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#may you pass your classes and stay healthy this school year!

wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 2 years

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Hiiiiiiii i love your blog, bc you have all the best fics. I don't have a certain fic that i cant find, but i was wondering if maybe you knew about a few jock!derek/nerd!stiles? Maybe? I saw a post with something like that in a gifset and now i really wanna read one of those... Anyways have a nice day/evening/night! And remember to eat and stay hydrated and healthy and get enough sleep. ❤

Oh yes! I love this trope.

Hot Nerd Alert by alisvolatpropiis

(1/1 I 4,537 I Not Rated)

Derek can't believe he's actually doing this: taking a selfie snap of the guy he’s been crushing on for weeks to prove to Danny that one, yes, he really does exist, and two, he really is that hot and thus he is totally justified in being too scared to make a move.

Or you know, even talk to the guy outside of the class they share.

In his defense, this isn’t just any guy. This THE guy. Hot Nerd. The utterly adorable but still somehow insanely sexy freshman in his twentieth century American Lit class who he’s been lusting over since the first day of the semester. If there were ever a time for him to be that person who tries to be subtle while taking snaps of other people, this is it.

Game On by stilinskisparkles

(1/1 I 6,391 I Teen)

Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. He’s sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.

I don't need anything except always needing just a little more by Gorgeousgreymatter

(4/4 I 6,516 I Explicit)

Finally, mercifully, the school year ends. The last few days pass even more slowly than usual because since they’d -- for all intents and purposes, even though it makes Stiles giggle every time he thinks the word -- mated, being away from Derek was nothing short of excruciating. Not like it wasn’t before, but that was nothing compared to what it was like now. That had been a paper cut. A mere annoyance, like a buzzing fly.

A fly could be swatted.

This, on the other hand, may as well be a gaping wound.

...cause you just might get it by neilwrites

(4/4 I 11,430 I Mature)

Life can be tough when your name is Stiles Stilinski, your best friend-turned-werewolf is abandoning you for the lacrosse team - leaving you with no other friends - and the guy you've been pining after for over a year is still as unaccessible as ever. In fact, the entire lacrosse team is a giant enigma to Stiles. It's enough to make him go "I wish that I could be a fly on the wall of the boys’ locker room.”

It goes about as well as you'd expect.

But Then What... by Stoney

(3/3 I 24,343 I Explicit)

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

Sandbox Love is Forever by Dexterous_Sinistrous

(5/5 I 32,349 I Mature)

Being at different colleges, miles apart, meant that they’d likely be too busy for each other. An unstoppable force tearing them apart. But he could hold on for now.

“Okay,” Stiles shakily answered, clearing his throat before continuing, “I’ll go with you after the game.”

The corners of Derek’s lips started to turn up into a small but hopeful smile.

It was different from the smile Derek did for football. It was always more personal—genuine—when he looked at Stiles.

A Cunning Plan by yodasyoyo

(17/17 I 32,737 I Teen)

Stiles has a plan to get Lydia Martin to notice him. Derek is not impressed.

The First To Fake Is The Last In Line by AgnesBlue

(6/? I 34,610 I Teen)

High school AU in which Derek is the popular jock, Stiles is the lowly nerd. Derek is dared to dupe Stiles into a fake relationship

the trees call your name by spaceprincessem

(2/2 I 107,656 I Teen)

“That was a long time ago,” Derek finally said, his face falling into its usual cool facade.

Stiles felt like he had been punched in the gut. Two worlds, right? Except, it had never really been two worlds at all. If they lived in two worlds, Stiles wouldn’t feel this unexplainable ache that ran deep in his bones. It had always been one world, with water slipping into the cracks, until there was an ocean between them. Stiles was always caught in the riptides, dragged out to sea where he was left to drown, sinking below the surface as Derek grew further and further out of his reach.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, forcing his lips to turn up in the corners, noting the slight crack in his voice, “long time ago."

