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bubblyhoney · 4 years ago

Text

win for me

warnings: lAnGuAgE, alcohol consumption (both reader and all other characters are of age to drink), marijuana use, Making Out™️, a miniscule Flowers from 1970 reference. PSA: WHEN UR INTOXICATED AND/OR AT A PARTY, TELL UR FRIENDS WHO YOU WILL BE WITH AND WHERE YOU WILL BE AT ALL TIMES. DRINK AND PARTY SAFELY!

tags: sapnap x fem!reader

summary: a collection of moments throughout the beginning of your relationship

words: 5000

A/N: even though this isn’t my most organized or perfect fic this was so incredibly fun to write. and it’s a college!au!! one of my favs. hope you guys like!! let's pretend the pandemic doesn't exist for this one too (please wear ur masks btw)

Sophomore Year:

Smells like shit in here is your first thought upon entering the laundromat.

It does, in all honesty. What would you expect a place where college students wash three months of dirty clothes and comforters with vomit to smell like? Urine and just a hint of marijuana, incidentally. The door closes noisily behind you and a guy in a black baseball hat turns his head at the noise. Half of his face is hidden underneath the shadow of his scruff and he says nothing, but you still offer an obligatory polite-stranger smile. The place is pretty deserted, what for it being nearly 4 in the morning. And you’re a rare kind of customer; only a few things to wash and you brought your own detergent.

There’s an empty washer next to an old woman in an acid-trip of a parka, and you sweep past the few other patrons with your mesh bag close. The man in the hat nods at you as you pass, looking up from his phone.

Okay. Dark load in one and delicates in the other, you remind yourself. The quarters get pushed through the slot (not without dropping three and having to scramble to pick them up before they disappear between the machines) and you fill the dispensers with a flowery laundry detergent your roommates hates. Oh, and the clothes go in. Done. You relax into a cracked plastic booth around the corner of the machine, pulling a book of crosswords from your bag.

Somebody yelps halfway through filling out a five letter word (“a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep”) and you jump. Baseball Cap rips open the dryer, fumbling around and supplying a pair of gray sweatpants. You can’t help but watch. He digs through both front pockets, pulling out a wad of dollar bills. He sighs, shoves the pants back into the dryer, and starts it with a hard push.

“Gut feeling?” You ask. He looks around for a second and settles his gaze upon you. Nice eyebrows, you think.

“Yeah,” he laughs, slightly nervous. “Yeah. I wore them yesterday and just remembered I put some tip money in my pocket.” Leaning back onto the shelf behind him, he shoves his phone into his pocket and folds his arms tight to his chest.

“I feel you,” you empathize, and set down your pencil. “I washed a parking ticket with my underwear last week.”

He stutters out a laugh, nodding.

“That must’ve sucked,” he adds.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I wasn’t going to pay it anyways, but would’ve been nice to keep it for memory’s sake.” Rubbing at your knee offhandedly, you just watch him. He’s cute. And easy to make conversation with.

“Hey, um,” he mutters and clears his throat. “Do you by chance know some guy named Karl? Tall, messy brown hair and a horrible laugh?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

“Actually—,” you start but huff out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s uh, he’s dating my roommate. Why’d you ask?”

Reaching a hand to rub at his neck, his face twists into something sheepish.

“I’ve seen you at some parties this semester. I didn’t mean to sound creepy like that— I just—yeah.” His cheeks flush pink and he looks down to the ground.

“No worries,” you say, barely even thinking. “I think I’ve seen you too. You’re in Delta Tau Delta, right?”

“Nah, nah,” he laughs. “Just got some friends in there.”

“Ah.” You nod.

The conversation falls into silence, but not uncomfortable silence. He pulls out his phone again, and you look back to the crossword in front of you. The old woman between you leaves with a humongous load of blankets and a small family leaves with a cart full of bags; now it’s just you two.

When the washer with your delicates ding you nearly jump two feet in the air. Exhaling, you set your work down and open the door.

“Shit,” you curse as two bras fall onto the tile. You reach down to get a hand on a black lace bra and hide it quickly under your elbow. A sneaker squeaks loud in the almost-empty room and you see Baseball Cap’s shoulders.

“Here.” He’s kneeling as he hands you your pink bra and you accept it, biting your lower lip.

“Thanks,” you mumbles, slightly embarrassed, and step back to shove those bras and a couple pairs of your underwear into your bag. He offers you a small smile and backs off to his own machines, humming an off-key version of Unchained Melody to himself. Your other load of laundry gets shoved right on top of your delicates.

It’s when you’re nearly out the door, bell jingling, that you think to look back.

“Hey,” you start, almost stuttering for no reason. “What’s your name?”

He turns, dark eyebrows raised.

“My—uh… My friends call me Sapnap. You can call me that too.” Rosy cheeks once again; you seem to be making him awfully nervous.

“Sapnap.” You try it in your mouth, pursing your lips. “Okay. I’ll see you around Sapnap.”

He nods, affirming your statement.

“See you around Y/N.”

It doesn’t hit you until you’re buckling your seatbelt and starting your car that you realize you didn’t tell him your name.

Perhaps he knew more about you than you thought.

Yeah, you laugh to yourself. Karl’s got a big mouth.

Junior Year:

It takes you a collective twelve minutes to go talk to him.

It’s quiet in the library, students that happen to come here to study or procrastinate few and far between the scattered tables. Your poison today is a 4 page history paper on Normandy that you’d been staring at the instructions for for days. You’d already written a bunch of, frankly, horseshit for the body, but the introduction and conclusion were throwing you for a loop.

The vibes in Ridgeback Hall were also certainly off, today more than any other day; the main help-desk was empty and everybody had to do the tedious task of locating niche textbooks themselves.

Lifting your head from the wood of the table, you squint and focus your vision on the guy in the white tee and denim jacket that had been the focus of your thoughts for minutes. He chews at the end of his pencil, mouth screwed up into a ball, and shoots daggers at the empty notebook in front of him. You’re surprised it hasn’t caught on fire yet just from his gaze.

“Sapnap!” You whisper-shout, stretching your arms across the table as if it would make him any closer. A person with purple hair jumps at your voice but turns back to their laptop. “Sapnap!” you try again, tapping two fingers on the table. His head jerks up, eyebrows furrowed and an angry expression on his face, but softens at the sight of you.

“Y/N,” he counters, equally as loud but with a smile on his face.

“What’re you doing?”

“Calculus.” He sticks his tongue out, making an awfully tortured face. You laugh and wave your fingers at him, gesturing for him to come closer. He just huffs out a sigh, stacks all his papers in one pile, and gets up. The trek over to your table is short but he takes it so slowly you wonder if he always walks like that. Like a varsity basketball player who just got off a horse.

“You’re so slow.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles and settles into a chair across from you. “It’s 2 pm, give me a break. I need a Redbull.”

“Those are bad for you, you know,” you say matter-of-factly and drop your chin onto your hand. He’s even cuter from this angle, you think briefly. He just rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, Miss I’d-like-some-coffee-with-my-sugar-and-cream,” he teases, pointing to your venti iced coffee. It’s about as pale as the color of a band-aid. You just sigh and close your eyes. “You tired?” He flips his pencil in his hand and leans back into the seat, sighing.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I haven’t slept yet today.”

“Wow, you’re dumb.” He looks scandalized. You just shrug.

“Perhaps. I don’t really know why I did it actually— just for funzies!” You raise an arm but let it drop back down. “I stayed up playing Sims.”

“Feel that. I play Minecraft with my buddies until like 2 am every night too. It’s nice,” he decides and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flit over to his strong arms, admiring the way his denim shirt looks around them. Thick.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” He says too loudly and it warrants a ‘shush’ from another student. He reddens, but looks back down to you. “I—why do you ask?” You shrug, eyebrows raised.

“Just wondering. You’re too cute to not have one.”

“Right,” he huffs, but his cheeks stay pink. You two fall into easy silence, his eyes trained on the notebook in front of him and yours closed peacefully. “Are you dating anyone?”

They snap open not-so-peacefully.

“Nope. You wanna submit a boyfriend application?” A smile cracks your lips and he grins back.

“Maybe,” he replies and stares at your mouth. “I have to say—,” He stretches into a yawn. “I think I’m qualified.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow quirks. “And why are you so qualified?”

“Well, first of all, I work at Ace Hardware. That’s where cool people work.” He presses one finger into his palm. Then two. “And I have a bunch of free time because said job at Ace Hardware only likes scheduling me in the mornings. Plus, I’m hot.” He shrugs.

You nod faux-seriously, considering his list.

“Those are very good qualities, sir. I’ll have to get back to you on that.” You pause. “Okay, I’ll schedule an interview. How’s 7 pm at the Chili’s on Main? Chili’s is the designated interview place.” You wiggle your eyebrows. He just smiles at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That was smooth.”

“Yeah, I know.” You carefully study your nails. “I’m pretty impressive.”

“Clearly,” he mutters and chuckles. “But I do like their salsa. And margaritas. We got a deal?” He holds out a large hand. You take it, squeezing tightly.

“Hell yes.”

When you see the man called Sapnap a week later, you are very obviously in a different state of mind.

Same state, same college town, but very different blood alcohol contents.

“Sappy!” You shout, raising your arms above your head with a stupid grin on your face. He turns, that familiar look of surprise evident in his expression.

“Y/N,” he laughs and approaches your group of friends in the kitchen. It’s Greek Wedding night at Delta Tau Delta, and you assume Sapnap came to support Delta’s “groom” Alex. You’d gotten uncharacteristically drunk, trading air for sangria, and you were now in the incredible stage where everyone was both your friend and your favorite person.

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, you mash your face into his bicep and giggle.

“Missed you so much,” you try to manage out of your mouth, but it comes out slurred and stuttered. “So much.” You’d gone to Chili’s two days before and promised another ‘interview’ in the next few days, but it felt like two months away from your beloved. Beloved friend, that is. Only one date.

“Yeah?” He places a hesitant hand on your back and nudges you into a standing position. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, shhhh,” you mumble and close your eyes. “Only— a lot.” Blinking them back open, you zero your gaze in on a bottle of Ciroc half-empty and looking very tempting on the kitchen island across from where you’re leaned up against the kitchen sink. He catches your gaze and steps in front of you, pleasant face filling your vision. You gasp.

“You are so cute.” Sliding your palms up onto his face, you hold his scruffy cheeks in your hands and smile all dopey at him.

“Is that your brain or the alcohol telling you that?”

“Uh,” you swallow. “Both. And my heart.”

He just shakes his head and his chest moves with a heavy laugh.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Are you having fun?” You ask, all concerned and furrowed eyebrows. You look like you’re genuinely interested and worried about if he’s having a good time or not, and it makes his expression melt.

“I’m having lots of fun,” he passes over his shoulder as he flips on the tap and fills a red solo cup with water. “In fact, I’m gonna have a nice, cold glass of water right now.” He shakes it like an owner offering their dog a treat.

You eye the cup in his hand, having half a thought that this might be some sort of backwards psychology move. The other half wins.

“That sounds so good right now— can I drink some?” Your eyebrows pull together and your bottom lip drops into a pout. It makes him blink for a second. He remembers the little game you’re playing and just hands it over, smug. You gulp it down quickly and crush the empty plastic into your palm with an exaggerated exhale. “Hit the spot,” you sigh, and pat your stomach fondly.

“You hungry?” Sapnap asks you as he steadies you with two hands on your shoulders. Something pops into your head at his words: a set of two McChickens and an Oreo milkshake.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, and mirror him by placing your hands on his shoulders. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

He just shakes his head, grin wide on his lips, and shrugs. Perfect teeth, you think.

“I haven’t drank anything, so I’m good to drive.” He pulls his keys from his pocket. “I know you’re smashed right now so—do you feel safe with me?” The question falls from his mouth and you truly consider it, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah. I’ll take this just in case,” you say, and take a large dinner fork from the counter next to you. It has some red liquid on it that you brush off onto the fabric of your jeans.

“That’s actually gross.”

“Yeah.” You grip it tighter in your head. “But it’ll do the job if you try any shit. I’ll put this in your eyeball.” Brandishing it, a smile stretches onto your mouth. He just shakes his head and heads for the back door, jerking a hand in your direction to get you to follow him.

The cool night air explodes on your face when you step onto the porch and it makes you blink rapidly. Sapnap is right at your side, offering a forearm as you slowly make your way down the two back porch steps. A tall blonde smoking half of a blunt makes a grunt noise as you two pass and your knight-in-shining armor looks up.

“Gonna go get some food. Want anything?” Sapnap stops on the rocky path to the sidewalk, tilted up to hear the blonde’s response. The other guy shakes his head but nods to you in passing.

“I’ll tell her friends where she went,” says the blonde, and disappears through the sliding glass doors.

Your hand falls from his forearm to his hand and grasps it tightly, swinging back and forth as you stumble to his car. You flash him a grin that he just chuckles at.

“Watch your step,” he warns as you yank on the handle of the passenger door and nearly fall off of the curb.

“I’m fine,” you huff, and scramble to get yourself upright into the seat and buckled. He closes your door and jogs to the driver’s seat, climbing in and starting the engine quicker than your head comprehends.

The small space fills with the sound of Letters to Cleo as he’s maneuvering out of his parking spot and he slaps a hand at the stereo button almost immediately. His cheeks redden as he glances at you once.

“I love Letters to Cleo,” you admit, and switch it back on. Ah, Co-Pilot. A classic. “Be my co-pilot!” You sing, loud and sharp. He shakes his head but huffs out a reluctant laugh.

“My older sister loved them. Bit old for my taste, but—you know. Can’t deny that I love a little bit of 90’s angst.”

“Absolutely,” you nod vigorously and pick at your nail. “Oh!” The fork magically reappears at your side and you grab at it. “For my McChickens.”

“And for me,” he adds.

“Yup. You too.” But you drop it onto the seat and lean forward, fumbling with the volume dial until you feel the lead singer’s voice thumping into your heart. “I love this lady!” You shout and rock your head to the beat.

Shaking his head, his shoulders move in an easy laugh. The drive-thru line is kind of busy for 2 am, he notes, pulling in right behind a navy BMW sedan. But it moves quickly, especially when you’re moving in your seat, scream-singing the lyrics to I Want You To Want Me.

“Yeah,” he says, loud into the mic. “Two.”

“Alright.” The voice reports from the speaker, a background clicking joining their bored tone. “Two McChickens, a double cheeseburger—ketchup and pickle only— , a medium fry, and an Oreo McFlurry. Anything else, sir?”

Sapnap chews on his lip, and glances at you. You just give an encouraging thumbs up.

“That’ll be all,” he reports.

“Second window, and your total is $9.67.”

He barely has time to call a “thank you so much!” before the line ends with a click. Rude.

“Jesus Christ,” you moan the second you sink your teeth into your first sandwich.

“Agreed,” he mumbles and pushes as much cheeseburger he can fit into his mouth.

“This,” you start, swallowing. “is the sexiest thing I’ve encountered in all of my years. I thank all higher powers when I consume McChickens…” Trailing off for dramatic effect, you stare down the sandwich before mimicking a dinosaur war cry and practically shoving it down your throat. He just nods in agreement.

“It’s so nice out tonight,” Sapnap comments, swinging a look out his rolled-down window. He parked right in front of the Campus Quad, large bubbling fountain the show to your dinner. And some geese fighting each other for half a rotting hot dog.

“Mhm.” You crumple up your wrapper trash and toss it into the empty paper bag. “Could totally go for a swim.”

He turns and gives you a look. You look right back.

“Should we?” It’s barely a question.

“Um, hell yes,” is all it takes for you to say before you’re clambering out of the car and starting for the fountain. He follows closely after, jogging to catch up with your borderline track-star sprints.

“Wait up!” He calls as you reach the border of the fountain.

“Ugh,” you sigh, impatient. “Hurry up.”

“Mouthy,” he grumbles before kicking off his shoes and bending to fold his pants up over his knees. You just climb straight in and brave the cold.

Squealing, you hop from one foot to the other, shoulders tight as you get used to the freezing water. He laughs and climbs in right beside you.

“Shit,” he curses, and shivers. “This sucks.”

“You suck,” you quip right back and splash around. He stares, disgusted, at the water soaking up your jeans all the way up to your knees.

“You’re gross for wearing jeans in a fountain. That’s worse than wet socks.” He starts to move around as feeling comes back into his toes.

“What, would you prefer me taking my pants off?” A sassy look paints your face and he rolls his eyes.

“No, but you could’ve folded them up like a normal person.”

“I think you forget,” you start, and splash a palmful of water his way. “I’m quirky.”

He gasps, face twisting as the water hits his thighs.

“You’re dead.”

If campus police were patrolling the Quad right now, they’d see two college juniors wading around in a fountain, water up to their knees, having a competition to see who can inflict the most damage. He won, it seems, because your shirt is drenched all the way up to your ribs.

“Okay!” You shout, hands spread to brace yourself. The water in his palm falls. “I’m cold and I want my other McChicken.”

“Fine,” he sighs, and with some difficulty manages to get out of the fountain and back into his shoes. You just make your way back over to his car barefoot, braving the mulch and poorly-sanded concrete.

You both finish your food quickly, discussing menial things like how fast food restaurants always skimp on the pickles and how it’s truly a disservice to the world that so many people don’t know it’s Biggie singing the song Kat dances on the table to in the 1999 classic 10 Things I Hate About You.

When Sapnap pulls up to your house, he shifts the car into park and lets loose a heavy sigh. You whip around, hand on your buckle, and sport a very confused look on your face.

“I’m tired,” is all he says. Head falling onto the seat, he rolls over to give you a half-lidded look. You nod empathetically and climb very carefully out of his passenger seat. Your drunk muscles haven't caught up to your mainly sober brain, which is impairing your ability to look like a functioning human being.

“Thank you for tonight,” you chirp, smiling in at him with your arms folded on the open window sill. The half-drank Oreo McFlurry is lukewarm in your hand. He stares at your flushed lips.

“Anytime you want a drunk McChicken let me know.” He winks. “I have a gift card.”

“You spoil me,” you coo, and step up onto the sidewalk. “I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?”

He nods, pursed lips fighting a grin.

Cute, you both think at the same time.

Sometime soon, somehow, means the very next day.

It’s breezy yet uncharacteristically hot out, and certainly way too bright for a hungover Y/N.

You’re sat on the porch swing, nursing a hot decaf coffee with lots of sugar and cream. Sunglasses sit comfortably on your nose, but you still have to squint. The pills you took have yet to kick in, so all you have to do is wait and try not to vomit into your mug. Suddenly, your phone lights up and buzzes to life. You press the green button and lift to your ear.

“What do you want?” Your voice is awfully froggy, you realize, and clear your throat.

“Good morning to you too.” Sapnap’s voice rings clear yet husky into your ear. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile. God, you’re whipped just for the sound of his voice.

“It is definitely not a good morning,” you grumble and switch him into speaker phone. You drop the phone into your lap and stretch out further on the swing.

“Good morning for me,” he chirps cheerfully. “Take anything for the headache?”

“Yes,” you report, sounding like a pouting child and rubbing two fingers into your temple. “Some idiot fed me ice cream last night so this morning I woke up having to both shit and throw up.”

“Aww,” he sympathizes, sounding way too entertained. “That sounds like a you problem.” You stuck out your tongue, but upon realizing he can’t see it, make a ‘hmph’ noise into the mic. “Anyways. I called to see if you wanted to go get breakfast with me. Waffle House, specifically.” You make a face but lift yourself up off the swing, wincing.

“I saw a rat eat an entire piece of french toast there once. But—sure. I’ll pay.” He starts to whine, but you scoff. “Let me love you, bitch. You pay for my McDonald’s and I pay for your pancakes. Easy trade.”

“Whatever. See you in five.” He hangs up right as you twist the front door open and drop your phone onto the couch.

“Who’re you talking to?” comes from the kitchen and you jump, pressing a hand to your chest. A shirtless Karl enters the living room with a bowl of fruit loops in his hand.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, and duck into the hall closet for your pair of dirty tennis shoes. “I was talking to Sapnap.”

“Oh,” he says around his mouthful of cereal with a grin. “You guys dating yet?”

You pass him a weird look, bending to tie your shoes.

“Gimme like two weeks. I’ll have him at my beck and call,” you laugh and collapse back into the couch.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He quirks an eyebrow and exits stage left into your roommate’s room.

The few minutes it takes for Sapnap to come to your house are short but filled with contemplation. Do you really want to date him? He’s certainly cute enough. Nice enough. And smart enough. He seems to like you too—

A honk interrupts your thoughts. Always having to be obnoxious, huh?

“You’re annoying,” you mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He just shrugs, tiny smile tugging his lips, and shifts into drive. The short trip to Waffle House proves more quiet than lively. He seems awake, actually, so you attribute the silence to your tumultuous thoughts. The music is nice, though. Bikini Kill is perfect for 10 am.

After you two order (three chocolate chip pancakes for him and two regular waffles with a side of hashbrowns for you), he finally breaks the silence.

“Hey, are we dating?”

You pause with your lip on the rim of your orange juice. Your gaze falls from his lips to his fingers wrapped around the coffee mug. Two silver rings adorn both his middle fingers and they glint underneath the fluorescent lights.

“Do you wanna?” You squint back up at him. The tips of his ears flush pink.

“I-uh… Yeah. Yes,” he says simply. You try to hide a smile, but realize there’s no point.

“Okay.” You take a long drink of your orange juice. “I really like you. A lot. A surprising amount, actually; I haven’t really dated seriously since highschool.”

He nods, shuffling his feet on the tile. What else does he have to be nervous about? you wonder.

“I’ve… kindasortamaybelikedyousincesophmoreyear,” he mumbles and you swallow.

“Huh?” Leaning forward, you set your glass down.

“Um,” he starts but doesn’t finish.

“Did you say you’ve liked me since sophomore year?”

“...Maybe.” His coffee becomes the most interesting thing in the world, apparently. “Do you remember that one time during the Summer Carnival where Karl lost his phone?”

“Uh—yes! Yeah, actually. I do remember that. He found it in the porta-potty. What about it?” The waitress sets down both your plates in front of you and you offer her a smile in thanks before she trundles off to the drink station. You pick up your fork and wait for him to continue.

“I left two hours early because you invited Michael from your computer science class.” You pause around your mouthful of potato and he just stares back, trying not to grin. “Yeah. I thought you were hot and left early because you brought another guy.”

“Michael is gay,” you say slowly.

“Yup.” He nods and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Isn’t that so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you tease but your cheeks blush pink.

“Anyways. Now I’m dating you, so. Win for me.”

“Ditto,” you murmur, and manage to fit half of your first waffle into your mouth. “This is the easiest it’s ever been to start dating someone.”

“It’s ‘cause we’re cool, I’m pretty sure,” comes from a mouthful of pancake.

“That’s facts.”

The rest of Pancake House is bustling, a few families with young kids and some other hungover college students scarfing down similar breakfast foods and confections. You two barely give any other customers the time of day, too wrapped up in conversation and each other. The waitress gets a heavy tip after an hour and a half of struggling to swallow dough soaked in syrup and chocolate.

Sapnap walks you to your door after breakfast, hand on your waist and pressed to your side. It feels good. Right.

“I’ll see you Wednesday right?” You ask, turning to him with hopeful eyes. How could he resist?

“Definitely. Wouldn’t miss Game Night for the world— I can’t wait to beat your ass at Uno.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You murmur but you’re already slinging an arm around his shoulder and bringing his mouth down to yours.

You taste like sugar, he thinks. His hands find the small of your back easily, pressing you further forward into him. You hum at that, tracking a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair to grip it between your fingers.

He smells both musky and sweet and cool at the same time: heaven. One of his hands slides up to grip at your neck, thumb rubbing at your jaw, and you make a pleased noise into his mouth. There it is.

“Y/N!” Shrieks from inside your house and you jump, pulling away from Sapnap with a smack.

“What?” You yell back, irritated, and he just laughs as he dips to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Stop tonguing your boyfriend and come help me with my photography project.”

“God damn it,” you sigh and drop your hands. His slide down to just rest on your hips, comfortable. “I have to go.” You're annoyed, that’s for sure, and he prays you aren’t too mean to your roommate.

“Alright.” He dips for a quick kiss one last time. Okay, two more times. Maybe three. But he pulls away, grinning. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

And then he’s stepping off your porch, walking to his car with his hands in his pockets. You watch his back fondly.

God, boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. Boynap. Sapfriend. You can’t decide on a name, but all sounds perfect.

Perfectly him.

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comments = welcome!

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x reader #sapnap x fem!reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap fic #sapnap oneshot #mcyt imagine #bubblyhoneyfics #mcyt x you

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neohighwayv · 5 years ago

Text

Good enough

Characters: WayV’s Yangyang x fem reader

Genre: angst, fluff, bff!au

Word count: 4.1k

Description: In which you think you’re never good enough – and Yangyang does not know what to do when the strongest person he’s known breaks down.

------

“Hey, you can put your work aside for now, I got us dinner.” Yangyang announced he enters the shared apartment, closing the door with his foot as his hands were full of plastic bags filled with takeout food. He walked over to place the food on the kitchen’s island counter, right beside your pristine sleek silver laptop. He started unpacking the food from the red and blue plastic bags, making sure to buy your favourite dumpling soup from the stall at the end of the street, even though it took him a good 20 minutes to get there; he’ll do it for you – his best friend and roommate. He knew you’ve been working hard this semester, and whilst he can’t help with lightening your workload, he figured he could at least make you slightly happier by keeping you well fed.

You, however, ignored his presence entirely. Your eyes remained glued to the glaring laptop screen, the pages upon pages of words practically screaming at you to read them, yet the dull throb at the back of your head made it hard to get anything done. You’re reading the words but you’re not processing them. You’ve been going at the snail’s pace for the past 2 hours, only getting through 5 pages of this article. Yet, you’re not even sure if you’ve understood everything from the past 5 pages of it. Could you even tell a difference between Freudian theory and humanistic psychology now? Ask a toddler and they might be able to give a better answer than you can. Still, you’re the stubborn type – you truly never knew when to stop or take a break for your own good – and so you keep going.

Till the end of this chapter. Just 2 more pages before I take a break and have dinner with Yangyang.

You tune out the noises that Yangyang made beside you, tightening the grip on your mouse and fixing your stare on the screen more firmly. You will your heart rate to go down, torn between not wanting to keep Yangyang waiting versus finishing the chapter.

When all the food has been placed neatly into plates and scooped perfectly into bowls, Yangyang prompted you to take a break again.

“Let’s have dinner together now?”

“I know, Yang. Just 5 more minutes.” You snapped back immediately, tone clipped and tense.

That’s when Yangyang knew that he’s hit a nerve. He wanted to protest against your statement but he knew better than to do that. He’ll just anger you further. Hence, he bit back his remark, opting to chew on his inner cheek instead. Being your best friend for years has its pros and cons. The pro: You’re smart, which meant that he’s always got someone to help him whenever he got stuck with his assignments and a sharp eye to catch his mistake. After all, you’re not a double major in Psychology and Sociology for nothing. Not everyone got to boast about that. The con: Yangyang knew you well. Too well. In fact, better than he knew himself. He knew that you won’t back down from anything you say once it came out from your mouth. He also knew that you’re always determined to finish what you started. So when you said 5 more minutes, he knew that you actually mean “Till you finish that chapter” and that no matter what he said, you would not move from your seat or touch your food until you’re done doing what you’ve set out to accomplish.

Plopping down in his seat diagonally across you, Yangyang had to make do with eating dinner alone again (for 5th night in a row that week) At least this time he got to sit in your presence – the previous nights, you had simply brought your food into your room, typing away on your laptop between mouthfuls for food.

Throughout dinner, Yangyang chewed silently so as to minimise disturbance to you. He stole glances at you from time to time, trying to gauge when you’re about done with your article. He knew how to observe when you’re almost done – your eyeballs would move rapidly from side to side, rushing through the last paragraph before closing your laptop shut. But even as he swallowed his last bite of dinner, he knew you’re not done. You’re still stared intently at the screen, eyes unblinking and posture stiff. Your head is propped up on your knuckles as you used your other free hand to move your hair away from your face before resuming its original position against your mousepad, slender fingers moving smoothly across the surface of the pad. Yangyang thought he saw the faint outline of a vein against your temple and the tight clench of your jaw. You’re tense, extremely tense. You clearly need a break.

Gently, he prodded again. But he doesn’t get another word in before you snapped at him again.

“Hey, maybe – ”

“I know, Yang. I know. Just... just give me another 5 minutes...”

He heard the exasperation in your voice, noticed the way you seem to became smaller in stature; your chest collapsing into itself as your voice becomes so incredibly small that he could barely hear you despite the silence in the apartment. Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or were the edges of your eyes red? Something wasn’t right.

“Are you ok?”

“No, Yang. I’m not. I’m not ok.”

You snapped your head up to stare at him dead in the eye so quickly, that Yangyang worried that you might have snapped it into half. Your chest is heaving violently now, the silver necklace on lying on collarbones now glinting as it caught the artificial light from the lightbulb that hung above you. Your eyes got redder and glossier by the second, rare tears pooling around the edges.

“I’m not ok. This semester is going terribly and I just want to be done with it! It’s a groupwork but I’m the only one doing something. If I don’t say a thing, no one else does anything. Work meant for 5 ends up being done by 1. Yet there’s nothing I can do except suck it up because we’re at this stage where no higher authority would care if you can’t work with others. Just submit the work and be done with it! So, I suffer silently and hope I don’t break before I submit the thing.

Gosh, I feel like I can’t even breathe because once I submit one assignment, I get another message saying that the new one is due at the end of the week! Just great!”

At this point, you stopped to collect your breath, the first tears streaming down your face, the tinge of saltiness staining the tip of your tongue.

“Professor Wang is not happy with my paper and she’s ‘extremely disappointed’ with my work. So much for being a damn straight A student when I can’t even submit a satisfactory piece of work. Oh, not to mention. I failed my driving test. For the 3rd time in the row. How pathetic. Went home and I got vindicated about it the entire weekend! ‘Your sister did it in one try. So did the rest of your cousins. Why can’t you?’ Well – it’s just too bad isn’t it? Driving doesn’t come easy to some of us. I’ve been trying so hard and not a word of acknowledgement from them – I just get blamed for wasting money and time.”

At this point, you stabbed the tip of your pencil down hard on your blank piece of paper, causing the pencil lead to fly across the table top. Your knuckles were red from the vice grip you had on the pencil; your head bowed to prevent Yangyang from seeing the waterworks on your face. This entire time, Yangyang’s heart cracked with each revelation, never knowing how much you were hurting inside from all the pressure others were putting on you. Most importantly, the pressure that you were putting on yourself. He saw you every day... how could he be so blind to all the signs? The late nights, your quieter self, your bloodshot eyes. How could he possibly miss all that? He heard you suck in a deep breath, head still bowed as you place your head against your palm. From beneath the curtain of your hair, he heard your weak voice filled with hurt, voice wavering as you choked on your own words.

“I get it. I get it ok? I get that I’m not good enough. For anyone. For... anything. No matter what I do... what I try... I’ll never be good enough. I could try till I break myself but I’ll just never be good enough. I’ll just never, never, never be good enough and it hurts to be so painfully, aware of that.”

You finally looked up to face him - and Yangyang swears; he sweared on his life that he’s never seen you look so broken before and the sight immediately made tears prick the corner of his eyes.

And that sight makes you cry even harder.

You didn’t think that you were capable to producing more tears, not when your eyes were burning and you’re already so physically exhausted – but you do. You hated seeing him sad because he’s worried about you – the thought of making someone worried because of you showing your weakness – brought fresh tears to your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do was to make your friends or family worried for you, and you absolutely hated being the cause of their pain. You had to slap a hand over your mouth to stop your strangled cry from leaving your throat, you didn’t want to make Yangyang anymore worried that he already is.

“Oh, I can’t do this anymore. I need to stop hurting people around me.”

That was the last coherent line that you managed to get out of your throat before you stumbled out of your chair, making a beeline for the bathroom so that you could cry alone. If he saw you break down anymore, you were certain he would start crying too and you didn’t want to be the cause of his pain anymore. You slammed the door shut behind you and proceed to slump down against the door, your weak body not even registering the heavy contact with the floor. The chilling bite of the cold tiles quickly seep through the floor to reach your body and your body shakes violently, but at this point in time, you’re not sure if you’re shaking violently from the cold, or the crying that is currently wrecking your body in waves. Strangled cries bubble in your throat, threatening to escape you but you clamped your lips shut tight, hoping that no sound would escape you. But you're not sure if that does the trick – you can't hear anything else over the wild thumping sound of your heart that currently filled your ears. You cried and cried and cried, the endless tears falling to stain your brown shirt into a darker shade of brown. In the past, you would have fought your tears, hating to show such a weak image in front of others and detesting yourself for doing so. But today, after months of fighting yourself and others, you're finally willing to concede – and for once in your life – you're willing to admit that you're too tired to fight anymore. You let your body does what it has to do to help you feel better – even if that meant crying yourself dry and hoping that all the pressure you've placed on yourself will be expelled through your tears.

Throughout this entire ordeal, Yangyang sat shell-shocked in his seat, unable to move an inch. He can't really make sense of the mess of emotions he's feeling right now – but one particular emotion does stand out compared to the rest – shock. I mean – what does one do, when the strongest person you've ever known broke down in front of you? In this entire time of his 10 years knowing you, Yangyang might have seen you cry, but he's truly never seen you completely break down and reduced to tears by the pressure. Sure, he's seen you cry – when both of you are watching a particularly sad movie or you're listening to the harrowing history told by war survivors. But Yangyang has never – never ever, ever – seen you broke down from the pressure. That's why this episode was particularly shocking for him, because for you to do so, Yangyang knew that you must be under an immense amount of stress, to the point where you can't cope with it anymore. He thought back to all the times he's spent with you, and he cannot even conjure up an image of him comforting you. In fact, all he seemed to remember is being comforted by you. The countless amount of times he's called you over the phone to rant about someone's stupidity or a particularly infuriating incident – which usually ended with both of you eating dessert as he finished making his complaints between bites of ice cream. The infinite amount of post-it’s you left all over his belongings when you know he's going to have a rough week. He remembered when you showed up at his doorstep without him having to ask, immediately opening your arms to wrap him in a hug as he freely cried into your shoulder – the first time when his dog died from old age, and a couple more times after when he failed important things; tests, auditions and interviews that at that time, meant the world to him. In this friendship, you've always been the strong one, never once admitting that you're having a hard time. But Yangyang knew better now; should have known better earlier, that no one could be a superhuman. No one is truly invincible against the harsh realities of life – not even the strongest person he knew – and Yangyang wished that he had noticed the changes in you earlier. Of course, he knew that he's not fully responsible for you – you're an adult that should know how to manage herself and ask for help when she needed it. But as your best friend, maybe he should have checked up on you sooner. After all, that's what friends do for one another – to remind each other that they're always there should they need it. Maybe things would have been better if he had checked up on you earlier but it's too late to think about that now. Right now, you've locked yourself inside the bathroom to cry your heart out, and Yangyang's main priority as your best friend is to make sure that you're not left alone with your own self-loathing thoughts; to make sure that you're comforted – just like how you've comforted him so many times before. Yet Yangyang still can't seem to move an inch. He does not know exactly how to comfort you, he's never had to do this before.

Come on Yangyang, think. What should you do?

He fumbled over his few options – play you your favourite music, or buy you your favourite peppermint ice cream with bread from the uncle with the pushcart, or crack a joke. In the end, he decided to go with what he knew the best – comforting you like how you comforted him and Step 1 involved not leaving you alone with your own thoughts by having someone from your side.

Yangyang bolted from his seat, pacing quickly towards the bathroom before stopping outside the white door to rap his knuckles against the door, the rattling motion jolting you out of your stupor.

"Open up. Don't stay in there alone ok?"

"No Yang, please just leave. I'll be fine-" You catch yourself at this part. Are you truly fine? Were you ever truly fine? Whenever others asked you how you're doing, your default answer would be that you're doing fine. Even though you were struggling, the answer would be – "I'm fine." or "I'm doing well." You never wanted others to probe or ask too many questions, admitting to your struggles often made you embarrassed. Worse still, you didn't want family and friends to worry about you. "I'm fine" soon became a reflex, something you said without even processing the question that the other party had asked.

Your train of thoughts were broken when you heard Yangyang's voice travel through the door separating the both of you.

"No, you're not fine. I'm not leaving you alone so please open the door now."

"No Yang, I'm fine- I- just give me a few more minutes. I'll be out soon."

You heard Yangyang sigh heavily, his last words reaching your ears followed by the sounds of his footsteps walking away.

"I'm getting the keys."

"No Yang, don't you dare!"

You tried to raise your voice, but it betrayed you instead, cracking from being overused just now. You stomp your feet in frustration, feeling helpless once again. Yangyang was going to see your wrecked self soon, and there was nothing that you could do to stop it.

Yangyang quickly sifts through the keys hanging by the front door before making his way back to the bathroom, slotting the key into the lock before twisting the door open. Once again, Yangyang was met by the harsh bite of your tone and words, but he brushed it aside. Your cold words directed against him is the least of his worries now. Comforting you, however, was his main priority.

"I said I'll be alright Yang, why-"

"You're clearly not ok. I know now. You're not ok. You haven't been ok for some time now."

You stood still when you heard him say such things, the words feeling foreign to your ears. No one has ever said those words to you because no one has ever saw through the strong front that you've put up before. Or even if they did, no one thought it was important enough to mention it. Someone finally noticed and cared enough to talk about it, and somehow that revelation made you want to cry again. Seeing you standing there unmoving, Yangyang decided to say something to break the silence again.

"You don't have to be ok all the time. So, would you just stop putting up a front for once, admit that you're not alright, and let me in? Come here."

This time round, you no longer resisted, allowing Yangyang to gently draw you into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, rubbing comforting strokes up and down your arms. Fresh tears streamed down your face at Yangyang's gentle gesture; you probably made a mess of his clean shirt but he could care less, that's not important now.

"Cry it out. Cry it out if you have to."

"Stop saying that! You're going to make me cry more."

"And that's completely alright. There's nothing wrong with crying."

"It's so embarrassing to cry – what do you mean there's nothing wrong with crying?"

You heard Yangyang take a deep breath, feel the rise of his chest against your cheek and you mentally prepared yourself for his lecture.

"There really is nothing wrong with needing a good cry to let out all your pent-up frustrations. There's nothing wrong with admitting that you need help, and asking for it. Can you internalize that and remember to come and find me when you're having a hard time? You do the same for me when I'm having a rough time, can you let me do the same for you? Even if you don’t come and find me, make sure you find someone else. Promise me that."

You stayed silent, not sure if you could ever bring yourself to admit being so weak in front of him again.

"Promise me." He shook your shoulders to elicit a response from you and you decided to grace him with a disgruntled muffle; not exactly the response that he was hoping for but he'll take that as a yes for now.

"Good. If you're ready to talk, we can work out how to go about dealing with your assignments and driving ok? Tomorrow we'll go see Professor Wang and get her to elaborate on how to improve your essay. As for driving... maybe take a break first. Like you said, you've been practicing a lot. Maybe too much. Knowing you, you probably went for tons of lessons before your tests. Am I right?"

You nodded weakly against his chest, a wry smile lifting the corners of your lips as memories of your driving lessons are brought to the forefront of your mind.

"Knew it. So, yea... maybe you should take a break. Give yourself time to absorb all that you've learned before you go back for lessons. The break will do you good – trust me on that. I'm only so carefree because I take more breaks than I should." Yangyang chuckled at his own words and you followed suit, your chest rising and falling as you let out soft puffs through your nose.

"Now that we've got a plan out for you, we should do one last thing."

"What is it?"

"We should get ice cream. And then you can rant about your teammates over ice cream. I want to get all that hot piping tea."

For the first time in a long while, you found the heart within yourself to let out a laugh, memories of Yangyang and his animated storytelling of terrible groupmates tickling your sides. Oh, how the tables have turned. It was finally your turn today.

“So… are we going? Just waiting for your reply now.”

There was no way that you were going to be able to say no to that, eating ice cream and complaining about people whilst eating was something that you and Yangyang always did; a sacred part of your relationship.

“Alright we can go, but let me wash up first and give my eyes some time to stop being red.”

“WOOHOO! Ok, we’ll go once you’re ready.”

Both of you fall into comfortable silence again, Yangyang still held onto you in an embrace.

“Thank you, Yang.”

“You’re welcome. I’m always available if you ever need me. Even if I’m busy, I am going to make time for you so come find me anytime ok?”

“Ok, I’ll remember to come find you next time.”

“There – you said it. You got to promise me. With a pinky swear and stamp.”

Yangyang removed an arm from your shoulder to place his hand in front of your face, his pinky finger sticking out from the rest of his fingers. You lifted your hand to hook onto his pinky before pressing your thumb against his own, using a little more force than usual and Yangyang smiled at that, knowing that it’s your way of saying that “I’m feeling better now. You don’t have to worry so much about me anymore.”

“Pinky promise is done so you can never break the promise anymore. Oh, we’ll get extra-large scoops of ice cream later, my treat today!”

“Sounds like a good plan, because I’ve got loads to say about my trashy group mates.”

“Awesome. Been dying to get some gossip lately, and now I’m finally going to get it.”

You let out another hearty laughter at your best friend’s dramatic self, him following suit but when the laughter finally died down, you got some quiet time to be with your own thoughts again.

They often said that your worst enemy is yourself, and maybe that’s true for you. You constantly placed so much pressure on yourself, tearing and beating yourself up when you fell short of your goals because your failure is all that you could see, never the commendable effort that you put in or your perseverance to pull through with all your various responsibilities. You suffered silently by yourself even when the pressure became overwhelming, never one to admit your struggles because you didn’t want to be a burden to others – even when no one ever said you were. But today, you had been proven wrong. No one thought of you as a burden, and no one would say that you’re weak or embarrassing when you asked for help. And that if you did ask for help, those around you would actually come forth to render you their support. That’s what friends are for, to share the good times with, and to pick you up when you fell – and you were extremely lucky to have an understanding friend like Yangyang in your life. After all, no man is an island living in this harsh world alone – it’s easier to get by with help from friends and there will be someone willing to help you, if you’d only just remember to ask. You knew that old habits die hard, and perhaps even after this, you would go back into your shell and old ways. Yet, you’re confident that with a friend like Yangyang, someone would be there to look out for you, and coax you out of your shell whenever you forgot to take care of yourself again.

190 notes · View notes

joonclouds · 5 years ago

Text

Heat Packs | YoongixReader

You make a scrunchy face at the sandy-haired boy. “Not so bad? All I was, was concerned and he saw fit to make me feel as worthy as the dirt under your shoe.”

“I don’t wear shoes.”

When you raise an eyebrow pointedly at him, Taehyung holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, shoe police, calm down.”

Yoongi x Reader (and shoeless friend Taehyung)

Plot: Producer!Yoongi, fluff at the end, kind of enemies to lovers?? arguments to lovers? idk man Yoongi is bad at expressing feelings

Warnings: It gets a bit hot and heavy at the end but nothing else unless you want to consider cringey fluff as a warning lol

Wordcount: 7.3k

Note: Quarantine is still very inspiring. I am still very bad at naming my fics. producer!Yoongi is *chefs kiss* Hope ya’ll are well x *kisses*

It is a Tuesday evening in mid November that you decide you hate Min Yoongi. Hate was a strong word for you. Most of the time you hovered between a state of neutrality to mild displeasure, and sure, you’d been harbouring a (maybe not so subtle) crush on your reclusive boss, but you decide today that it was time to Burn That Ship cause you hate Min Yoongi.

You stand there, heart pounding. From embarrassment or from anger, you can’t really tell at this point - but heck, it wasn’t even your fault. Indignant, that’s what you felt. You had heard a loud bang and crash from his recording studio, and in a moment of panic and concern you’d rushed in to check if everything was okay.

Turns out he was moving his large bass speakers and didn’t need (or deserve, you think huffily) any of your help. Maybe you should have knocked first, but -

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Never heard of knocking?”

See, you were a Badass Bitch™. Which is why now your face is flushing an angry red, mouth open, ready with a snappy comeback. But Badass Bitch™ is also paranoid and doesn’t like confrontations, so she takes a baton and whacks the retort right out of your mouth. So you close your mouth again, stand there silently and look down. And if it could get worse, it does - a prickling at the back of your eyes starts to grow.

“And you’re just going to stand there?” The black-haired boy cocks a brow at you.

“I.. I heard a crash so I just came in to make sure everything was okay and-“

“What is this, your house? Is your name on the outside of the door?”

You wring your hands behind your back and pinch the fleshy part of your palm to ease the growing lump in your throat. No, you refuse to cry in front of him. After three months of working here you’d thought you’d finally wormed your way into the category of “acceptable humans to Min Yoongi”, but clearly you had not. In fact, as of now, you probably didn’t even exist on the Venn diagram.

“I.. No, but… I…”

“Does it. Say your damn name. On. My. Studio. Door.”

You stand there, speechless, mouth opening and closing, looking for something to say. A fat tear starts to pool in your left eye and threatens to spill, but by some miracle you manage to hold it in. Barely.

Yoongi lets out a sharp breath and makes his way across the room, yanking the door wide open.

“The rule here is no one comes into my studio. Get the fuck out.”

You are still crying as you sharpen the twentieth coloured pencil on the living room floor you share with a pixie of a girl called Chungha, who sits opposite you with her chin propped on folded knees.

“You should do this for a living, you know. Given how many times you’ve done this already.” She comments

“What, the crying?” You stutter out confusedly between a hiccup and a sniff.

“I meant the pencil sharpening.”

You blow your nose wetly into a tissue. “I can’t help it, okay? I cry. When people. Shout at me.” You choke out the last few sentences in between sobs.

All your admission does is bring forth another wave of tears.

“So who made you cry this time?”

“Min Yoongi. Min. Fucking. Yoongi.” With each syllable you turn the pencil with a newfound gusto, taking some sort of vicarious pleasure in watching the wood getting shaved off in neat strips.

Chungha’s eyes widen. “As in, owner of the studio, Min Yoongi. Your ridiculously elusive, black-clothes-only, don’t-come-into-my-office, hot in a weird way, Min Yoongi?”

You nod aggresively. “I hate him. So much.”

“You don’t mean that.”

You consider locking Chungha in the storeroom.

“Maybe he just had a bad day?” She offers.

“What did I do to deserve this? All I did was check on him in his studio!” In your angst you stop sharpening. You imagine the little plastic sharpener is Yoongi’s stupid head and you hurl it across the carpet.

“I’m sorry he shouted at you.” She pulls a Kleenex out of the box and dabs gently at your face. “Even if he told you not to go in, but you didn’t deserve that. He’s an idiot. Men are idiots.”

“I was just trying to be nice!” You protest, voice rising a good four octaves. “I heard a loud thud so I got worried and I rushed in without thinking, but turns out he was just moving his speakers and he just got so mad and saying all those mean things - “ you trail off slowly as hiccups and sobs leave you incoherent.

“You know how he is, grumpy old man. I’m sure he’ll apologise.” Chungha offers you another tissue. “And honestly my love, there’s no point crying now you’ve already forgiven him so…”

“I. Havent.”

“Tell me that when you next speak to him and aren’t a puddle of mush.”

You fling your snot-stained tissue at her.

—

The next week when your shift comes around, you still show up for work. Even though you are half an hour late from pacing up and down the street outside, considering if you should just not show up to spite him. It took three existential crises, five tears, and many muttered curses about the offending human being, but eventually you find yourself in the lift up to the recording office. You didn’t like to admit it, but you were the type who was quick to anger, but quick to cool.

Though cooling didn’t mean forgiveness. You were good at compartmentalisation and that was exactly what you were going to do.

The idea of not landing yourself in crippling school fee debt was wholly enticing, and to do that you needed this job as an admin at the recording offices. It paid well, and was easy enough. Keep the place clean, stock the pantry, manage the room bookings, make sure no one breaks equipment. Make ramen for customers. Don’t go into Min Yoongi’s studio. Even if he suffered a heart attack and might be dead. Easy.

You steel yourself with a breath and push open the swinging door with gusto, making a beeline for the reception with your head down and eyes trained on your shoes. Just get behind that tall white counter and you’d be safe -

“Oof.” - if you didn’t first collide with a broad, hoodie-clad chest.

Warm hands grip your shoulders to steady you. “Whoa, watch where you’re going, little pea.”

You smile as you step back to see a familiar face face that takes your breath away. “I didn’t know you were coming in today!”

