him banging his head against the pillars of his host family’s front porch at dinner time because the Internet connection at his place won’t let him pass his homework. 

“Good morning, Ji?” You greet him as you water the plants in your front garden, unintentionally coming off as questioning. “You look...happy. Did you get to pass that homework of yours?” 

The boy nods happily as he organizes the recyclables he’s supposed to take out. “Yep, passed it on time.” 

You nod, opening your mouth to speak only to be interrupted by an orange and white cat emerging from your garden’s potted sunflowers. “Oh, hi!” You greet the cat, instinctively crouching down to scratch its ears to which he purrs positively to. You don’t catch it but Jisung heaves a sigh of relief when you don’t seem to recognize Minho or have any recollection of last night. “And who are you supposed to be, hm? You’re so adorable!” 

From the corner of your eyes, Jisung frowns at Minho before shaking his head and answering you, “O-Oh, that’s—Lee Know, the new house cat! My host family brought him in just—just last night.” 

“Just last night?” You ask, briefly looking up at Jisung and catching his frown turning into a sheepish smile. You try catching his reaction to your question but the cat brings a paw up to your hand and regains your attention again. “Didn’t they come home at like 4 PM yesterday, though? I even greeted Mr. and Mrs. Lee and I don’t remember seeing them with this cat.”     

Shit, Jisung curses himself, glaring at Minho again who only sticks his tongue out discreetly at him, I was doing so well! “W-Well, Mr. Lee went out at around 9 PM, I think, when you were already inside, then he came back with the cat. It’s a stray, basically.” 

You nod at this, smiling at the cat again. “Aren’t you too cute to be a stray cat, though?” You coo, making Minho smile and nuzzle his whiskers more into your hands. “And you remind me a lot of Ji’s roommate, Minho, too. Have you met him? He’s a bit of a weirdo but he’s...cute too, I guess.” 

Minho so badly wants to open his mouth and protest halfway when you called him a weirdo but he puts up the facade anyway and goes around you once again. He’ll have to bring it up to you next time, when he’s human. 

“Look, Ji, he likes me!” You point out excitedly to which Jisung only musters up a small smile. You then pet the cat’s head once more before standing up to continue watering your plants. “Speaking of, Minho’s okay with this? And Soonie, Doongie, Dori?” 

“Yep.” Jisung reluctantly nods, kicking Minho gently with his foot when he comes back to his side of the fence. “Very much so.” 

on a night much like tonight (drabble game) 

@skzwriternet 

[yukiobeyme]

Taking Care of Brothers Sore/ Pulled Muscle Edition

I was gonna do homework but I started to plan Satan’s Birthday Fic for tomorrow and this happened instead. I’m also only on lesson 24 or so, so I don’t get to experience the new lesson.

Lucifer: You know he doesn’t sit properly at his desk, maybe for the first 15-20 minutes but then he is slouching, and it kills his back. He also more or less always stressed and tensed so his neck and shoulders always ache. He is prone to tension headaches because of it. The best way to get on his good side or to help him destress is making his favorite hot tea and forcing him to take a breather. He absolutely adores it when you take the time to massage his neck and shoulders. He never lets you touch too much of his back (he finds his scars ugly) but you can usually talk him into take a hot shower than and letting the hot water and steam help release the muscles in his back.

Mammon: Because he carries the looks of the family Because he models, he finds himself in not only odd outfits but odd poses and tensing his muscles. The amount of times a shoot caused him to pull a muscle is unreal. He is also known for doing weights the week before a shoot, but it leaves him sore. While he blushes and stutters through it, he loves nothing more for you to straddle his hips and just massage his back. You usually snag a nice oil from Asmo and light some nice smelling candles to create a relaxing atmosphere before just going to town on all his knots in his back.

Levi: Constantly sitting on the floor (Beanbags don’t support your back properly, honestly you are probably better to sit on the floor!) And hunched over for video games or anime leaves his back or even body sore. While Levi is very particular about being touched, he doesn’t appreciate massages too much. Maybe a quick shoulder rub but that pushing it. Instead run him a hot bath, set up a portable tablet so he can watch anime while he lets the hot water undo the tension in his muscles. Also spoil him a little, find him pillow supports or gentle remind him to get up and stretch, drink and eat during his marathons.

Satan: From being curled up in weird positions for an ungodly amount of time to being always angry and tensed from it, Satan actually doesn’t notice when his body is sore or tight, it’s just normal. It wasn’t until he had a horrible headache and you basically waited on him did, he realized how tight his muscles are. You started with his favorite tea, then a hot bath, and you laid out his softest pjs. Finally, you found your way into his bed where you cuddled, you gently rubbing his back. When his headache wasn’t pounding anymore, you would grab his favorite book and quietly read it to him until he fell asleep.

Asmodeus: It was because of some stupid yoga class that was supposed to be good for him, he ended up pulling something in his back. Though he didn’t expect to meet you in his room, with a bath already drawn and you talking about how you put in that salt he talked about. It was some scented salt that also helped relax muscles and draw out toxins. Asmo was honestly in love, he didn’t expect you to remember him talking about that salt, he had talked about it once months ago. You then told him to take his time but as soon as he was done, you got that warming massage oil that had peppermint and eucalyptus to help relax muscles. While Asmodeus is the Avatar of Lust, there was nothing sexual about it, even to him. He was just more touch, and felt loved and heard. He definitely asks you to stay the night but makes no moves on you, just simply cuddles you and gives you a kiss on the cheek for thanks.

Beelzbub: You warned him to not push it at the gym, especially because you weren’t going to be able to spot him and make comments on his form. But he went ahead anyways, and it turns out his form wasn’t right, and he lifted too heavy too quickly and the left side of his back just radiated with pain. You immediately went into a caregiver mode, drawing him a hot bath, getting all sore of muscle relaxing meds/creams, and his favorite comfort foods. You spoon fed him and after food was done, you massaged his back until he relaxed and feel asleep. He mumbles to you about stay with him until he wakes up and in the morning you are dotting over him, asking him if you could carry his bag to school for him and making sure he stays away from the gym until he heals.

Belphegor: He tried to tell you it was no big deal, he slept wrong and put a kink in his neck, but you weren’t having any of it. You tried to just massage out the kink in his neck but it only seemed to relax the muscles for a little bit. You finally suggested a bath and you offered to wash his hair and massage his neck and shoulders. It was a soft and intimate moment and Belphie realized that it was totally worth all the fussing you did over him. He adored having you massage and lather his hair and splashing warm bath water against his neck, he completely fell asleep in the bath and you let him sleep, until the water got too cold.

[s-creations]

In Sickness, In Health Chapter 5 - Broken Arm

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros             Rating: General Audience             Relationships/Pairings:  José Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles     Additional Tags: getting sick, being cared for, mental health, injury, sore throat, common cold, chicken pox, broken bones, whooping cough, taking care of others.

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

Author’s Note: This chapter is self titled with what's about to happen. But please keep in mind this contains talk of broken bones. If I need to put further tags/warnings on this story, please let me know!

“Dewey, I’m serious, get down!” Huey frantically called.

 “Sorry, can’t hear you. Too high up and doing amazing!” Dewey called back as he reached for the next level of branches. 

 “Dewey!” 

 “Let it go dude,” Louie commented as he scrolled through his phone. Leaning up against the same tree that Dewey was currently climbing. “You’re not getting him down from there. Just let nature take its course.”

 While Huey glared at Louie, Dewey was continuing his trek up the tall tree. Humming his theme song (version 236) while he reached for another branch. His plan for the day was to reach the top of the tallest tree in the backyard so he could see across the bay. To hopefully see across it, maybe even see the entire world and what it had to offer. Maybe he could even find some place interesting enough to visit! Some place close!

 Ah, he was so eager! He couldn’t wait to find out what the rest of the world looked like. Entire body shaking with eagerness, Dewey moved a bit too quickly...

 He lost his footing first. Webbed foot slipped and Dewey quickly reached out to try and grab something for support. Only for his hand to grab at air. The branch just a bit too far out of reach. 

 It was as if time stood still for a moment. Dewey got a brief thought of ‘Huh...maybe this wasn’t the best idea.’ before he began to properly fall. It was strangely exhilarating to hear the wind rushing around him. Sort of like flying. Except the opposite. Because he was, in fact, falling. So this was worse.

 Dewey hit the ground hard, Huey shrieking while Louie let out a cry of ‘Holy Cow!’ as they rushed over. The triplet dressed in blue sat up slowly. Looking around, dazed, but otherwise felt fine. 

 “What were you thinking! You could have been killed!” Huey huffed. Fear being replaced by anger as he glared down at his brother.

 “I was thinking how cool it would be to see the view from the top of that tree. But I guess it wasn’t meant to be for the moment. Oh well, I’ll try again tomorrow-”

 Dewey let out a yelp of pain when he tried to put weight on his arm. Pain shooting through it, the duckling swearing he was about to pass out from it. Taking a deep breath to keep himself awake, Dewey looked down at said arm. Which was clearly broken. Sticking out at a weird angle, but nothing else seemed ‘wrong’.

 “I broke my arm.”

 “WHAT?”

 “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s broken. Check it.” Dewey casually commented holding up the mentioned limb. Louie looked close to vomiting while Huey turned very pale. 

 “Oh… Okay. Um, Louie, can you get Uncle Donald?” The youngest triplet nodded and dashed back towards the house, happy to not see the arm. Huey, on his part, bent down to examine the damage as best he could. “Ah...so… I don’t think I’m supposed to touch it. But it looks so bad!”

 “Dude, it doesn’t hurt. Just breathe and leave it alone.” Truth be told, Dewey wasn’t really sure why he wasn’t panicking. Maybe it was because everyone else was already freaking out. But, it was probably the fact that, since it didn’t hurt, Dewey wasn’t too worried.

 “Dewey!” 

 Ah, someone else to worry about him.

 “Hi Uncle Donald!” Dewey beamed while being faced with a panicked duck. 

 Donald looked prepared to start pulling out his feathers in panic. “Okay, okay, Dewey, how are you feeling?”

 “Pretty good, all things considered.”

 “Okay, can you walk? We need to get you to the car.” 

 “Sure...I’ll just need help getting up.”

 Dewey was more than patient as the rest of the family rushed around him. Helping him into the car, getting the seatbelt on, making sure he was okay before they set off. A quick trip to the emergency room later and Dewey now had a sweet cast and a story to share with his other two uncles. 

 “This is so cool! Benny had one of his arms in a cast too and he got people to sign it. Do you think I could do that too?” Dewey looked up at Donald, freehand knocking on the hardened plaster. 

 “Of course. You can start carrying some sharpies when you’re at school. Just as long as you don't make everything messy and you don’t distract the class.” Donald commented, finally relaxed now that everything was taken care of.

 At first, Dewey was honestly thrilled to have his cast. It was like getting a fancy new piece of armor in a video game. Wanting to constantly show it off. Happily retelling his adventure with so much gusto to whomever would hear him. It was great. 

 Until it wasn’t.

 The first issue was how uncomfortable the cast was becoming. It was heavy and clunky. He couldn’t sleep because the cast was just dead weight. His arm started becoming both itchy and sweaty. Hot and bothersome with no solution as to how it was supposed to be fixed. 

 The second issue was that there was no one else to tell the story to. All his classmates knew. All his neighbors knew. And, even if his uncles would listen to him, Dewey knew they were becoming bored by the story. The once great armor was now dragging him down. 

 The last issue was that he couldn’t do anything. Uncle Donald made it clear that Dewey wasn’t going to do anything with the cast on. Not that the duckling paid that warning too much attention. Until he realized that the cast was preventing Dewey from, quite literally, doing anything. He couldn’t grab anything. Couldn’t put pressure on it in any way. Hold anything. It was basically a useless arm. 

 “At least you have some time to work on your homework.” Huey offered weakly. Which was only met with an unamused glare. 

 Dewey was becoming so bored. 

 He was currently situated on the sofa during one afternoon. Eyes barely open, barely focused, as he ‘watched’ the television. Dewey wasn’t fully taken in what he was looking at. He was also pretty sure there was a string of drool sliding out from the side of his mouth.

 “Well, don’t you look charming.”

 Dewey merely rolled his head to the side to look over towards Donald. “Hello…”

 “Hello to you too.” The older duck walked over, claiming an empty seat next to the blue dressed triplet. “I see you’ve moved your pity party from the bedroom to the living room.”

 “Not pity.” Dewey weakly argued back.

 “No? Then what are you doing?”

 “Bored?”

 “Ah, I see. Nothing like being sad for yourself.”

 “There’s nothing I can to with my stupid arm is it’s stupid cast.” Dewey huffed weakly. 

 “You’ve done nothing but watch t.v. since you’ve gotten that cast. Why don’t you try doing something new?”

 “Broken arm, can’t do anything.”

 Donald rolled his eyes. “You’re not in a full body cast, you can still move. And your dominant hand is still ‘free’. I don’t mean trying to climb something new. Why not find a new hobby? Read a book, go take a walk, something.”

 “All sounds boring.”

 Letting out a slow breath, Donald took a new approach. “Well, I have something you might be interested in.”

 “Doubt it.” Even with a heavy sigh of boredom, Dewey still followed his uncle.

 They entered a small side room at the back of the house. One filled with mainly boxes and other unneeded odds and ends. They passed the stacked boxes, going towards the sole window. Where an artist easel had been set up. Paints and other tools cluttering a small rolling cart that had been pushed against the wall. 

 “What is this?” Dewey asked as he looked over the pile of paint tubes. 

 “My get away, if you will. When I want a break from everything, I come here and just paint. Just...put on some music and paint.”

 “I’ve never seen you paint before…”

 “Well, I did just start,” Donald commented, taking a seat in front of the easel. “I was told it would help me relax.”

 “So, are you telling me to start painting?” Dewey asked. 

 “Sort of.” Reaching into a large bag that was propped up against the wall as well, Donald pulled out two items. A small sketchbook and a mechanical pencil. “You have an active imagination. Why don’t you try giving your words some pictures?”

 Dewey was skeptical at first. When starting, it was frustrating. Nothing was looking right and it was maddening to try and figure out what something was supposed to look like. Seeing it in his head to transfer it onto paper was difficult. 

 Tio José swooped in to save the day. When Dewey crumpled up another failure. The parrot was more than happy to give his expertise on how to start off a drawing. Getting the basic shapes, proportions, how to look at the whole and the parts of an object, how drawing from real life can help draw from the imagination. After that, there was no stopping him.

 Even with the cast on, it didn’t stop him. If anything Dewey started using it as a weight to keep the loose paper still. The rest of the recovery melted away. The blue cladded duckling happily returned to school with a fully healed arm and a number of handcrafted books to share. 

[marshmallow-phd]

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

**

The beams of sunlight fell down from the wide open sky, placing warm yet gentle kisses on your cheeks and nose. It was rare for the weather to be so nice this time of year. Usually, the bitterness of winter was still holding on. But today, spring was reminding you that it was just around the corner. The heavy, feather-stuffed coat could be kept in the closet, at least for today. The striped flannel was more than enough protection from the slight breeze though you barely noticed its touch. Above you, the sky was a dazzling pastel blue with only a few puffs of white here and there.

You fingers itched down by your side where they kept you steady on the stone table where you sat. It was truly a beautiful day, too beautiful for late February. The lighting was too perfect to be ignored. With enough coverage so the shot wouldn’t be overwhelmed….

“What are you plotting?”

Your eyes snap open and you look down at your best friend. The thought had only just popped into your head. How she could read you so easily was truly terrifying at times. “Nothing,” you lied coolly. “I’m not plotting anything.”

Willa rolled her eyes. “Please. You had that smirk on your face and your fingers were practically dancing on the table. You’re easier to read than you think.”