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #high school au #fake/pretend relationship

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eliteprepsat · 1 month

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A common refrain I frequently hear from students is some version of “I’m so exhausted.” With classes, homework, exams, extracurriculars, standardized tests and all sorts of other obligations, it’s understandable why students feel stretched to their limit. There’s pressure to succeed from all angles, and it seems to only heighten with each passing year. Just as the academic rigor and demands increase, so does the potential for burnout.

According to Psychology Today, burnout is “a state of chronic stress that leads to physical and emotional exhaustion, cynicism and detachment, and feelings of ineffectiveness and lack of accomplishment.” While it’s easy to think of burnout as nothing more than normal high school stress, it is important to recognize it as a distinct experience. Acknowledging it as such is the first step to avoiding it. Here are some steps you can take to avoid and/or combat burnout.

1. GET ORGANIZED

Let’s face it, sometimes the onslaught of responsibilities seems never ending. Just as soon as you’re done with one task, there are another fifteen to tackle. Juggling everything at once may come naturally to a few, but for most, a better bet is to develop strong organizational skills. Use a calendar to keep track of priorities and deadlines. Set reminders on your phone so you won’t forget. Organize your notes and assignments to help you prepare for tests. Use whatever system works for you, but make sure there’s some sort of structure you can rely upon.

2. MANAGE YOUR TIME

Breaking down your responsibilities into manageable chunks will help you focus, and focus is essential to getting your work done efficiently. Recognize which classes require more out of you, and allocate your time accordingly. Working in set time chunks and taking brief breaks throughout your studying will keep you fresh. Waiting until the last minute to get things done puts you on the fast track to burnout. Plan things out in advance to have a clear picture of what exactly you are responsible for and when it is due.

3. SET REASONABLE GOALS

Many students opt for the most rigorous academic course load possible in today’s competitive college admissions landscape, but try not to bite off more than you can chew when it comes to academics. Overestimating just how much you can handle academically is the quickest way to overload yourself. While colleges want to see you challenge yourself, they also want to see you succeed. Be honest with yourself and your goals to help you chart out a practical academic schedule.

4. DEVELOP HEALTHY HABITS

Eating well, exercising regularly and getting a good night’s sleep are often the first sacrifices for busy students. However, these are some of the most important steps you can take to reduce stress and stay on track with your responsibilities. To function at your highest, you should maintain a relatively active lifestyle and fuel your body properly. I’m not suggesting you have to be an Olympic athlete, but even 30 minutes of daily exercise along with a steady diet of fruits and vegetables can provide you with a much needed boost to power you through each day. I know it can be difficult to get seven to eight hours of sleep each night, but it’s worth it, it’s worth it, it’s worth it!

5. LIMIT DISTRACTING DEVICES

Technology is rampant in this day and age, and while much of it can be utilized to assist with you with your work, the opposite is equally true. The instantaneous nature of social media may make you feel like you need to stay connected at all times, but that constant connection will drain your energy and eat away the time you should be dedicating to your work. Adding a steady stream of social information to your responsibilities only increases your levels of stimulation. Disconnect from the apps (particularly close to bedtime) and concentrate that energy on accomplishing your tasks.

All of the work you invest in high school is in pursuit of a higher goal, and keeping your goals in mind can keep you driven and motivated. It is completely normal to occasionally max out, but it is important to recognize your limits and deal with them appropriately. Utilizing the tips above, you should stay fresh and remain on track to your success.

#study tips #studyblr #high school #college #college prep #productivity #mental health

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rabbitcruiser · 9 months

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World Lizard Day

World Lizard Day is celebrated on August 14 every year. The day may not be a well-known one, but it’s still celebrated on local levels with schools, parks, and reptile enthusiasts being the main groups celebrating the occasion. Educational and fun events remain a staple of the holiday. Reptile enthusiasts use the internet to spread information about their love for the scaly critters. The day hasn’t been adopted by higher-level conservation organizations like the World Wildlife Fund (W.W.F.). Instead, it is mainly focused on awareness about reptiles as pets.