Taehyung, or Tae, as you had come to know him, was one of the regulars at the studio. A music student with a voice deep and syrupy as honey, and a face just as sweet to match - he made hearts go ba-dump in chests. Even after six months of seeing him three times a week, and the knowledge that he was already (secretly) attached to his art school’s equally pretty-boy dance major, you as a normal human being were still not safe from Tae’s charms.

“Yeah, I had some free time - Jimin’s off putting in extra hours in the dance studio so I figured I’d come here.”

You’re glad for his presence as you go behind the reception and get ready for work.

Tae walks up on the other side of the counter and rests an elbow on it, chin propped in his palm. From behind his long bangs you can see he’s sporting a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. He looks at you expectantly and you’re confused for a moment but it all clicks into place.

You fall into the chair behind the reception and let your head loll back on the backrest, giving him the side-eye. “What is it, Tae?”

He grins mischeviously. “So Yoongi unleashed the kraken on you, huh.”

“If by kraken you mean Mr. Shouty Pants, then yes, the kraken.”

Tae lets out a barking laugh. “Let him off the hook, fisherman. He’s not so bad once you get to know him - he wasn’t always like this, you know.”

You guess is that if that stupid recluse had anything such as a friend, then Taehyung would probably be the closest thing to it. But then again your guess was as good as useless because it was near impossible to not like Tae - he was definintely overly-friendly, but not in a smothering way and boy, did it grow on you. Out of all the people who came and went in the studio, Taehyung and about four other people were the only ones you had ever seen Yoongi say more than three words to in a single sentence. Well, now you were included in that category too, but for very different reasons.

You make a scrunchy face at the sandy-haired boy. “Not so bad? All I was, was concerned and he saw fit to make me feel as worthy as the dirt under your shoe.”

“I don’t wear shoes.”

When you raise an eyebrow pointedly at him, Taehyung holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, shoe police, calm down.”

After a moment, he adds, “are you still angry?”

You sigh in resignation. “Honestly? Not really. I decided I need this job more than my dignity.”

Tae chuckles good-naturedly.

“Oh, by the way could I have the restroom key, Jungkook’s track got rejected again and the idiot’s gone and locked himself in there. Again.”

Bending to look under your table for the right set of keys, you cant help but feel the little worm of resentment wriggle in your heart. “If he were even half decent he’d apologise.” You grumble quietly.

“Looks like he already has.”

“What did you say?” You emerge from under the desk, a little red in the face, and hold the keys out to Tae.

“Thanks!” Tae grins widely at you as he takes the keys and makes in the direction of the hallway, calling out behind him, “Ramen at 9?”

“Choosing to have ramen with me over Jimin? I’m honoured.” You tease.

Turning back to your desk you notice a little convenience store heat pack with a yellow sticky note that says ‘it’s getting colder’ messily scribbled on it. Tae must have put it there while you were searching for the keys - a right shame he batted for the other team, the boy was so sweet.

“Thank you for the heat pack!”

“Not my doing!” Is his muffled reply from inside the corridors, but you just leave it at that.

—

Taehyung trains his eyes on the mop of black hair sitting in front of him at the audio console. He slowly swings in the spinny chair he’s kneeling backwards in, arms and chin on the high backrest.

After a couple minutes of silence Yoongi turns around.

“Tae I swear. I tolerate you, but if you continue staring at me while spinning in that chair for one more second I will enforce a shoes-on policy on this studio.”

The spinning continues, a playful gleam in the younger boy’s eyes. I call bluff. “When I’m gone, who else will you spill all your admin staff related problems to?”

Yoongi lets out a resigned sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Why he chose to let this shoeless, pajama-clad hooligan into his life he would never know.

“This is about ____, isn’t it?”

Taehyung nods. “What you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing.”

He stops spinning in the chair. “Hyung. You didn’t misplace her printing, spill coffee on her notes, make her give out flyers in the rain, put in her pay three days late, or even ask her to make ramen for Jungkook.” (The boy eats four packets in one go.) He lists them all out on his fingers, much to Yoongi’s further annoyance.

“Heck, maybe even collectively doing all of those things might have been better.” He wags an accusing finger in his face, but Yoongi chooses not to acknowledge it. Just like he’s trying not to acknowledge the huge clusterfuck that was this situation with you.

“You made _____ cry. The _____ who waters the stupid plant outside your door and replenishes the bottled water in your personal fridge after you run out because you’re too damn lazy to do it yourself. You’d both die of dehydration if not for her.”

“You both?”

“You and the plant outside, you fucking dumbass, since both of you have so much in common.”

Yoongi slumps deeper into his chair, twiddling with the rings on his fingers uncomfortably. He’s looking at his three computer screens filled with music arrangements but all he can see is your face, hurt and angry. There was a particular point where he saw a tear threaten to escape and he can’t remember feeling like more of an asshole. He’s frustrated that you make him frustrated with your stupid pretty face all crumpled up like that and the fact that he’d been the one to -

“So?” Taehyung asks expectantly.

Yoongi has a defeated look on his face. “I already apologised!”

Taehyung gives him a stare that was equal parts appalled and in disbelief. “With a two dollar heat pack you bought from the convenience store? Which you left on her desk, along with some random post-it and no name. She thinks it’s from me, by the way.”

“She should have been able to tell? ... From the handwriting?”

Taehyung just looks at him.

“I didn’t mean what I said, Tae.” He adds huffily after a short silence. You know why I get so prickly when people come into my studio without permission.”

“Hyung, but ____ doesn’t know that.” He reasons with a softer tone. “I know you like her. If you didn't you’d have fired her on the spot. She’s the best one yet, and pretty, too. I bet if you explained yourself she’d forgive you.”

He hates it, but Taehyung was right when it came to things like this. Your feelings had been hurt and insulted (unjustly so by him) and he didn’t know how to fix it, so he’d just avoided coming out of his room or being at the studio when you were working your shifts. Which had turned out to be an unexpected inconvenience because you were there, manning the reception and running the room bookings more often than he had thought.

“Knew she was trouble from the moment I hired her.” Yoongi grumbles.

“Stop it, old man. You’re just saying that because you like her.”

And indeed you were, all doe-eyed and warm smiles in a floral print dress catching him off guard the day you tentatively pushed the doors of the studio open, asking about the position opening for a receptionist.

Yoongi soon discovered, over the three months you’d been here so far, that you were also a college student struggling to pay her bills, and your shy disposition hid a sharp tongue and intelligent dry wit that had left him chuckling below his breath before he could stop himself. You were definitely trouble, and just his kind.

“After you apologise you should just ask her out already,” tae adds, “she’s totally got a thing going for you."

Yoongi scoffs. “Yes, _____ totally has a thing for me and my winning personality.” He puts his hand on his chin in mock contemplation. “Now I know why she ran off crying. She’s in love with me.”

“I said, after you apologise. Properly. She’ll forgive you.”

“Maybe I can just fire her. Then I don’t have to see her again.” He groans.

“Then I’d never forgive you.”

The words were sharp, but that was just Taehyung. There was somehow always a kindness to everything he did or said, even if it was an unpleasant thing; it had made Yoongi see the error of his ways more than once. The kid was more mature than anyone gave him credit for.

Tae pushes off the chair and claps an encouraging hand on the older boy’s shoulder before turning to leave the room.

“Just say sorry, Yoongi. It’s not that hard.”

—

The way Dongwon looks at you as he leans on the reception counter makes you uncomfortable. In the kind of way that you can feel his eyes on your face, your throat, your shoulders. It makes you want to take a shower. Not that you were wearing anything revealing. In fact, you are the antithesis of sexy right now in what Chungha liked to call The Nun Outfit - a white turtleneck knit and a plain black midi skirt that fell to your shins.

Nevertheless, you force a smile out, respecting that this was one of Yoongi's previous work partners. “I’m sorry, but Yoongi specifically told me not to allow any unscheduled reservations today.”

“Come on babe. I left shortly after you arrived, but you know who I am. I just gotta pick something up, and use studio B for a while.”

His usage of the affectionate term on you makes your skin prickle but you shake it off. “Maybe you could leave a message?”

Fumbling at your desk, you reach for a pen and a notepad, pointedly ignoring the way Dongwon is leaning in closer, not sparing you an inch of his scrutiny. “Here, you can use this -"

“Are you fucking him?”

You freeze. “What?"

Dongwon gives you a once over and runs his tongue on the inside of his cheek. You think you’re going to throw up.

“Are you two fucking? Is that why you’re listening to him like a good little - ”

Yoongi is nothing if not a possessive man. So when he catches the tail end of your conversation with Dongwon on his way out to get this third Americano of the day, and sees Dongwon looming over you like you're his next meal, he feels a sharp, intense anger pressing against his chest.

“The heck do you want?” Yoongi is seething as he enters the reception area, but he tames the flames quickly. His tone is deceptively level.

Dongwon looks away from you and a weird expression crosses his face, but it’s schooled quickly. “Yoongi, my man.” He greets emptily.

“I’m just visiting. Seeing how you’re doing.”

“Great.” is Yoongi's clipped reply as he sets his empty cup on the counter and tosses a couple of bills in front of you.

“Im sorry, sajangnim, I told him you said no unscheduled -”

“Iced americano, triple shot.” Yoongi cuts you off.

He looks at you pointedly, the first time he’s acknowledged you since he had shouted at you a week ago. Under normal circumstances you’d have snapped back about how ‘so we’re only speaking if you need me to be the coffee lady’ but today you just take the money and leave the office, glad to be out of there. You drag your feet, walking as slow as possible to the cafe downstairs and pray the barista takes longer, but there’s only so much time you can kill before you have to go back up. Coming to the end of the corridor you just hope they’re both gone by the time you get back so it saves you the confrontation but -

You stop just before they can see you through the glass door.

"You don't talk to my people that way."

"Your people?" You don't need to see Dongwon's face to know he's sporting a twisted mocking expression.

"What’s the matter, she’s free game if you guys aren’t sleeping together." His leering tone makes you blanch. "With a face like that? She's way out of your league, man, and even if you were fucking, it doesn't mean you can't share - “

Dongwon is cut off when you hear the loud, telling smack of a fist connecting with a face. It is all you can do to not drop the coffee in your hand, the other coming to cover your mouth to muffle a gasp.

“God, what the fuck is wrong with you, Yoongi? Who shoved a cactus up your ass?”

There is a brief scuffling noise, and the sound of some pushing and shoving, but quickly, it is quiet again.

“You know I could end your career in one phonecall, right?” You can barely hear Yoongi from where you are, but one thing’s for sure. You’ve never heard him like this before. Angry and menacing.

“I know what you’re here for. I’m not going to fall for it again. I kept quiet to protect the people in Namjoon’s company, but don’t you for one damn moment think I don’t know you’re the stealing bastard who took my demos and used them as your own.”

"And when Namjoon realises what your work is like - ha!" Yoongi snorts. "I was gonna watch you die a slow and public death but I guess that can be sped up."

Suddenly, things click into place with a shrill clarity. You don’t hear Dongwon say anything.

“You. Owe. Me. So you be a good little bitch and apologise to _____ when she comes back, and if you even so much as breathe on the corner of my block again, I’m going to fucking end you.”

“Yoongi you -“

If there was a good time for Badass Bitch™ to make an appearance it would probably be now. So you squeeze your eyes shut and with a deep breath, push open the office door.

“Coffee’s here!” You say a little too brightly, like you didn’t just walk in on an altercation.

Dongwon is trapped against the counter, collar gripped in Yoongi’s fist. He’s sporting a shiner on his cheekbone. Your lip trembles, but you manage to hold it in place. After a tense moment, Yoongi releases his grip with a disgusted exhale. Dongwon brushes himself off, turning away to straighten his shirt.

You place the coffee cup on the counter, turning to Yoongi and holding out a small fist. When he just looks at you, you grab his wrist and deposit some coins in his hand. You notice his knuckles are definitely pink.

“Your change.”

Yoongi ignores you, looking over your head at Dongwon. He opens his mouth like he’s about about to throw a nasty remark, but then closes it again with fire burning in his eyes and turns to leave.

“Oi. You forgot something. ” Yoongi’s tone is dangerous, warning.

Dongwon looks back, eyes still blazing, gaze shifting to you when Yoongi tilts his head in your direction.

He scoffs before pushing the door open, but then as he leaves he spits out begrudgingly, “Sorry, or whatever.”

You stand there in shocked silence for a good full minute before your senses come back to you. You turn to Yoongi again, grabbing his wrist to examine his hand.

“Yoongi, your hand -“ you start, but he’s already yanking it back from your grasp and muttering an angry “I’m fine”, before grabbing his coffee off the counter and heading back into his studio with a slam of his door.

If Yoongi’s day could have gotten any worse, it just did. There is a knocking on his door, for the third time in a row now and -

Knock knock knock.

He groans, yanking the door open. If he could get any more pissed off, he does, when he comes face to face with Taehyung.

“The fuck do you want, Tae, I swear if it’s nonsense again -"

"Stop taking your problems out on other people, hyung. Getting real tired of your shit here."

Yoongi groans internally. Tae was right. Again.

"Sorry. Its been a day. Dongwon was here earlier." He explains wearily, and the younger boy softens a little with understanding.

"S'okay. He's gone now?"

"Yeah, left him with a present too." Taehyung eyes Yoongi's hand that rested on the doorframe. He nods a few times, and then shoves a plastic bag into Yoongi’s hands.

“I have a present for you. It’s from ____.”

Your name stuns him for a moment. “Wait. Who?”

“____. She asked me to give it to you. I think she’s too afraid to give it to you herself.”

“What? Why?”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything, just rolls his eyes before walking away. Yoongi shuts the door and slumps back in his chair, hand coming to massage his temples but he winces when he tries to make a fist. His knuckles are an angry, painful red. He definitely hit Dongwon harder than he’d intended.

Sighing, he empties the contents of the little bag onto the table and finds a tube of anti-inflammatory ointment, a roll of bandages, and a little pink post it note. It’s from you. You’ve doodled a smiling caricature of yourself with a tiny speech bubble that says ‘thank you!’.

He picks it up, running a finger over the smiley face and plasters in the top right hand corner.

Huddling deeper into your coat as you trudge miserably back down the street in the direction of the studio, you silently thank Tae for the heat packs he’s been leaving you - though he always denies it and you wonder why. Of course it’s just your luck that you left your house keys at the office on the coldest night of the month.

It’s not that Yoongi was avoiding you, you reason to yourself, as you walk, he was always like that. Aside from the first interview, you didn’t get a second glimpse of him till the third week into your new job. And even then you didnt really know what he actually looked like, because his face was always covered with a mask or a black cap pulled low. You heard more about your boss than how much you actually saw him.

Maybe he just felt embarrassed by the whole two situations? You reason to yourself. Frankly you were over the whole shouting fest. Maybe he just had an off day, so what? (Chungha was right, you were just a little miffed that he didn’t apologise to you, but you guessed he’d redeemed himself). As you round the corner you kick a stray pebble that bounces down the street -

Oh.

You remember the first time you had a Good Look at Yoongi. Not just glimpses of eyes under a cap pulled low, or a flash of his profile as he tugs his hood up over his head. Like, a real proper stare. It was about a month and a half in, when you were heading to water the plants outside his studio before you ended your shift, and caught him working late with the door open.

You had imagined him to have coarse, unrefined features, what with his reclusive, gruff personality. And so you were caught by surprise, when you're greeted with a delicate side profile, strong brows slightly furrowed in concentration as he experiments with different chords on the keyboard with long, elegant fingers. A plush lower lip is worried between a row of clean, straight teeth. It was an unconventional kind of handsomeness, a kind that made you want to look, and look again.

But it's like he knows you're there and looks up. Before you can apologise out of habit, he closes the door in your face, your gaze meeting his for a split second. His eyes are angled with an almost feline quality under long lashes, sharp and guarded. You didn’t know what they guarded, but you felt a curiosity take bud in your chest and it was in that moment you knew you were very much in trouble.

But it is not clear how much trouble you are in. And you thought you were clear of that trouble, given the happenings of the past weeks. But now you realise any chance of being clear of it is now shot to shit when you round the corner of the street and see him crouching at the curb outside the building near a small ball of fur.

He’s playing with a cat.

Softly, the three-coloured cat he’s watching purrs, abandoning the can of tuna in favour of rubbing itself against Yoongi’s shin. He pulls a hand out of his hoodie pocket and reaches down to scratch between its ears. A gentle, endearing smile finds its way onto his face. You feel your heart squeeze.

But like the last time, before you can make your presence known, he looks up. He knows. There’s an expression on his face like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

Yoongi quickly stands up and shoves his hand back into his hoodie pocket as you approach. It is at this point a small logical part of his mind registers that it would be a good time to apologise to you, but for the most part it is a mental re-enactment of a keyboard smash when you give him an unsure smile and a tiny wave. All swaddled in your coat and scarf, you were so cute, and holy shit you were walking over and he had no clue what he was going to say.

“So you’re the one spoiling him.” You murmur as the cat leaves Yoongi to pad over to you.

“Him?” He replies dumbly.

You nod to the meowing ball of fur curling around your ankles. “Him. I named him Jimin.”

“Jimin.” He repeats slowly. “A very human name?”

Yoongi watches you, as you watch the cat, a small smile gracing your face. “He reminds me of a friend of a friend. Small and cute. But has claws. And very clingy once he gets close to you.”

You look up to catch him staring, and he quickly redirects his attention to a streetlamp in the distance. “Yeah, I’ve been feeding him for a couple of weeks now. You’re definitely right about him being clingy.” Yoongi admits sheepishly as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

Crouching to give Jimin a head scratch, you can sense Yoongi wants to say something. But you reckon he doesn’t know how. You think about giving him a hard time, but you don’t. You figure getting caught feeding a little cat is enough punishment for him.

“Don’t worry, sajangnim. I won’t tell anyone." You say with a little smile. "I’ll keep your image intact.”

Your smile makes his brain short circuit. "What?"

You let out a laugh because this was the most flustered you’d ever seen Yoongi, over a cat, no less! (you were wrong about this) And boy, was it amusing.

It's a light, happy noise and it's so pretty, Yoongi thinks. A pretty laugh for a pretty girl.

"Y'know, your whole brooding, all black, don't talk to me, mysterious guy image." You make a mask gesture over your face and then to him in mock disbelief.

"Playing with cats isn't very on brand of you, but I'll keep that information to myself."

Yoongi laughs then, and he dips his head to try and hide it, but from where you're crouching with Jimin you're treated to a glimpse of the cutest gummy smile that makes your heart turn into mush. You mentally note to prepare yourself for the next time he does that.

Putting your hands on your knees you push yourself back up and you both stand in companionable silence for a little while, watching the little cat go back to his bowl of tuna.

“I’m gonna -“

“Yeah so - “

The expression of mild surprise quickly turns into amusement on Yoongi’s face, and it makes you laugh softly into your palm like a shy fifteen year old. You quirk your head at him. Yoongi feels like it is really unfair for someone to be this cute.

“You first.”

Yoongi rubs the back of his neck with his hand and looks up at you from behind the hair falling in his eyes.

“I’m. Uh.” He stutters. “Realised I never apologised for that day.”

“It’s okay,” you smile reassuringly. “I’m over it.”

“You are?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I mean, granted you were a Top Notch Asshole, but I guess it was just a bad day for you.”

“I deserve that. Taehyung told me I should stop taking my anger out on others. Its true.”

“I accept your apology. Everyone has their own… thing.” You say stupidly after not being able to find better words.

“I just have issues sometimes. With... intellectual property.” He gestures vaguely in the air, trying to explain the best he can and you understand that he doesn’t really want to say more.

“I know.”

Yoongi’s brow knits in confusion for a moment before realisation dawns upon him.

“You heard us.”

You nod with a tight smile. “I didn’t mean to.”

Yoongi nods. “You’re not curious?”

“I am.” You consider this for a while, before adding: “but I don’t want to hear it if you don’t want to tell me.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just continues staring at you. He likes that you are perceptive, and that you don’t feel like you’re automatically owed a lengthy explanation (even though he feels like you were). He likes your humour and the way you say things, and how every emotion is displayed so clearly on your face. He used to hate it because he thought it was a lack of tact, but honesty like yours is something he’s recently come to treasure a lot.

His staring makes your skin prickle all over and your cheeks flush, so you look for something to say.

“So all the receptionists who've worked for you become your punching bag, or was it just me?”

“Only the pretty ones.” He's sporting that cheeky gummy smile again.

He thought you were pretty?

It was so cliche, but it made you giggle. "Okay, casanova."

Your laugh dies down and you do this little shrug smile thing at him. In the muted yellow of the lamplight, and the snow starting to fall around you, Yoongi feels his heart stutter.

“Thanks, for the... stuff.” He pulls his other hand out of his hoodie to show you that it’s bandaged.

“Ah, you got them. I’m glad Tae got them to you. I didn’t know if you um.” You pause. “... wanted my company or not.” Yoongi blanches apologetically. “I’m working on it.”

After a moment of silence, you point up at the building. “I gotta get going. I left my house keys in the office. I came back to get them.”

“I think I’ll stay here a little longer.” He looks down at his furry friend working steadily at finishing whatever's in the bowl. “With Jimin.”

A sudden gust of cold, sharp wind cuts by, and you shove your hands deeper into your pockets kept warm by the heat pack Taehyung had given you. You see Yoongi shiver in his hoodie, and in the spur of the moment you fish out the heat pack in your pocket and hold it out to him.

“Take this, if you're gonna be out here. It’s getting colder these days.”

There is an odd expression on Yoongi’s face and he stares weirdly at you for a moment before you go into panic mode.

“Oh no, do you mind that I’ve been holding it before? Oh no I’m sorry. It’s okay, my hands are clean, I wash them often, twice actually with soap and water. I don’t like germs. If you want I also have hand sanitiser - “ you begin digging around hastily in your little sling bag, but freeze when Yoongi’s hands settles over your own.

They are big and warm, and the rough callouse on his palm brushes gently over your knuckles. You can’t help but imagine what they’d feel like on other places of your body. He accepts the heat pack from you, fingers lingering just a little too long - you’re sure of it, you hadn’t imagined that.

“Thank you, ____.” He offers you a half-smile and you can feel your heart flip flop like a fish in your chest.

All of a sudden, self-consciousness hits you in waves, and you school your features, clearing your throat. “I… I’d better get going, sajangnim.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“Call me Yoongi.”

Yoongi finds himself biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too wide as he watches you, all flustered as you stutter a mumbled agreement and goodbye, trudging off abruptly in the direction you came. Only to turn back around because you’d gone in the wrong direction instead of going to get your keys. Cute, he thinks to himself. Very cute.

—

The first time you say his name is two weeks later and you’re not used to calling him that, so he really has to drag it out of you. (Not that he didn’t enjoy it, but you best believe he won’t ever let you live it down that you couldn’t bring yourself to drop the honorifics.)

It’s after hours, and he’s leaning against the audio console in his studio, with you standing between his legs. A random demo track of his plays in the background - a simple piano melody, but you don't recognise it. Must be one of the new things he's been working on - there were a lot of them lately. One of them being working up the sexual tension between you two, which had reached a head today, given the position you were in. You were about to burst. Into tears, or flames you didn't know which but you sure as hell were about to find out.

You are eye to eye with Yoongi. An arm around your waist presses you against his chest with nowhere to run, the other hand gently cupping the side of your face. He is terribly close, so warm and smells of soap and the leather jacket he’s wearing.

“Say it properly.”

A little bubble of annoyance rises in your throat at the smug expression on his face. You’re rather cute when you’re frustrated.

“This is blackmail. It’s illegal, you know?” You say huffily. “It’s just a name, why do you have to make life so hard for me? I’m sure you’d know - “

You ramble on, and Yoongi watches you fondly - you weren't much of a talker, but put you in a spot and suddenly you couldn’t stop talking. He’s rather excited to discover more of this side of you. Even your coping mechanisms were cute, and he thinks to himself that he’s pretty much done for.

Yoongi places his index finger under your chin, tipping your head up to meet his gaze and runs the pad of his thumb slowly over your bottom lip. You shut up, and watch him as he watches his finger press into the soft flesh. The guy knew exactly what he was doing, and you were going to let him.

“Kiss me.”

Yoongi tilts his face even nearer, lips hovering dangerously close.

“Not good enough.” He whispers. His breath fans gently across your cheek; it smells like the mint gum he likes to chew on when he’s working on a particularly difficult track.