“(y/n), please tell me you’re not going to go out into the woods again?” Erik looked up from his tablet with pleading eyes. His wire-rimmed glasses were perched on the tip of his nose, giving him a childlike quality. The wind ruffled his sandy hair. He squinted up at you with concern. You were a bit surprised that he’d caught the conversation, given how concentrated he was on his drawing. “You remember what happened last time.”

Of course you did. You were there, weren’t you? Sure, to say that it wasn’t a slightly scary experience would be a lie. But it was something you’d expected to happen eventually considering your outside activities.

A branch knocked loose by the storm from the night before had fallen from its perch, hitting you in the head. While you remained conscious, you were disoriented and had trouble finding your way back to the city. It was nearly dark by the time you made it to your car, but you had no issues driving yourself to the emergency room. The doctor declare you fine beyond the small gash atop your head, however he still preferred someone else to drive you home. Poor Erik nearly had a heart attack when he found you sitting in a hospital bed with dried blood on your face.

“It was a freak accident,” you reassured him. “Not likely to happen again.”

“But the odds still exist,” he argued. You “hmphed” at him. Why was he suddenly spouting statistics at you?

“Not to mention, there have been more wolf sightings,” Willa added, earning a glare from you. Wasn’t she supposed to be on your side?

But you couldn’t stay mad at them for long. Your brain was too logical, too in tune with being able to understand people to ignore their side of the argument. Hopping down from the table, you gave in. “Alright, I get it! You guys are saying no ventures into the trees where I get the most beautiful photographs I’ve ever taken. Noted.”

“You are such a city girl,” Willa said teasingly. It was true, though.

Throughout your childhood, your exposure to nature was the local park with its scarily overweight squirrels and hordes of annoying ants. It was a shock to your family when you chose to go to college outside of the city you knew and loved, electing to attend a smaller campus surrounded by woods and a good two hours from the nearest airport. They didn’t think you would be happy so far away. But you needed the change. You wanted to challenge yourself. Besides, if you hadn’t come out here, you wouldn’t have met Willa or Erik. And they made you very happy indeed.

Swiping up your bag from the bench, you gave Erik a quick kiss goodbye and waved to Willa. “I’ll see you guys after class.”

Willa grimaced. “Actually, I have to work.”

Erik looked equally as guilty. “And I’m meeting with Don to help out the theatre department.”

Perfect. “Don’t worry about it,” you said with feigned of disappointment. “I’ll survive. Maybe take some pictures of downtown. I’ll see you guys later.” With both of them occupied, there was no one check in on you. And you hadn’t exactly promised either of them….

Your light steps from the free evening grew heavier as you came closer to the building that the math-related classes called home.

Truly, this was your own fault. No one should have allowed you to pick your own schedule. The first two and a half years of college were spent taking all the fun, digital art major-related classes you could. The idea that you would eventually have to take the general studies classes was a problem for future you to handle. And that’s what brought you here: almost to the end of the finish line and now you were stuck taking all the subjects that you weren’t good at in order to actually graduate on time next year with your bachelors and qualify to move on to the masters. You hadn’t pinned down exactly what you would focus on when that time came, but it meant staying here, with Erik. And you loathed the idea of being left behind while your friends moved on with their lives.

The main hall inside was buzzing with voices as dozens of students hung about, arguing over answers and whining about what they would do once the weekend had finally arrived. Words mixed in with the clacking of keyboards and the faint scribbling of hurried pencils that didn’t do the homework the night before. It always amazed you how loud this place could be. Your earlier assumptions had made you think that this hall would be a second library, with stressed out students shushing each other so they could concentrate. But really, it felt more like the cafeteria; a social hangout before life interrupted again.

The classroom was mostly full by the time you arrived. Rows of crooked desks filled up two-thirds of the room with just enough space for the GTA to stand at the whiteboard and not be uncomfortable or crowded. Taking your normal seat near the front – which was unsurprisingly empty for the most part - you took out your notebook and pencil, ready jot down the main points of the day’s lesson. Until then, you scroll through the endless stream of social media on your phone.

While you were normally a friendly person, you’d elected at the beginning of the winter semester to stay serious and not give in to any distractions during this period. Because you knew yourself and you knew that you would give in to any temptation to not pay attention during this hour and a half, including talking to the shy freshman girl behind you who looked desperate for some form of friendship.

Two minutes before the class was scheduled to begin, the GTA walked in, a binder tucked under his arm and a messenger bag hanging from his shoulder. None of the conversations slowed down as he unpacked his laptop on the old desk situated in the front. Even as he opened it up and cleared his throat, the whispered chatting went on. It didn’t help that he wasn’t the most authoritative-looking person. He was on the shorter side with a friendly face that made him feel more like a peer than a teacher. Or maybe it was just because he was closer to your age that made you feel that way. It certainly didn’t help that he asked to be called by his first name rather than the typical formal address that you’d been raised with.

Sungkyu smiled brightly as he stood up. The marker made a pop when he uncapped it. “We’ll start on page ninety-nine, chapter four part two.”

That was how he started each class. No hello or good afternoons with mumbled replies. Straight to the lesson without forcing everyone to pretend like they were excited to be there or demanding a more energetic reply. Perhaps that was the one advantage of having a GTA. They knew what nonsense to skip.

An hour and a half later, you were free. Sure, your brain felt a bit like mush from concentrating so hard on the algebra equations, but now you could relax. Since that was your last class of the day, you were back to that lightness, with that spring in your step. The sun had somehow become brighter, even more inviting in the small amount of time you’d spent indoors. How could you ignore the call now?

Back in your dorm, you unloaded your backpack of the unneeded supplies for your venture. Out came the textbooks and binders that were neatly organized. In their place came a water bottle from the mini fridge you and Willa kept between your beds, a couple of granola bars you stashed away for emergencies, and the leather bound sketchpad Erik had given you for your birthday last year that housed all the photo ideas that randomly popped into your head throughout the day. Checking your watch, you assumed that you had a good three or four hours before your absence was discovered. A slight sense of adventure tingled in your chest as you slung your bag over your shoulder and scooped up your camera case from the foot of your bed.

You didn’t look back as you left the dorm and headed for your car. When – because it was a matter of time, not if – Erik and Willa found out, they’d be sure to lecture you until the end of time. But you had a feeling that it would be worth it. What was that famous saying again? Better to ask forgiveness than permission?

As much as you appreciated their concern and understood where they were coming from, the trees were calling out to you, begging to be captured within the lens of your camera. The photographer that lived inside urged you on. If they were really that upset, you’d make them dinner to make up for it.

**

Minseok wasn’t hiding per se. He simply needed a quiet place to grade these papers and with eight other rowdy wolves coming in and out of the house, “quiet” was not exactly an easy thing to find. So… yes, he was sort of hiding in his car in the detached garage. It wouldn’t be for much longer; he only had two or three more assignments to look over and, at this point, he had the answers memorized, meaning he didn’t have to stop and look at the key every five seconds.

Blowing out air, Minseok ran a hand through his black hair as he leaned back. Sometimes he wondered why he took up this position. He didn’t need to. It wasn’t required for him like it was in other masters degrees. But the offer was given and he took it. Maybe he liked the excuse that he was busy so he couldn’t go out with the younger wolves all the time. Unlike the extroverts who knew every restaurant and bar in town like the back of their hands, he preferred it out here, in the woods. Homebody felt like an understatement.

Finally through with grading, he neatly packed the papers away into his bag (divided by clear plastic folders labeled by class) and got out of the car. He left the garage with a smile on his face. Before his feet could hit the first porch step, his name rang out in the field. 

“Minseok!”

He half-laughed, half-sighed as he shook his head. He shouldn’t be surprised that he was discovered the moment he left the safety of the garage.

Running towards him as he turned around were the three goofballs of the pack: Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and Jongdae. Their faces and clothes were covered in mud, making Minseok take a step back.

“Where have you been?” Chanyeol asked when they came to a stop in front of him. Thankfully, they kept their distance. Now Minseok just needed to keep them from going in the house.

“Grading papers,” Minseok replied. He wasn’t going to reveal where he was grading them.

“That sounds boring,” Baekhyun said with an expression that made it seem like he’d smelled something bad. Although, given his current state, that was quiet possible.

Jongdae whipped his hair, sending tiny droplets of muddy water everywhere. Minseok jumped back in an effort to dodge them, which sent the former into a laughing fit.

“Come on, Minseok,” Jongdae waved his hand through the air, still trying to catch his breath from laughing so hard. “You know, wolves aren’t supposed to mind getting dirty.”

“Wolves, no. Humans, yes.” The eldest wolf eyed the three of them. “Well, most humans, anyway.”

Smiling broadly and unbothered, Chanyeol made a move towards the porch.

“No,” Minseok said firmly, blocking the giant’s path. Putting his bag down on the porch he pointed to the side. “Go around and use the hose. You’ll get mud everywhere.”

“We’ll clean it up,” Jongdae whined.

“Not to his standards,” Baekhyun chuckled. Completely unbothered, he followed orders and ran to the back of the house. At first, Chanyeol pouted as well, but then he must have found the fun in the idea because only a few seconds later he was ripping his shirt over his head and running after his best friend.

Jongdae gave one last look of pleading. “Can I please go inside and take a shower?”

Minseok nodded. “After you use the hose.”

“But it’s cold.”

But wolves don’t get cold. Minseok went to pat the poor guy on the back, but then stopped, remembering why he wasn’t letting him inside in the first place. “Rinse off and then we’ll go for a real run to dry you off.”

Jongdae mulled over the offer. Grinning, he said, “Deal!” He was back behind the house in the blink of an eye.

Looking over at his bag, Minseok contemplated his options. He could leave it there and risk one of the guys forgetting the “hands-off” rule or he could take it upstairs to his room, leaving those three alone with the water hose for five minutes. It might not sound like a terrible option, but Minseok had known them long enough to understand that they could find trouble without even looking for it.

He decided to go with the second option anyway, knowing his students’ papers would at least be safe.

Just inside the living room, Sehun was glued to the TV screen, controller in hand. He was pressing down on the buttons with more force than necessary. The maknae would never admit it, but he was too competitive when it came to video games. One time, Minseok walked in on Baekhyun whacking Sehun on the head with the plastic controller because he was getting beat so badly. Thankfully, this time Sehun was alone. If he remembered correctly, Jongin and Yixing were in class while Junmyeon was conducting his office hours. At least the four of them took school seriously.

Minseok didn’t bother greeting Sehun as he made his way through the living room and up the stairs.

His bedroom, pristine and magazine-worthy – was at the end of the hall, near Junmyeon’s master. It was a good thing that Junmyeon’s great-to-however-many-degrees-grandfather thought to build a large farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The alpha didn’t think that it had ever been quite this full since it had mostly been just his family that occupied the walls in the past, but the foresight to think of a larger pack down the line had been there. Each of the wolves were able to have their own rooms, their own space. Given how sloppy some of the others could be, Minseok was thankful. It hadn’t always been that way, but those days were long gone.

Near the beginning when Minseok first officially joined the pack, he’d tried living alone in his parents’ old place in town. The call to be together, with his brothers, was too great. It was an uncomfortable feeling. To this day he wasn’t sure if it was the wolf’s nature that caused it or simply the fact that, as the eldest, he worried about the younger wolves and preferred to be around where he could keep an eye on them. That meant that the peace and quiet was over, but sacrifices could be made and he was much happier here, anyway.

Placing his bag on the desk, Minseok sighed to himself before heading back downstairs where trouble waited.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Chanyeol, Bakehyun, and Jongdae had turned rinsing off into a full on water war. Pretty much all the mud had been washed away, but that didn’t stop them from stealing the hose from each other and creating new mud in the backyard. They were all without their shirts, showing they were in this for the long hall.

At one point, Jongdae had snuck behind Chanyeol, who currently had possession of the garden hose, and twisted the rubber tube to stop the flow of water. Confused, Chanyeol looked directly in the mouth to discover the reason why. Which meant he fell right into Jongdae’s trap. The troll let go of the hose and the water came rushing back, spraying like a geyser in Chanyeol’s face.

Jongdae fell backwards onto his butt with how hard he was laughing. Chanyeol whipped around to get him back, catching Minseok in the crossfire.

Chanyeol cringed guilty. “Oops. Sorry.”

Minseok chuckled it off. It was just a shirt. “It’s alright. I promised Jongdae a run anyway. It’ll be dry by the time we get back.”

Baekhyun perked up. “A run?”

Minseok nodded. “Yes, you can come, too.” He was already undoing the buttons, folding the shirt and placing it on the ground once it was off. Maybe this run was what he needed. He wasn’t sure what difference it could possibly make. He’d been on hundreds of runs in the past. But something told him to go now. So, once he was ready, he shifted onto all fours and ran after the other wolves who’d already almost reached the tree line.

[honsoolie]

don’t rush | 02

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, eventual smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings (for this chapter only): mentions of stage fright/performance anxiety, swearing, sexual references, slight angst, dad jokes :|  

words: 6k 

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: didn’t plan to take this long for an update, life gets in the way, you know the drill. read 01 here and as always, this is crossposted to ao3 :) 

When you get inside, the warmth welcomes you in. You’re not quite sure if it’s from the heating in the hallway or how Yoongi’s eyes had shone in the moonlight. You lean against the inner door frame, a happy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, legs a little weak in the knee. You feel light-headed, maybe from being up late, maybe from your exhausting day, maybe from the lingering remnants of Yoongi’s cologne. 

Did that really just happen? Did he really just ask for your number? Was this all a dream?

The euphoria is short-lasting, however. You still have some assignments waiting for you, and only a couple hours left until your morning classes. The tiredness never lets up, and your limbs heavy again as you make your way inside the lobby of your dorm.  

Unknown number (2:47am): hi this is yoongi 

Unknown number (2:47am): did you get inside ok? 

You (2:48am): yeah

You (2:48am): did u? 

  Yoongi (2:50am): im walking back now 

Yoongi (2:50am): you should sleep soon :// 

  You (2:51am): I still have hw :( 

You (2:51am): text me when ur back inside too 

  Yoongi (2:53am): lmaoo is it counterpoint hw 

Yoongi (2:54am): it’s so sweet that you care for my safety ;( 

  You (2:54am): yes sadly 

You (2:55am): ofc I care, we can’t have our amazing star pianist get hurt 

  Yoongi (2:55am): im home now

Yoongi (2:58am): you have a thing for praise, don’t you 

Even though you can’t see him, you splutter alone in your room, roommate fast asleep. There is no way that means what you think it means. 

You (3:00am): idk where u got that from 

You (3:03am): maybe i do, you’ll have to find out 

  Yoongi (3:04am): I would, but you have to finish your analysis worksheet :/ 

  You (3:15am): ugh, fuck it

You (3:15am): im going to sleep 

You (3:15am): ill just wake up early tomorrow to finish it before class 

  Yoongi (3:16am): what? No goodnight? >:( 

Yoongi (3:17am): some manners you have 

Yoongi (3:17am): what a rude girl 

  You (3:18am): aw have i been bad? 

You (3:18am): I’m sooooo sorry 

You (3:19am): gn 

The minutes tick by, and you grow more indignant than you should. Is he serious? 

Who doesn’t say goodnight back? Maybe you scared him off. Maybe all this “flirtatious” banter was just how Yoongi talked to his friends. How would you know? You don’t know anything about him. 

The same insidious doubt creeps back in. Maybe this is all a game to him. Maybe he just wanted to introduce himself to another music student in the department, you all were supposed to know each other anyway. Maybe, worst of all, he had really only meant to wake you up in the music building as a simple courtesy, no intent behind it. You groan as you sink into your bed, cradling your head in your hands. 