History of World Lizard Day

Like many odd holidays, the origins of World Lizard Day are unclear. Don’t let its murky beginnings dissuade you from celebrating this wholesome day though. The species is dying out worldwide due to ignorance and lack of attention. The day may be about lizards, but we can’t pass up on the opportunity to tell you more about reptiles in general. It’s the spirit of the day after all!

All reptiles are air-breathing vertebrates covered in scales, plates of bone, or a combination of both. Species of this family include snakes, lizards, crocodiles, and tortoises. All of these shed their skin and depend on the environment to regulate their body temperatures. This dependence on outside factors when it comes to regulating their core body temperatures means that reptiles have to find sun and shade in order to warm up or cool down. In areas that have colder winters, reptiles generally experience a period of inactivity until the weather grows warmer again.

Lizards are no different, which is why you see them sunning themselves in your warm garden or on the bricks that soak up the sun throughout the day. For pet lizards, staying warm or cool is a different matter entirely. People who own lizards as pets need to heat their tanks with heating lamps or pads without overheating the space. In fact, preparing and maintaining a tank for a lizard or any reptile requires a great deal of initial and continuous effort. Each subspecies of reptile has specific needs and preferences. It’s recommended that aspiring and even current reptile owners do research on exactly what their pet needs to be happy and healthy. Doing research before you buy or adopt a pet lizard will help you to figure out what kind of lizard would suit you and your budget constraints. This before you buy stage is crucial in ensuring that you make the right choice when it comes to being a pet owner.

World Lizard Day timeline

312 Million Years Ago The First Reptiles

The first proto-reptiles evolve during the Carboniferous period.

13th Century Frogs and Reptiles

The first classification system groups amphibians and reptiles together with worms.

19th Century Reptiles in a Class of Their Own

Reptiles are recognized as a completely separate category from amphibians.

21st Century Skin Trade

The lucrative trading of reptile skin results in reptile farms becoming rampant, forcing conservation efforts and heavy policing of these farms.

World Lizard Day FAQs

Why do we celebrate World Lizard Day?

The day is an opportunity for reptile enthusiasts to celebrate their fascination and share it with others.

What’s a good lizard for beginner reptile owners?

Bearded dragons and leopard geckos are two of the most popular beginner-friendly lizards to own. A bearded dragon is known to be one of the most outgoing and friendly lizards.

What do lizards eat during the day?

Lizards may not drink much water throughout the day. They have a varied diet that provides them with nutrients. This includes grass and leafy plants, small insects like crickets and beetles, and berries and seeds.

World Lizard Day Activities

Visit your local reptile park

Donate to conservation efforts

Get a pet lizard

If you want to celebrate the day but don’t have any reptiles of your own then why not support the local reptile park or farm. There will definitely be a fun and educational event being held, and you’d be supporting a local business.

N.G.O.s and organizations like the W.W.F. are doing crucial work when it comes to rescuing and conserving animals and habitats of the world. If you’d rather see your money work on a small scale then why not inquire if your local shelter or park has any reptiles you can sponsor.

We don’t suggest this lightly but if you’re reading this then you must love lizards! Why not start researching what it’s like to own one, so you can see if it’s something for you.

5 Facts About Reptiles That You’ll Think Are Awesome

They used to be amphibious

Most reptiles are carnivorous

They’re not that smart

Temperature determines sex

Extinction crisis

Reptiles actually evolved from amphibians.

Only iguanas and turtles subsist on a plant-based diet.

Reptiles have about one-tenth of the intelligence you’d find in animals like rats, cats, and hedgehogs.

The sex of reptiles is determined by the temperature of the environment outside the egg as the creature grows.

Nearly one-fifth of all known reptile species are considered endangered or dangerously close to extinction.

Why We Love World Lizard Day

Reptiles need some love

They’re great pets

It’s fun

Of all the animals, reptiles are the ones that need some extra love and attention after all the years they’ve been misunderstood. Most people still view them as dangerous and cold creatures when that isn’t the case.

Reptiles make for excellent pets and here are some reasons why: they don’t need training or regular exercise, they’re quiet, and are very low-maintenance. Most importantly, they’re interesting creatures.