Yoongi feels your small hands tighten around the lapels of his jacket, and he’s met with a glare that is pleading and dare he say… petulant? He’s wanted to kiss you for a long time, and he’s thought about it a lot. More than is healthy for him, he thinks, but oh, does he want to tease you just a little bit longer.

“Not. Good. Enough.”

“Yoongi, kiss me.”

When Yoongi first kisses you, he does so chastely. He nips delicately at your lips. His own are soft, unhurried and teasing - a tender shadow of a kiss. You can tell he's relaxing, savoring the moment, and like a fog settling in, your world grows hazy with the smell, taste and touch of him.

"There's my girl." Yoongi whispers as he pulls away, his breath mixing with yours. Unintentionally you shift, moving forward for another kiss because he's kissing you but not really kissing you. And unsurprisingly, he stays where he is, just out of reach.

"Kiss me. Properly ", you repeat.

He moves his lips slowly to your jaw and lower; you can feel his laugh through his chest. You crane your neck and let out a breathy "oh god" when Yoongi takes his own sweet time to suck a deep pink bruise into the creamy expanse of skin there. He appraises, with satisfaction, the way his mark looks on you before soothing it with his warm lips and tongue.

"Come on princess," he murmurs against your skin in between licks. "Try again."

The term of endearment he uses on you is your undoing, and he makes a mental note with emphatic exclamation points to revisit this tidbit of information at a later date.

"Yoongi. Kiss me. Please."

And just like that he continues where you two left off, this time with no ounce of teasing or flirting. It's hot and shameless and wanton. Yoongi is no longer gentle. The hand around your waist drops to the curve of your ass, gripping hard and pulling you onto your tiptoes. He slips a thigh between your legs, your hips now flush against his - a delicious pressure you can't get enough of. The other hand palms your breast, rubbing a pebbling nipple through your clothes and the sudden friction makes you gasp. He takes the chance parting of your lips to lick into your mouth, swallowing your soft moans eagerly. You run one of your hands up to the nape of his neck. Carding your fingers through the hair there earns you a low groan, and a heavy, languid swipe of his tongue against yours.

You don’t know how long you spend memorising the taste of him, his hands claiming every possible inch of your skin, but eventually the kiss slows. Yoongi takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently as he pulls away. For a moment all you can hear is the the blood roaring in your ears.

As the both of you catch your breath, Yoongi is just watching you now. The hand that rests on your waist moves up your belly, up your chest. It comes to rest at the base of your throat, thumb one one side and four fingers on the other. Silently, you revel in its weight. The feeling of his rings on your skin makes you shiver a little. Unable to help himself, he squeezes ever so slightly. Like this, he can feel your hummingbird pulse under the pad of his thumb.

Your eyes flutter shut momentarily, but not before you see his eyes light with desire.

You look up at him, and he decides he likes you like this. He really, really likes you like this - soft, pliant, all pressed up against him with your moans and kiss-swollen lips, and for the love of god, begging.

It’s a bit pathetic how you’ve got him all wrapped around your little finger but he's had enough of teasing and he gets to kiss you now, so he doesn’t care. He smiles widely, closing the distance between his lips and yours again.

Six months down the road is the first time he lets you listen to that piano track when it’s finished. You don’t remember it at first, but he’s quick to jolt your memory with a very in depth and very realistic re-enactment.

When you finally get down to listening to it, he plays it off as cool and nonchalant, but you’re attuned to his little mannerisms by now, and the way he’s picking at the skin on his thumb told you this was important. He’s nervous to let you listen to it.

It’s beautiful - a soft piano backing track compliments his husky rap in an unexpected but flawless manner, and the way it builds into a crescendo fills you with raw emotion. Your eyes are wet by the time the last few notes play.

“Yoongi, it’s beautiful.”

He smiles at you, but continues picking at his thumb.

“You don’t think it’s too… different?” He frowns a little. “From my other stuff? Will people like it?”

You walk over to take his face between two of your small hands. You’re looking at him like he’s your entire world and his heart is going to burst. “ Don’t worry. It’s going to be amazing. It is amazing. You’re amazing.”

In that moment, Yoongi feels invincible. He presses a long, sweet kiss to your lips.

“Some day, I’m going to write a song about you.” he breathes when he pulls away. You beam quietly.

“Music is my first love but you - “ there is a pause as he takes a moment to run a finger across your cheek, so gentle, as if he might break you if he wasn’t careful enough.“ - you are my forever love.”

#joonclouds writes #yoongi #bts yoongi #yoongi fic #bts fic #suga fic #yoongi fluff #producer yoongi makes me feel things

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passiveaggressivecat · 4 years ago

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5 Easy Methods To Get Arranged Using Pegboard

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Peg board is really just a traditional pick for maintaining instruments organized in the workroom. It is useful behind the job seat, retaining tools inside of just convenient and safe reach. To install, simply measure the wall space supporting the work seat. Subsequently, cut a parcel of perforated hardboard sized to fit. Fasten securely to the walls, employing the acceptable anchors. Keep in mind the pegboard is likely to be quite heavy after your gear are all hung. Rate your tools to be able to choose the most useful peg board hooks and shelves for the usage. You will discover there are certainly a wide array of hooks and accessories available, making it simple to customize your pegboard to your precise needs. You can also use a permanent marker to produce outlines all over your applications on the plank, and so it is obvious at which in fact the gear ought to be replaced when you're done together.

Pegboard at the Pastime Room

It's hard to imagine that a far better material than pegboard for trying to keep interest supplies organized. You are able to install as little or as much peg board as you need on the living space partitions. Be certain the peg board is attached securely, employing the ideal wall fasteners. You may use peg board hooks to save ribbons, sewing equipment, and your craft tools. There are also pegboard bins readily available, that is helpful for preserving irregularly-shaped items or those which do not give themselves to being suspended by the hook. To keep small scraps of cloth or other craft substances organized and highly observable, set them in plastic totes and then hang from hooks.

Pegboard in Your Home-office

Setting up a small object of pegboard behind your desk can be really a significant method to organize office equipment. Consider using peg board shelves to transport things like tape dispenses and sticky notepads. Bins created to be wrapped onto a pegboard certainly are a great means to keep pencils, pens and mark organized. By employing pegboard, you are going to maintain crucial office supplies organized and handy, whilst in addition freeing up table area for other uses.

Peg Board from Your Kitchen

To present your kitchen a professional and organized appearance, hang a parcel of peg board. Whether properly used behind the countertop area or maybe to cover an full wall, then you'll continue to keep your kitchen gadgets and accessories handy, while still saving counter space in the same time. Besides, you're going to be equipped to locate only the gadget you want in less time than it would have to dig through a drawer. Painting the peg board with a glossy easy-to-clean end can make it simple to look after.

Peg Board from the Garage

The garage will be another excellent place to make use of peg board hooks. Dangle a huge slice of peg board securely onto the garage wall. After that, use it to arrange backyard tools, automobile maintenance provides, and also sometimes utilised hand tools. It is possible to conserve garage floor space and remain organized at the same moment.

#pegboard #pegboard hooks #peg hooks

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jinmukangwrites · 5 years ago

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From the Ashes (2/???)

Summary: In a modern version of Hyrule, a young man finds himself in a world filled with nothing but white walls, studying faces, and tests after tests. Something is different about him, and the world seems very interested is seeing what makes him tick. (A modern, BOTW/LOZ “Labrat” AU)

Chapter 1, Chapter 3 (to be released for all Partron's today, July 11th for Tumblr)

Warnings: Death, torture, blood, description on injury, experimentation, dark themes, emotional abuse, abuse.

Make sure you read the warnings, be safe.

-o-o-o-o-

Today there's autopsy, he died during it, but there's still an autopsy. They give him the numbing agent like always before they secure him down, but there's nothing that can stop the pain of a scalpel cutting down your chest, nothing like the skin being torn apart in different directions, nothing like ribs being pried apart so they can get a better look at your still beating heart.

They're careful at first, making sure he lives long enough for them to get their samples of tissues and muscles and fluid until they do what they always do instead of stitching him back together; they kill him. It's effective. Whatever brings him back to life whenever he dies heals everything and leaves nothing but a scar on his skin. He wakes up moments later completely healed and ready for whatever they want to do to him next.

It seems today they also want to test his endurance, because right as he wakes up from his autopsy, the mask that always kills him is strapped on and soon death takes him again.

The black lasts longer this time, the warmth comes a little later and just a bit duller, but he wakes up again, fine, breathing, good. Then the mask kills him again, it takes longer, again, it's colder. He wakes up. He dies. Again.

Longer. Colder. Alive. Dead. Again. Again.

Six times he dies until the machines scream at them to stop when he can't. He's dizzy, the phantom pains of knives literally in his chest burn and his lungs are begging for fresh air. He can't feel his body as they undo the straps and place him in a wheelchair for transport. Soon, he's wheeled into his home, the only place he can call his, and left there to blankly stare at the white walls until he can find the strength to move.

It takes a few hours, but he finally manages to wobbly stand up from the wheelchair. It's a practice he's mastered, this is nothing new. He doesn't bother to look back at the observation room connected to his with a panel of glass. He knows that the main scientist is there, observing him while he nibbles on the end of his pen. He's the same man who killed him for the first time in his one and only true memory. He hasn't seen that nice woman since, he wonders where she is.

Anyway, he ignores the observation room. They usually go away and turn on the cameras once he's collapsed in his small, threadbare bed. There's not much to observe when all he has energy to do is clutch at his thin pillow and breathe until sleep takes him. Why waste time watching him sleep when they could be preparing for the next experiment, the next sample, the next death.

The moment he collapses into his bed, on top of his blanket and pillow not even properly placed under his head, the bright lights in his cell turn off and multiple blinking green dots appear in the dark corners of his cell near the ceiling. His eyes unwillingly slip closed, he wishes he could keep them open, yet he knows fighting sleep is useless.

At least, when he's asleep, he has a name and family. When he's awake, he's got terror. When he's dead, he's got nothing.

Though, nothing is starting to sound very nice, and if only it would last forever.

-o-o-o-o-

There are sometimes days where they do nothing to him. He cherishes those days. He has time to do whatever he wants (within limited restrictions and boundaries of course) just as long as he does their mandatory workouts and therapy sessions.

The workouts are easy. He's brought to a large gym where there are treadmills and tracks and weights; there's an instructor and two guards and he does what he's told for about an hour to two depending on what the instructor determines what his body needs. The foods they feed him are filled with vitamins and minerals, so it's not like he's bone skinny, but he's not muscular either. Despite the things they do to him, they want his body to be healthy, that way results are not tainted by starvation, exhaustion, and a poor immune system.

He likes climbing. Out of everything they have him do during workouts, it's climbing nets and walls that he loves most. Running is fine, stretching and yoga is sort of okay, lifting weights is boring and he doesn't like that, they had him try swimming a couple times but both times he almost drowned so they got rid of that, but climbing is something he would willingly do.

There's something freeing about lifting himself higher and higher with nothing but his own strength. He likes to pretend he's climbing a mountain, a very tall mountain. One where if he ever reaches the top, he will be free from labs and experiments, he will be able to swing his arms out and lift his face to the stars and never have to go back.

The worst part about climbing is having to come back down.

Today he ran, he didn't get to climb, but there's always a next time.

Therapy sessions are a bit harder because it's a full two hours where he's expected to communicate, and he doesn't very much like the therapist. He can't speak, no matter how hard he tries to make sounds or how long they grill him in basic vocal practices it just doesn't happen. He somehow knows a bit of sign, but just the simple ones, limited to mostly letters. Most of the therapy sessions involve him trying to spell out how he's feeling with his hands and the therapist getting impatient with how long it takes for him to sign S-C-A-R-E-D or H-A-P-P-Y or H-U-R-T when he theoretically could just say the words and move on. He gets yelled at a lot, which he doesn't think getting yelled at is a part of therapy but he has to remind himself that he doesn't know what therapy is outside of the labs, so for all he knows getting yelled at for things he can't control is what therapy is all about.

Thankfully, today the therapist looks happy. When they're happy, they talk a lot about themselves instead of him. Apparently their brother got married and they got to go back home to the Zora's Domain to visit. He only knows a couple Zora, the therapist being one of them, the others being various scientists and nurses. There's a Goron on the security team, but the rest are all Hylian. He hears stories of the Gerudo sometimes, but he's never seen one. They sound beautiful, especially since none of them come here to the labs to hurt him.

After a whole long story about how the therapist got to go cliff driving with their siblings (oh cliff driving sounds wondrous even though he can't swim well) the therapist sighs and clicks a pen against the clipboard in their hands.

"Okay," they grumble, "let's get this over with. How are you feeling today?"

It's a question that should be genuine, but the therapist says it like they'd rather be sleeping.

Today, he doesn't hurt, today's a free day. He got to work out, but he didn't get to climb. He came to therapy and hasn't been yelled at yet. He's okay. A little tired from working out, a little hungry, but he's okay.

O-K. T-I-R-E-D. W-O-R-K-O-U-T

"Yesterday Doctor Marras tested your endurance, how did that go?"

He lifts his hand up to his chest, his fist shaped in the sign for "A". He moves his fist down like a scalpel would. His sign for "Autopsy".

D-I-E.

He makes the shape for "D" now and puts it over his nose, the sign for the mask used to kill him.

Six. No / R-I-S-K / seven.

"How did you feel?"

He brings his hands out in front and touches the fingertips of his pointer fingers a couple times. Hurt. He then opens his palms across his chest and drags them outward while slowly closing his fists. Afraid.

The therapist sighs and he puts his hands down to his lap. This conversation sounds old, feels repetitive.

It doesn't matter. He knows it's just a way to make sure he's still capable of thinking and living. Losing his mind would be almost as bad as letting his body wither away. Almost. They'd rather his body is peak physical condition than his brain fully functional, which is probably why his work out trainor is actually very good while his therapist doesn't help that much at all.

Whatever the case, he's asked a couple more required questions and he's not yelled at at all before he's escorted back to his cell where a small number of activities await him. By his cot is a small pile of books, a sketch pad, and some pencils. On the small plastic table next to the bed is a black tablet with apps for learning basic math and science are downloaded on, along with an app used to help him learn more words in sign. There's a paper cup of water placed next to it, right beside a protein bar which is certainly a rare sight. He's usually fed the same gray, tasteless goop every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If he's given actual substance, he must have done something good. Or they're all just in a good mood.

Not one to pass up the opportunity of actual food, he grabs the bar and gently tears it out of it's wrapping. He sighs in content as the flavor hits his tongue, it's bitter, but he can still taste chocolate. Content, he plops down on his cot and opens the sketch book. He flips through the pages he's already sketched on and lands on a blank page. Tapping the pencil against the paper in thought, he glances up quickly at the observation room. Today the glass has been changed into a mirror, which sends a wave of uneasiness through him. Whatever is going on behind that mirror, they don't want him to see today.

He sucks in a breath and turns back down to his sketchbook.

#jin writes #fan fiction #legend of zelda #botw #loz botw #breath of the wild #link #au

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helloecoleglobale · 5 years ago

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How to Organize for the First Day of School - A Guide For New and Veteran Teachers

The first day of school is very exciting for each student and lecturers. In fact, I still remember my first day of school as a preschool student! However, the first day of school can even be overwhelming. You’ll in all probability find yourself wondering: Do I have all the supplies I will be able to need? Are my students aiming to feel welcome and comfortable within the class? And most importantly, what do I wear?!

1. Creating a welcoming atmosphere

Ecole Globale which is the best residential school in India says as your students enter your schoolroom for the first time, they have to feel at home. One in every of the simplest ways in which to assist your students to feel like a part of the classroom is to allow them to see that you’re together with them! Create a bulletin board dedicated simply to your students. Begin with their names, and as shortly as you’ll be able to add their pictures, too. If you’re short on bulletin board space, why not decorate your playroom door instead because some girls boarding school follow all these steps. Pinterest could be a good spot to find concepts for decorating a bulletin board or a door. Set up a free account and start the things.

2. Organizing new student bags

As you set up your schoolroom for your new class, put aside a couple of large gallon-sized Ziploc luggage to create “new-student bags”. Fill the luggage with a personalized plate, classroom folders, and school procedures. Embody whatever a new student might have so that when you get a late arrival on the third day of school, you’ll have all the new provides neatly organized in one place and ready to go!

3. Organizing classroom supplies

If your faculty needs students to bring their own supplies at the start of the year, you’ll be able to organize those, too! Here’s how to set up drop-off stations with boxes or bags clearly labeled with words and pictures; therefore, your students recognize wherever to go away their supplies for next time. This is often a huge help — it saves you from outlay beyond the regular time at the end of the day sorting through the full class’s provides. Let’s face it, wouldn’t you actually rather take a nap right about then?

When it involves provides like crayons, glue, pencils, scissors, you’ll be able to choose to have your students share from one candy per table instead to use individual provide boxes. Either way, label each candy or box with a table range or student name for easy organization. Store all the additional provides in plastic bins with lids clearly labeled; therefore, you’ll be able to refill supplies once needed!

4. Setting up room routines

One of the foremost necessary factors in arranging for a smooth first day of school is setting up clear routines. Confirm that you have a written schedule to provide you something to follow. I continually have a class schedule informed the board for my students to use. As a result of several of my students who don’t seem to be able to browse when starting kindergarten, I conjointly give visuals to assist them in understanding the schedule.

5. Minimizing tears

The first day of school is often scary. It should be the first time your kindergarteners have ever been far from their oldsters for an extended amount of your time. Well, it’s hard on moms and dads too! If your school permits it, one in every of the simplest ways in which to ease everyone into the new atmosphere is to ask parents into the room on the first day. Embody them on the same tour of the playroom that you’re giving your students. Limit this point to about an hour of the day.

#girls boarding school in dehradun #Top 10 best schools in India #best boarding schools #ecole globale #ecole globale international school #Organize for the First Day of School

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suicidalcatz · 5 years ago

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DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 4

AN: Hello ! In this chapter we go on an investigation! But also we get closer to God Jake. I’m writing the 7th part at the moment, and I think the 8th one will be the end of my dream, but not of this fanfic. Let the fluff begin !

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre: College AU

Previous parts: Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3

Masterlist : here

Chapter four : Need a hand ?

It became obvious to both Mandy and I that I was starting to have a crush on Jake. How could I not ? For a far as we knew him, he was perfect in every way.

At first it was discreet. My new hobby of staring at him during lectures was unnoticed by both of the Kiszkas, or if Josh noticed something, he at least thought it was me waiting for his next paper ball notes and getting impatient. Regarding my class daydreamings, they weren't new so classmates and teachers didn't think much of it. Although it became very apparent something was up when I started unintentionally drawing his face several times in the workshop during portraits studies. Even though my photo reference was Kurt Cobain. It could've been easily mistaken for a very bad observation job (and it did), if it weren't for Mandy who saw me coming home after a long day with a painted 50x70cm Jake canvas under my armpit. Judging by my defeated look, she didn't address it, but she knew.

It's a few days later that we had that talk. It was getting so bad that I began mistaking people in hallways for him, smiling or even giggling to myself as I was remembering stuff he did or said, and again, drawing him.

- I can't focus on anything, I sighed defeated. I have this assignment due to next week and I can't draw any character right. I even dreamed of us doing grocery shopping.

I let my head bump loudly against the dining table as she made me a cup of tea/coffee and placed it in front of me. She knew perfectly how I felt because we all went through the same, that's why she softly pulled the chair opposite mine to sit and have a chat.

- You should talk to him more, get to know him, she encouraged. He's nice and now we sometimes hang out so it's not that weird wanting to know him better.

She was right. Sooner or later I'll had to talk to him and even tell him how I feel anyway. Not now though, it was too soon. I kind of got struck by lightning when I first laid my eyes on him and it got worse when we spoke, but it still rarely happened for people to fall instantly like that. There was no way he'd understand if I just confessed my feelings out of the blue. I should wait and see if there's any chance that my feelings are shared, because there was no way in hell I'd tell him if I wasn't sure I had a chance to date him. Speaking of which...

- Should I ask him out on a date?

As an answer, Mandy smacked my head accross the table with an empty box of biscuits.

- Are you out of your mind ? I just told you to wait ! I know you're impatient to get into his pants but think about all the times you rushed things and how many times it worked.

Raising my head to rest my chin against the plastic flowery tablecloth, I considered it, looking at her munching on chocolate biscuits, browsing a fashion magazine for inspiration. Defeated once again, I let out a sigh and shifted so my cheek was against the table.

- First of all, I don't want to get into his pants- Not yet. Second of all, you're right. I don't want to screw up this time because it'll be so awkward afterwards.

She closed her eyes and quickly nodded because she knew she was of good advice, as usual.

- You forgot something essential boo. You don't know if mister doe-eyed guitarist is single.

Fuck, that's right. Neither of them mentionned it but it's not something you just blurt out. We exchanged a look, and she grinned at me in a knowing way.

- Let's investigate.

The first thing to do was to go on his Facebook. It did seem a bit wrong searching him like that instead of asking straightforwardly, and as if karma thought the same, we found that his infos were set on private. We didn't even bother searching for instagram or twitter as nobody puts their real full names on these, so the second thing to do was to go on the field.

Despite all the departments, the school was small so buildings were close to each other and all communicated (except for the fashion workshop). I kind of knew where everything was, since you could tell just by looking at the people hanging around. And as cliché as it sounded, it was true. Illustration students were always carrying ridiculous amounts of art supplies. Entire bags of paint, books and pencil case in their backpacks, giant portfolio under an arm, A3 sketchbooks in the other, and somehow they still found a way to carry their coffee cups. Architecture, Carpenters and Furniture Design students were often seen with big mock ups and models in their arms, tools or wood. Photo and Fashion peeps were carrying the less stuff since they worked mainly on computers in the Photography dep and let all their mannequins and fabric either at home or in the Fashion workshop. It was as easy to spot dudes from the Music dep, with their guitar on their back, hanging around the Architecture building, smoking, chatting, and drinking soda or coffee.

Their building was near the park, so they were mostly seen in that area. And thank God because I would've look so stupid passing by purely « by chance » in an area where no one ever went except for the people who actually studied there. The park was great. A lot of us used to play ball, sit on the grass to drink, chat or have lunch. It was big enough that the Architecture jocks built some cabins in a corner of it to host parties. I still don't understand how the school allowed that, but anyway, the plan was simple, make a little detour to see if I could spot Jake.

It was so cold outside that students were just hurriedly passing by, quickly making their way inside where it was somewhat warm. As a result, there wasn't many people in the park at this hour of the day and I wondered if Jake was in the dorms or in class before catching a glimpse of his hair in the corner of my eye. Okay time to be discreet. I put my bag down near the trash to fake looking for something while watching him. Fuck he looked good with a scarf and head covered with a beanie. Aside from his looks, he seemed rather bummed. Passers by kept shaking him off as he tried to hand them yellow papers. Probably flyers.

- Jake, I'm taking 5 !

Some guy just beside me doing the same task called him loud and clear, and I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes when Jake turned around to reply and locked eyes with me. I instantly felt very dumb, crouched next to the trash with my hands on my bag. The mental image I had of myself at that very moment was that of a raccoon. Running away was out of the question since he was approaching my way already, one hand holding the flyers and the other in his jacket pocket.

- Hey.

- Hi, I replied without moving an inch.

- Need a hand ?

Shaking out of it, I got on my feet by myself and lied about just passing by. Karma really was a bitch, wasn't it ? Henceforth no more weird MI6 strategies for me. Avoiding staring at the blushed tip of his nose, I gazed at my hands and saw his in the process.

- Are you giving out flyers ?

- Oh yeah, for the Christmas school festival, but no one is either interested or invested in it unfortunately. It's a shame, I think it's gonna be great. I don't know what's holding them, he added while scratching his beanie, it's free and there's gonna be music and food and booze, what more could we need ?

To be fair I understood both parties. Jake was right but some students probably had exams or homework, and it was freezing and they were doing it outside. Well if we were honest it never stopped anybody from partying so maybe the event wasn't the issue.

- I saw people displaying posters, I remembered, can I see the flyers ?

Without missing a beat he handed them all to me and dear lord I almost got blind just by looking at them. That yellow and black and these awful drawings weren't doing anything good for the event. He must've saw it on my grimacing face because he sighed.

- That bad ?

- Honestly ? It looks like a Bee Movie add.

It actually made him let out a chuckle before puting a hand to his heart.

- That hurts.