You (3:27am): some hypocrite you are 

  Yoongi (3:30am): I was in the showerrr relax 

Yoongi (3:31am): hm you have been bad 

Yoongi (3:33am): maybe I should punish you 

  You (3:29am): u wish 

You (3:30am): but goodnight for real, we have class in five hours :”( 

  Yoongi (3:31am): goodnight

Yoongi (3:31am): save me a spot next to you 

~

You were in the world’s smallest big crisis. 

Was Yoongi actually serious when he asked you to save a seat? Or were you just indulging in wishful thinking? Was he flirting with you last night? And if he was, what are you supposed to do now? 

Whatever he meant, you would have to face him now. 

The endless litany of maybes and what-ifs grows louder in your head, even louder than last night during your text correspondence with him.You elect to use your backpack to save the seat next to you as class time draws nearer, chiding yourself for overthinking something so casual, but it does nothing to soothe your existential anxiety. 

“Thanks for saving me a spot, I’m so glad you remembered.” A voice brings you out of your reverie. It takes a moment to register who it is at first. Your eyes meet the traditional college garb first, sweatpants and an overwashed fundraising t-shirt, then the half-tamed cowlick, that ever-present cup of coffee. Your breath catches in your throat, breathtaking despite the casual circumstances. It’s just another class lecture, you chastise yourself, but your gut twists nonetheless. 

Seeing Yoongi in such close quarters is still an adjustment for you, his presence (or even the thought of being close to him) a shock to your body. You had spent so much time languishing after him that even now, it still feels like waking up into a dream. 

You clear your throat, stalling, “Yeah, putting my backpack in the seat next to mine was sooo hard. You should compensate me for my labor.” 

You try to put on the flirty smile that you were wearing last night, but it feels like a grimace. God, you are way too nervous for this. 

You realize you’ll never get tired of the way he laughs at your shitty jokes, the way his shoulders shake and eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Yeah, I will, don’t you worry about that.” He sinks into the seat next to you and doesn’t spare you a second glance. 

Dr. Won walks in, the picture of put-togetherness, killing whatever flirty response you had formulated. 

You thought you had enjoyed having a crush before, but admiring someone and imagining a life together from afar was worlds away from talking and sitting next to said object of affection. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. You shouldn’t be tripping all over yourself when Yoongi sits next to you in lecture. 

Whatever Dr. Won is saying is drowned out by Yoongi sitting next to you. It feels deeply unfair how he affects you, when he gets to sit next to you like nothing important is happening. It’s just another day in lecture, preparing for the midterms coming up. 

He’s not even doing anything, minding his own business. You shouldn’t be swooning when he is just sitting there, again bouncing his leg, taking diligent notes. From the furtive glances you steal, even his handwriting is attractive. Endearing, even if it was a little messy and looping over the printed lines.

~

True fact: the only reason why Yoongi fidgets so much is because of the effect you had on him. It drives him up the wall, the way you keep tucking your hair behind your ear. He envies your unfaltering concentration, the look in your eye when you see something on the Powerpoint slides that you have to jot down. 

Yoongi can’t stand to silently sit next to you without doing anything anymore. Taking his pen, he scrawls on the corner of your neat notes. He knows it’ll piss you off, but that’s the reaction that he wants. 

  do you have any idea what is going on 

  He watches carefully for your reaction. Satisfaction creeps into his neutral expression when you notice, confusion turning into what could only be a lovestruck smile, and then into an irritated grimace. Fuck, even the curve of your wrist was enough to drive him crazy. You pick up your pen, writing back. 

  No, stop writing on my stuff 

  Okay, new plan, Yoongi concedes. He settles for writing on the corner of his own notes, tearing off the corner. He slips the paper into your lap, fingertips skimming the top of your thigh. He doesn’t notice, but he leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake. 

  don’t you think dr. won dresses like an old hag 

  You write back on the scrap of paper: 

actually you could learn a thing or two from her 

  Yoongi smirks, in classic Yoongi fashion. 

You know I would rock a long skirt like her 

  Yoongi watches you read his message, smile, and then tuck the note into your notebook. 

~

After class, Dr. Won reminds everyone of the midterm coming up two weeks from now, and that’s when Yoongi senses an opportunity. The two of you walk out of class together, forced to walk side by side because of the student foot traffic.

“Do you like, want to study together sometime?” Yoongi blurts out, louder than he needs to be, even among the hum of the other students. 

 He clears his throat. “I mean, we’ve shared a lot of classes, so.” 

You can’t help but laugh in surprise, or maybe incredulousness. You resist the urge to let the satisfaction show on your face. “I didn’t know you ever noticed.” 

“Of course I did. You’re like, the biggest nerd on the planet.” Even when Yoongi is teasing you, he can’t help but sound bashful. 

You gasp in mock offense. “There’s nothing wrong with being a nerd.” You both stop, standing at the mouth of the lecture hall. 

“Of course not.” He’s awfully close to you, close enough that you can see the mole on the tip of his nose. “That’s why I’m asking you to be my study buddy.”

It’s not necessary to be standing this close. Sure, the hallway is busy, but not that busy. 

“Study buddy? That sounds lame.” You scoff, playing hard to get. Both you and Yoongi know you’re going to say yes anyway. 

“What else do you want me to call you? My homework homie?” 

“Uh, yeah . That sounds way better than study buddy. ” You’re more proud of your humor than anything else, even if it earns a deserved eye-roll from Yoongi. 

“And midterms are coming up. So you know, mutually beneficial.” Yoongi takes a sip from his coffee, peering at you from behind the rim.   

“Like… friends with benefits?” You can’t help yourself. It’s just too easy to flirt with him. 

Yoongi tongues his cheek, he grins. “Only if you want it to be.” He’s having way too much fun with this. 

You try to hide your reaction, but Yoongi notices anyway. (He notices a lot of things you don’t realize.) Your wide-eyed shock, the blush that’s flushing down your neck, the way you open your mouth as if to say something equally as flirtatious back, your laugh, like this is actually way more casual than it is. 

“So I’ll take that as a yes,” He says. You could get used to the playful lilt in his voice. 

“Only if you promise you won’t just copy my work.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, suddenly very aware of how tall he is. 

“I live and die by the honor code, y/n. Of course I won’t,” Yoongi says, leaning ever closer to you in the cramped hallway. 

You quirk an eyebrow. “Does a man of honor text me like you did last night?” 

“Oh come on. If you’re going to be friends with me you’re going to have to learn to laugh at dirty humor.” Friends? It’s a start, at least. 

“Who said that I didn’t like dirty humor?” 

“Hmm, I did.” There’s a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before. “You’d have to be a woman of your word and show me.” 

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” You flash an innocent smile, like you don’t see the implication of what he’s saying. 

~

Tuesdays have always been the most bittersweet day of the week for you. It’s lesson day, but oh, it’s lesson day. It feels like the day of judgement, every single week. It’s a culmination of all the blood and tears that you’ve poured into your music in the past week, another chance at evaluation. You’ve known your violin teacher longer than you’ve been in college, and it still shouldn’t scare you this much.

The nervousness spins and dips in your chest as you make your way up the winding stairs that lead to the music building. You usually soothe the apprehension by reminding yourself of all the things you’ve done to prepare, just like you usually do before you go out on stage. This week you were supposed to get the rest of the Bach partita memorized and cleaned up, but it still resides in your memory as disjointed bits and pieces of what it’s actually supposed to sound like. You try to run through the parts that you were stuck on last night, but you draw a blank. You usually don’t take this long to commit pieces to memory, but when you open up your score, all you can think about is the unmoving stare of the audience. Seeing your life flash before your eyes every time you stare at your pencil markings isn’t exactly conducive to productive practice sessions. 

As you retrieve your violin from your locker and make your way to the practice room, you feel like you’re preparing yourself for your own undoing—every scale, every tick of the metronome—another step towards your demise. 

It shouldn’t be this serious, but the pitter-pattering of your heart says otherwise. You glance at the clock. It’s time. You pack up now, so you have a couple extra minutes to wait solemnly outside of her office, staring at the posters that advertise the professionals who come to perform concerts at your college. Next week, a pianist and violinist duo is coming. In the picture, they’re smiling proudly next to a Steinway piano. They look proud of themselves. They probably don’t feel like they’re allergic to the stage, probably live for the audience’s applause. That’s probably how they ended up there on the poster, after all. 

Your violin teacher isn’t scary. She’s a homey, lovely old woman whose wrinkles come from a lifetime of smiling. She’s the type to bring you sweet, homemade pastries that are almost as warm as her hugs during the toughest parts of the semester. Which makes the moments when she’s unhappy all the more painful. It’s not her fear that plagues you, but disappointment. 

The door clicks open, and you have no more time to ponder your failures as a musician. You gather your things and head inside. Nothing inside her office has changed since the previous week. The same teetering stack of well-loved method books sits on her chair, the same humidifier whirring steadily in the corner, the same Dr. Kim Hyung-Seo sitting on the piano bench. 

“Good afternoon, y/n! How’s the Bach coming along?” She asks, like you haven’t spent the past week treating this piece like your mortal enemy. She takes a sip of her warm chamomile tea, from the same snowman-shaped mug that she’s used every week, because she is that endearing. In another life, she would probably be your grandmother. 

“Good morning. Ah, you know…” You trail off and gesture into the air, trying to hide your grimace. How could you possibly describe the unease and unsureness around performing without crossing some kind of professional boundary? 

“Let’s hear it, it’s okay. Are you all warmed up?” You nod as you unpack your things again. As you move to put the Bach score on the music stand, she tuts. 

“Didn’t we agree that this would be memorized last week?” Dr. Kim flips through her lesson notes, inky blue scrawling over the pages. “Yeah, it should be memorized. Close the score, darling.” Usually, when Dr. Kim calls you darling, warmth unfurls in your chest and you beam. You’re not feeling particularly warm right now. 

“Ah, okay…” With slow reluctance, you close the score, the plain paper cover mocking you. You lift your bow to your violin, and shut your eyes. You don’t want to watch this. 

~

Yoongi (4:38pm): Hey 

Yoongi (4:38pm): wanna study tonight :] 

If there’s anything Yoongi is good at, it’s having perfect timing. You half-walk, half-run out of the music building, sucking frigid air into your lungs. The cold weather seems to force the tears back into your eyes. If there was ever a worst-case scenario for how a lesson could go, then that was what just played out in the music room. 

Shutting your eyes won’t stop the barrage of images, playing the world’s cruelest slideshow behind your eyelids. Your teacher’s pursed lips, the still fingers clasped over her mug, the pinched brow. 

“y/n, we don’t have much more time to clean it up…” Her words echo in your head. “We’ll try again next week…” The disappointment was the worst thing, the downward tone in her voice. “I expected better…” 

You (5:15pm): maybe 

You (5:15pm): what time? 

  Yoongi (5:20pm): like now 

Yoongi (5:23pm): are you busy? 

  You (5:25pm): no I just finished up a lesson 

You (5:26pm): i’m about to study in the library if you want to join me 

  Yoongi (5:30pm): I don’t want to go to the library :( 

  You (5:31pm): why not 

  Yoongi (5:32pm): if I feed you dinner will you come to my apartment 

Yoongi (5:33pm): I really don’t want to walk to the library it’s too damn cold 

  After all, the best way to a woman's heart is through her stomach.

  You (5:35pm): fine 

You (5:35pm): it better be a hell of a dinner 

  Yoongi (5:36pm): of course it will 

Yoongi sends you his location, and you’re walking as fast as you can through the campus to make it to his apartment before you can freeze your fingers off. 

~

Yoongi’s expression is nothing short of scandalized when you show up at his door. It’s a typical mouse hole apartment, his front door identical to all the other ones that you’d passed to get here. 

“You’re not wearing gloves? In this weather?” 

“I don’t have any…” You rasp out. You’re tired. Your throat hurts from trying to hold tears back during your entire lesson, and you have no spirit left to give Yoongi an innuendo-laced comeback. 

I expected better. 

“Oh my god, you’ve been playing violin for how many years and nobody ever told you to wear gloves when it’s cold?” He leads you inside, the warmth abating the cold that’s wormed its way underneath your clothes and into your bones. 

“For God’s sake, y/n, hasn’t anyone ever told you about the importance of blood circulation?” Yoongi clasps your hands between his, rubbing and blowing air on them to warm them up. He doesn’t notice your surprise amid his chastising, muttering something about common sense. You don’t try to keep your guard up this time, just trying to bite tears back at the mention of musicianship. The firm press of his hands grounds you. 

“There.” He smiles, proud of himself. “Warm now?” 

Oh yeah, you’re definitely warm. In every dimension of the word. But you don’t tell him that, so you settle for a weak nod. 

“You can put your stuff there. I’m hungry now, let’s eat first?” You hum in affirmation as you settle your heavy backpack on his cramped couch. 

It turns out that Min Yoongi’s idea of gourmet cooking is heating up two freezer-burnt Hot Pockets while you watch him putter around the tiny kitchenette. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him without his glasses, and this is when you finally internalize that Yoongi will always look good no matter what he does or wears or says. 

“You made it seem like you were cooking,” You say, just to fill the silence. 

“Uhhhh, I don’t know who told you I was capable of cooking, but they were wrong. I can show you a good time in other ways, no?” 

You snort. 

In hopes of saving time, he microwaves both of Hot Pockets at the same time. You silently bristle at the fact that even your dinner is getting more action than you are these days. 

You and Yoongi eat together in his tiny living room, sitting on mismatched stools.  

“How did your lesson go?” Yoongi says, more focused on eating than on you. 

“Oh…” You set your Hot Pocket down, sighing in defeat. The image of Dr. Kim sitting behind the piano bench, her dissatisfaction like a noxious cloud. “I… I…  got ripped apart. I’m a little behind with preparing for the Bach festival, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing I do or prepare will make me less stressed about it.” You slump onto the counter, recounting all the things you did wrong in your lesson today. I expected better. 

“What’s the stress about? We still have over a month, right?” You’re suddenly jealous of Yoongi. His nonchalance, his seemingly constant reassurance that everything is going to be okay. 

“I’m not worried about that… just, no matter how much I practice, I’m gonna fuck it up on stage.” Your forehead pinches in frustration. 

“Are you that nervous?” 

“I’ve always been this nervous. For any performance. I haven’t performed alone in a while… and you know. It’s Bach, and everyone expects me to do some amazing job, and it’s like, I don’t know if I can deliver that and-” Yoongi eases his hand on your shoulder, calm, reassuring. He looks concerned. Like he cares. Like a friend. 

“When was the last time you played something just for the fun of it?”

“I don’t know, maybe my freshman year? I used to arrange themes from movies.” 

“We should work on something together, just for fun. We’re such a perfect instrument combo, there’s so much repertoire for violin and piano.” 

“What did you have in mind? Do you even have enough time for that?” (You know you don’t have enough time for that.) 

“It doesn’t even have to be a difficult piece. It could be something easy or hard, I don’t care.” Yoongi ponders his next words over a bite of his food. “I… I... just want to see you less stressed out. And music should always be fun, not just for a grade. What kind of music would you be making if you weren’t happy?” 

“I don’t know…” 

“I know this one Brahms piece that I think you’d like. Totally fits your vibe. We can just work on it slowly, you know? Or we could arrange the Anpanman theme song, I don’t care.” 

~

“I think I’m mostly good for the midterm, except for the composer dates,” Yoongi spins around in his office chair, dragging his feet on the ground. 

“Me too,” You say, as you drink in the sight of his room. For someone who claims to abhor studying and all things academic, Yoongi appears to be quite the organized student. Despite the constant claim that his education is merely a necessary evil, he keeps his notes organized in uniform binders on a well-cared for bookshelf. The bookshelf is adjacent to the extremely detailed wall calendar, marked full with due dates and deadlines in pens of various colors. 

He runs his fingers over the binders to locate the binder allocated to the species counterpoint class you’re taking together. 