Having an excuse to visit the reptile park or spend extra time with your own pet reptile is always a good thing. World Lizard Day is a fun day with no pressure, and we really love it for that.

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themomsandthecity · 21 days

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The Very Real Sacrifice of Caring For Aging Parents in Your 20s

"I think things will be easier if my mom dies first," I found myself saying out loud to my best friend late last year, sitting on the carpeted steps of her rental house. This sentence may have come across as cold and morbid to anyone else, but I knew Tessa understood where I was coming from: Her dad and my dad both have terminal lung diseases, and neither of us have the best relationships with our moms, either. My mom in particular is generally healthy, but I worry about her living alone as someone who can be forgetful, overly trusting, isolated, and naive. Tessa and I met working at our college bookstore as cashiers. She's now a math teacher married to a great guy with a new baby boy. Tessa just turned 29. I'm a healthcare reporter who lives in Oakland, CA. I take art classes, love walking around the Bay, and have a 9-year-old cat named Clark. I'll be 28 later this year. Tessa and I both have older parents, and have bonded over how it can sometimes feel like we got robbed of fully enjoying our 20s. I don't call Tessa to gab about a new crush, or text her photos of my outfit options before a date. Instead, we talk about having to navigate federal healthcare on behalf of our parents, and arrange care for them while simultaneously trying to keep our own lives afloat. Neither of us feel like we have the same normalcy our friends do; we don't often call our parents for advice or anticipate the holiday season with excitement. Instead, our 20s have mostly felt like we're consistently waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when it does, we turn to each other for support. I am one of many millennials being affected by what's been referred to as an elder-care crisis. It's difficult to care for aging parents, especially with whom you have a strained relationship, while also navigating early adulthood. . . and financially earning less than they did at my age. The weight of credit card debt, student loans, and societal expectations can feel crushing. Hell, sometimes vet bills for just Clark can get pricey, even with pet insurance. I want to save money. I want to travel. I'd like to upgrade from a studio to a one bedroom so I don't have to fall asleep staring at my desk, since I work from home. But I also know that when my dad inevitably passes - and likely before my mom due to his condition - I'll need to be able to spring a last-minute plane ticket home and help get things in order. I recently received a master's degree from Syracuse University's Newhouse School, and throughout my final few semesters, I routinely thought to myself, "I hope my dad stays alive at least until I finish this degree." It can often feel like I'm holding my breath, hoping my parents hang on until I'm in a more established place in my life, so that I can offer the best care while also being my best self. My dad's prognosis was originally around seven years max, and he's now in his third year since being diagnosed. His health isn't currently changing much day by day, and when people ask how he's doing, I reply, "About the same." It can often feel like I'm holding my breath. I deeply desire to maintain autonomy in my own life, which still feels like it's just beginning. But I also want to make sure my parents are safe, healthy, and have all the resources they need as they age. So, rather than save for an eventual wedding or other milestone, I now have a separate savings account explicitly meant to help my parents in the event of something tragic. Just like a wedding is a major life event, so is losing a parent and maintaining care for the other parent - particularly if you're an only child, like I am. (At this point, some might ask, "Why don't you just leave the Bay Area if you're so concerned about money?" So, I should note that I have two uncles who live here, and we're very close. They weren't always part of my life, and as they also get up there in age, I want to be around them as long as possible, making… https://www.popsugar.com/family/millennial-taking-care-aging-parents-essay-49351514?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

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vadersmoth-to-lilisflame · 6 months

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I bite my lip to suppress a wide grin as I read his letter in the dining hall of my school before immediately heading to my dorm to write one back,

Lord Vader,

Whilst I would absolutely love to take you up on your offer, I have to assume you do not know much about the Naboo way of schooling.

Until I am 18 years of age I am not allowed to leave the school grounds (unless I can sneak out for a night to race). It starts in the later teens to curve the reckless things my age group does, apparently. Non-familial visitors are also not allowed, to discourage suitors. Which, quite frankly, I am rather thankful for. Princes, Dukes, and Viscounts be gone. The men of my class are so dull!