That flawless smile made my cheeks burn, thank god they were already red because of the cold. His thumb brushed mine when I handed the flyers back to him, and at this moment I knew I was gonna act without thinking again, because my brain went on vacation the second his skin got in contact with mine.

- I can make you new ones, if you want.

His eyes searched for any traces of a joke on my face before realization hit him and his brows frowned lightly.

- Are you sure ? 'm not an expert but this looks like a lot of work.

As backup to his words, he shook the big bundle of paper between his fingers. Jake genuinely looked worried about me, and all the work it'd put me through. Deep down I knew there was a little voice in my head screaming that helping him only meant more sleepless nights but all the other parts of my brains ignored it when two gentle brown eyes stared at me with concern.

- It'll be fine, I assured with a smile. I'm working fast. I just have to do one design and the rest will be printed, right ? No big deal.

Hand on his hip, Jake let out what sounded like a relieved breath and cracked a smile.

- Thanks, I really appreciate it. Do you have a pen ?

Of course I did, I even got one on my coat pocket for some reason. Things I just forget to remove. He gave me the flyers for me to hold while he uncapped the black marker and took my free arm.

- I'm giving you my number, so you can text me if you're having troubles for the design, and show me some pics if you need advice.

With cold fingers, he gently grabbed my wrist and pushed back the fabric to expose my already shivering skin, and started writing numbers on my veins. It tickled, and I got goosebumps, mostly because of the cold wind but also because of his hand around my arm. The soft touch of his calloused fingers felt right on my skin, replacing the freezing feeling of his digits by a sweet wave of heat and I unconsciously held my breath to focus on the new sensation. He let the ink dry a bit before covering my arm again, raising his chin to meet my face.

- I could've write it on one of the flyers but I got a feeling you would've lost it, wouldn't ya ?

A playful smile danced on his face and once again I found myself mesmerized by him, nodding and chewing on my lip in a childlike manner. Jake tapped me on the shoulder to thank me again, saying he'll make it up to me, but I was too absorbed by the burning feeling of his skin on mine.

- I have to go, he said after sliding the marker back inside my breast pocket. My band's playing at the christmas party by the way, I hope you'll come!

#gvf fic #gvf x reader #gvf imagine #gvf fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka imagine #josh kiszka fic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet #jake kiszka

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missbrightsky · 5 years ago

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Velaris National Park

Fics Masterlist

Chapter 1

Green light filtered through the canopy, patches of gold peppering the road ahead. Rolled down windows allowed the late spring air weave through the car, carrying the scent of growing things and warmth to wrap around us.

Elain had some 2000s pop station pouring from the speakers, all of us belting out the familiar words to our audience of Mother Nature. Nesta had called shotgun at the beginning, leaving me to have the back seat to stretch out, propping my feet on the bag that held our borrowed tent.

It was May in Prythian, warm and good and green. I had just graduated from my master’s program in Art History, my whole future stretching out ahead of me. Elain had insisted we celebrate but all of us were in educational debt and couldn’t afford to fly anywhere. Ever the florist, she found a state park a few hours away that boasted the largest collection of wildflowers in the country, one especially that bloomed once every three years. And because Elain was always lucky, this year was one of the few that it blooms in full.

A few days after graduation, she managed to wrangle Nesta away from the publishing house and me away from my couch and stuffed us all into her 2005 Honda.

Velaris National Park

Turn off 5 miles

Elain’s singing broke off mid-verse, a squeal replacing the lyrics as she pointed out the sign. I could only smile at her excitement; camping was never really our family’s thing, but her happiness was too infectious. At least I had managed to throw my sketchbook and watercolor pencils into my bag before she dragged me out the door. It had been a while since I had done some wildlife sketching, there was not a lot of green space or biodiversity in the city.

She turned down the music while Nesta and I straightened in our seats, ready to hop out of the car and get blood flowing back into our legs.

Even Nesta who normally tolerated Elain’s antics had a ghost of a smile playing around her lips, the fresh air loosening her iron grip on her emotions.

Elain slowed the car, turning right before the massive stone wall that announced the entrance to the park, gravel crunching under the tires.

The rough road weaved with the terrain, up and down and curving around hills and patches of meadows that peaked through the trees. We even rumbled over a wooden bridge that spanned the banks of a sparkling stream, the water throwing shimmering rainbows into the air.

A low log cabin-like building greeted us, its small parking lot only holding a Jeep with the park logo on the side and another car.

Elain turned the car off and all of us popped our doors open, slightly stumbling as our legs reacclimated to moving. Small groans slipped out of our mouths as we stretched feeling back into our lower halves, taking in the new environment.

A small sign in the window informed us of the park’s office hours and the emergency phone line. Elain pushed in first, a petite ding announcing our arrival.

The inside was a simple, square room, half the room stocked with souvenirs and anything campers may need in a pinch. A long, low counter ran along the back wall with an open doorway hinting at the back room. This was where a perky blonde emerged, greeting them with a bright smile. Her long hair was braided down her back, a forest green polo stamped with the logo somehow accented her curves instead of looking dorky and too stiff.

“Hi! Welcome to Velaris National Park. I’m Mor, what can I help y’all with today?”

“Hello! I’m Elain and these are my sisters Nesta and Feyre,” she gestured to each of us in turn, we all shook her hand, surprised to find it calloused and strong.

“How long do y’all plan on staying?”

“Two nights, please. And if you can point out on a map where the Starfall flower will be blooming?”

Mor laughed, a grin splitting her mouth. “I should’ve guessed, this is some of our busiest weeks of the year. Well, you’re in luck, we have only a few campsites left. Any preference to where?”

“None at all, we’re not too picky.”

“Perfect, how about y’all take site 20. It’s near the trailheads and not too far from the bathrooms.”

Elain turned to confirm with us, we each nodded back. Our lack of experience had us indifferent to where we camped, as long as it wasn’t out in the middle of nowhere.

Elain and Mor exchanged money and maps, paying for our spot and pointing out the major landmarks of the park.

“We do allow fires, as long as they’re in the designated fire pits. Please use the trash cans we have all along the park, anyone caught littering can be fined up to 200 dollars along with not being allowed to revisit the park. No glass or alcohol on park grounds. If y’all need anything, please don’t hesitate to call up to here the main office, and the numbers for our rangers are on the maps, along with the emergency line. Further into the park, cell service can get a little spotty, but as long as you stay near the trails, our rangers can spot you if you get into trouble. A little tip, don’t feed the wildlife, we have them on a diet,” she finished with a laugh and a wink. We laughed along with her, it was easy to feel a friendship forming with the bright woman.

“Well if that’s all y’all need, just keep following the road and you’ll see the signs pointing out the campsite. Parking gets a bit limited so try not to double park.”

We thanked her and headed out to pile back into the car.

As we were pulling out and getting back onto the road, I spotted one of the rangers on top of a horse.

The animal was tall, taller than any of the horses I had ever encountered before, and blacker than the deepest night sky. Its rider was sitting perfectly still, used to having to blend into the background.

I stifled a gasp. The ranger was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. I was too far away to see the color of his eyes, but they peeked through the leaves, boring into mine. His shoulders were broad, covered with a khaki shirt, he gripped the horse with powerful legs clad in dark green pants that were tucked into wore brown boots.

Our car soon turned a corner, breaking my gaze from his, banishing me of the spell he had cast.

More gorgeous forest passed us by, feeding my artist's mind with texture and light and color. Maybe this trip would replenish my weary mind after years of rigorous study. I loved every minute of my classes, but it left little free time for drawing and painting.

Wooden signs ticked up, eventually indicating where our sight was. Once again parking, we exited the car and took in the scenery.

We were to share a small common area with a few other campers, picnic tables and grills dotting the grassy area. Two cars were already parked there, brightly colored tents peeking out from the bushes that gave each sight a bit of privacy. Under a massive oak tree, there was a ring of rocks that held gray and black ashes from prior fires, stumps surrounding it for us to sit and enjoy the company.

I grabbed the tent from the backseat and slung my pack over my shoulder, leading the way to the small clearing that would be our home for the next few days. It was simply packed dirt, slightly raised from the rest of the ground so that if it rained, our tent would not get flooded.

I had never set up a tent before but with the instructions from the bag combined with the store owners’ tips, it was soon popped up in no time. Maybe only slightly leaning to the left but that would be a problem for later.

Nesta had pulled out our coolers of food, prepping sandwiches for a late lunch. Elain was already off in the surrounding area, making notes of the greenery and wildflowers that grew nearby. It was not the elusive Starfall but it did not take much for her to get wrapped up in flora.

Satisfied at my work, I tossed our bags into the tent and zipped it up. We could unpack after a bit of exploring.

Joining Nesta at the table, I swiped one of the completed sandwiches, ignoring her protest to wait for Elain. She was the one who refused to stop for lunch so she would just have to get the next one.

My fingers itched to start drawing the massive oak tree, its complex branches and multicolored leaves begging to be noticed and put onto paper. My stomach, however, told me it can wait.

Nesta somehow pulled Elain away from a blue flower, convincing her that it won’t disappear in the next 15 minutes.

“So, what’s first on the agenda, sis?” I asked her.

“Well it is getting a little late so I don’t want to go too far before it gets dark, but I thought we could start with one of the short trails!” Elain radiated energy, feeding off the teeming forest around us.

I smiled back at her, excited to start cataloging the world around us. We finished off the sandwiches and repacked the coolers into the car. One thing we all learned from watching TV was to not let wild animals get into a camper’s stash of food.

A quick trip into the tent had us changed into t-shirts, shorts and tennis shoes with light jackets tied to our waists. Even with Prythian warming up, the nights could still get a bit cool.

Elain consulted the map Mor gave us, confidently leading us to the first trailhead. It was only two miles long and would introduce us to the wildlife we could see in the park.

Every few hundred feet, plastic signs would pop up, listing fun facts about the park and giving an example of some of its inhabitants. Some would show a burst of color followed by the flower’s common name, scientific name and any medicinal or historical facts about it. Others would tell you how to spot an animal camouflaged in the surrounding foliage.

We all talked and joked with each other, with no tension that usually accompanied us when we got together. Nesta told us a story about an author that tried to sneak in her friends’ manuscript that turned out to be an awful rendition of Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey. By the end, all of us were in stitches and barely able to walk, clinging onto tree trunks and each other in an attempt to stay upright.

Just as the sky was glowing orange and pink, the trail delivered us back to the beginning of the campsites, all we had to do was follow the gravel road back to ours.

The smell of meat and potatoes set our stomachs growling, the sandwiches from earlier long gone from the hike and laughter.

The other campers that were out earlier had returned.

“Howdy!” one of the men shouted at us waving his arm. He looked to be in his late fifties with combed back salt and pepper hair, sporting cargo pants and a navy long sleeve to ward off any wayward cool breezes.

We all gave back nervous smiles, unsure of who our neighbors were.

“Kevin,” a voice scolded, “you can’t just yell at unsuspecting young girls.” The source of the admonishment appeared from the bushes.

“Sorry about my husband, he’s just excited to have more company,” a man apologized. He also looked to be in his fifties, a bit shorter than Mike but leaner. Dark brown skin was covered in matching cargo pants, but a faded Prythian U sweatshirt covered his torso.

“I’m Raymond, this is our third night at the park.”

We tried not to look too relieved as we shook his hand. All of us had experience taking care of ourselves but we were in the middle of a national park with the other nearest humans about 50 yards down the road.

Kevin looked appropriately sheepish as he came to greet us. “Sorry about that, I am excited to have more company. The couple that’s over there just keeps glaring at us and avoids us like the plague.” His words were playful enough but there was a deeper sadness buried in his eyes as if he was used to this sort of treatment.

“Well it’s awesome to meet you,” Elain gushed, ever the social butterfly. “I’m Elain and these are my sisters, Nesta and Feyre. We’re here in celebration of Feyre graduating!”

“Congratulations! Where from?” Raymond asked.

“Well you’re actually wearing my college right now,” I replied with a smile. There were tons of people who went to Pryth U but it was always fun to meet someone who graduated there in the past.

I fell into conversation with Ray, who insisted on using the shorter version of his name about the campus and how much it has changed from when he was there. He was an engineering major but still asked me a million questions about the art history department and why I wanted to get my masters there. Elain roped Kevin into a debate about botany and the best soil for growing tulips in. It sounded like he was also in the flower business and was here to see the blooming of Starfalls.

Nesta was never one to make easy friends and opted to start our dinner, taking over the grill next to Kevin’s. Tonight was burgers with potato chips and then s’mores for dessert that would be roasted over the campfire.

Dinner was full of lively conversation under the night sky. We were far enough away from the city’s light pollution that we were able to make out constellations that we had only read about and see the dusting of galaxies that spanned the sky.

“And that’s when the professor realized he had designed a system that looked exactly like a dick!” We burst out laughing at the end of Ray’s story from his time in college, even Nesta couldn’t keep her giggles contained at the raunchy tale.

Our cheeks were rosy from the fire that crackled happily before us, the smell of burnt marshmallow filling the air. As perfect as Nesta was at everything, it took her a few tries to get the timing and distance right for roasting.

“Sounds like I missed a hell of a tale,” the new midnight voice sent shivers down my spine.

“Ah! Rhys! I was wondering when you would show up,” Kevin greeted the newcomer. “Where are Cas and Az?”

The figure stepped into the ring of light and perched on an open stump beside Feyre. I forced myself not to freeze and stare at him. It was the same man I saw on top of the horse.

Closer up I could see how his dark hair shone blue in the firelight, no longer hidden beneath the Mountie hat he wore earlier.

He shifted his body to angle slightly towards me, catching my eyes with his. They were so blue they seemed to be an impossible violet, sparking with hidden laughter at an inside joke. “They’re right behind me,” he said without breaking eye contact with me.

I forced my eyes to drop to the page I was intermittently sketching on. I was lucky that I had started a new outline of the stream we passed on the way in instead of still having the sketch of him on his horse open. Hopefully the blush that was already on my cheeks hid the new blood that was rushing there.

“What was all that laughing about? I hope someone was making fun of Rhys,” another male voice called out as he came into view. He was tall and even more well-muscled than the man beside me but had his dark hair pulled into a low bun on the nape of his neck and his eyes glowed amber.

Rhys broke his stare at me to twist to the man, “No, I was telling them about the time you got stuck in what you thought was quicksand but turned out to be just a massive mud pit,” he shot back. The group laughed at the retort, including me while trying to shake off my embarrassment.

He pouted at the memory, “Aw com’on, you promised you would stop bringing that up.”

“Never in your dreams, brother.”

“Cas, come sit by me and have a s’more, I’m sure you thought you were right at the time,” Kevin teased, offering a marshmallow already speared on a stick. Cas threw one more sulky look at Rhys and walked over to where Kevin and Nesta were sitting. Nesta sized up the addition, bracing herself for interaction.

Cas saw her reaction, immediately forgetting his brother’s teasing. There was a new opponent to spare with. He aimed a feral grin at her, spurring her to narrow her eyes at his assessment.

A final figure, presumably Az, emerged from the dark, almost as if melting from it. He nodded a polite greeting to the group opting to stand near Ray and Elain. It took no time at all for her sister to draw him into a conversation about what all she can see at the park and if she was allowed to take any wildflower clippings home to preserve.

I turned back to my book, darkening the path the water took over, around and through the stones on the creek bed. The weight of Rhys’s gaze settled over me, making me tighten my grip on the pencil.

“You’re a good artist,” he remarked.

I smiled slightly in his direction. “I would hope so, I staked most of my career on it.”

“You do this professionally?”

“Well, I hope so someday,” I admitted, “I just graduated with a master’s in art history.”

“Really? Congrats. What’s next for you?”

He finally succeeded in pulling me away from the drawing, meeting his gaze again, looking for any sign of mockery at my chosen path. Most heard the words “art history” and assumed I would become a starving artist or elementary art school teacher.

There was no trace of judgment in his face, only open curiosity.

“In my dreams, I would open up my own studio, maybe a few galleries. For now, I’ve applied to a few museums as a curator and I have an interview with one of them next week.”

“I hope it goes well, anyone who can draw that well must know a thing or two about Picasso.”

I barked a laugh at his statement, “I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong you are,” giggling my way through the sentence. “You won’t believe the number of students I met who couldn’t tell the difference between Picasso and their own ass.”

His eyes flashed with surprise, followed by laughter rich and clear as a bell spilling from his mouth. “I can believe it, I’ve met my fair share of idiots in this world.”

“I bet, being a park ranger must set you up for a whole slew of idiots who watched one episode of Bear Grylls and thinks they can survive out here with nothing more than their wits.”

His face jokingly darkened, “Do. Not. Get. Me. Started.”

“Please, start,” my sketch was now long forgotten, pulled into his expressive voice and body. He wove the tale of a couple that thought they could go all Naked and Afraid only 20 feet off the trail, managing to get as far as cutting down a few trees to start a shelter before another camper contacted them and they were able to stop them from scarring any more people.

My cheeks hurt from the constant smiling and laughter, unable to stop myself from leaning closer to catch every detail.

By the end of his story, our knees were brushing each other every few seconds, both of us catching our breath. He paused at the end, taking the small bubble we had trapped ourselves in.

His eyes dipped to brush my lips before meeting mine again. My breath caught in my throat at the intensity of his gaze, heat blooming across my cheeks and down my neck. Our shared air was sweet with chocolate and heavy with anticipation…

A hiss startled us apart.

Across the fire, Nesta looked to be about two seconds away from slapping Cas, fury twisting her face into a knot. Cas looked like he was the cat that got the cream, lazily reclining against the stump, looking up into her wrathful face.

“And that’s our queue,” Rhys muttered under his breath. “It was wonderful to talk with you. I’ll see you around the park.”

I blinked a few times, mentally shaking myself out of the trance he put me in. “Uh, yeah sure, see you around.”

“Cas, Az,” his voice was sharp, “We need to go to the next campsite. Thank you for the s’mores and have a good evening everyone.” He pulled his brothers away, retreating into the dark. From the blackness came the sound of a sharp slap and angry words being whispered.

Everyone exchanged awkward looks at their departure. Nesta was still fuming, glaring at the direction they disappeared in. Feyre and Elain knew better that the question her on what Cas said, knowing it would only infuriate her more.

“It’s been a long day, and we have a lot of hiking tomorrow,” I broke through the tension, “I’m off to bed.” Elain and Nesta got up to join me, bidding Kevin and Raymond good night and that they’ll see them for breakfast.

Elain and I exchanged worried looks behind Nesta’s back, but it would be better to let her sleep it off. She was quick to anger but given time, could squash it back down.

We all climbed into the tent, leaving our shoes by the door. It was colder away from the fire, so we didn’t waste time layering on warmer clothes and crawling into our respective sleeping bags.

I fell asleep with purple eyes burning behind my eyelids, chasing me through my fitful dreams.

Next Chapter

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjm #sjmaas #sjm books #sjmaas books #feyre #feyre x rhysand #rhysand #cassian #azriel #morrigan #amren

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lfthinkerwrites · 5 years ago

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Meanwhile, Back at Gotham Academy

...So, I haven’t been linking the last few chapters of this to my tumblr. Whoops.

Let’s get caught up a bit.

Previous chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7

Meanwhile, Back at Gotham Academy...

"Attention, students. This is Principal Hugo Strange. Classes are now over for the day. Those students serving detention will remain on campus until 2:30 and those attending club meetings may remain until 3:00 pm. All students must be off campus by 3:30 pm or face severe consequences. That is all."

Harley took her seat at the head table in the chemistry lab and clapped her hands. "Alright! Everybody's here! Did you all bring the stuff?"

Kristen nodded in the last seat on the left. "I've got the graham crackers."

To Harley's left, Pamela put a box of chocolate bars down on the table. "I brought free-trade chocolate."

Next to Kristen, Selina put a wine bag down. "I brought the wine."

"And I've got the marshmallows and toothpicks!" Harley cheered. "Girl's Day is on!" She lightly jostled Penelope, who was sitting to her right. "And ta think, you wanted to stay in your office and work! Aren't ya glad ya came here instead?"

"We'll see," Penelope said, still looking a bit unsure. "How exactly are we going to make smores?"

"Oh, that's easy," Harley said. She reached to a bunsen burner that was set up in the middle of the table and turned it on. "Ta-da! Instant indoor campfire!" She stuck a marshmallow onto a toothpick and held it over the blue flame. "Come on, Penny! Grab a marshmallow!"

"Maybe later," Penelope said, her eyes wide at the open flame.

Pamela scoffed. "One would think with how many 'conferences' you've been to that you'd be used to these sort of shenanigans."

"Well, we've never had an open flame at the 'conferences'," Penelope muttered. "Not yet at least. Anyway," she said in a clearer tone. "What are our plans today?"

"You're looking at our plans," Selina said, pouring wine into plastic cups and passing them around the table. "Wine, smores-"

"And gossip!" Harley said. "It'll be just like a slumber party!"

Penelope and Pamela exchanged a look, then took a long sip of wine. Heavy footsteps alerted the women to the presence of another person in the room. Principal Strange had appeared in the room and was giving each and every one of them a disapproving look. "Ladies, and I do use that term lightly."

Harley gave him a cheeky wave. "Hiya, Hugie."

Strange's left eye twitched. "You know I detest nicknames, Ms. Quinzel."

Harley frowned. "Hey! That's Dr. Quinzel! I didn't go through med school just to be called 'Ms.' Quinzel!"

Strange sucked in a breath between his teeth. Escaping punishment from Superintendent al Ghul had emboldened the faculty to the point they were no longer intimidated by Strange. More was the pity. "Excuse me, 'Dr.' Quinzel." He turned his gaze to Kristen. "I am leaving for my meeting with the school board. I trust that everything will be taken care of in my absence, Ms. Kringle?"

"Yes, Principal Strange," Kristen answered while opening her box of graham crackers. "I can more than handle the administrative duties. I'm also in communication with Vice Principal Gordon regarding the trip."

"Excellent," Strange nodded. Then he turned his cold gaze to the three Sirens. "Coach Bolton is handling the students in detention. Under no circumstances are you to interfere unless at his request. In return, he will leave you to your own devices. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Strange," Pamela said with a mocking salute. "Run along now. I'm sure the school board is waiting."

Strange's face colored, then he recovered. "Ladies. Enjoy your 'girl's day." He stomped out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Harley blew a raspberry.

"Well," Selina said. "Now that he's gone, what's on the agenda first, girls?"

A buzzing sound from Penelope's phone answered that question. Pamela rolled her eyes. "Edward?"

"Yes," Penelope answered, reading the text. "Oh my. It seems that Neil ate a rancid spanakopita and vomited on Karlo, which then caused their second fistfight of the day. Mockridge has given them fast passes so they can go on rides for the rest of the day."

Selina poured herself some more wine, then lifted her plastic cup up. "A moment of silence for the poor boys on the field trip today."

"Hear hear!" Harley agreed, raising her glass. Kristen, Pamela, and finally Penelope followed suit. She watched as the other four women lowered their glasses to take sips, then dissolved into laughter. She bit her lip.

"Selina?" she asked. "The three of you didn't cheat to stay at the school together, did you?"

Selina put a hand to her chest in mock affront. "Us? Cheat! Why we never!" Then she smirked and gestured to Kristen. "The keeper of the straws on the other hand."

Kristen laughed. "Mea culpa."

Penelope shook her head and took another sip of wine. She made a note to herself not to tell Edward about this. As insufferable as he could be when he was proven wrong about something, he was even worse when he was proven right. She looked back up from her cup to see that the other four women were looking at her, Selina, Harley, and Kristen with curiosity, Pamela with something that looked almost like pity. "What?" she asked.

"Speakin' of Eddie," Harley leaned forward. "You're up first for gossip, Penny! You and Eddie are gettin' pretty serious now, aren't ya? Do ya think you'll get married?"

Penelope felt her face flush and she took a larger gulp of wine. She almost wished she'd gone along on the trip.

Coach Bolton walked up and down the length of the detention room, looking over the three boys in his custody. Lonnie Machin, Jason Todd, and Roy Harper. Troublemakers, all of them. Spoiled little rich boys who thought the world owed them something. He'd bring them in line if it was the last thing he ever did. Finally, he walked back to the front of the room and behind his desk. "Do you three know what you need more than anything?"

Jason leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and regarded Bolton with cold contempt. "To get out of this school?"