“I already have flashcards for everything before the Romantic Era, but I’m so fucked for everything else.” 

“Why not just use Quizlet like everyone else?” You say. You eye his neatly made bed and the Kumamon stuffed animal shoved hastily underneath it. 

“Back in my day, we used flashcards like cavemen,” Yoongi reasons, despite the fact that your birthdays are months within each other. “And besides, they feel better in your hand.” Of course, they’re indexed by color and musical era. 

~

“Ugh, I hate sitting at my desk. My back is starting to hurt,” Yoongi says, despite having worked for about ten minutes. “Do you want to lay down?” He pats the fluffy comforter adjacent to him. Yoongi doesn’t wait for your response however, plopping down on the bed with an audible thump. 

“Okay, old man,” You jibe, but you’ve also been sitting for a majority of the day. Your back is aching too, but you’ll never admit it to him. 

Sometimes, at times like these, you wish you could just muster up the courage and stop playing this game of cat and mouse with him. When you lay on his sheets that smell like him, quizzing each other, you wonder what would happen if you confessed your feelings for him, right then and there. 

Or outlined exactly how exactly you would take his cock in your mouth, given the chance. Other times, you consider the fact that he might like to play with his food before diving in. Whatever it was, it scared you, the unease climbing up your spine and staying put. 

You wonder if he understands the implication of you so casually lounging on his bed, but then you realize that you likely don’t exist in the realm of romantic possibilities for him. He likely sees you as the nerdy, sexless violinist that spends all her time slaving away in the practice room or the library. That’s why you’re here, after all. To help study for the midterms coming up. “Being friends with him is better than nothing,” you tell yourself, but you can’t really bring yourself to believe it. 

You don’t remember, or at least don’t care to, when Yoongi started touching every aspect of your life. It’s really only been a couple of weeks since the two of you started studying together. You don’t dare to imagine how much of your thoughts he would occupy if you continue your friendship into the coming months. If your crush of massive proportions was bad before, it’s truly out of hand now. It certainly didn’t help that he actually knew you existed now. He spammed you gifs of baby animals while he was on the way to class, texted you links to performances of pieces that he was working on. He even began to send you teasing texts on the mornings that he made it to the practice rooms before you. 

Every experience you have is colored by thoughts of him. The coffee that you drink like ambrosia conjures up images of him sitting across from you in some far-off sunlit cafe, laughing at all your jokes. On the nights when sleep escapes  you, you lay awake rehashing over and over what you had said to him on the previous day. You even fall into reveries when he’s sitting there right next to you. 

 It’s inescapable, especially with the Bach Festival looming over your head. The more time you spend in the practice room, the more you go back to that one fateful night. You can still see the image of him now, sitting before the piano, playing Chopsticks. 

You both make your way through the fat deck of flashcards, Yoongi quizzing you first. 

“J.S. Bach?” You note to yourself even the upswing in his voice was cute. How did you ever let yourself get so whipped?

“1685 to…” You falter, still stuck on his voice. Even his voice drives you crazy. 

“Come on, you should know this.” He drives his point home by poking you in the side, and he likes the gasp that you make. 

“1750.” Of course you know Bach’s birth and death dates by heart. You see it every time you open up your score. Even the scant prod he gave you in the side, over your clothes, is enough to make your skin heat up. 

“And if you ever tickle me again, you won’t live long enough for midterms,” You threaten, but your harsh tone of voice doesn’t reach the light in your eyes. 

“Brahms?” 

“Ugh, fuck, I don’t know. 1832 to?” 

“Wrong.” He sets the cards down next to him, looking at you in mock disappointment. In an instant, he attacks you with tickles, and your efforts to bat him away are fruitless. 

“This-this is what you get for not knowing when Brahms was born! Learn through punishment! 1833 to 1897, remember that next time!!” He collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, unrelenting. Yoongi sounds almost gleeful in your torture. 

You writhe under his touch, and for all the wrong reasons. 

For the first time in your life, you’re almost glad you’re ticklish. Your eyes roll back into your head, not of your own accord. It’s too much, the soft skin of his cheek pressed up against your neck, the warm weight of his body against yours, the way his legs cage you in. A moan slips in between your helpless giggles, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. 

“Uhhh, what was that?” He doesn’t stop, merciless in his advance. “I didn’t know you liked tickling… like that.” He’s teasing you, now. He can’t hide his pleased grin. 

Between gasps, you manage to pant, “I… don’t…” 

“Then what? Tell me.” That’s when Yoongi relents, leaning back. He continues to straddle you, because he’s cruel like that. (And because he likes it too.)

“You’re just… ugh, I don’t know… so close.” In Yoongi’s eyes, you’re a study in debauchery. From your struggle, your hair is mussed, the hem of your shirt awry. Your cheeks are flushed, from embarrassment or from the tickling, you don’t know. Your chest frantically rises and falls, trying to regain your breath. 

You, on the other hand, feel fucking ridiculous. Contrary to popular belief, being on the recieving end of tickling is fucking physically exhausting. 

Yoongi is stuck on the hot and bothered look on your face, except for the hard look in your eye. You despise being tickled, even if it is Min Yoongi doing the tickling. He wonders what you’d look like if you were underneath him in… different circumstances. 

Would it compare? 

“I… I… I just…” You avert your gaze now, hiding your face behind your hands. You can’t stand to look at him right now. 

“Spill it, or I’ll go back to tickling you until you break.” He grabs your hands away from your face, pinning them next to your head. 

He really isn’t going to make this easy for you, is he. 

This is overwhelming. The eye contact is too much. The weight of his hands on your wrists, holding you down, is too much. The way his panting breath tickles the skin beneath your collar is too much. You’ve had a bad day, the voice in the back of your head whispers. He makes you forget how awful this semester has been. He makes you feel better. Make this day easier on yourself. Just give in. 

There’s no hiding it now, you concede. 

You shut your eyes, unable to face him. “It’s just… been a while.” 

“Uh-huh. Continue?” He places his hands back on your stomach, as if in warning. 

“Since uhhhh… I’ve done… anything… with anyone…” Your words hang heavy in the air. Your secret is out. 

He laughs. He really has the audacity to laugh. 

“Shut up! I’m just like, touch starved, okay?” You’re definitely just blushing out of embarrassment, at this point. 

Yoongi starts to ponder if he crossed too far of a line, but you continue anyway.  You huff, indignant and desperate to cover your ass. This is not how you ever imagined telling Yoongi you were ever interested in him, sexual or not. 

“Not everyone is like, the campus pussy magnet and gets to fuck whenever they want,” You say. 

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’m not the campus pussy magnet. We’re... not so different. I haven’t been with anyone, um, in a while.” Now Yoongi takes his turn to blush and stutter. He does that thing he always does when he’s nervous, runs a hand through his hair and lets it rest on the nape of his neck.  

“I find that hard to believe. No need to lie out of pity. Like, come on. Look at you. You’re all…” You gesture down his body, “And you have that whole vibe going on, and you’re tall, and you have good taste in cologne, and-and-and you play the piano , and ugh. You should know that by now.” You babble on. You’re not that good at keeping secrets, anyway. Might as well let the cat out of the bag while you’re at it. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you’re not fazed. By now, you’re used to the long silences that elapse when you’re with him. You wait for him to talk first, just so you can discreetly enjoy the feeling of him straddling you for a little longer. You try to pass off the silence as you quietly fuming at him for calling out your lackluster sex life, but you’re really just trying get yourself together. 

Then he starts laughing. Again.  

“What are you laughing for now?” Your brow furrows in frustration. 

“Nothing, nothing, don’t be mad. I just didn’t think that tickling would be a turn on for you.” 

“It’s not!” 

“To be completely honest with you, you look like one of those really innocent soft girls on the outside but you’re actually like, into choking and have a secret sex dungeon.” He doesn’t seem to care that you’ve all but revealed your massive, terminal crush on him. 

You sigh, but you’re just glad he gave you something to fire back with. 

“You and I both know that the university dorms are too small for a sex dungeon, Yoongi. I can’t even have candles in my room. What sex dungeon is complete without candles?” 

“Oh, a devil in the details. The ambiance is important, I see…” That devious smile of his makes a comeback. 

“Oh, shut up. Give me the flashcards, four-eyes.” He relinquishes the flashcards, but he still continues to straddle you. 

“Woah, there’s no need to insult my glasses.”

You ignore him, desperate to move on from your momentary lapse in judgement. “Haydn?”

“1732 to 1809. What about music? Music must be important if you care about the ambiance. Answer my question.” 

You laugh to cover up how worked up you are. “Maybe you can find out after we finish reviewing. Scarlatti?” 

“1660 to 1725. What kind of music do you listen to? R&B, something sexy?” He sits up now, spurred on by your refusal to answer his questions. 

“Or do you listen to classical music then, too? Does Chopin get your blood flowing?” He’s being insufferable now.

You groan into the pillow. “Yoongiii, let’s focus.” 

“If it’s something like Liszt, I’m sure I have a couple recommendations.” 

Yoongi sits up straighter, waggles his eyebrows in a way you definitely shouldn’t find endearing. “Or, I could record something for you…” 

You snap. “Just, I don’t know, sometimes I listen to music?” Your attempts to stop the blushing are in vain, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck. It’s even harder to stop when it’s your embarrassingly short sexual history on the line. 

“I prefer dirty talk anyways…” You murmur under your breath, wishing he could just get the fuck off your case. The more he keeps talking about things like this, in that tone of voice, the harder it’s going to get to keep your ever-growing crush a secret. 

Still, some small part (let’s be honest, the monkey brain part of you) of you, the part of you that aches for him, wants to spur him on. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing! Nothing.” 

“Hmm… something about dirty talk?” Fuck, does Yoongi have a good ear. He smiles. He knows he’s gotten you now. 

Okay, you should probably admit to yourself that he’s flirting with you now. The touches, the holding you down, the insistence on pushing this tiny matter, it all adds up. And the math says that Min Yoongi is flirting with you. 

“Mmm, nothing.” You snuggle a little deeper into his bedsheets, playing coy.

“You know, like during sex? Don’t make me tickle you again, because I will stoop that low.” 

“I don’t remember saying that…” You mock-pretend to ponder his question, catch your bottom lip between your teeth. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his gaze fall downward. You know you’ve gotten him now. 

“Can you refresh my memory?” 

“Like… you know.” He shrugs. 

“I’m an auditory learner. Do you have an example?” 

“Hmm, let me think… I’ll tease you until you’re begging for me to touch you properly? Does that ring a bell for you?” 

“No…” You bring your hands to your face to cover up your blush, and because you can’t stand to look at him. Not when he’s talking to you like that, with that look in his eye, his hands on your body. “It doesn’t…” You laugh, even beneath his weight. 

He laughs. “I’m just teasing. You’re so cute when I get a rise out of you.” 

Oh. 

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

“My Babysittee’s a Vampire”

Spike x Reader, BTVS

Warnings: cursing, partial nudity, a little pain? but not necessarily violence. Possible spoilers.

Description: The reader volunteers to watch Spike at Giles’s house while the others do some sluthing, but nothing goes as planned. It turns out that vampires are very hard to babysit.

Spike swore that the chip in his head prevented him from hurting anyone, but you weren’t so sure. Giles decided to keep him chained up in the house for observation and that required someone to actually observe him. You volunteered.

You were still the weakest of the Scoobies, unfortunately (except for maybe Anya, but she got points for being an ex-demon). There wasn’t much you could do except get in the way of the monster fighting. But if you could be helpful by staying in and doing some homework, hey. You weren’t going to complain.

“What, Buffy can’t even be bothered to watch me herself, now that I’m all neutered?”

Spike was in a hell of a mood, seemingly forgetting that he had come to you and your friends for sanctuary. It probably didn’t help that Giles and Xander chained him up in the bathtub.

“She’s busy.” You were unsure of whether or not you were trying to comfort him or just get him off your back. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit here and stare at the bloody wall all night?”

“Mhmm.”

You were up against the opposite wall, trying—and failing—to get through the sociology chapter your professor had assigned that day. Everyone else in the gang seemed to ignore their homework entirely, except maybe Willow, but you needed a good grade. Your future plans extended outside Sunnydale. But that was only half the trick. You also had to convince Buffy to come with you.

Spike lapsed into silence as you took your notes, the concept finally clicking into place in your head after the third time around. You highlighted and underlined, drawing triangles to help you understand the ideas of hierarchy and filling up your margins with little asides that helped you contextualize. You didn’t even wonder if you should be worried about the vampire’s sudden quiet until his voice broke through your focus.

“Read to me.”

You dropped your pen, startled. He was staring at you intently, like how you imagined a lion might study its prey. Like everything else had faded from view and he was trying to decide whether or not to take his chances on the hunt.

“I-It’s just soc-sociology,” you stuttered, holding up the textbook for him to see. “I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“I like people.” Spike bared his teeth in a grin that you guessed was supposed to be charming or encouraging, but toed past the line to frightening. When you hesitated, he sweetened his voice, practically cooing, “Come on. What harm could it do?”

So you did. He never asked you to stop and explain anything or gave any indication that he didn’t understand, but you interjected your own learnings in anyway. You almost forgot that it was him you were talking to. Willow used to really value school, and she was still the smartest person you knew, but witchcraft was taking over her areas of interest and none of the others cared about this kind of stuff unless you were helping them with their own homework. It was nice to have a rapt audience, even if he was literally being held captive.

“Basically, he’s saying that social environment shapes how we act and react to situations. Like in the Stanford Prison Experiment.” Your eyes darted from the text to Spike, waiting for a nod or something, but he looked as much like a statue as ever. “Good people can be made to do bad things because of the pressure they feel, real or imagined, to follow the rules that have been set in their environment.”

You waited for him to tell you that you had been right before and he was bored, but instead he leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. The chains around his midsection clanked against each other and you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even though your heart felt like it might beat out of your chest.

“What about bad people?”

Being around Buffy and the others, around so much supernatural for so many years, had made you into a person who could handle most things with a cool head. It was a required skill. You could freak out about the little things—tests, dating, work—though they seemed to matter less now than ever. But you couldn’t let the supernatural world scare you shitless unless you wanted to shut down completely. Your hands trembled where they grasped your book, but you kept your voice even. You forced your eyes upward to meet Spike’s.

“You tell me.”

——

You couldn’t run away from him, even though you were deeply and truly uncomfortable, so you excused yourself and went to the kitchen for a snack. You knew you shouldn’t leave him alone for too long, chip or not, so you sat down at the table and tried to catch your breath. You were counting down from one hundred when he started shouting about blood.

“It’s unfair,” he said when your frame filled the doorway, arms crossed, “that you get your snack and I don’t get mine.”

At this, his eyes raked down your body. You doubted that the gang would mind much if they came back to find him with a broken nose, but you exercised some hard-won self-control and dug your nails into your palms. Spike was smart and if he was working you up, it was probably for a reason. You treaded back to the kitchen and returned with a mug filled with some B negative that Giles had “borrowed” from the hospital’s blood bank.

“This is the last of the human stuff,” you told him with some satisfaction. “Next you’re drinking pig’s blood.”

You held the mug well away from you, willing your eyes to ignore the splatters on the rim from when you had poured it in. Spike cocked his head.

“Are you going to unchain me, or—?”

“I’ll get a straw.”

When you came back, he was slumped against the inside wall of the porcelain tub. You sat on the edge, held the mug up for him, and turned your head away, enough that you couldn’t see him take his first sip but not enough that he would notice. The sound by itself was almost worse.

“It’s cold.”

“I’m not running a hotel. You’re a hostage.”

“I’m a guest seeking asylum.”

You sucked in a deep breath. “Fine.” You couldn’t bicker with him any more. You needed this to be over.