When I graduate, if you still wish, I would love to come and see Coruscant before being bound to Naboo forever. Although, gods willing, that won’t happen. I do not know if you’ve heard, but my mother has come to be with child, at the age of 40! And is healthy! I hope it is another girl that I can pass the throne to and not a boy, since Naboo is a Monarchy.

I’d much rather race for a living.

If you are disappointed about the visit then the only consolation I can offer is continuous letters. It helps with the boredom of this place, and gives me bragging rights to the other stuck-up nobility here. Once again, how am I even related to these people??? I’d rather jump out the window than promenade in the park. (Not actually. No suicidal thoughts here, in all seriousness!)

I hope everything is great on Coruscant, and that Anubis is doing well! I’ve been reading the Jedi books you sent me last year and I think I’ve gotten most of the katas down? I practice during my free hours of the day. If you would be willing to send more I’d be grateful. Jedi or Sith, I love to learn.

Thank you!

Lili

Princess of Naboo

Upon hearing you won’t be able to visit, Vader’s disappointment only lasts for a few minutes before he gets an idea and hurries to write back to you.

He slicks his freshly-washed hair back and plops down at his desk in just his towel, grabbing his pen and a new piece of paper.

Lili,

Do not apologize for rules set in place long before your existence. It is on me that I did not know of your situation. A visit would have been wonderful, but I am sure we can find a way around the law.

Your visit upon the end of your graduation term seems more than doable. I can arrange for you to stay in the palace for however long you would like. Your schooling sort of follows the Jedi way… staying until you graduate into Knighthood, then getting a week or two off to visit family or whatever you may wish. We are more similar than you may think, little one.

Congratulations on your mother’s pregnancy. You and your sibling will have quite the age difference, and I’m willing to bet they will look up to you in so many ways growing up.

You want to podrace for a living. I, too, admire the sport, though I must say it worries me to think that you may be injured. It is a dangerous game, and one that even Force Sensitives cannot always win at. I beg you to be cautious always when you are in that pod. Should you ever need help modifying it, I am more than willing to do so. I know a thing or two about it.

As far as your books go… I will have some more sent along with this letter. Your passion for your education of the Force is not only an attractive quality but a noble one, as well.

And, princess, when it comes to no visitors, I believe the Emperor of the galaxy gets a pass. However, I would not want to frustrate your parents- lest I be drowned by water bunnies.

Instead, have these holo courses I’ve prepared. Set them in the middle of the space you are using and the session will go smoothly. I look forward to hearing of your progress and to receiving these continuous letters.

Yours,

Lord Vader

For the next week or so, he dedicates his time to recording these programs for you, even removing some to re-record if they’re not ‘perfect’ to him. He covers everything from meditation to how you stand and even several different fighting maneuvers.

A package arrives for you three weeks after you originally sent your letter. Inside are six more books about the Force, two of which teach Sith training methods with Vader’s writing in the margins. An envelope lies on top of those boxes, the thumb drive for his holo courses tucked safely inside of it along with the letter.

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nschoolofdance · 2 years

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October 2022

HAPPY FALL! We have had a wonderful and successful couple weeks back in the studio and are so grateful for everyone working together to keep our studio safe and healthy.

Costume for a Compliment - Refer a NEW friend to NSD and you both receive a FREE costume ($65 value). All referrals are due by October 15th.

NSD has a few classes that have openings. Pass on the info to NEW friends considering signing up, and if they mention your name you both get a free recital costume! YAHOO!!

*Monday Wiggles and Giggles (2yrs) 415-445pm

*Monday Twinkle Toes (5-6yrs) 515-615pm

*Tuesday Twinkle Toes and Fancy Feet (5-8yrs) 430-530pm

*Tuesday Beg Jazz (5-8yrs) 530-615pm

*Wednesday Intro Lyrical (5-8yrs) 530-6pm

*Thursday Bitty Boppers (3-4yrs) 5-530pm

TRUNK OR TREAT BLOCK PARTY

This year NSD and La Crescent Montessori will be hosting a Trunk or Treat and Haunted House Block party for our friends in the community. We encourage everyone to sign up for a Trunk theme or attend and have a good time.