Bolton banged on the desk with a closed fist. "DISCIPLINE!" he yelled. None of the boys so much as flinched. "You three," Bolton continued. "You think that just because you have rich daddies, that you can do whatever you want, whenever you want."

"I'm not rich," Lonnie interrupted. "I got in this school on a scholarship. Don't lump me in with these two class traitors-"

"Get bent, Lonnie," Jason shouted. "I was born in the Narrows. I didn't choose to get adopted by a billionaire-"

Bolton banged his fist on the desk again. "SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU!" Both boys fell silent, though they continued to glare at each other. Roy sat in a desk next to Jason with his feet propped up on the seat in front of him and a bored look on his face. "You three think you're such bigshots. Well, you're not! You're just a couple of little boys, acting like men." Bolton punched his hands together. "Well, you won't be little boys after I get through with you. When you leave my detention, you'll leave as real MEN!"

"That sounds dirty to me," Roy sassed. He looked at Jason. "Does that sound dirty to you, Jay?"

Jason snorted. "Sure does, Roy. I think we need an adult!"

"I am an adult!" Bolton shouted. "I know exactly what you two are doing," he glowered. "You won't break me! I'm not that spineless Vice-Principal Gordon!"

"Dork Squad broke you first, Coach," Jason said. "Speaking of which Roy, you smell something?"

Roy smiled, then wrinkled his nose. "I sure do Jay! Smells like a broken Port-o-Potty!"

Bolton's face flushed. "Keep yucking it up, you little brats," he seethed. "I can do this all day."

Jason and Roy exchanged a knowing smirk with each other. "'I can do this all day?' That's what Mr. Nashton said to Doc Young the other day in the teacher's lounge, isn't it Jay?" Roy asked his friend.

"That's what I heard," Jason said. "And they did it, all day. Now that's a real man, Roy."

Bolton gnashed his teeth. "Nashton's a sweater vest wearin' wimp! He's not a real man!

Jason smirked. "He's the sweater vest wearin' wimp who got the woman you wanted. If he's not a 'real man', what does that make you?"

Bolton's face went white, then he walked to the door of the classroom and stepped out, slamming the door shut behind him. As soon as he was gone, Jason and Roy laughed.

"Too easy," Jason laughed. "Did you see his face? It was like we kicked his grandma!"

"That was a low blow," Lonnie muttered. "But I'll admit, it is nice to see that sad sack of toxic masculinity be taken down a peg."

Jason smiled. "Lonnie, you might be alright. Look, Roy and I are gonna bust out of detention after we break Coach. You in?"

Lonnie rubbed his chin. "I'm in."

Before Jason could say anything else, Coach Bolton stormed back in, murder in his eyes. "Alright, you little shits," he said through grinding teeth. "You want to play hardball? We can play hardball." He placed a stack of paper and a pencil in front of each boy. "Write 'I am a failure' 500 times!"

Jason picked up his pencil. "Got it, Coach. We'll write, 'Coach is a failure' 500 times each."

"No!" Bolton shouted. You'll write 'I am a failure'!"

"Yeah, we'll write 'Coach Bolton is a Failure,' just like you asked, Coach," Roy said.

Bolton let out a frustrated scream. The three boys simply looked at each other and smirked. It wouldn't be long before they'd have Coach crying on the floor and be on their way to freedom.

#high school teacher au #it's back...

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a-corndog-named-schibbs · 6 years ago

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Fangs, Fur, and Phantoms - Chapter 8

Next Chapter

Gonna be busy over the weekend, so you guys get this chapter a little early! Lance brings a present to the festival, Pidge isn’t feeling like herself, and Hunk is a badass in an unexpected way.

Enjoy!

The All Hallow’s Eve festival was finally here and, as usual, Pidge was helping her family set up their booth.

After taping the large banner Matt had made reading “Baked Goods from Mochas & Magic” to the front of their table, Pidge and Hunk set out trays of the treats themselves. They arranged maple donuts, pecan tarts, and every type of pumpkin-flavored dessert imaginable into aesthetically-pleasing shapes. Pidge double-checked that all the spells on the treats were properly applied. There were the classics: charms to ensure a good harvest and wards against evil, but also ones that Pidge herself had designed to fit the Halloween spirit: good-luck spells to ensure pranks went smoothly, minor glamours to give any costume extra pizazz, and protection spells against unwanted jumpscares.

As she finished arranging everything, Pidge looked around at the other booths set up along the avenue, selling everything from street food to homemade Halloween knick-knacks to fall-themed accessories. Pedestrians were already wandering from booth to booth, eager to see what the vendors had to offer.

The All Hallow’s Eve festival was honestly one of Pidge’s favorite events of the year. The vast majority of New Altea’s population was supernatural and Halloween was one of the few days of the year when they didn’t hold anything back. And the festival itself was a great draw for supernaturals from out of town.

Coran had set up the St. Groggery’s booth just across the street from their own. Once they were done with their set-up, Pidge and Hunk wandered over to talk to him. He was handing out the church’s newsletter, as well as some small, strange cards that Pidge didn’t recognize.

“What are these?” Hunk asked, picking one up to study it. An image of St. Peter looked back at him.

“Well, All Saint’s Day is tomorrow,” Coran explained, “and one of the nuns thought it would be funny to make trading cards of different saints.”

“Like Pokemon?” Pidge snorted with laughter, “That’s awesome! ‘The Virgin Mary used Immaculate Conception! It’s super effective!’”

“Yes, that was the idea. I don’t suppose I could convince you to give me a free maple donut if I give you a limited edition St. George?”

Before long, Lance and Keith showed up as well, along with Keith’s family, most of whom immediately scattered throughout the street, following various delicious scents. Lance was carrying his umbrella to keep the worst of the sun off, as well as a briefcase for some strange reason.

“What’s in there?” Pidge asked, pointing at it, “Money? You know, our pumpkin muffins aren’t that expensive.”

“Just a gift for someone I’m meeting here.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow but didn’t push the issue further.

Meanwhile, Keith and Romelle had successfully bugged their mother into buying donuts for them. They chowed down while Krolia chatted with Pidge’s mom about the teddy bears her cousin Antok was selling from his booth.

“He makes them himself and sews little costumes for them. You should check them out, they’re pretty cute.”

“We should get one for the café,” Pidge said to her mom, “We could put him next to the tip jar with a little sign that says ‘Tip if you think I’m cute!’”

Pidge’s mom chuckled, “That does sound like a cute idea. You know what, I think I will get one. Where did you say Antok’s booth is?” She stepped out from behind the table so Krolia could show her the way. Romelle tagged along behind them, eager to see more of the festival.

“So,” said Lance, after the two moms had wandered out of earshot, “any news about our…” he held up his hands to resemble antlers, “…horny friend?”

“Listen, if I never see that grendel thing again for as long as I live, it will be too soon,” said Pidge, “Also, please for the love of everything holy, never call it that.”

“Lance?” said Keith, between bites of donut, “That man across the street is looking at you.”

All four of them turned to see who Keith was indicating. A tall, platinum-blond man stood across the street in front of the hardware store, staring intently in their direction.

Pidge shivered. Hunk put an arm around her shoulder. She noticed Lance angling himself so that he was blocking Keith from the man’s line of sight.

The man began walking toward them, giving Coran’s booth a wide berth as he crossed the street.

“Well, Lance,” the man said as he approached them, his voice silky-smooth, “It certainly is good to see you here. I hope you did that favor I asked.”

Lance’s expression was cold, “Can we please discuss this somewhere private?”

“No, I think I’d rather discuss it somewhere public.” the man said lazily, “We wouldn’t want your little friends here to think you’re hiding something.”

“Lance, what is he talking about?” said Hunk.

Lance didn’t answer him. Instead, he handed his umbrella to Keith, lifted up his briefcase, and opened it.

Inside were various articles of clothing, a suit jacket, a dress shirt, a woman’s blazer, a pencil skirt, all covered in bloodstains. Pidge’s stomach turned.

“I did what you asked, now leave me alone.”

“Not so fast,” said the man, lifting up the dress shirt, “I just want to make sure. Young man, your name’s Keith, isn’t it? Can you tell me whose shirt this is?”

Keith sniffed the air, “That’s Shiro’s shirt, but how…?” He suddenly grew pale.

“And is this Shiro’s blood on the shirt?”

Keith turned toward Lance. “Lance, you didn’t. There’s got to be some mistake. Lance, tell me you didn’t—“

“I can’t tell you that,” Lance cut him off.

“Well, Lance, I must say, I’m impressed.” said the man, “I didn’t think you had the spine to pull it off. I’m surprised to say I was wrong.”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” said Lance. He reached into the briefcase, under the clothes, pulling out a small plastic water pistol and spraying the man in the face.

At first, Pidge thought it was simply a poorly-timed prank. But then the man’s face began to break out in boils, filling the air with the smell of burning flesh. He wailed in pain and many of the pedestrians stared, backing away from him.

“What the hell?” Pidge heard Hunk whisper faintly.

“I think you might be on the right track,” she whispered back.

“You horrible little bloodsucker!” the man snarled, trying to wipe the water out of his eyes with his sleeve, “I’ll kill you for that!”

“Not if we can help it.”

Pidge looked up. There, standing across the street next to Coran’s booth were Shiro and Allura, holding…

“Are those Super Soakers?” asked Keith.

“It’s over, Lotor,” Allura called from across the street, “You’re under arrest.”

“And we’re making sure it sticks this time,” Shiro added.

The man, Lotor apparently, growled, “It’s not over by a long shot.” Having gotten the water out of his eyes, he scanned the crowd.

His gaze landed on Pidge.

“You’ll do,” he said.

Then suddenly, where the man had stood moments before, there was a cloud of smoke. The smoke rushed past Lance and over the table, straight at Pidge. It surrounded her, filling her nose and mouth. Her vision went black.

Oh, yes, said a voice in her head that wasn’t her own, You’ll do quite nicely.

***

One moment, Hunk had his arm around Pidge. The next, she yanked herself out of his grasp and leaped over the table, knocking trays of pastries to the ground.

“Pidge, what—?”

Pidge turned toward him and he froze. Her eyes were solid black.

“Well, this ought to do nicely,” she said, but it wasn’t her voice coming out of her mouth. Lotor’s voice was layered over hers, creating an unsettling echo. “A little short for my tastes, but certainly a spry young thing.”

Keith, who was standing closest to Pidge, took a step forward, “Pidge? What is this?”

Pidge reached for him and wrapped a hand around his throat.

Keith dropped the umbrella he was holding and gasped. He gripped Pidge’s wrist, trying to loosen her grip, but she only squeezed tighter, lifting him off the ground with inhuman strength. His feet dangled as he tried to kick at her, his face turning red from lack of oxygen.

“I told you, Lance,” she said in Lotor’s voice, “If you failed me, I would kill everyone you care about. Starting with this shaggy-headed little lapdog of yours.”

“No, don’t!” said Lance. He turned toward Agent Shirogane, “Shiro, spray her with the holy water!”

But Shiro was shaking his head, “I can’t, it’ll hurt her too!”

Lance turned toward Hunk, “Hunk, do something!”

“Do what? There’s nothing I can—!” But there was something he could do. He hated doing it, of course, it was one of his least favorite powers.

Still. Pidge needed his help.

Normally, it took a fair bit of concentration for Hunk to maintain his physical appearance. Now, he let it go, becoming only a vague shape of a human. He passed through the table, as easy as passing through fog, and came up behind Pidge. She snapped her head in his direction as he approached.

“What do you think you’re—?”

Hunk took the opportunity. He floated toward her, then through her, into her, pushing his way into her consciousness and possessing her.

It was a little crowded in here for his tastes. Lotor took up the most room, his presence forming an inky black cloud that nearly pushed Hunk out again. For one frightening moment, he couldn’t find Pidge at all. Eventually, though, he did locate her, a small but bright entity pressed up against the edge of her own mind, trying to shove Lotor’s massive presence out of the way to give her more room.

“Hey,” he said reaching for her.

“Hunk?” she said, reaching back for him. He caught her and pulled her towards him.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“I’m alright…I think. This guy keeps pushing me to the back. I can’t even tell what’s going on out there.”

“I know,” said Hunk, “I think we’ve got to push him back out from in here.”

“How do we do that?”

“It’s your brain. You’ve got to reject him, force him out. Here, I’ll help you.”

It wasn’t an easy task. Lotor hadn’t been here long but he was already rooting his way into the nooks and crannies of Pidge’s brain, determined to anchor himself. Hunk yanked his grip loose wherever he could, while Pidge tried to shove him out, expanding to fill the spaces where he had lost purchase.

At first, it seemed like Lotor’s grip on her mind was too strong. But then Pidge gave a final shove and suddenly Lotor was ejected from her mind.

“You did it!” said Hunk wrapping himself around her in a hug.

“We did it,” said Pidge. She returned the hug before pulling away slightly. “God, this feels so weird. It’s better because I know it’s you, but…if you don’t mind, would you please exit my brain?”

“Right, of course. I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” said Hunk, before stepping out of Pidge’s mind and back into the physical world.

“—him before he gets his strength back!” Allure’s voice was the first to reach his ears, as she shouted orders, “Coran, how fast can you bless this garden hose?”

Hunk was hit full in the face with the chaos of the scene. Vendors and pedestrians were crowded around the group in a circle, clamoring to see what all the noise was about. Hunk spotted Colleen among them, clutching a small teddy bear in a pumpkin costume with one hand and frantically pointing at her daughter with the other, saying something to Krolia that Hunk couldn’t quite hear. Pidge was doubled over, trying to catch her breath after being possessed by two different people. Keith was on the ground, gasping and coughing while Lance hovered over him protectively. Allura was standing by the entrance to the hardware store, holding the nozzle of a garden hose while Shiro frantically tried to screw the other end into a spout on the side of the building and Coran repeatedly made the sign of the cross over it. And Lotor was on the pavement, back in his human form and shakily getting to his feet.

“You…” he growled, turning in Hunk’s direction, “You’ll pay for this!” He swung his fist at him.

Lotor’s hand passed harmlessly through Hunk, throwing him off balance.

Hunk grabbed a tray from the table and brought it down on Lotor’s head.

Lotor reeled several steps backward, before being knocked forwards again by a stream of holy water as Allura sprayed him with the hose. He shrieked in pain and fell to the ground again, shriveling up on himself and sending up billows of foul-smelling smoke.

“That’ll hold him but not for long,” said Allura, dropping the hose, “Coran, please tell me you’ve got some way to contain him.”

“I can but I’ll need a vessel to put him in. A doll or something…”

Pidge stood up straight, “I know what we can use.” She turned toward her mother, “Mom! Mom, throw me the bear!”

Colleen tossed the pumpkin-clad teddy bear to Pidge, who tossed it to Coran, who caught it and began chanting in Latin.

At once, the smoke billowing off of Lotor began to flow into the bear as Lotor’s form dissolved before them.

“No! No!” Lotor shouted before the last of his form disappeared into the toy.

“You cannot do this!” the bear shouted in Lotor’s silky-smooth voice, which had lost much of its intimidation coming out of a plush toy the size of a rabbit.

“Quiet, you,” said Coran, giving the toy a shake.

Colleen, meanwhile, had muscled her way out of the crowd and was pulling Pidge into a hug, while Krolia and Romelle knelt down next to Keith.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? Are you hurt?” said Colleen, stroking Pidge’s hair.

“I’m okay, Mom, really.”

“And you,” said Colleen, letting go of Pidge and giving Hunk a hug, “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I-It’s not a problem, Mrs. Holt, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” Hunk turned toward Allura, “So what happens now?”

“Now we all calm down and see about locking him up properly this time,” said Allura, nodding toward the teddy bear that was now Lotor, “As long as there’s no more excitement, I think we’ll be just—“

She was interrupted by a loud roar.

The entire crowd turned as one in the direction of the noise. In the distance, its horned head rising above even the rooftops, loomed an enormous beast.

The grendel had arrived.

#hidge #klance #witch pidge #ghost hunk #vampire lance #werewolf keith #one more chapter to go!#pidge #hunk #lance #keith #lotor #shiro #allura #coran #my posts #my fanfictions #fangs and fur au

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watchingcutscene · 6 years ago

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No Man’s Sky

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan

Word Count: 2000+

Note: The nsfw ban has me pretty disappointed with tumblr tbh, but i guess that hasn’t really stopped me from posting my stuff (still, if you want more regular updates and most recent stuff, pls follow my DeviantArt or even AO3)....This was written before the game No Man’s Sky actually came out, and we were all excited for it (before it actually came out and proved to be much less exciting than anticipated)

---

She was an unpredictable summer thunderstorm. He was a constant light drizzle. She was an editor, a challenger, a ghost of wilderness that haunted the urban scene. He was an executive director, a nine-to-five worker, a man with a suit and tie constantly crisp and fresh and clean. She liked playing video games after half a bottle of Jack Daniels. He liked seeing his username ranked first on the score board.

They met through her forgetfulness. When Levi returned home nearly 10pm, he found a girl slouched against the apartment door next to his. Her hair was hastily put up in a messy knot. She had on a white button-up, tucked into a dark grey pencil skirt, all wrinkled between her back and her apartment door. She sat cross-legged with her worn out Chucks. The combination of Converse and business attire was what made his gaze linger. When she heard his footsteps, she looked up, her (e/c) eyes vibrant against his grey ones. She had a can of beer in her hand. “Hey,” she greeted him as she got up on her feet. Her voice was light and cheerful. “Hey…” Levi reluctantly replied, having not the slightest clue who this woman was. “I live next door,” she explained, flashing a flawless smile while dusting off her butt, “and I forgot my keys.” Levi’s suspicion eased, he shifted his bag of store-bought premade food to his left hand as he reached for his keys in his pocket. “Do you mind if I climb over your balcony?” He froze for a second, the sound of metal echoed through the hallway as the keys dangled in his hand. He met her gaze a second time. “You can,” his said, voice unintentionally impassive, though his usual deadpan of a face softened, “but isn’t that a little dangerous?” “I’ll be fine,” she replied, her voice trailing off on a high note. He nodded as he opened the door. She marched into his apartment after him, following him to his balcony. “Thanks,” she mumbled with one foot on the railing of the veranda. He watched her back intently, muscles tense, ready to launch himself at her should she falter the slightest. But she was more than graceful when she hurled herself over the railing, landing accurately onto her own property. When she stood up, the now empty can of beer still in hand, she turned and waved at him before heading through the sliding doors and disappearing out of sight. Levi stood there, staring after her, until many seconds had passed and the light in her apartment flickered on. She was pretty, quirky, and a little strange. Also, he noted after replaying the scene of her launching over the balcony, her underwear was black. The same evening a week later, he had begun to wonder when he’d run into his neighbour again, when he heard a knock on his door. He had changed out of his work clothes, and was sporting some grey sweatpants and a black V-neck. Off course, she was there when he answered, this time, she had her hair done up neatly, the bags under her eyes covered by the perfect shade of concealer, and her lips were graced with a wine coloured lipstick. Below her silky blouse and navy trousers, she still had on her old Converse. “Hello,” she smiled, lips curling perfectly, to which he replied with a small smile of his own, “have you had dinner yet?” It was past midnight. Levi leaned himself against his doorway. The distance between him and his visitor drawing a little closer than he had intended. She didn’t falter the slightest, her (e/c) orbs vibrant and unyielding. Seeing the plastic bag in her hand, he lied, “No, I haven’t.” “Good,” she replied, delighted, “I bought some sushi and liquor, and also the new game No Man’s Sky, care to join me?” Her toothy smile was dazzling. Levi felt compelled to smile back, it was contagious. “Um,” the man let out a low chuckle. Laughter was a thing his body was not accustomed to. “Sure”. She stepped back and toward her own apartment, keys already in hand. He followed suit. “Just think of this as a token of my gratitude,” she said as she fumbled with the lock, and when it clicked, added “I cleaned my room, don’t worry.” The apartment was smaller than his, and while it did look like she gave some last-ditched effort to organize the piles of magazines and video games scattered about the living room floor, it was not clean. At least not compared to his anyway. Levi wondered about the room gingerly, afraid to disturbed the organized mess. She was behind the kitchen counter, freeing the boxes of low quality sushi from the plastic bag. She also pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. While she was reaching for beer from the fridge, he remarked, “you have a lot of magazines”, notably a lot of issues of the same magazine. “I’m an editor,” she responded as she placed the various kinds of alcohol and plastic containers of sushi on the coffee table, along with two shot glasses. “Are you a gamer?” she asked half-heartedly, turning on the PS4 that was placed on the floor under her flat screen. “Yeah,” he admitted, picking up the DVD case labeled “No Man’s Sky”, the art was quite impressive. “But I haven’t played this one,” he added. “Hmmm..” she turned back to face him, opening a can of beer and bringing it to her lips before mumbling, “What do you play?” Levi got a can of his own, chugged half of it, and answered half-heartedly, “I don’t know.” She chuckled, “what do you mean you don’t know? Like what, FPS?” He nodded. She giggled to herself and shook her head, mumbling something under her breath he could not hear. They spent the night getting tipsy and exploring the universe. He named planets after people and places, and she named them after the underdogs of the material world. It was easy to distinguish, his were planets called “Zeus” or “Nagoya”, and hers were planets named “Fish Tacos” or “Toe Nail Clippings”. Alcohol really did stimulate creativity. Normally, games like No Man’s Sky would not be Levi’s cup of tea. There was no defined objective, no competition, and therefore no sense of accomplishment. Though he hated to admit it, he liked the gamer clichés: Counter Strike, Call of Duty, and the new Star Wars. He was pretty much a stereotype. She was all that he was not. She didn’t need to vent her stress through virtual reality violence. Game art and animation were the most important. She never paid attention to score boards or kill streaks. She played all her games tipsy. Despite that, Levi still went out and bought himself No Man’s Sky the next day on his way home from work. In fact, he had to visit three different shops to find one that wasn’t sold out. He almost pulled an all-nighter trying to fulfill his purpose as a hitchhiker in the galaxy that first night. He popped open a bottle of whisky that had been collecting dust in his cabinet since the dawn of time, and named his first planet after the girl next door. He told her about his purchase over dinner, which he had invited her to when they ran into each other again one morning before work. His coworkers (namely Hanji) would go nuts if they ever found out Levi asked a girl to dinner. She was wearing a black jump suit with heels and bright red lipstick, looking fierce and powerful and oh-so-beautiful. She was delighted. “I didn’t think you were the type to play those games,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “What did you name your first planet?” Levi was not prepared for that. The tips of his ears flushed pink. “Um,” he must have looked surprised, “I named it…Chuck Taylor”. She frowned in bemusement, “What?” “Oh, you know,” he looked down at his plate, desperately trying to keep his cool, “it’s just…a thing,” he failed. She laughed it off, not pressing him any further. They bonded, for the first time, over things beyond video games. Her favourite flavour of ice cream. His collection of cufflinks. Existential despair. Childhood memories. Allergies. His feelings of tender curiosity found its shoring and morphed, without warning, into a heat wave, a revelation. He fell in love. That was a first too. One night she called him out of the blue just to ask what he was doing. “I’m playing No Man’s Sky,” he couldn’t stop the smile from creeping up his visage. It was a good feeling to have someone call just to ask what you were doing. “Hey what a coincidence!” her voice was very high pitched, “me too!” Levi hesitated before asking, “are you tipsy again?” “Uh-huh,” she didn’t even bother to hide it. “Why do you always play while intoxicated?” he finally thought to ask. “Well,” she began, he could hear the background music from the game playing through the phone, “reality is really demoralizing when you’re sober.” “What does that mean?” She paused to think, “It’s that kind of thing you know. Apparently, there are 18 quintillion planets you can explore in this game.” “Okay…” he ensured her he was still listening. “That’s already such an unfathomable number, but in reality, there’s probably more planets out there,” she continued. “We spend our entire lives being indoctrinated with the brilliance of humanity, but that brilliance is actually nothing but a speck of dust”. Levi paused, processing. “You are very well-articulated for a drunk person,” was his reply. She giggled, “well I’ll have you know that I have a master’s degree in English lit and culture”. He let out an exhale of laughter, “impressive.” The line fell silent. Neither of them knew what to say. “Sometimes I think people are like that too,” it was she who broke the silence, continuing with her drunken philosophical generalizations about human existence, “do you know the book Kafka on the Shore?” Her brain made pretty big leaps when she was drunk. “No,” he replied simply. The background music from the game was no longer echoing through the phone, replacing it were the low hum of traffic and voices of urban life. “Well, it’s by this Japanese author – Murakami,” she continued, “he wrote about this myth, where humans used to have two heads and two hearts, but because the gods feared our strength and power, they cut us in half, so now we have to spend our entire lives searching for our other half.” “That’s very poetic,” Levi stood up to stretch. “But according to No Man’s Sky,” her voice sounded a little distant, muffled by background noises and blurred by wires transmitting telephone signals, “you will never find your other half. Because it’s simply statistically impossible. They say it’ll take 5 billion years to explore every planet in the game, that’s simply too many life times. We can’t afford that.” “But it’s happened,” Levi interrupted, remembering the Google headline, “on the first day of its release, in fact. One player landed on another player’s planet. They contacted each other to meet up at the same location in the game,” he seemed so eager to prove something. She became interested, “did they?” “Yeah,” Levi switched the phone to his left hand, “but apparently they couldn’t see or interact with each other. The game didn’t support multiplayer I guess.” She took some time to think, "well, at least our world supports multiplayer." "What?" "Cause I can see and interact with you." "Well, if you put it that way, I guess..." There was a long pause. Levi became distracted by the background noise on her end. “Hello? Where are you?” he was a little concerned. She was drunk after all. She didn’t reply for a while. “On my balcony.” He was slightly taken aback. Without a word, Levi pulled open the glass doors beside his living room and stepped out into the chilly evening air. “Hey,” her voice synced with the copy of it echoing through his phone. She waved. Her hair was down and flowing through the breeze. It was a mirrored image of the night many days before, she had one foot over the railing. Without warning, she made a leap, the light from her phone screen illuminating Levi’s visage as she landed on his balcony and stumbled into his arms. A moment of silence passed before he sighed in relief, “we have to stop meeting like this,” he chuckled, “what were you doing out here?” “Looking for my other half,” she mumbled sleepily, wrapping her arms around him, head resting on his chest. “I found you.”