You warmed it in the microwave, swearing the whole time, and brought it back with both hands wrapped around the mug to keep yourself from throwing the blood in Spike’s face. He smiled as if he knew what you were thinking and relaxed against the tub, tilting up only his chin so that you had to sink to your knees against the tile floor to get an angle that would work.

“I could get used to this,” he mused when he had finished. A few droplets splattered on your hands. You tried not to look at them and began soaping up in the sink.

“Don’t.”

“You know, love, Passions is on in twenty, if your watch is correct.”

You unclasped it from your wrist and wiped it off with a damp tissue. “Forget it.”

“I guess we could always read more from the textbook.” You caught his crafty smirk in the mirror. “You seemed to like that well enough.”

You sighed. “Will it get you off my back?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Fine.”

You crossed to the tub and tried to puzzle out how to lift him without breaking anything. Spike’s hands were bound in front of him by a separate set of chains than his body to make it more difficult for him to escape and give him some limited mobility. His back was flush up against the tub wall, pressed to the porcelain in a way that would make it difficult to pull him up from behind. There was a small amount of space in between his legs, as his feet had been spread to either side of the tap.

“Well?”

“Shut up.”

You stepped into the tub gingerly, easing over the high rim to stand in between Spike’s legs in the space provided. It wasn’t much, and you caught the fabric of his jeans under your foot at first, but you adjusted.

Next you placed your arms on either side of his chest right under his arms.

“Lift with me,” you said, and together you managed to get him to sit on the edge of the tub. “Okay, next—”

He straightened out, trying to stand before you were ready for him, overcompensating so he wouldn’t hit the wall nearest to him and then hitting you with the full force of his weight as he toppled forward.

“Fuck, Spike!”

He was so goddamn heavy. His chest pressed against your face, forcing your back to the wall where the tap caught you in the back of the lower thigh and tore the skin. You couldn’t shove him back unless you wanted him to fall out the back of the tub and onto the floor, possibly cracking his skull in the process. It was tempting, but your reputation as a babysitter would be shredded.

“This isn’t exactly comfortable for me either, you know!”

“Ouch. Ouch. Fuck. Okay, I’m going to push you back slowly. Try to keep your balance.”

But when you moved your leg to keep it from being pressed against the spout, you hit the knob for the cold water, which came pouring down over your heads.

Spike cursed so loudly the neighbors could probably hear. “Turn it off!”

“Stand up! I can’t turn it off with you all over me like this!”

He righted himself too quickly and fell backward back into the floor of the tub, sending his legs sprawling out beneath you. Your feet were knocked out from under you and you fell on top of him heavily, bruising your elbow and knocking your chin against his sternum as the water poured on.

“Fuck,” he whispered, unable to do anything else. It took you both a moment to adjust to the pain and you closed your eyes to your own idiocy.

“Did you hit your head?” you asked finally, reaching out a hand to the platinum blond mop that was now plastered against his skull.

“Turn. The bloody. Water. Off.”

“Okay, okay,” you huffed. He groaned as you sat up, spreading your legs to either side of his hips to steady yourself and keep from slipping in the tub that was slowly filling up. “But this was all you. You had to watch Passions.”

“You’re the one,” he grunted, “who volunteered to play babysitter.”

The shower head drenched you as you twisted and leaned back to flick the knob off.

“I’m normally good with kids, so I figured I could handle one whiny brat for a night.”

You were breathing heavily, your body throbbing from all the places you had scraped and bruised in the struggle. Spike didn’t look much better, although you supposed he had his super vampire healing or whatever. You weren’t worried about it. Your clothes, on the other hand...

“Now what?”

Carefully, you stood and stepped out of the tub. You avoided your textbook on the ground as you grabbed a towel from the cabinets underneath the sink and wrapped it around yourself.

“You can’t leave me here.”

There was at least an inch of water kept in the tub by the plugged drain. It would probably serve Spike right to sit there all night. You both knew that the others would find it funny rather than an exercise in abuse of authority.

“Take the chains off,” he said, switching his tone from murderous to honeyed. “I promise I won’t bite.”

“You can’t,” you retorted, before realizing you had proven his point. “I mean, if what you say is true.”

“Do you think I would be here right now if it wasn’t?”

You couldn’t. This was the setup for a disaster. Things like this always happened to you guys.

“Look, I could’ve hurt any of you before you chained me up. I didn’t.”

He did look kind of pitiful, soaking and lying on his back in the bathtub.

“Maybe you were playing the long game. And now you’ve decided it’s not for you.”

Your words made sense, but you were wavering. Maybe you had a death wish. You left the room for a moment and returned with the key.

“Your hands stay locked up.”

“Fine.”

You were all too aware how close to him you were now, to his mouth. You barely breathed when you stepped into his personal bubble and let the chains slide to the floor. His lips twisted as he looked down on you and before you could step back, his face contorted and he stretched his mouth open.

“Ow! Fuck! Bloody hell!” he cried, putting a hand to his head as you fell back onto the floor on your already sore ass, scrambling backward. “It was a joke!”

“Buffy should have staked you,” you spat, but you led him into the living room anyway.

The two of you were still dripping all over the carpet, but you ducked into Giles’s closet after re-hiding the key and brought out two pairs of pajama pants and a t-shirt.

As it was, you had to take the scissors to Spike’s shirt and throw it out. It was impossible to get it off with the chains on, though you gave it a shot anyway and ended up tangling Spike in it. It was kind of gratifyingly funny to see his head tucked in under the fabric as he struggled.

“You bloody witch!”

“Stop squirming!”

The pants were worse. He had to sit down in the armchair as you shimmied his soaked jeans off, leaving him only in boxers.

“Like what you see?”

“Shut up or I’ll leave you like this.”

Getting the pajamas on was even harder. He had to stand up, support himself by leaning his hands on your shoulder, and kind of hop into the legs of it as you held them up. They were big on him, too, but you tied the drawstrings as tightly as you could, which meant having your hands near a very sensitive area for a few seconds. Ultimately, the pants still hung low on his hips, and you wrinkled your nose in frustration. When you pulled back, Spike had his lips puckered, stringently trying to avoid laughter.

“So you’re just going to leave me in damp knickers?”

“We’re all having to make sacrifices today. Turn around.”

You didn’t want to leave him again, not even for a second, afraid of the trouble he’d get up to on his own. You yanked off your own jeans and t-shirt, watching his back in case he disobeyed you, unable to ignore how muscled and lean he was.

Goddamnit, he really could kill you if he had half a mind to. You’d been training ever since you’d found out what Buffy was, but with school and a job, there was only so much you could fit in.

You wavered between turning around to unclasp your bra and staying in place to monitor him, but ultimately you decided it was safer to just hurry up and do it. You weren’t sure how much skin Spike saw when he went ahead and broke the rules, but it was more than you had hoped. You pulled the t-shirt over your head hurriedly, but Giles wasn’t necessarily a very big man, and it was decidedly short on you.

“Spike,” you hissed. “Go watch TV.”

“Well, we’ve probably missed Passions by now. But our romantic evening doesn’t have to be ruined.” His eyebrow quirked suggestively and you balled up your wet jeans, aiming right at his face.

“Go!”

You almost took yourself out on the corner of the coffee table as you pulled on Giles’s only pair of pajama shorts. You had to roll the top down three times for them to sit at your hips without totally falling off. Spike watched you do it. You gritted your teeth and said nothing.

When the others came back, you and Spike were in separate chairs, your hair still drying.

Xander opened his mouth and then closed it, glancing back and forth between the two of you. Giles seemed disturbed, his right eye beginning to spasm as he spotted the piles of clothes on the floor. Willow stifled a laugh, almost choking on it. And Buffy’s fists curled like she was preparing to hit one—or both—of you.

Spike didn’t look away from the TV, although the corner of his mouth twitched. You dug your fingers into the chair’s arm rests.

“I deserve a raise.”

[beyondconfessor]

Principle Decisions [3/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: Of all the shops, between Greendale and Riverdale, on all of the days, Lilith had to be in the one she’d stopped into out of convenience. 

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief.

Zelda showered when she got home, feeling the hot water sting against her marks. It ached in a way that she hadn’t expected. Sharp pain pricking over her skin until the sensation was bright in the back of her skull, unable to tell if was pain or otherwise.

She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. All she could think about was how Lilith had looked into her eyes, promising that Zelda would return home to think of her.

With the hot water burning over her back as she held the shower head over a particularly risen welt, she buried her fingers between her legs.

She hated that the woman was right.

And yet as felt the water sting over her back and felt the orgasm build with fast intensity, she could not care enough to stop.

Zelda gasped as the orgasm trembled and brokered a whine from her. She came to the echoed sound of a riding crop in her mind and the sweet purr of a good girl in her ear.

With that need solved, she finished her shower, dressing in a nightgown with a gown thrown over the top as she made her way downstairs to where Hilda was serving dinner.

Ambrose and Sabrina already sat at the table as Hilda set down the roasted vegetables on the trivet mat. The meatloaf was already set down, cooling beside it.

“How was your meeting, love?” Hilda asked.

“Perfectly adequate, though I doubt anything will come from it,” she said, knowing that it was lie in more than one way.

Sitting down, she drew herself to the table and felt the spine of the chair press against a welt. She hissed in a breath, biting her tongue. Gone by morning, Lilith had assured. Zelda very much so doubted that.

Ambrose quirked an eyebrow at her, as if subtly enquiring but she drew her eyes away, turning instead to pour herself a glass of water.

“You look different,” Sabrina commented. Zelda nearly dropped the jug of water from her hand as she looked up at her niece, wondering if her gown had slipped from her shoulder, revealing a mark. “Relaxed,” Sabrina said.

“I finished marking the most recent essays from the first years,” she advised, which was truthful enough.

“You’re never in this good of a mood until the end of the year.”

Zelda frowned. “And pray tell, what do you consider to be a good mood?”

“You came home smiling,” Sabrina said, popping a small potato into her mouth, her brow bouncing as if to dare her to disagree. “I think you went on a date.”

“Ridiculous,” Zelda said, rolling her eyes. “And in what time would I have to find myself a date? Between my work and my students, on top of looking after this family, I barely have a moment to go shopping for myself, let alone find a date.”

Sabrina frowned. “Well, you seemed happy,” she muttered. Zelda eyed her, disliking the impetuous tone she took. But before she could consider if it was worth scolding, Hilda began discussing her shift that morning at Doctor Cerberus’ bookshop.

Zelda listened but didn’t comment, watching as Ambrose and Sabrina eagerly inquired as to her work, apparently excited by the entire idea of a bookshop with a horror theme. A pang tugged at her as she realised that neither her niece nor nephew (nor her sister, for that matter) had taken half as much interest in her work.

But it was something shiny and new in the house, she supposed. It would pass. Eventually, it would be a day job like any other, and they would find new things to be excited by.

Just like her desire to engage, the dominatrix had been a passing fancy.

And yet, when Zelda went to bed that evening, she felt herself replay the scene over and over, remember each strike and tease the woman had played, and how her hands had felt, coiled and knotted so beautifully in rope. She thought of the feeling of her knees on the floor and how Lilith’s nails had raked across her skin.

And the feeling of her walls shattering with the impact of each strike.

It had been…

No, she couldn’t admit that. Submission and impact play was one thing, but crying, she couldn’t honestly find deliverance from someone hitting her hard enough she cried, could she? It should go against her very nature––after all, the only reason she’d become so clever about sneaking out of the house was to avoid that very punishment.

But then…it’d been different.

The way Lilith’s hand had splayed against her ribs. How she’d known her limit was met and just undid everything so seamlessly, holding her until she…

Zelda turned in the bed, pushing the thought away as a lump grew in her throat. No, she didn’t want to think about it any further, couldn’t allow herself to sink in that feeling.

She awoke the next day and dressed before going down to breakfast. Sabrina already sat at the breakfast table, legs swinging as she flicked through the morning newspaper. Hilda was likely asleep, given that it was Sunday, and Ambrose wouldn’t be up until the afternoon.

Zelda moved around the kitchen, making herself a morning coffee as from out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Sabrina flicked through the newspaper, drinking in the stories. A part of her hoped that it was her niece trying to emulate her, but truthfully she knew that whatever Sabrina was attempting to do was her own agenda entirely.

“What time are you going to Roz’s?” she asked.

“Theo’s,” Sabrina corrected. “Could you drop me off by ten?”

Zelda nodded. She didn’t mind Theo. Sabrina’s friends had always been polite, making small talk when they came to the house, but she’d always been sweet on Theo and Sabrina’s friendship in her own way. Turning her eyes away when they snuck cookies before dinner or giving into Sabrina’s begging to ask Mr Putnam if Theo could stay the night.

Perhaps it was because Theo was Sabrina’s very first friend in grade school. Or perhaps it was because she saw elements of herself in the boy. Either way, she felt more comfortable that Sabrina was staying at the Putnam’s over the Walker’s.

Coffee in grip, she stood, watching Sabrina go back to reading the newspaper. “And you’ve finished your homework?” she asked.

“I’ve got one more thing to do, but I was going to do that with Theo and Roz.”

Zelda’s eyebrows rose. “Is it a group project?” she asked.

“Sort of,” Sabrina shrugged.

“Sabrina, the agreement was that if you were to go to a sleepover, you would have your homework finished before then.”

Sabrina paused and looked up, her eyes flicking to Zelda in an act of teenage rebellion as she cast a dark look. “It’s just a small project for bio. If we work together, it will be faster.”

Zelda pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth to prevent from snapping at her niece. Taking a breath, she stared into Sabrina cool eyes and gave the warning as sharp as she could. “If you don’t honour the agreements you’ve made, people will stop providing them to you. Finish your homework, or you’ll be calling your friends to advise that you will, unfortunately, be unable to make it.”

Sabrina shut the newspaper in what appeared to be an attempt to make a loud noise as she pushed the stool back. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll finish it if that’s what you want.” And then she was off, storming up to her bedroom.

Zelda closed her eyes, drinking in the cup of coffee. Sabrina’s mood swings were becoming worse. Edward himself used to get into foul moods as a teenager, but his had been a fit of quiet anger, bottling inside of him. Sabrina’s seemed to be steadily becoming explosive.

She hadn’t known Diana as a teenager but suspected the woman had always had a softer temperament. Though, her temperament could have just been due to the catholic raising she had, surpassing every anger out of her.

Rolling her head on her neck, Zelda touched over the back of her shoulder.

In the bathroom mirror this morning, she’d looked over herself to see if she could see any of the marks, but to her surprise, Lilith had been right. The welts had reduced. There was only one that remained, and so as long as she wasn’t wearing anything backless, it was unlikely to be seen.

There was a sound of the door slamming, and Zelda surpassed the urge to walk up there and tell Sabrina off for making such a noise. However, her frustration at the disrespect shown sat heavy, like there was a stone in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, in a mood, is she?” Hilda asked as she looked up at the ceiling. Her sister was still dressed in her nightgown as she began fussing around the kitchen, curlers in her hair.

“Quite,” Zelda advised. “We had an agreement that if she finished her homework, she would be able to attend whatever event she’s having with her friends, but it seems she’s decided to do it on her own terms.” Drawing the coffee to her lips, she reached for the newspaper and flicked it open.

It was the local Sunday paper, and as such, it was mostly filled with fluff. Zelda flickered through the articles, reading over the local scandal with the Blossom family, to an article regarding a new highway that was set to start next year. Then finally, she found herself at the classifieds, running through the personals section. Her eyes drew over the paper before she looked away.

Lilith wasn’t there, and she wasn't sure why she was looking for her name along those lines.

“Any plans for the day?” Hilda enquired. “I thought I’d work out in the garden myself.”

“Just work, sister,” she commented, dropping the newspaper down. Perhaps she should busy herself with the intended work. She had a journal article to write and a deadline for herself to have the first draft finished by the end of the semester.