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matohasshittaste · 6 years ago

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Paws instead of dust 2/? (EN)

Sorry for the delay... I’ve been suffering anxiety and depression these days and I can’t go to the computer unless it’s to study...

Please do remember that I don’t own these pets, they’re @owosa ‘s pets.

Bye.

Sans was sitting at the table in his room, pencil in hand, lost eyes and thousands of thoughts in his head. His two new pets were sleeping on a makeshift bed that Sans had made with old sheets and a couple of cushions covered and placed on the sides so that the pets could sleep as they wanted. He could have given them more comfort by giving them the old sheets from when he was a young (and great) skeleton, however NOBODY was going to touch his blankets of cars and rockets . They were well guarded in a place where nobody could ever find them ... That is, under his pillow. At the moment the slaves did not seem to complain about their new home, the dog was asleep with his tongue out while the rabbit used the dog as a bed.

As long as they did not bother him, Sans could keep thinking ... Food. Bed. Medicines. Entertainment. It is true that Sans never had pets (except for his brother, of course), it was difficult for him to understand what they required to live. He was very new to that, but he was so hollow-headed that he was not going to allow two lives as simple and minor as those two to be finished. Now they belonged to him. Therefore, he had to show that he was the best at taking care of any two animals. Although for many, belonging to Sans was a torture rather than a blessing ... The small skeleton did not see it that way. He was so proud that he was even capable of facing himself in order to win.

And that meant facing a whole town that was looking for EXP easily and for free.

Look, another problem to add to the list: security.

He had to write it, noticing then that his pencil had the end too bitten because of Sans thinking about his things while his hyperactivity was out of control. He growled, dropping his pencil, thinking of possibilities while looking at the ceiling. Should be easy to take care of animals, however it was not. If he already had to deal with a useless brother, two slaves would be more of the same. But at least these did not leave underwear on the floor, nor did the house smell of tobacco (and other things). Although it should be noted that his room smelled like a wet dog because he had recently been bathed, and since they did not have a hair dryer because they were skeletons, Sans put a warm blanket on the animals, changing them every so often so they would not get sick. He seemed to have done well ... But that led to discover that the dog was VERY thin, and his fur hid it masterfully. Therefore the word food was underlined, because the dog needed to eat more. And because of that, he did not cut the dog’s hair, to keep hiding that thinness, and keep it warm in his home.

It was very good to think about that, but now he had to consider how to get everything he needed. Maybe in some store ...? But would there be things for pets? He had no idea. But staying still was not going to solve anything. And he hated sitting for a long time. So after deciding that it was time to go for a walk around Snowdin, he proceeded to get up. Hopefully the store near his house would be open. After taking his gloves and his scarf he gave one last look at the pets. They were asleep. If they were blind in the right eye, he would ensure that they were his brother's children, just as lazy ...

-I'LL BE OUT FOR A WHILE. YOU ARE GOING TO STAY IN THE HALL WITH MY BROTHER. YOU'RE GOING TO BE GOOD OR I WILL TAKE YOU TO PAPYRUS’ ROOM.

He obviously threatened to go to the most disgusting room in the house: his brother's. Or at least for Sans, of course. The thing is that he took the slaves in his arms, which only one complained, clearly the rabbit, while the dog took that as an invitation to the affection that ended in an unwanted lick in the face of the skeleton, who almost threw the pets to the ground for that.

-DO NOT DO THAT AGAIN. IT'S DISGUSTING.

He said, since it was well known that this skeleton did not appreciate affection. The dog just lowered its head, to which the rodent ended up grumbling. He did not seem to like anything , or rather nothing that had to do with giving the dog a goose bump.

Ignoring that, Sans went down to the living room, carefully so that his pets did not have an unfortunate fall, being warned by his brother, who watched television in his underwear AGAIN. Disgusting useless.

-YOU ARE GOING TO TAKE CARE OF THESE TWO WHILE I GO OUT. IT WILL BE SHORT.

-no thanks.

-I WAS NOT ASKING.

- being both an obligation and a request, i refuse. they are not my pets, i already said it. and soon you'll get tired of them, i do not care what happens to them.

Papyrus kept being A BIT negative with the theme of pets. For him they were only more expenses for the house. As if there were not enough already. But unfortunately Sans had a complex of spoiled even when Papyrus few things gave him in his life, so when he left the animals on the floor, next to the couch, he kept talking.

-I'll NOT GET TIRED OF THEM, NOW THEY ARE OF MY PROPERTY, AND I HAVE MANY PLANS FOR THOSE TWO. SO JUST TRY NOT TO LET THEM DIE OR BREAK SOMETHING. AS WELL AS YOU WATCH TELEVISION ALL DAY WITHOUT DOING ANYTHING YOU CAN AND WILL LOOK AT TWO ANIMALS. THEY ARE EXHAUSTED SO THEY WILL SLEEP FOR A LONG TIME.

-obviusly, you've bathed them.

Papyrus hated the bathrooms. His foul odor was a clear warning of that. Sans narrowed his eyes, but once he checked in a quick glance that nothing in the house could be an escape for the animals, he let it be.

- STOP CRYING LIKE A BABY FOR EVERYTHING. I WILL TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING.

-pffft, it's you who cries for everything and for nothing in reality.

Whispered Papyrus to himself. Sans put his hands in jar position.

-WHAT DID YOU SAY?!

-yeeeees, i'll be watching them. but if i fall asleep it's not my problem.

-WELL, AT LEAST YOU HAVE TWO NEW COMPANIONS THAT SLEEP LIKE YOU. THE LAZY FAMILY.

Although Sans had planned to train that dog to become the most fearsome of all the underground. It would be so strong that no one would dare to question Sans! Clearly that was something he dreamed, not that it was going to become real.

Once the small skeleton made sure that everything was in order he proceeded to leave the house, facing the cruel snow of Snowdin who welcomed the flogging skeleton clothes, seeking to freeze him, but being a skeleton couldn’t. The skeleton closed the door, looking both ways to make sure there was nothing suspicious nearby. Nothing. Everything was quiet, or at least what was considered as quiet in that world, which was basically no wild revolt.

He made his way to the nearest store there was: Doggo's house. He arrived at the shop shortly after walking, where he opened the door slamming it with his chest inflated and superior, as he always did to attract attention. He liked to make impactful entrances ... Ironic considering his height, but if someone came to comment on that, Sans ended up killing the subject who dared to say that.

-Ugh, you again?

Doggo said, lowering the magazine that he had to keep in constant motion to read, while smoking a bone for dogs. How was he able to smoke a bone? Magic. But Sans, just seeing the dog, smiled victoriously, because he realized that there he had answers for many questions that had been formulating at home. Doggo narrowed his eyes, watching Sans always move as he watched what the store offered. All under a yellow plastic to not be stolen without the dog noticing, of course. But the dog suspected the skeleton for other reasons.

-I paid my taxes two days ago. I have ... five left?

He said raising an eyebrow. The client shook his head.

-I’M HERE TO ASK QUESTIONS.

That, in that world, was never good news.

- Come now ... I'm not a snitch. I'm sorry but from this snout I'm not going to drop any bones.

Distrustful as always. Sans let him be.

-YES. I KNOW IT VERY WELL. BUT I WANT TO ASK YOU THINGS ABOUT YOU ... AS A DOG. YOU KNOW.

-Explain yourself.

-WHAT DO YOU EAT BEING A DOG?

-Things of dogs. Anything else?

Sans clenched a fist at that answer SO OBVIOUS. But he had to restrain himself. For his sake and for that of the pet.

-THIS IS ... TOO OBVIOUS. AND I NEED TO KNOW SOMETHING MORE SPECIFIC. MEAT, VEGETABLES, FRUITS. THOSE THINGS.

-Are you going to manage what we eat? Are you so desperate to control us that you even resort to food? To another dog with that bone.

-NO, NOTHING OF THAT. THIS CONVERSATION IS CONFIDENTIAL. I ONLY NEED TO KNOW IT FOR PERSONAL REASONS.

Doggo smiled wickedly, moving his smoked bone to the other side of his mouth, leaving the magazine to focus directly on Sans, leaning forward to see it better.

- Do you have a kidnapped dog or something? Come on, say it, I'll be a good boy and I will not tell anyone. I just want to entertain myself with something.

Sans did not know how to continue. That dog longed to have a valid explanation about the reason for the questions. And staying a few seconds still, thinking, in the end he had to resort to a plan that he hated with all his soul, but seeing the circumstances there was no other choice ...

"YOU DO IT FOR THE DOG, GREAT, MAGNIFICENT AND TERRORIFIC SANS. AS SOON AS YOU DO IT, THE BETTER ".

The skeleton inhaled deeply, closing his eyes ... And then he raised a hand quickly, directing it towards the dog, who raised his eyebrows alerted, thinking that he was going to attack him. The fight was about to begin ...

But the victory was clear from the beginning. Well, Sans did caress the dog. A few caresses with the tip of his bony fingers on the head of the dog, which only remained with eyes wide open for a few seconds, but as Sans caressed, the dog leaned towards those affections that were his great weakness. Slowly the dog was looking for the perfect position to be scratched: with the head lying on its objects to sell and with the skull to the side, allowing Sans to reach the ears, the neck, and so, slowly but surely the skeleton knew that already there would be no questions, no suspicion.

The loyalty of that dog was easily earned with pampering.

- WHAT DO DOGS EAT?

-Hmmmeat ... Fi-fis... (uh, there, there, ahhh ~~~ yes ...) Fish ... Hmmm ~ rice too ...

-ANYTHING ELSE?

-We like ... carrots ... pears ... grrr, bananas ...

- AND WHAT YOU CAN NOT EAT UNDER ANY CONCEPT?

-Grrrapes, Can ~ dy, choco-chocolate ... Beer less! But I take it anyway hehehe ... Onions, garlic ...

-GOOD GUY.

- Very good b-boy?

- VERY GOOD, NO DOUBT. AND WHAT DO YOU DO TO BE ENTERTAINED?

-Bite things. Ropes in ssspecial ... Pursue others ... But that changes ac-according to the doooog. I love caresses, I love them! I love them with all my being! Give me more!

Although that seemed reasonable, Sans did not seem to believe that the dog adopted was just to run, but to receive affection from the one who appreciated. During the short time he had him, he had dedicated himself to being in a corner with the rabbit, little else. Maybe because of fear? Who knows. He should find out eventually.

-AND HOW DO YOU BATH? CAN YOU AVOID THAT ODOR TO WET DOG IF YOU DID BATH?

-Sham-p-p-oooo special for dogs, I sell here some ev-ven ... And no! I hate fragrance, I never use them!

While they talked, the dog had changed position, and literally on the table, he was turning around so that the other monster would scratch his belly. It would be fun if Sans was not solely focused on his goal of obtaining information and memorizing it.

-MEDICINES? WHAT OF THEM?

-Undyne, the scientiiific (owowowow so good ...) gives them to us. But they are very expensive.

-LAST QUESTION. BED?

-That depends on the dog a-again ... I sleep in a basket! I like baskets. I can bite while I sleep. It is nice. Like this…

Then Sans stopped, feeling somehow a prostitute for having cared a dog that had enjoyed it too much, so much that he was still in the posture, in such a stupor of pleasure that he was not able to react. Sans wiped his hand with his pants, taking out some coins from his pocket to take two shampoos, depositing the money on the table next to the pooch. He could have stolen it, but he had honor ... Or he thought he had it after what happened.

-THANKS FOR YOUR HELP. YOU'VE BEEN A GOOD DOG. SO, UNTIL NEXT TIME.

The dog just wagged his tail in the middle of his enjoyment, without even articulating more words. Sans left the store with the two shampoos under his arm. He had everything he needed practically except for the medicines, which he would surely ask Papyrus to take care of that. He hated having to deal with Undyne, because she somehow put him on nerves ... And something had to be done by his useless brother.

Thinking that his mission had been a total success, and anxious to erase unpleasant memories of his mind, he went to complete the second mission he had pending: to discover information about rabbits. Luckily that was as easy as talking to the royal guards, who were precisely rabbits, and as he considered himself the leader he could get information right away. Of them or Alphys. It was easy and simple. So, feeling his near victory, he headed towards the surveillance posts, ready to obtain information without doubt ...

But better without having to resort to the physical. For the sake of your mental health

01110000 01100001 01010000 01011001 01010010 01010101 01010011 00100000 01010000 01001111 01010110

Papyrus was lying on the couch, watching television half-lying, one leg in the air and the other leaning on the sofa, his hands behind his head so he could be comfortable watching the television programs, which were mostly trash, but the skeleton just looked for something to keep his eyes and ignore his mind, which always tried to remember all the problems that happened in his life, but mainly in his home.

In a world immersed in shit like that, the only good thing he had was to keep it at shore ... And even if it was ironic, that only thing of value that he had was his brother. The tall skeleton knew well that his brother was spoiled, impatient and demanding, perhaps even bordering on the psychopath considering his constant need to be above others, to the point of physically hurting. But for Papyrus he was still just a whimsical child ... Well, that's how he had raised him, and he had to endure it until his brother matured. Which he saw impossible. And that always led to his brother committing certain crazy things that the elder brother had to deal with from the shadows without anyone knowing. Maybe that's why everything tasted bitter, everything was lazy throughout the day, because he always had to pick up the shit his brother left behind. And since Sans was very Sans, that was constantly happening.

In those moments his new adventure included two pets to which he was sure he had brought by force. Purpose? Neither did he know it. He supposed it was a whim like that of wearing armor, an idea taken from a comic book they found in the Waterfall dump looking for things for the house. And, of course, Papyrus now had to take care of those two pets, which he looked at from the corner of his eye from time to time, checking that they had been placed under the table almost broken, without stopping sleeping, or apparently sleeping ...

Papyrus snorted, sinking deeper into the sofa, which had some broken springs and it showed.

-i suppose that in a few days i'll have to leave you in the woods, when sans tires of you ... as always.

He said out loud, rolling the light that was his only functional eye. The other stopped emitting light a long time ago, the reasons were unknown and only the most twisted part of Papyrus's past knew it.

-until then we are going to have to live together as best as possible. if you want to survive my brother, of course.

Papyrus already assumed that his brother would throw them away when he got bored, or when they tried to impose him and ended up killing them for insubordination, any possibility was viable. The animals, however, barely noticed, just moving a little in the safe place they had found. But even if Papyrus did a lot of speculation, he did not know how much his brother was trying to keep the pets.

A little more time passed, with the television showing programs to each more stupid, until Papyrus was a little hungry. To be a skeleton without organs tended to suffer hunger every time, especially if it did not ingest anything magical with what to recover energy. Even skeletons needed to eat ... And when was the last time he ate something? Three days ago? He was so lazy to eat that he could even die of hunger to avoid having to move around a lot, speaking metaphorically, of course.

Mumbling, he surrendered to the demand of his body, and ended up getting up to go to the kitchen, because he had little magic and he could tell by how his eye did not let him see all that well. He hated having to feed, it was tedious and fucking expensive. At least for a selfish rat like him. But he had to do it. If he left Sans alone in that world, he could never forgive himself. He was the reason why his bones remained united, although he never told his brother and he was always apathetic ...

When he reached the kitchen he opened the fridge, scratching his tailbone as he knew, observing the little food inside. To save food they always bought what they needed every day, so there was only the essential in the house ... Which did not work. But as always, Sans left a plate of food in the refrigerator covered in clear plastic for when Papyrus deigned to eat. As many times that did not happen, at the end his brother finished having dinner, which was to kill two birds with one stone ...

Speaking of killing things. When he opened the refrigerator, two heads peered into the kitchen. The rabbit and the dog stared at the skeleton, noticing smells that interested them very quickly. Papyrus noticed that, so he looked at them out of the corner of his eye as he was leaning in the fridge, seeing that dish so supremely appetizing.

- are you hungry? i could give you something ... hopefully you will get fat and you will be a good feast for when he want to get rid of you.

He said in a chillingly cold tone, chuckling at his little dark joke. Although for him that was going to be a very close reality. And the idea of eating rodent or dog ... It was tempting. It was meat after all, and when hunger lurked even a rock seemed appetizing. The animals however were not aggressive, just kept staring. The dog sticking out its tongue and the rabbit with half-closed eyes ... But due to the position they were in, Papyrus could assure that the rodent was on top of the dog, as if it were his personal horse. Strange. But he didn’t care.

-Well, let's see what we have for you that is not harmful ...

Papyrus, due to his visits to Undyne's laboratory, knew what some creatures ate and what they did not eat. Basically because among the many dirty jobs he had, some were to feed the ... "guests" of Undyne. And the possibility that they were two pets that fled from Undyne's laboratory went through the head of the tall skeleton several times. However, he was not going to deliver them to the scientist. Dying at the hands of skeletons would be better than dying at the hands of a scientist with serious moral problems. It was more dignified, and certainly less painful. Although with a good financial compensation ...

The question was that Sans could have gathered information in a quick and simple way, which was asking his brother, but Papyrus never showed signs of knowing about those things. If he did not even know how to take care of himself, how the hell would he know how to take care of others? It was easy to think like that. And Sans sinned not to ask his brother, who would also have offered to help, but if his brother got things for himself he was in a better mood, and that was good, both for his self-esteem and Papyrus's migraines.

The skeleton took Sans's plate out of the fridge. Stuffed burritos. For a long time he did them with everything he found, and with everything it means EVERYTHING. Earth, stones, flowers ... Once he even dared to bring garbage. After several days of unstable magic due to the intoxication with magical food, Sans learned to take care of what he was taking, and little by little he learned to cook better ... Although burritos were the only dish they managed to make. And since the vegetables were much cheaper than the meat, there was a plate of burritos with crushed vegetables and homemade salsa ready to be heated and eaten. Vegetables ... That was good. Not for him, of course.

- In short, with this you can survive, I guess.

The skeleton said, taking out the plate with no intention to heat it. It did not matter if it was hot or not, but the pets could feel dislike of the hot, so he decided to remove the clear plastic and go to the living room, where it was forbidden to eat but it did not care. The animals - actually the dog - followed him attentively, raising their snout, and in the case of the dog, wagging his tail slightly happy. Papyrus sat down, opening the burrito to see the food inside. And they were precisely perfect for pets.

-lool, if poverty sometimes brings something good, hahaha.

Mocking his own situation with acid humor, he took a first bite to check that it was good. A bit hard, because Sans had to perfect things, but it was edible. It was not considered a delicacy but it could be eaten.

-u arg lugy gag gis is ogay.

He was never a skeleton of refined manners, so after swallowing, he took out a piece of vegetables for each pet, throwing them to the ground where they were supposed to catch it. First the rabbit, which picked the food carefully, sniffing it and then proceeding to give small bites, distrustful, but in the end sure that it was good. Papyrus raised an eyebrow at that attitude. Maybe they tried to poison them some time? The dog in turn wanted to accept food by opening its jaws, however, seeing that it fell to the ground whimpered a bit, but ended up having to take it directly from the ground. After a few seconds of tasting he looked at the dog and made a strange gesture with his head. The dog then accepted the piece of vegetables, so happy that even his tail swept the ground gently. Papyrus narrowed his eyes with a drop falling on his forehead. Was it his impression or had the dog asked for permission ...?

He shook his head, ignoring that fact, thinking they were just mere pets. Simple extra expenses for the house.

The animals took very little time to eat, practically once they found that it was in a decent state (not extremely fresh but edible) they gave only two pieces to eat it. The dog seemed happy with that, but the rabbit ... The rodent continued to stare at Papyrus, who had already taken another bite of his burrito. As he felt the constant pressure of being watched, he directed his gaze to the rabbit's, which rose on its two legs sniffing.

-do you want more?

The rodent did not respond, it was obvious that he was not going to do it. It was an animal.

- well, pay the rent.

And he kept eating, watching TV almost on the verge of falling apart.

The rabbit, seeing that the food was disappearing, looked at his companion, who returned his gaze moving his tail happier than usual. The white-furred animal made a gesture, a simple tug at his own ear, and the dog instantly responded by tilting his head. The rabbit continued to incite the dog to do strange things, catching Papyrus' attention just as the dog was already lying on the ground with his belly directed at the ceiling. The skeleton raised its eyebrow, thinking that innocently it wanted to play. Would he have to bother stroking his gut ...? It was not within his duties dictated by Sans. However, the dog insisted much more, staring at the rodent and the skeleton, looking desperate for affection.

-i wish you knew how to play dead ...

He whispered as he sighed, bending down so that this heavy dog would stop doing stupid things. He scratched a few seconds the dog's gut, with the plate still holding a couple of pieces that were missing the skeleton to eat. The dog moved its paw, twisting in taste, in such complete pleasure that it even closed its eyes with its tongue half out on one side. Papyrus rethought if that really gave him so much pleasure. But it was a can. Doggo had to have an insane taste for receiving cares ... And while scratching it he noticed the extreme thinness of the dog, which surprised the monster. Up to what levels of famine should a creature arrive to end up like this ...? It was similar to Papyrus, only that the bones could be seen from the skeleton due to its skeletal monster condition, but no creature should be like that animal ...

-heh, I think we're both in the bones.

But as soon as he released that joke he realized that he had let down his guard for a few seconds, which was strictly forbidden in that world. He left the caresses suddenly, leaving the dog in the same position, dazed and craving more. The monster did not say anything else about it, watching television.

"if you love someone, it will hurt more when you lose it," he told himself daily. To avoid those harmful feelings, he turned to alcohol and ignored them for long hours. He was good at running away from his own feelings. So he decided to flee with the electronic device, ready to continue his burrito to end the meal, not caring that it was the same hand with which he caressed the dog ...

But his fingers touched the plate directly, without finding any piece of food. The skeleton looked scared the plate, discovering that there was only a tiny piece of the burrito's wrapper. What the fu-

Crunch, crunch.

The lights of their basins were diverted to a corner, the one that was right next to the table, verifying that in it the rabbit was nibbling food with an air of tremendous pride. The rabbit, upon seeing it, laughed. LAUGHED PROUD. Papyrus could not believe it. But it was clear that he was not going to leave it like that.

-damned elusive rat, give me my food!

Pulling the plate to the sofa, he got up to go for the rodent. The aforementioned immediately placed almost all the food in his mouth, remaining with the inflated cheeks, proceeding to jump where he was going. Papyrus had not yet eaten well so his reserve of magic was low, forcing him to have to move to catch the elusive animal, which instantly went near the walls to hide behind the few objects that the house kept in a more deteriorated that decent.

- come here, scum!