Setting her coffee cup aside, she made her way into her office, shutting the door behind her. There had been a time, long ago, when this was her father’s office. Many of his books remained on the shelves, denoting laws long since repealed. Yet there was a strange comfort to the room as she took her seat behind the heavy desk.

When Edward had married, Zelda had been certain that he would take over the home, and she would need to move accommodations elsewhere, but he hadn’t. Choosing to move in with Diana, and leaving the house, large as it was, in Zelda’s hands to oversee.

And then, when Edward had passed, Hilda had brought Ambrose and herself back to Greendale to help with arrangements, and then never left. For that, she was grateful, though Zelda would never admit out loud. She was perfectly capable of raising Sabrina by herself––and had for the most part––but the house was big, and Ambrose and Hilda both helped to fill it.

She switched on the computer, pulling up her files as she opened up saved documents she’d downloaded.

Reading through the last segment she wrote, she found herself suddenly clicking open the browser.

Lilith’s website was burned into her mind (easy as it was to remember) and she found herself without even thinking, typing it into the address bar. The website loaded, asking her if she was over 18. Rolling her eyes, she clicked yes.

The website, not unlike how the townhouse had been, was designed with elegance in mind. However, there was a stronger theme of red than the house had.

It had the usual things you’d expect, a blurb about the so-called Madam Satan which detailed usual tantalising information. Photos that disguised her face, and mostly showed her in a range of outfits with different devices. Most of them tame, with her seeming to go for the I could be your boss look whilst holding onto the familiar riding crop, whereas others involved a more-expected look of leather and fishnet stockings.

Zelda flicked through the website, past the contact us section, across to the take a tour of the townhouse (which showed photos that elegantly showed off the house (with a more detailed, daylight view of the backyard).

And then, finally, Zelda clicked on services.

There she scrolled through the services, glancing through bondage, domination/submission, impact play, medical play, mistress/pet and other standard kinks that Zelda had either heard about or experienced herself. She was intrigued by a few, disregarded many as just not being her thing, and then found herself pausing over one specifically.

Girlfriend experience, deluxe.

Includes everything in the girlfriend experience package, with a few bonuses. Discuss with Madam Satan to get this tailored* experience to your liking. Recommended with weekend bookings.

*advised to be a repeat client to experience the full benefit.

Zelda clicked out of the browser, feeling the warmth spread across her face. She wasn’t naive, she knew very well what the girlfriend experience was, and yet somehow the idea of a tailored experience sent a shiver down her spine.

Was that where she was at with her life? That she wanted to fall into the arms of a sex worker and pretend to have her as her girlfriend?

No, that would be absurd. She didn’t need to see the woman again. She’d had her fun, paid for it and at most, if she were going to see her again, it wouldn’t be for something like that.

Besides, it’d be far cheaper to pick-up someone if that’s what she craved. She could just drive up to the city, go to a bar and choose amongst a sea of people whoever she felt like. It wasn’t like she had difficulty with that area. It was just the hassle of going out and finding someone she did want to engage in with sex.

Plus the dance of conversation, ensuring they would wear protection, or…

Zelda closed her eyes, sitting back in the office chair. Maybe she should just call-up an old flame, see if one of her long lost paramours were in the local area.

Pushing the thought out of her head, she returned to work, reading through her last paragraph when a knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” she advised, looking up from her screen to watch as Sabrina pushed the door open, before folding her arms underneath her chest and leaning against the doorframe.

Zelda looked at the time. It was after nine. A shiver ran down her spine. How long had she spent flicking through Lilith’s website?

It didn’t matter. She turned back, watching Sabrina press her lips together as if waiting for Zelda to snap at her.

“Have you finished your homework?” Zelda inquired as softly as she could. Sabrina was looking for a fight, and the last thing she wanted was a screaming match.

“I did,” Sabrina returned shortly. Her face pinched and then she sighed, dropping her arms away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right, I promised, and I should keep to my promises.” It wasn’t a sincere apology, just a way for her niece to admit fault so she could ultimately get what she wanted.

But it was something at the very least.

“Thank you,” she said, pushing up from her office chair. She flicked the monitor screen off and stepped around the desk. “You said you were staying at Theo’s tonight?”

Sabrina nodded, a smile brushing over her face. “Popcorn and horror movies.”

“Will Harvey be there?”

“Not to stay over, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Hardly, Zelda wanted to comment. Sabrina knew as well as she did that she’d never forbade a boy from staying over. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on. If it wasn’t Sabrina sneaking off to have sex, it only further raised concerns. Sex and alcohol was one thing, but the mischief was another thing all together.

Ambrose himself had his own rebellious youth and had served house arrest up until recently as a result of a schoolboy plot gone awry. She didn’t want Sabrina slipping down the same path.

“Have you got everything you need?” Zelda asked.

Sabrina gestured to the overnight bag in the hallway before smiling at her. The bag was particularly full, and once again, Zelda felt her suspicious rise, before reminding herself that her niece should be allowed some secrets. If it were to be the act of pilfering alcohol from the liquor cabinet, then the teenagers would have their fun, and likely the evidence of their mischief would be seen tomorrow as they nursed a hangover.

Besides, Sabrina had a clever head on her shoulders. She should lay her trust in that. “Is your phone charged?”

“It is,” Sabrina agreed.  

Zelda nodded, before seeking out her handbag and keys, advising Hilda quickly as to where she was going.

“Oh, could you pick up some milk and eggs on your way back?” Hilda asked. “Used the last of it on breakfast this morning.”

“It’s hardly on my way, but if you’re so desperate that you can’t do it yourself, sister,” Zelda said with a sigh. “Was there anything else you required?”

“Oh, no. If you prefer I can cook something else, or fetch in myself—”

“No, you’ve already made your decision. No point in both of us leaving the house today.” Zelda sighed, placing on her sunglasses as she exited the house and got into the car. Sabrina was already sitting in the passenger seat, bag on the floor before her feet.

“And you’re sure that you have everything?” Zelda asked, placing her seatbelt on.

“Absolutely.”

On the drive over, Sabrina fiddled with the radio, placing on the local station as she sat back and hummed to the music. All evidence of her bad mood had evaporated and whatever was left was a humming excitement.

Zelda adjusted her sunglasses as she pulled up the Putnam farm, wondering if she should enquire with Mr Putnam of anything odd he’d noticed with his son. But as soon as they’d arrived, Sabrina was pushing out of the car and wishing her goodbye as she ran up the steps to the front door, not even providing her with the option of a polite greeting with Mr Putnam––making it all the more suspicious.

So be it, Zelda thought as she watched the door open and Sabrina cling to Theo and Roz as if it had been months since she’d them, rather than a little over a day. If they were up to no good, she was certain it would eventually come out.

Placing the car into gear, she turned around in the driveway and made her way into town, intending to pick milk and eggs from the local grocer.

A simple enough task, and one that shouldn’t have caused any issue, had it not been that as she held a basket in one hand, and walked down the aisle to where refrigeration section was at the end, she ran into none other than Lilith.

Lilith was placing flour into her own basket, turning to face down the aisle––therefore causing them to come face-to-face with each other.

It figured that despite being in this town for over fifteen years and never once having seen the woman before, she came across her the day after their rendezvous.

Lilith stared at her, eyebrows raised as if to suggest that it was her move in what she wanted to do.

She looked lovely, dressed in a familiar black trench coat over a red dress. Her hair was out, spilling down her back and Zelda once again got the urge to curl her fingers through the woman’s hair.

“Excuse me,” Zelda said politely, stepping around her to move to the refrigerator section. She could feel the woman staring at her as she made her way down to where the milk was and grabbed whatever was closest before moving to where the eggs were and snatching a dozen there before she moved to the cashier.

Except it was Greendale, which meant there were only ever two cashiers on at one time, and one was dealing with a customer who seemed to be hoarding for whatever apocalypse was coming––or realistically, was likely a farmer doing their monthly shop––and the other had a line up of two people with baskets, where Lilith was second in line.

Lilith seemed to turn at the inopportune moment and glance at her before smirking and looking away.

Girlfriend experience, deluxe ran through her head, as well as the photograph of Lilith standing in a trench coat (similar, if the not the same as the one she was wearing) and lingerie with a paddle in hand.

Zelda stepped behind her, pride refusing to let her walk away and pretend she’d forgotten something as the cashier continued to serve an older man who was slowly pulling out his wallet.

Of all the shops, between Greendale and Riverdale, on all of the days, Lilith had to be in the one she’d stopped into out of convenience.

She glanced to the other cashier, confirming again that they were still scanning through a hundred or so items for the woman before she looked back at the gentleman who seemed to be getting into a disagreement over a coupon.

Honestly! It was like the world was tormenting her.

Lilith seemed to laugh as she adjusted the basket in her hand, and Zelda felt her embarrassment only increase tenfold. Perhaps she should just step away, make some vague comment about needing coffee and return after Lilith was long gone.

“Do you often huff like that behind strangers, or is there something I can help you with?” Lilith asked as she slowly turned to look over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “You seem quite wound up by something.”

Zelda’s eyes narrowed, feeling her chest tighten at the very sight of her face again. She could imagine what the woman looked like as her mouth fell open, leaning forward to––

“Well?” the woman pressed. “Did you need something?”

“I’m fine,” she responded, adjusting her stance to look away, between the man who was requesting a manager and the woman who was still only halfway through her groceries getting packed up.

“I don’t believe I asked if you were fine,” she said, low enough that only Zelda could hear. It was said so familiarly in the same tone as she’d used last night, that Zelda felt a shiver run down her spine, as muscles became rigid with tension. “I asked if you needed something. You’re making a lot of noise for someone standing in line.”

Zelda glared at her, watching the amusement break over her face. “What do you think you’re doing?” Zelda asked.

“Making small-talk,” Lilith answered. “What do you think that you’re doing?”

“Waiting to purchase my groceries.”

Lilith’s eyes ran down to her basket and then back up again, “I see,” she said. “Had a chance to peruse my services yet?”

Zelda refrained from making any noise, though she could feel the strangled feeling of words piling into the back of her voice. But thankfully, the manager finally showed up to talk to the man.

“Oh, you have. And you’ve found something you like, haven’t you?”

Zelda averted her eyes, refusing to participate further in the conversation. If Lilith wanted to rile her up, that was fine. She would just look for another dominatrix too––

No, she wouldn’t. She wasn’t going to look for any new sex worker, because she didn’t need that service at all. Rolling her shoulders back, she watched as from out of the corner of her eye, Lilith turned away and chuckled to herself as she was finally granted the ability to be served.

Zelda pretended not to hear the small-talk with the cashier (commenting on the man who’d just left, shaking his head). And more importantly, she pretended that she wasn’t glancing out of the corner of her eye to watch Lilith as her items were transferred to a brown paper bag.

When the woman had finally left, she took a breath and sat her basket down, pulling out the milk and eggs. The cashier scanned them, she paid and then Zelda was walking back to her car, hyperaware that Lilith could be outside, leaning against a brick wall or her car in an attempt to seduce her.

But she wasn’t.

And Zelda was almost disappointed by that.

She drove home with the radio playing in the background, uncertain as to the turmoil growing in her belly. And when she finally arrived home and set the requested items on the table, Hilda walked over and opened the carton of eggs––showing that two of the eggs were cracked.

“Oh, that’s all alright,” Hilda said as she took them and placed them into the compost. “I’ll just toss them into the compost––still have a use in the end.”

“Quite right,” she said, before leaving her sister to get up to who knows what as she returned to her office, sitting down to work on her journal article.

Instead, she booked an appointment with her gynaecologist. She was overdue for a check-up anyway, and it had nothingat all to do with the Lilith because there was no way that she was going to engage in any further services with that woman, least of all sexual services.

She clicked open her word document, scrolling through the article and tried not to think about the way the woman looked when she’d flicked her eyes over her body, as if she could undress her right then and there and take her on the spot.

She closed the document down. Shut off the computer and headed upstairs, definitely not thinking of Lilith.

[hedwigstalons]

The Wings Award

After finding out that Scout Scott was canon I allowed myself to write some mush.

 I’ve loosely based the Rescue Scout structure on UK scouting in that each section is age based with a range of skills badges and awards that can be earnt.  The Wings Award is a rough approximation of the Chief Scout’s Award available to each UK section.  

 xoxoxox

 “Troop! Dismiss!”

 The call rang out across the hall causing twenty or so boys and girls to leave their places and head towards the door.  Some were already pulling their scarves off and tucking them screwed up into pockets before they had even left the room.

 “Scott, can I have a quick word before you go.”

 A smartly dressed boy approaching thirteen paused. After a quick word to the sibling by his side he turned and headed back towards the troop leader.

She appraised him as he approached.  Even at the end of a busy evening his uniform was still immaculate.  It hadn’t gone unnoticed among the leadership team that he always took a moment to readjust his shirt before final parade.  The sash band was full of badges with a few of the more recent awards spilling over onto the back.

 “Scott, this will be your last term with us here in Buzzards.  After the holidays you will be old enough to fly up to Condors.  Now I’ve had a look through your troop record and there is every chance you could achieve your Wings Award over the next term.  You only have a couple more criteria to tick off.”

 He nodded politely.  Scott was well aware of the requirements of the Wings Award, the highest award attainable within each section of Rescue Scouts.  Since the day he joined he had read and reread the criteria. Very few Scouts actually achieved the award.  He hadn’t witnessed a single Buzzard achieve their section’s Wings Award in the whole time he had been in the troop.  It was an honour had had often daydreamed about.

 He realised the troop leader had started talking again.

 “Now you only need to do one more hike and we can easily arrange that.  Chris needs to lead a nature walk for one of his awards so we can make sure you are part of the group he takes.  That just leaves getting a badge from the creative theme and mentoring a new Buzzard to prepare them for taking their oath.  That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.  We wouldn’t normally partner siblings together but Virgil is the only new Buzzard we have this term.  Will that be a problem?  Because if it is we can try and pair you with someone from a different troop.”

 Scott looked across at Virgil who was waiting patiently for him by the doors.  The shirt looked a little too big for him still and he was nervously fiddling with the end of his empty badge sash.  

 “It won’t be a problem.  I’d be happy to mentor Virgil.”

 The troop leader visible relaxed.  Rescue Scout Troop 162 hadn’t had a Buzzard earn their Wings in about five years.  The award was a rare one but most troops generally managed one or two a year and Troop 162 was earning a bit of a reputation in the district.  It wasn’t that the Troop was bad, it just didn’t seem to attract kids that lived fully to the ideals of the Rescue Scouts.  For many of those that attended it was just another club to do of an evening.  Scott Tracy had been like a beacon of light.  He had arrived as a keen ten year old and over two years later his enthusiasm was still there.  

 “That’s great.  As long as you can get one of the creative badges done in your own time you should have got your Wings before the month is out leaving time to spare before we lose you to Condors.”

 Scott saluted smartly and headed for the exit.

 Virgil chattered excitedly on the journey home. He had watched Scott head off to Rescue Scouts week after week and now he was finally old enough to join the troop too.  He had looked through all the badge criteria and was reeling off the awards he wanted to try and earn.  Scott couldn’t help but smile at the younger boy’s enthusiasm.

 “I take it you enjoyed it then?”

 Virgil nodded, his eyes shining.  The meeting had been fun but the chance to do something just the pair of them together had made it even better.  At home he had to share Scott with the others.  When he had turned ten and been told he could join the troop he felt incredibly grown up.  This was something special to them.

 “So you’ll be coming back with me next week?”

 Another nod.

 Now it was Scott’s turn to smile.  He was looking forward to sharing this with Virgil.  Their father had helped him learn what he needed for the awards but their father wasn’t always around.  Virgil was at the stage of hero worship where he hung off of Scott’s every word.  Unlike many older brothers Scott was happy with the attention.  The troop leader needn’t have worried; Scott would mentor Virgil properly and Virgil would absorb every word like a sponge.

 xoxoxox

 “A Rescue Scout is calm.  A Rescue Scout is brave.  Never scared…um, Scott, what comes next?”

 “Always prepared to help, to guide, to save.” Scott patiently finished off the oath. “Don’t look so worried.  We still have a few days before you do it for real. And if you do forget they aren’t going to throw you out.  If need be the Troop Leader can say a line and you copy, loads of kids do it that way.”

 “Did you do it that way?”

 “Well…no.”

 “Then neither will I.  Test me again.”

 It was a warm Sunday morning.  Both boys had finished all their homework and chores and were taking a slow walk towards the scout hall, day packs on their backs, ready to head off on a nature walk.  Scott had really taken the role of mentor to heart.  Every question Virgil threw his way he answered as best his could.  Virgil had become his shadow such was the younger boy’s determination to learn everything he could in preparation for taking his oath.  Because Scott took Rescue Scouts seriously, so did he.  Scott had no doubts that Virgil would be fine but with investiture day approaching the nerves were showing though.

 The younger Tracy’s enthusiasm had not gone unnoticed by the troop leaders either.  Nor had the strong bond between the pair.  While many siblings would ignore each other during troop meetings the Tracy boys tended to gravitate together.  If a game or activity called for pairs the two seemed to be magnetically attracted.  

 It was this bond, and Virgil’s tendency to follow instructions given to him by either Scott or the leaders that meant Virgil had been chosen to make up the numbers on the nature walk.  Normally the troop leaders wouldn’t send such a new scout out on an unaccompanied hike but the walk was being led by another senior Buzzard and with Scott on the scene too they were confident Virgil would be well looked after.

 The leaders were already waiting at the hall when Virgil and Scott arrived but the other Rescue Scouts making up the group had yet to appear.  Over the course of the next ten minutes the other Buzzards chosen for the excursion arrived in ones and twos.  Eventually a group of 5 girls and boys was assembled and ready to receive their instructions.

 The group safety equipment was shared out.  Chris, as leader of the excursion, grabbed the junior radio and map.  Hannah took custody of the first aid kit while Ellen packed the camping stove. That left the rope for Scott.  Virgil claimed a spare map so as not to feel left out.

 The group set off at an easy pace.  The weather was fine and they had plenty of time to complete their journey.  School had already been back a few weeks and September was drawing to a close but the heat of summer was lingering.  The paths they followed were dusty and the grasses dry.  Their small town was surrounded by prime agricultural country and it didn’t take long for the only buildings in sight to be a few scattered farmhouses.  Flat fields spread out for miles around them.

 With the exception of Virgil the group was made up of some of the oldest in Troop 162.  They chattered easily and pointed out the different plants and animals they encountered, ready for recording at the next rest point.  The monoculture that dominated the region meant the lists were pretty bland.  It didn’t matter though.  Each just enjoyed the chance to be out with their friends.

 With the sun high over head Chris called the group to a halt for a lunch stop.  They were at a small stand of trees which provided some shade and shelter from the heat which had become baking and slightly oppressive.  

 Packs were thrown gratefully to the ground.  Dust was brushed ineffectually from uniforms. More than one face was smeared with muck where sweaty brows had been wiped with a grime covered hand.  Each was grateful that they carried copious amounts of water; it made the packs heavy but they all knew better than to risk dehydration.

 They were ahead of schedule and could afford some time to relax in the little corner of calm they were resting in.  Day packs were turned into pillows as they stretched out in the shade of the trees.

 None of them realised Chris had wandered off until they heard the scream.  

 Scott was first to his feet with the others quickly following.  

 “Chris!  Chris! Where are you?”

 There was no answer.

 The four remaining Rescue Scouts crashed through the trees in the direction the scream had come from.  The pulled up short when the ground fell away in front of them.

 On the far side of the trees from the path was a creek. The channel was deep, the sides near vertical.  The stream in its base was low and languid after the hot summer.  A clear rivulet that flowed over the stony bed.  In wetter times the creek would fill with storm water as it ran off the fields for now the water was shallow and a good ten feet below the level of the ground.

 At the top of the creek bank was a neat pile of clothes. A pair of boots with socks neatly tucked inside, shirt, scarf and badge sash.

 At the bottom of the creek bank lay Chris.  The water didn’t fill the whole of the creek bed and he was sprawled on a small, silty beach.  One arm was bent at an unnatural angle.  Blood was trickling from a gash above his eye, staining the surrounding earth red.

 Scott lay on his stomach looking over the edge.  As he tried to assess the best thing to do the figure in the base of the creek groaned and tried to push himself upright before flopping painfully back to a prone position.

 The Rescue Scouts breathed a sigh of relief.  Not only was Chris alive, he was conscious.  

 It was evident that Chris had been tempted by the cool water and stripped off to paddle.  Somehow he had slipped and fallen down the bank.  What made matters worse was that Chris had kept the junior radio in his trouser pocket.  The device was lying in pieces around the fallen scout.

 They were miles from town with no way of calling for help.  The situation did not look good.  Their leaders had always drummed it in to them never to wander off alone.  Now it looks like all the dire warnings had come true.

 Scott was the first to snap out of the shock.

 “Hannah, Ellen; I need you to run to the nearest farm to call for help.  Take one of the maps so you can show them exactly where we are.  Virgil, you fetch the first aid kit and bring it straight back to me.”

 The three Rescue Scouts set off on their allocated tasks leaving Scott on the bank talking to Chris.  Virgil was soon back with him bringing not just the first aid kit but all the discarded day packs.

 “Chris, it’s going to be ok.  Hannah and Ellen have gone for help.  We’ll soon have you out.”

 A groan from the creek bed was the only response he got.

 Scott ran through all his Rescue Scout training in his head.  It was one thing to practice scenarios at the hall but quite another to meet them in real life.  The first rule was always to keep yourself out of danger.  If he tried to get down to Chris he risked the bank crumbing beneath him too and that ould lceave two of them stuck by the river.  He decided to bide his time, offering reassurance from above.  Surely the rescue services would reach them soon.

 The minutes ticked by.

 “Scotty.”  The voice from beside him was small and worried.  Scott turned to look into wide brown eyes that showed an uncharacteristic fear.  “Scotty, what if no one comes?  What if they can’t get to us out here?”

 It was a fear that Scott himself had been trying to suppress.  

 The logical side of him knew that, as long as Hannah and Ellen found a phone, then help would arrive.  The troubling question was how long that help would take to reach them. Chris’ head injury was still bleeding. Scott had tried to keep the other boy talking but Chris kept fading in and out of consciousness.  The noonday sun was also sending it’s full glare onto the stricken scout, adding the potential for heatstroke to the list of complications.

 “It’ll be ok Virg.  I want to go down and check on Chris though.”

 “But what if you slip too?”

 “How about if I use the rope?  You can help lower me down, just like when Gordon got stuck in the tree at home.”

 “But we don’t have a harness for you.”

 “I’ll tie one in to the rope.  I had to do it for the Knot Work badge.”  Scott sounded more confident than he felt but he didn’t want Virgil picking up on any of his concerns.  So far the younger boy had stayed remarkably calm but as time went on it was more and more difficult to keep the fears supressed.

 To think was to act.  

 With a plan half formed the boys moved to set it in motion. Scott tied himself into the rope using a rough emergency harness.  An Italian hitch around a nearby tree formed the belay system.  Virgil sacrificed his pristine sash to form a barrier between the rope and the tree, the smooth new material stopping the lifeline from snagging on the rough bark.

 Scott carefully climbed down the bank while Virgil kept a steadying hold on the rope.  It was only a short drop but Chris was evidence of what could go wrong with an uncontrolled descent.

 As soon as he reached the creek bed Scott began to run through his first aid checks.  He was glad that Emergency Aid was one of the topics they practiced so regularly.  

 He collected up the fresh water and first aid kit sent down after him by Virgil and started to tend to the injuries.  He worked methodically; dressing the head wound, strapping the arm with a splint and bandage, cooling Chris down.  Chris’s shirt was used to rig up some shade.  All the while Scott kept talking to Chris and Virgil, being the steady rock they all needed.  

 In order to keep his younger brother occupied Scott had tasked Virgil with keeping a detailed time log of the incident and when each treatment was given.  It wasn’t really necessary because they had no medicines they could administer but it gave the younger boy a focus.

 When the emergency services and Rescue Scout Leaders finally arrived, what felt like hours later to the waiting trio, it was to a very different scene than they expected.  Instead of panicked children they were met by two boys showing calm and maturity beyond their years and a casualty all prepped for transfer to hospital.  

 xoxoxox

 Virgil stood in front of the leaders at the front of the hall.  His salute was precise and his voice clear as he recited the Rescue Scout oath without a fault.  He then turned and saluted the surrounding formation of scouts as he was formally welcomed as a full member of Troop 162.  

 His eyes strayed to the back wall of the room. There in the corner stood his father who had kept his promise to be there as witness.  If Virgil’s smile had been big before it positively split his face as he swelled with pride.

 He was about to return to his place in the troop when the leader stopped him.

 “Please can Scott also come and join us at the front.”

 Scott looked puzzled but went to join his brother at the front of the hall.

 “After the events this weekend I am pleased to present two further awards.  The paramedics who attended the incident on the hike this weekend contacted headquarters. They explained that the level of care you gave, and teamwork you showed in reaching Chris in the first place, was beyond what they would have expected from children.  Now as Rescue Scouts we do have the advantage that we practice for events such as this but it shows real strength of character to keep your head when faced with a true emergency.  Headquarters agreed with the assessment of the paramedics and so I’m pleased to present you both with the Rescue Scout Award for Exemplary Conduct.”

 The brothers saluted and accepted the special awards in stunned silence.

 Jeff was also stunned.  He had been aware that his sons had returned from their hike early but the boys had been sketchy with the details.  He was aware that one of the scouts had been injured somehow but the boys had made no mention of any actions on their part that could merit a special award.

 After the meeting closed the troop leader called Jeff over.

 “You must be very proud of your sons.  Scott has been an absolute credit to the troop and it looks like Virgil is headed the same way.”  The leader sighed wistfully.  “It’s just a shame the Conduct award doesn’t count towards Scott’s Wings.  We’re still hopeful he’ll get there in the end though.”

 Back at home Virgil was sent straight up to bed. Scott made to head up too to read a book but his father called him back.

 “Scott, I think you have some explaining to do.  My study, please.”

 Scott followed his father through to the study. A sacred place reserved for either information not meant to be divulged to siblings or for the most serious variety of telling off.  Scott wasn’t quite sure what the purpose of tonight’s visit would be but he knew better than to question his father before they were behind closed doors.

 “Now Scott, I think it’s time you told me everything that happened this weekend.  Exemplary Conduct awards don’t just get handed out like sweets.”

 Scott took a deep breath and related the whole tale. He told it calmly and without drama. While they had all been brought up to be proud of their achievements, bragging was frowned upon in the Tracy household.

 “And was this incident responsible for Virgil’s sash looking like something the dog got hold of tonight?”

 “Yes sir.”  

 Scott knew Virgil had been upset that evening because his uniform had lost its smart new look.  Being used as a buffer against the tree had left the sash torn and stained.

 “I see.  Well I think Virgil deserves a replacement seeing as he sacrificed his belongings for a good cause.  I’ll make sure he has a new one before next week.  He might need help getting his troop badges sewn on straight though.”

 Scott took the hint that this meant his mentoring duties weren’t yet over.

 If Scott thought his interview in the study was over he was mistaken.

 “Your leaders also mentioned your Wings Award” Jeff continued.  “What’s the story there?  You certainly seem to have enough badges to qualify.”

 Scott suddenly found the floor very interesting. He shuffled his feet.

 “Scott?”  Jeff prompted.

 “I just can’t do it” he muttered to a crack in the floorboards.  “It’s the creative theme.  I’m no good at that stuff.”

 Jeff looked closer at his son’s sash, filled with a mosaic of different awards.  He was familiar with the scheme and could spot plenty of skills badges from the themes of science, sport, community, environment and emergency aid.  The sixth strand within the Rescue Scouts, creativity, was completely unrepresented.  

 “And that’s what is holding you back?”

 A nod.

 “Scott, have you ever considered why Rescue Scouts has those themes and why you need to attempt all sectors for your Wings?”

 A subtle head shake.

 “It’s precisely because very few people are good at everything.  If you could achieve it by only doing those things you are good at it wouldn’t be an achievement at all.  It’s a true challenge because it requires you to push yourself out of your comfort zone and to be prepared to learn from others who do have those skills.”

 Jeff pulled up the list of creative awards on a nearby tablet and scrolled through them.

 “Now things like Drama and Singer are out because you need to do a public performance for those and that would be a bit tricky to arrange in time.”

 Scott breathed a sigh of relief.  His singing and acting left a lot to be desired and a public performance would have been humiliating.  It looked like he wasn’t going to escape completely though.  

 “But there is nothing stopping you trying your hand at Artist.  You just need to submit an evidence portfolio for that and I’m sure Virgil would be happy to give you a hand.  You could both go for it at the same time.”

 “I can’t ask Virgil for help.”

 “Why not?  It’s not like you’re expected to learn these things completely on your own.  You let me help you with your knots and your Astronomy badge.”

 “Because, well, Virgil’s younger than me.  It’s different.  I can’t go to him for help.”

 Jeff looked at his eldest son.  Scott was rapidly approaching those awkward teenage years.  He was already shooting up in height.  His serious demeanour when in uniform made him seem older sometimes and it was easy to forget that he could still harbour insecurities.  The younger boys often put Scott on a pedestal.  He was their leader and their guide.  To admit there was something he not only found challenging but that one of the younger ones was better at was a serious blow to his pride.

 “You and your brothers are all very different and have different strengths.  For Virgil it’s art and music and understanding how things work.  John already knows far more about space than you do. I’m sure Gordon and Alan will show their own talents over time although at the moment they are just the masters of causing mischief and losing socks.  I would hope that you would be willing to pool those strengths and learn from each other. There is nothing shameful in asking for help.  Now, think on what I’ve said and off to bed with you.”

 It was a very subdued Scott that headed up to his room that night.  He had always been the one the others looked up to.  Strong.  Infallible. This was going to take some serious thought.

 xoxoxox

 “No, no.  You can’t just colour the tree in green.  It won’t look right.”

 “But trees are green” came the confused response.

 “Look again.  There’s blue and purple in the shadows and some of the glossy leaves are practically white where they catch the light and reflect the sun.”

 Scott looked more closely at the sketch on Virgil’s pad. Sure enough the younger boy had used a far wider variety of colours that Scott would have for a drawing of a simple tree.  The result was more realistic that his own efforts and popped off the page.  He sighed, put down the green and picked up a deep plum colour instead.  

 It had taken a lot of courage for him to ask Virgil to tutor him for the Artist badge but he had to admit the younger boy made a good teacher.  He had even let Scott share his good pencils, the ones that stayed on a high shelf out of the reach of sticky little fingers.  Scott’s efforts were improving and he nearly felt ready to put them forward for public scrutiny.  Or at least the necessary scrutiny of the troop leaders.

 The brothers worked hard on their portfolios.  Both were putting in the effort but for different reasons.  Virgil, because it would be his first skills badge in Buzzards and he loved the topic. Scott, because it would likely be the last skills badge he attempted and because it was a subject he found hard.  

 It was with some trepidation that they finally handed the two smart folders of completed pieces over to the troop leaders.  Virgil had carefully selected his best work whereas Scott was just happy that his sketches no longer got mistaken for something produced by Alan.