But the rabbit decided to play with him, jumping then by the TV cabinet, the table, a bedside table, the couch, without changing rooms ... He was mocking the skeleton and both knew it very well. While the dog observed that lying on the ground, fun, the police and the thief began to break everything in the house looking for each his own goal. Papyrus tried to catch the rabbit as well as he could, but the animal was too cunning, so much that he even put objects in the middle so that the skeleton would stumble.

-i'll catch you, i'll hang you with the rope!

He said, tired of the situation, however during that long time of search and capture the skeleton gave a hug to the wall, his skull came in contact with various objects, and there was even a time when he tried to throw his arm to hit to the rabbit but in the end he ended up throwing his arm out the window. Papyrus then relived those moments when Sans was a baby and was running away with something in his mouth, having his brother to chase him for a long time until he found him asleep or demanding something else ...

It was back in the old days, but now that bag of broken bones was not as patient as before.

Nor so energetic.

By the time Sans got home, he found the hall smashed, an exhausted Papyrus on the couch, and two pets on top of him watching television. It took several seconds for Sans to understand what had happened ... Although the final conclusion that clearly said that Papyrus had lost was present throughout the room.

-WHAT ... THE HELL HAPPENED.

- ... you have not brought pets ... you have brought two demons ...

-PFFFT, TWO MERE PETS HAVE DEFEATED YOU? I BELIEVED YOU MORE INTELIGENT THAN THEM.

-shut up, sans.

But the minor skeleton found that very funny. In the end having brought the pets had been a good idea, just because they annoyed the useless of his brother. And even if he considered himself the only one with the power of that, he could allow those two to share such a funny hobby. And seeing how his brother was doing, the sacrifice was worth it.

-ONE THING…

He wanted to clarify before even ending that event. The small skeleton inhaled slowly, inflating his nonexistent lungs, while closing his eyes for a couple of seconds.

-CLEAN THIS NOW GROUP OF GOOD FOR NOTHING !!!

He shouted in such a way that the three pets of the house jumped off the couch, either because of the fright or by the force of the cry itself, falling inevitably from the couch, but without any injuries. It's true that Sans could laugh at that situation, but his house was a mess, and it would be better for those three to fix it, even if two of them did not even have thumbs to grab things.

At least all four were on good terms -ignoring Sans' anger-. And that peace could be maintained if the four put on their side ... They could get it. That's what Sans was sure of. And he could bet all the bones of his body on it.

#pets #owosa #pet zoo #sans #papyrus #undertale #more pets #dunno

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nocufelude-blog · 6 years ago

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Best Electric Pencil Sharpeners

The modern age is currently witnessing a dramatic shift in homes, schools and offices. By means of smart technology, we are now switching to virtual platforms altogether, which may one day get rid of the need for having stationary. But for now and for the foreseeable future, stationery will remain relevant in our lives pretty much, no matter where we go.

Speaking of which, in this article, we would like to talk about pencils, or more specifically, pencil sharpeners… ok, electric pencil sharpeners which are intended to be a faster and altogether more efficient alternative to their manually operated counterparts. As pencil sharpeners still are a mandatory part of any stationary kit, who’s to say they could not do well with an upgrade? That is exactly why you should consider buying an electric pencil sharpener.

But which one? As it turns out, manufacturers have already taken the hint and released a vast multitude of devices, each claiming to be the best for your table. But of course, they are not all on equal standing. Some are ridiculously expensive. Some contain faulty functions. Some are too bulky to live with. And some are downright unsafe. However, after much research and reviewing, we have managed to come up with a list featuring nine electric pencil sharpeners that we believe are the best of what is currently available in the market. They are all decently priced and fulfill a high standard in key areas, like functionality, safety, and portability. In addition, some of them even bring their own unique technology to your table.

Here is a pencil sharpener designed specifically for the classroom. The X-ACTO SchoolPro Classroom electric pencil sharpener uses smart technology in its durable construction to perform reliably and safely. It even comes with an astonishing 10-year warranty. If that does not put your doubts to rest, we cannot think of anything else that will. Although it is quite unlikely that you will be using the same device for such a long time, it does serve as further proof of its rugged build quality and overall efficiency.

At the business end of this pencil sharpener, there is a flyaway helical cutter that will sharpen a pencil to a rounded tip and not as sharp as a needle. Power comes from an electric motor that is quite vigorous, but crucially, very quiet. We all know how handy that can be in a classroom. Meanwhile, the Auto-reset mechanism prohibits any chance of overheating or other such damages. It is also adjustable to at least 6 different pencil sizes, making it that much more of an attractive purchase.Are you over the traditional method of sharpening a pencil and are searching for a new look? The School Smart Vertical electric pencil sharper is a hoot and a half in that regard. There is nothing traditional about the way it looks or the way it works. It is 100% a product of the current day and age. It has a single hole with a large, transparent shavings receptacle which will automatically stall the operation of the sharpener when removed.

At the business end is a helical steel blade powered by a heavy-duty motor, and an auto pencil stop to help you achieve a perfect tip each time. Non-skid rubber pads further increase stability. It comes in black and gray to make it look elegant. The ideal environments to use it would at home or at the office. The only real inconvenience with it is that it is not entirely silent when in use but of course, the noise will only last a few moments.There is no way around it, the OfficePro electric pencil sharpener is quite simply one of the best sharpeners you can buy in today’s market and it simply had to be on our list. It is equally well suited for work in a classroom, office, or home. As you can probably guess, it does boast some excellent safety features that are in key ways superior to those found in its competitors. Its premium quality stainless steel helical blade works in tandem with an auto-stop mechanism to generate a perfect point every time.

The auto-stop mechanism also eliminates any risk towards clumsy fingers which will be especially needed in the classroom or at home. It is not even especially big. It follows a slim and ergonomic design principle that enables it to fit into small spaces easily. Its sole power source comes from 4 AA batteries which are included in the purchase, unlike most other pencil sharpeners. Also included in the purchase is a lifetime replacement guarantee. Rest assured, it is extremely durable and ergonomic.How long would it take you to manually sharpen a dull pencil? Half a minute? Perhaps even a full minute or longer if the tip breaks at the end? But what if we told you that you can now sharpen it up in just 3 seconds? Is that even possible? Only if you buy the LINKYO heavy-duty electric pencil sharpener, which has functions that are simply…electric. After all, it is not as though pencil sharpening is a particularly pleasing activity. Seeing it through quick and easy is what is most desirable in a hectic workplace or classroom.

In addition to sharpening up your blunt pencils in next to no time, the LINKYO also takes care of other problems you might encounter with a less competent pencil sharpener. For starters, it features an anti-skid silicon base that keeps it stuck to the surface while you are using it. Also, it will not be sustaining any jammed up pencil bits thanks to a patented Auto-Jam release function. Its helical blade is supremely durable and guarantees a safe and rounded tip for your pencil in just a few seconds.

There is little use in buying an effective electric pencil sharpener if its designers have paid no attention to the ergonomic side of things. It needs to be compact and user-friendly if it is going to gain any popularity in the market. One look at the TripWorthy electric pencil sharpener lets you know that its designers were concerned with this and created it to be suited for everyday use. It has a compact, lightweight profile with functions that are easy to use.

What we really like about this pencil sharpener though is that it was not designed merely to appeal to a mass market. Its designers also spared some thought for the minority community users, aspiring artists for instance who travel light and could really use a compact, lightweight, user-friendly pencil sharpener on their travels. To that end, this pencil sharpener also runs on battery power which gives it so much more range regarding where it can be used. No sockets equal no limits.The OfficeGoods V-7 uses a powerful motor and strong helical blade to sharpen your pencil to its finest point in a matter of seconds. It even allows you to select between a sharp, medium, or blunt point for your pencil. And thankfully, it does so without producing a whole lot of noise like most other electric pencil sharpeners do. So sharpening your pencil in the classroom will no longer be an awkward moment for you. You can also count on it to be a safe device to operate, even for children.

It will not work without having its shaving cover sealed. The overall build quality is pretty solid and there are a few key configurations for convenience. For instance, it is not limited merely to one source of power. You can run it on battery power or connect it to your computer via a USB cable. It also features non-slip rubber feet which keep it in place on a slippery office desk. And it has been made entirely out of environmentally friendly materials.The whole point of an electric pencil sharpener is to make pencil sharpening quicker, safer, and more convenient. We are delighted to report that speed is a very strong asset of the Toolsand electric pencil sharpener. It will return sharpness to your blunt pencil in just 5 seconds, way shorter than you could manage with a manual sharpener. That said, it does not completely get rid of the manual method of sharpening. It retains both manual operation and battery powered operation thanks to its patented dual-mode function.

So even if it is down on power and you need to sharpen your pencil in a hurry, you can still power it with your bare hands. After all, this sharpener does not include a power cord. Its sole power source is a couple of AA batteries. The design is compact, lightweight and easily portable. It even has an automatic start system. All you have to do is slide your pencil in, then press down to sharpen and release it to stop.You do not find very many electric pencil sharpeners priced below $10, let alone the really good ones. The MROCO electric pencil sharpener trumps those odds easily and has therefore earned a spot on our list. Sometimes, in the debate between time and money, there is an ever-nagging temptation to prioritize money, since there can be so many other ways by which to make up for lost time. But, the fact is time can be a deceptively cruel mistress.

More often than not, it is those little delays that add up together and take you longer to prepare yourself. At the same time, the price difference between manual and electric pencil sharpeners just cannot be justified. With the MROCO you get all the bells and whistles that you would find in any other high-quality product but for much greater value for money, enough to make a slight additional cost worthwhile. Plus, it is safe and easy to use for both children and adults.

The Laneco electric pencil sharpener was designed primarily for use in the classroom and workplace. It features full 360-degree rotation which is ideal for generating evenly sharpened pencils. In addition to keeping it compact, lightweight and portable, the materials used to build it are also deemed to be environmentally friendly. It has a lightweight and durable plastic body and a helical stainless steel blade made from premium quality stainless steel, so good that it will not be needing a replacement.

This pencil sharpener has also been designed to be cord-free. It draws its power solely from 4 AA batteries (not included in the package). It is most suitable for pencils between 6 and 8mm and is easy to use for both adults and children. As a safety measure, the sharpener automatically ceases to function once the shaving tray has been removed. This eliminates any risk of injury to your fingers, particularly in the classroom where you kids may operate it unsupervised.

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dovechim · 7 years ago

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clone-a-willy™ (m)

Anonymous asked:

dom ceo!jimin & reader + “I’ve had this plug in me all day, when do I get to feel your cock instead?”

➾ 3.2k

➾ 1/13 parts for jimin’s smutfest 2017/ jimin’s birthday celebration

Amazon is a fucking liar, and you have half a mind to sue them for putting wrong information on their website. What they listed as ‘discreet packaging’ ended up being a clear, see-through bag with no sort of protective wrapping at all, and you’re fuming.

Jimin only looks amused as he strolls in through the front door and tosses the package onto the dining table with a casual, “You’ve got mail, babe.”

You expected it to be the usual bill or spam advertisements, but when you realise what it is, your face turns a bright shade of pink as you attempt to laugh it off nervously.

“O-oh really? I didn’t order anything like that, must be the neighbour’s or something.”

“It says our address, babe. And addressed to _______.”

It leaves you no wiggle room to deny it, and Jimin pins you in place with his gaze from across the living room, his grip tightening around the bottle he’s drinking from. You struggle to find an excuse to explain this away, because in your entire relationship with him, you’ve never once incorporated toys, and if you do, it’s the odd vibrator that you use when he’s away on business trips.

You’ve just never felt the need to tell him or initiate a conversation about using toys before, until you stumbled across this.

“Clone-A-Willy Realistic Penis Moulding Kit,” Jimin picks up the package curiously and reads off the cartoon like font stamped across the front, right next to where your name is addressed. The teasing lilt in his voice accompanied with the smirk that’s pasted on his face makes you curse under your breath; he’s having such a good time at your expense.

Just the thought that people like the mailman, or god- the lovely old lady who lives next door- knowing about this makes you want to crawl into a hole forever and die.

“I-it’s just a joke,” you laugh nervously, getting up and reaching to snatch it from his grip. “Just thought it’d be a fun gag gift or something, y’know?”

But Jimin holds it just out of your reach, ripping the bag apart to peer at the instructions on the back of the plastic box. “This product guarantees an intimate connection with your partner during solo play. Babe, I didn’t know you missed my dick that much,” a shit eating grin spreads itself across his face, and unlike his angelic eye smiles and innocent giggles that he constantly fools others with, you consider yourself the wiser.

Park Jimin is one dirty little fucker.

When you first met him you’d thought for sure that someone like him wouldn’t even know what porn is, much less masturbate to it or anything like that, but boy were you wrong. Stumbling upon his porn collection on his laptop one afternoon- actually, as you come to think about it, it wasn’t even on accident, his porn folder was just sitting on his desktop openly- you realised that Park Jimin likes his porn, and he likes it dirty.

Bukkake, gang bangs, creampies- there was just no end to it.

Before you know it, Jimin is assembling the kit with a look of concentration on his face, as if he’s doing a fucking science experiment, mixing and pouring in the moulding powder into the slim tube.

Clone-A-Willy Kit

Step 1: Mix the moulding powder with water and pour it into the tube

Step 2: Insert your partner’s penis into the tube for 90 seconds to create a negative mould.

Step 3: Pull the mould away from the penis, then fill the space with the silicone mix.

Step 4: Let set overnight.

“With a little prep, replicating a willy with the Clone-A-Willy kit is easy - all you really need is a little patience and a willing partner with a penis.” Jimin nearly doubles over in laughter every time he comes across the word ‘willy’. “Oh my god, this is fucking hilarious, will it work if my willy isn’t willing?”

“Fuck you Park, just give it here and we can forget this ever happened-“

“Wait no!” He protests as waves the instructions at you. “You paid good money for this, we have to make sure it doesn’t go to waste!”

“If you’re just gonna stand there and make fun of me throughout, then you can use it to fuck yourself with after.” You shoot him a warning glare as more giggles threaten to spill out of his mouth as he continues to read the instructions.

“It says I just have to stick my willy in for 90 seconds,” Jimin tries his best to gloss over the word with as much maturity as he can conjure- which is unfortunately not much. “Wait, that means I need to get hard first, or else it won’t be a true replica right?”

You resist an urge to shoot back a demeaning comment; seeing as Park Jimin doesn’t really have anything you could say about him in that department as it is. “Hurry the fuck up then. God, I knew I should have bought a dildo instead.”

He catches the last mutter under your breath with a playful smirk on his lips even as he unzips his jeans and shucks them down his thighs, reaching in to pull out his already half hard cock. “Help me out here won’t you baby?”

“God, how the fuck are you already half hard?” You grudgingly get to your knees and place a hand around his base, squeezing and massaging him.

“Can’t- fuck- help it, the word willy just turns me on,” he chuckles under his breath, but it quickly turns into curses as you take his still soft length in your warm mouth. One of your favourite things to do is feel him slowly engorge in your mouth, feel his length grow stiff and heavy with blood on your tongue.

You make sure to run your tongue all over him in light feathery patterns, teasing him till his cock fills your mouth, and his tip begins to leak the familiar bitter liquid down the back of your throat.

“Fuck, you always get me so hard so fast baby,” Jimin grunts in part amazement as you lick a thick strip from his base to tip, and the sight of his reddened cock on your lips makes him want to thrust in deep and feel the softness of your throat convulse around him.

You withdraw your mouth from him, and he whines in protest, only for you to shove the tube at him. “Are you doing this or not?”

“I am, I am, fuck just give me a second or I’ll blow my load in that thing,” he’s slightly out of breath as he takes the tube from you, running a hand up and down his length a few times before gliding it into the tube in one motion. “Fuck, that feels so fucking weird.”

“What does it feel like?” You watch the tube swallow up his length with curiosity.

“Soft, but not the good kind, not like your mouth or pussy, but kinda like I’m fucking slime,” there’s a look of slight discomfort on his face as he keeps his dick buried in the tube. “Am I or am I not the best boyfriend ever?”

90 seconds is nearly up, and instead of stroking his horribly inflated ego, you pull the tube from his hands, reaching for the remaining packet of silicone mix and pouring it into the empty space before setting it aside to set.

All while ignoring a very hard and very needy Park Jimin who strokes his cock longingly, staring at the outline of your ass in your tight jeans. He whines low in his throat, and you obligingly lower yourself to your knees to suck him off and let him cum down your throat just so you don’t have to hear him say the word ‘willy’ again.

The silicone mould is forgotten for the next few days, because Jimin has nearly a week’s worth of important business meetings in a row that keep him from coming home till nearly dawn on some nights, and your more standard 9-5 office hours means that you’re always home way before him, and asleep way before him too.

But on the fifth day after you and him make the mould together, you realise just why you gave in to the whim and ordered it- you’re always uncontrollably horny when he’s not around, and when you’re approaching your ovulation period you just want to be filled up with something other than your fingers.

The mould is still on the dining table, untouched, so you slide it out from its casing to reveal a perfect replica of Park Jimin’s dick, true to size and all. You woke up this morning to an empty bed with slick staining the crotch of your panties, and the sight of it on the table is just too hard to resist.

Taking the mould, you run the head up and down your soaked folds, and it feels exactly like his dick, except of course lacking his warmth.

You tease yourself by running it up and down a few more times, catching it against your clit and feeling jolts of electricity rub your nerves raw. You make sure to wet the rest of his- well technically- dick with your arousal, spreading it down the length before you start to slide it into your depths, and you clench around it immediately.

It feels so fucking good, and you spread your legs apart as you brace yourself against the dining table, imagining that the real Park Jimin’s dick is actually in you, sliding so deep into your pussy that you can feel it in your throat. The feeling of being so full like this is enough to satisfy you already, and you feel like you could spend the rest of your days filled up like this without needing to cum.

The base of the clone sits nicely against the crotch of your panties when you pull it up, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had an orgasm in the past week, but a feeling of mischief empowers you to tug your pencil skirt back up, slide your feet into your pumps, and head out the door.

It’s around your weekly 4pm meeting when you can’t take it anymore, the constant feeling of his cock rubbing against your soaked walls stimulating you to just being on edge, unable to cum without any contact to your clit.

You hurriedly excuse yourself to rush to the washroom in the middle of it, attracting a few irritated glances from your managers in the process, but you couldn’t care less, eager to be free of the torture of sitting still with Park Jimin’s dick inside you.

When you reach the toilet, you immediately lock yourself in a stall, leaning against the wall of the cubicle and shoving your soaked panties aside, reaching for the base of the mold and shoving it in and out, imagining that Park Jimin is actually fucking you in a toilet at work.

Having spent nearly half the day aroused and on edge, your orgasm hits you with the thought of Park Jimin’s face when he cums inside you, clenching around the mold of his dick.

When your breathing has slowed, you reach to pull the mold out and tug up your panties, but you realise that you have nowhere to hide the mould, and you can’t just walk out of the bathroom with a fucking dildo in your hand. Fuck, you really should have thought this through before.

Wincing at the oversensitivity, you reluctantly push his length back inside you, clenching your core to keep him inside. Before you tug your panties back up, you reach for your phone and aim it, snapping a picture of your cock stuffed pussy and sending it to Jimin.

4.26pm [You]: image435.jpg

4.27pm [You]: I’ve had this inside me all day… when do I get to feel your cock instead?

His reply pings back almost instantly.

4.28pm [Park Jimin]: tonight.

For a change, Park Jimin is home before you on a weekday night.

His mouth is instantly on yours the second you step through the door, and you barely have a second to catch your breath from walking up all those flights of stairs. Jimin palms your ass greedily, moaning into your mouth at what a dirty girl you are when you grind against his hard length that prods your belly insistently.

“Fuck, you’re dying for my cock aren’t you baby? Spent the whole day filled with it yet you still want more.” He slides his hands under your skirt, making sure to squeeze your ass cheeks hard.

Jimin is impatient, impatient to get you naked, as he tugs down your tight pencil skirt, nearly ruining the zipper in the process. He drops to his knees the second your skirt is at your ankles, and tugs your panties down to see the base of the silicone mould that peeks out from between your pussy lips.

“Oh my god, fuck, your pussy looks so pretty when it’s filled to the brim like this. You like it when your pussy is filled up, don’t you?”

“Fuck yes, I love it,” you can only moan as he lifts a thigh, resting it on his shoulder to spread apart your folds so that he can get a better look.

“It doesn’t even come out when I spread your legs like this, you must be squeezing your tight little pussy around me like a good girl, hmmm?” Jimin is fascinated by the way your lips close around the base of it, and holds them apart just so he can flick his tongue at your clit as a reward.

You buck into his face in response, and he has to place his other hand under your ass to support you as he continues to suckle at your clit. The feeling of his warm mouth around you, simultaneous with how his dick spreads and fills you, has your near your second orgasm of the day in a flash.

“Coming already, baby? I’ve barely even touched you,” Jimin comments as he licks his lips. “Do you want to come all over this cock?”

He reaches for the base of the mould and starts to move it in and out, the veined ridges of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked core with ease. You can only moan in response, and clutch at his shoulder for support even as your knees wobble dangerously.

“Answer me baby, and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

“N-no, I don’t want to cum,” you’re panting heavily, struggling to stave off your orgasm, especially when Jimin places a thumb on your clit, looking up at you in surprise. “I don’t want to cum like this. I want to cum with your cock inside me.”

He bites his lip in response, muttering a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath as his hand freezes. You reach down to grasp the base of the mould and pull it out of you, and the emptiness in your pussy makes you crave his cock immediately.

“Jimin,” your voice jolts him back to awareness even as he stares at how your juices drip off the mould of his cock. “I need your cock inside me now.”

Jimin is on his feet in a flash, grabbing you by the waist and lifting you up. You circle your legs around his waist as he makes it to the bedroom, dropping you on the bed as he fumbles at the zipper of his dress pants. You take a moment to admire his wet chin and cheeks from eating you out, the way his white dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins that wrap around his forearms, and the way his tousled blonde hair is carelessly pushed off his forehead.

He’s already stroking his cock, eyes only on your dripping wet slit, and you spread your legs enticingly for him. Jimin kneels on the bed as he guides his tip in, moaning when he slides in without any resistance to the hilt.

This feels so much better than the mould, you can literally feel his entire length pulsing inside you, and his warmth, fuck, he feels like the warmth that emanates from a furnace on a cold winter’s day.

Jimin reaches under your thighs to press your knees to your chest, and he goes so much deeper like this, deeper than the mould ever will, and you swear you can actually feel him in your throat, no need to imagine this time.

“Good, baby?” He grunts into your skin, taking the time to suckle a bruise just behind your ear.

“Fucking fantastic,” you mumble back with a gentle nip of his ear.

Then Park Jimin does these deep as fuck thrusts with slow rotation of his hips such that he barely leaves the depths of your pussy, instead aiming for as much friction as possible against your walls that are already rubbed raw and aching.

His name leaves your lips in broken sobs, especially when he reaches down to pinch your clit. Jimin only smirks against your skin as he increases the force of his thrusts, so not only does he go deep, but he goes hard as well, and it aches so good that you can’t help but clench down around him as you cum with incoherent moans.

“Fuck, love feeling that pussy when you cum around me, always so tight for me baby,” he gives a final lick to your bottom lip as his thrusts turn sloppy and quick, and you know he’s about to cum when you can feel the pulsing of his dick speed up, something the mould will never be able to accomplish.

He gives a few more harsh thrusts, bottoming out in your pussy, before he cums in long streaks that coat your walls; his seed that fills you up feels even warmer than his dick, and it’s just one more thing that the mould can’t do.

Jimin remains inside you for a while after he’s drained his balls in your pussy, panting hard against your forehead. When his dick grows soft and slips out of you, he pushes himself off the bed, to get you some tissues for cleaning up, you assume.

But he returns with the mould in his hands, eyes on your cum filled pussy where he can see the white of his semen that fills you up to the brim.

You reach to cup yourself, not wanting to spill onto the sheets beneath you. “Ugh, can you get me a towel or something?”

But Park Jimin only shakes his head with a filthy little smirk on his lips as he kneels on the bed in between your still spread legs. He reaches to stroke your pussy lips tenderly, running his fingers up and down to gather the few drops of cum that managed to escape from your depths and rubbing it into your clit instead.

“I just thought we should make the most out of this, don’t you think?” He looks at the mold as he brings it closer to your pussy. “I just thought it’d be a really great plug to keep all my cum inside you, that’s all.”

Fucking Park Jimin is a dirty little fucker.

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