 When Jeff returned home late that night the house was in darkness.  There on the kitchen table sat the two folders, each topped with a small badge bearing a crossed paintbrush and pencil.  Next to the folders, scrawled in Scott’s untidy hand, was a note.

 Wings next week if you can make it

 Jeff smiled.  There was no way he was going to miss his son being presented with his Wings. He knew Scott had learnt a valuable lesson over the course of attempting this final skills badge.  The Artist badge had been a far harder challenge for the youngster than any of the others had been.  He was proud of the maturity and humility Scott had shown in admitting his weakness and accepting help.

 The boys had kept their portfolios hidden until this point. Leaving them on the kitchen table was evidently an invitation for him to see what they had achieved.  Jeff spread out the pictures.  He didn’t need to look at the requisite self portraits to know which son had produced each folder.  Virgil’s pieces were far more accomplished and seemed to show the essence of each subject. Scott’s work was more clumsy and immature but he knew the effort he eldest son had poured into the pages.  The table was covered in portraits, landscapes, small sketches and abstract pieces.  The boys had put their hearts into the project.

 Two pictures caught his eye.  The boys had evidently attempted to revamp the Rescue Scout uniform.  The basic two toned blue garment remained but the badge sashes had gone, instead replaced by coloured utility belts; green for Virgil, grey for Scott.  He read the annotations with amusement.  What had started out as a serious exercise in designing a uniform that would be highly practical had at some point descended into flights of fantasy.  He could see the sense in the integrated harnesses and sturdy boots and gloves.  For some reason though Scott had added a jet pack to his sketch while the idea of Virgil being given control of a laser cutter was not one he wanted to contemplate.

 He carefully slotted the artworks back into their respective folders and went off in search of a pen.  He knew he had an early start in the morning and would be gone before the boys got up.  Pulling the sheet of note towards him he added his response under Scott’s invitation.

 Wouldn’t miss it for the world

[godkilller]

SEASONAL  AESTHETICS  . bold  what  applies  to  your  muse     /     repost,  don’t  reblog  !

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑.   a chill right down to the bones.    tobogganing.    teeth chattering.    sleeping all day.   sitting by the fireplace.    spending time with family.    layered clothing.    seeing another’s breath.  loving the cold.    a state of inactivity.   cold hands.    blistering winds shaking the closed windows.    a bookcase full of brand new books and all of the time in the world to read them.   cable knit socks.    a bitter remark. a log cabin in the middle of nowhere.    hating the cold.    full-length windows to peer out of.  pale skin.  deep conversations.    watching the snow fall.  sharp edges.   hot cocoa.    smelling every candle in the store.   a wild snow storm.  melancholy.    lighting candles around the bathtub.    snow globes.   expressing yourself but never finding quite the right words. the softest of blankets.  liking, but not loving something or someone.

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.   the smell after it rains. being in control of yourself.  a soft breeze blowing your hair. lightning when it strikes.    cherry blossoms.    bright mornings.   the first sign of hope.    the relief of finding something you lost.    paris in the spring.  birds chirping.    the art of growing.   a kiss on the cheek.   the clap of thunder.    a tornado in the valley.  smiling at a stranger.  planning.    saccharine pinks.    making promises.    trying something new.    hugs when you need them most.  a bee sting.   sitting on the steps of the met.   coming inside drenched from the thunderstorm.   picnics on a red checkered blanket in the new sun.   that feeling you get when you put on a good dress.    a long hike.  rushing when you can take your time.   going to the gym at ungodly hours.  excitement for what’s coming.    becoming yourself.    rain boots.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑.     lanterns lit around a campfire.    seeing the sunrise like its the first time again and again. melting ice cream.    the warmth of sun rays upon skin.  fireworks.   the feeling of never wanting something to end.  beach days.    the lone blow up floaty left in the pool, drifting with the warm nights breeze and nothing else.    music blasting at 3am, loud and proud. palms trees on sunset boulevard.  longer days and shorter nights.  wanderlust.  nights spent staring at the stars.    sand castles.    road trips.    blood orange sunsets.  leaving the laundry to hang outside.  flowers in bloom.    sneaking out of your room late at night.  pure contentment.   barefoot in the sand. the street lights coming on.   the sound of the ocean in a seashell. freshly squeezed lemonade. loose clothing.   a cannonball into the pool.    sunflowers. the hazy pink before dusk.    relaxation.

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋.   the leaves changing colors.   a heavy backpack.    the smell of old books.   eating until you’re stuffed.    deep, dark woods. the silence in loudness.  abandoned houses.   ripped jeans.    crunching leaves beneath feet.   feeling like you’ve been somewhere before. sitting at a bay window.  having endless amount of homework.    charcoal drawings.   screaming into a pillow as loud as you can.   pumpkin patches. creaky floorboards.  accepting that some things do have to change.   museums.  small talk.  being ignored.    procrastinating.   a door slamming shut.   going to bed early.   baking pies.   the fear of walking alone in the dark.   feeling completely and terribly lost.   a twig snapping.  crisp, cool days.   belly laughter.    converse.    foggy mornings at the shoreline.  writing a daily entry in a journal.   a lonely day.

tagged by:  i stole this from @kenkaze :^) ty ty, your taste is S+ tagging: @oboete-iru, @madestars, @keikakudori, @alucrd​, & anyone else who wants it !

[bakuthedeku]

KatsuYami Week: changing routine

Day 5: Childhood / Trading cards / Sleepovers | @katsuyamiverse

Read on AO3

“Let’s have a sleepover!”

Beside him at the table, Yami looks up from his work, eyes lowered in falsified disinterest. The little sparkle in his uncovered eye gives away his excitement.

“Katsuki, we’re sixteen. We’re too old for sleepovers.”

Speaking, Yami does a better job hiding the happiness that undoubtedly wants to creep into his voice.

Classic Yami, monotone and moody to the day he dies.

“I’ll be too old for sleepovers when I’m dead!” Katsuki flops in front of his best friend, half in his lap. He grins, wide and happy, the way that makes Yami call him an oversized puppy and pet his hair.

He gets no hair pets this time (dang it), but Yami’s poorly crafted expression fades to sincerity. Something soft, with little crinkles at the corner of his eye and the faintest whisper of a smile on his chapped lips. Yami rolls his eyes and pushes Katsuki back into his seat.

“Why do you want to have a sleepover, anyway? We see each other every day,” Yami says, turning back to his long-completed homework.

“It’s different at sleepovers. There’s snacks and pyjamas, and I get to spend the whole night with Yami!”

“I’m right here. Why are you speaking about me in the third person?”

Katsuki waves off the question. “So you’ll come to my house after school?”

Yami sags against his chair, sinking down so he’s half under the table. There’s a small smile on his lips as he bemoans, “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!” Katsuki cheers, chipper as the cat who got the cream. “Sharp as ever, my freckled friend.”

/-/

They go home together like usual, walking to the train station and riding to the stop closest to their shared neighbourhood, then walking leisurely to their homes. They go to Yami’s house first, then Katsuki’s. They’ve maintained the same routine since middle school.

Yami likes to complain about the amount of walking they do, especially when Katsuki leads them on the scenic route through the park, but they both know his supposed lack of stamina is bullshit. They’re in the hero course together, after all, and Yami trained hard for it. A few minutes of walking beside Katsuki is hardly going to wind the lazy boy.

Katsuki, at least, enjoys their walks. An enduring tradition between them, it’s something that feels theirs in a way few things do. With each synchronous step they take, they’re followed by the ghostly memories of years passed, nostalgic as they look to the future and stride towards their goals.

Yami moans and groans enough that they stop by his house instead of going straight to Katsuki’s, because apparently, “Clothes are necessary, Katsuki, I’m not wearing any of your oversized stuff.” And honestly, boo. He’s no fun. But Katsuki wants this sleepover, so he agrees and chats amicably with Yami’s mother as he packs an overnight bag like the fussy nerd he not-so-secretly is inside.

Katsuki snatches the bag from Yami’s hands as they leave, calling a cheery goodbye to his Aunty as he does so. Yami sighs and lets him take the bag, knowing by now that Katsuki won’t give it back no matter how hard he tries.

At his house, Katsuki plays the part of a good host, offering drinks and snacks and putting Yami’s stuff away in his room. Yami’s been here more times than Katsuki can count, with evidence of his presence speckled through each room, but it’s been more than a year since their last sleepover. It doesn’t hurt to refresh the knowledge, to lend a hand, right?

They sit down on the couch together and watch old hero cartoons; Katsuki’s choice, barely contested by Yami since he enjoys the cartoons just as much as Katsuki does. The hour passes quickly, humming nostalgic tunes watching the television like particularly attentive children.

They’re interrupted when they get called up for dinner. The meal is reminiscent of the past, with Yami awkward and stiff like an emo robot and Katsuki’s ma and pop ushering him into conversation. Katsuki stuffs his face, and Yami cringes at his enthusiastic eating, hiding his laughter behind a hand.

They go up to Katsuki’s room once they’re finished eating. This time, for fairness’ sake, Katsuki lets Yami pick what they do. They end up next to each other on Katsuki’s bed, sharing one earbud each as they listen to Yami’s videos. Heads ducked close for the headphones, their thighs press warmly together. Yami is soft at Katsuki’s side, elbow poking into his ribs only a little, the bony thing.

Katsuki finds himself watching Yami more than he watches the screen. (He’s on Yami’s fringe’s side, so he can get away with it.) From so close, he can trace the star-speckled expanse of Yami’s skin, can observe the way his tongue flicks out to wet plush but dry lips, can bask in his quietly comforting presence.

They stay like that for hours, far beyond Katsuki’s usual bed time, but he can’t bring himself to call it a night and pull away. Katsuki lets his head fall to Yami’s shoulder as he closes his eyes, lulled to rest by the soft tones of music and Yami’s support at his side. Idly, Katsuki contemplates that Yami’s warmth is just like a bear hug in the middle of winter, or a sunrise observed from under blankets, or falling asleep curled up by a heater and waking in bed.

Gentle shaking stirs Katsuki to wakefulness. He blinks heavy eyes open to find earphones pooled in his and Yami’s laps and Yami’s arms around him, keeping him from falling off the bed. He tries to relax against his short friend, wishing to sink into his warmth and find sleep again, but only gets shoved for his attempt. It works in his favour, though; he lands right in Yami’s nice, pillow-like lap, and stays there. Very comfy.

Yami concedes to sleep only when Katsuki starts nodding off again in his lap, just seconds after falling into it. It’s almost a shame, Katsuki thinks, since sleeping on Yami has always been so nice and comfortable.

“Alright, you big lug, get off me. It’s sleep time.”

“Wanna sleep here,” Katsuki slurs into Yami’s stomach.

“Katsuki,” Yami warns, exasperated and a touch flustered—desperate. The hint of distress in his voice is enough to have Katsuki sitting up, turning away and preparing for bed.

After rushing through his bedtime routine, Katsuki settles into bed (on the far side, as is tradition) and waits for Yami to finish putting on his special, better-than-Katsuki’s-stuff pyjamas. For someone who always looks so sloppy, he sure does take his time getting dressed!

Yami comes back from the bathroom in an oversized All Might shirt and plain black shorts. The wide neck of the top exposes his freckle-covered neck, shoulders and collarbones.

“I don’t have anywhere to sleep,” Yami says, and snaps Katsuki from his distracted state.

They’ve always shared the bed during sleepovers. From four years old to fourteen, they’d squished up under the covers together without complaint, whispering after lights out with legs tangled and fingers interlocked. They kept secrets from the morning in little giggles and innocent touches, a truth uniquely theirs.

Katsuki wriggles aside, moving closer to the wall. “We can both fit.”

Yami’s nose scrunches. “Katsuki, that’s weird.”

“Only if you make it weird, Yami-kun~!”

It’s been more than a year. Since their falling out in middle school, things haven’t quite been the same. Which, Katsuki knows, isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Change can be good, refreshing, healing! But this is change Katsuki never wanted.

A shiver, and he’s being glared at. Katsuki pouts in response.

“Never use that honorific ever again.”

“Only if you get in bed. Come on, it’ll be just like when we were younger.”

And maybe it’s not good that Katsuki is clinging to the past. Clinging to Yami.

But he’s loved Yami since before he knew what love is. Selfish as it is, he wants one last sleepover. One last chance to huddle close, be together, before life tears them apart and Yami outgrows him. One last hug, one last joke, one last smile. One last relived memory of simpler days. It’s all Katsuki wants.

Yami turns the lights off, washing the room with soft darkness. Pale skin stands out against darker clothes.

Yami edges onto the bed, movements stiff. Eyes considering. “It’s different now, though.”

Hope blooms, light and feathered, in Katsuki’s heart.

“Is not.” A lie, but a nice lie to tell.

“It is.”

“Is not.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yep, and you love me anyway!”

Katsuki loves Yami. He believes that, in some way, Yami loves him back. Platonic, romantic, familial; whatever it is, Katsuki will take whatever he can get.

Yami’s cheeks and ears go a little pink, almost imperceptible in the low light blanketing the room. Katsuki would love to see it in full, but Yami would cut his fringe and sock Katsuki in the face before allowing himself to be seen blushing of all things.

Yami grumbles as he climbs into bed, snuggling under soft sheets.

Katsuki turns onto his side to face his friend, sighing happily.

Slowly, Yami does the same, and they’re face to face, under the cover of sheets and the night. Katsuki breathes as softly as he can, as if one too-strong exhalation will scare Yami off, a deer into the woods.

Yami is looking at him, and he looks back, unsure of what he’ll find but eager to see it anyway.

His heart beats in his ears as their eyes lock, red and green, sleep slick and sparkling with wakefulness. Both of Yami’s eyes are bared, his hair tied back for sleep; they’re round and sharp at once, speckled with crystalline fractals of an entire spectrum of red.

Maybe this was a mistake. It’ll be impossible to fall asleep like this.

Katsuki’s heartbeat, so loud in his ears he fears it will shake the bed like an earthquake, shows no signs of calming, and his hands are sweating. Yami will never forgive him if he sets his quirk off by accident.

“Katsuki?” Yami’s voice comes in a whisper, breath brushing warm on Katsuki’s face.

“Mm?” Katsuki scoots closer, magnetised and helpless to fight his draw to the other.

“You’ve been weird, lately. Less dopey smiles and stuff. Are you okay?”

Katsuki swallows. “Things feel different, I guess. We don’t hang out like we used to. We don’t. Touch like we used to.” He licks his lips, eyes flitting away for a moment and finding Yami still watching him as he looks back. “Is that weird? To miss that?”

Yami moves closer, and their knees bump. The heat of two bodies mingle, trapped under the covers and near stifling. Katsuki moves closer still, and their knees overlap. They’re both too gangly for this bed, now.

“Dunno. Maybe. But most people think we’re weird anyway, right?”

Katsuki huffs out a laugh.

In primary school and middle school, they’d often struggled to have friends outside of each other. They made for a strange duo; Yami, quirkless and deadpan and ‘creepy’, and Katsuki, bright and fiercely defensive and kind of rude.

They’ve always made it work, nonetheless.

“Right,” Katsuki agrees.

Their arms, curled up in front of their torsos and just slightly touching, tangle together. Yami reaches to poke Katsuki in the chest, and he fakes a wince.

“What was that for?” he whines.

“Stop being weird. I don’t like doing the heart to heart stuff, it’s your territory. So don’t make me do this again, dumby.”

Katsuki takes Yami’s hand from his chest. Scarred, freckled, soft, familiar. He squeezes tight, cradling it between his hands, and Yami closes his eyes.

“Okay, I promise. Let’s sleep, it’s way past my bedtime.”

In the darkness, for Katsuki’s eyes only, Yami smiles. The hand in his squeezes back.

“Goodnight, Katsuki.”

“Sleep well, Yami.”

I love you, he doesn’t say. But he thinks Yami gets the message just fine.