Date/Time - Friday, October 28th 4:30-7pm

Location - Parking lot of NSD and Montessori School

Entertainment - Trunk or Treat (hosted by NSD comp dancers), Music, Haunted House (hosted by Ms. J Montessori class), Food Trunk (Bettys Tacos)

Competition Dancers - Comp dancers will be in charge of the trunk or treat. Please use the sign up genius link to sign up for your theme. Hoping to have variety of themes.

Recreational Dancers - Are invited to attend and encouraged to sign up for a trunk or treat theme. Please use the sign up genius link if you would like to participate.

WINNER - The public will vote on a their favorite theme and the winner will receive $100 credit towards their dance account.

DATES TO REMEMBER

October

1 – First half of costume payments due

1-7 – Costume measurements

20-23 – No Dance MEA

24-30 - Wear your Halloween costume to class

28 – Trunk or Treat

31 – No Dance Happy Halloween

November

1 – Second half of costume payment due

21-27 – No Dance HAPPY THANKSGIVING

December

17 – Holiday Recital

19-Jan 2 – No Dance Happy Holidays

Costume Balance

Costumes have been added to all accounts. If you would like to pay for only half of your costume balance you will need to drop a check/cash off at the office. All accounts can be paid for the full monthly balance online. Costumes will be ordered early this season due to shipping and inventory delays.

Monthly Tuition

Monthly tuition is due the first of every month. Monthly statements are NOT sent home. You may pay online through your online portal, drop off tuition in the studio tuition box, or mail it in. There is a $15 late fee for tuition that is paid after the 15th of the month. This will be strictly enforced. There are no refunds for missed classes. Thank you in advance for paying on time.

Policies

Policies have been loaded to your online account. Please sign into your account to accept the updated policies if you have not already.

Calendar

Please refer to the studio calendar for due dates, dance holidays and more. Please keep this schedule for future references. A copy of the calendar will be posted in the studio.

Class Attire

The dress code is listed in the brochure and will be enforced by the instructor. Students learn their best and safest if they are in the correct attire. Children in combo classes must have both pairs of shoes required. Students will be asked to observe class if they are not in the proper attire. No T-shirts allowed.

Base attire for all classes – leotard and tights, leggings and shorts can be worn for tap, jazz and hip hop.

Specific class attire for the following classes:

Ballet I - pink tights, purple leotard, pink ballet slippers (no ballet skirts)

Ballet II - pink tights, blue leotard, pink ballet slippers (no ballet skirts)

Ballet III - pink tights, red leotard, pink ballet slippers (ballet skirts optional)

Ballet IV - pink tights, black leotard, pink ballet slippers (ballet skirts optional)

Stay informed! Follow NSD for studio news and updates. Click the links at the top of the page or look here:

https://www.facebook.com/nicole.wiczek

instagram: nschoolofdance

If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to let your dancers instructor know. We are always here to help and make your dance experience a wonderful one!!

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shapiro10shapiro · 2 years

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Mathmatical is Fun instructions Tips For Mother and father - Avoid Growing Your Dislike Intended for Math to Your current Child

A common question found in educational forums is, "How do I stay away from passing my do not like for math to be able to my child? very well These parents may cringe at the statement, "math is entertaining. " They have got a great extra challenge further than normal parenting worries as they need to hide their dislike for math from their youngster. There are a lot of reasons why the might have this kind of severe dislike regarding math. The crucial issue for people mom and dad however, is not really exactly what went wrong intended for them, but to be able to put all that besides and focus about creating a good atmosphere to help make math fun regarding your child. This article will give a few tips to get some sort of parent started. Building a number friendly environment at home will be important. Start by generating a math abundant atmosphere. Early photo books to read with the child ought to have numbers and counting while others using matching patterns game titles and puzzles. Observe popular PBS little one's shows and high quality educational DVDs. Typically the parent who disfavors math has to make a math will be fun atmosphere on their own as well. Start by actively participating in all actions with your kid. In this way you may have some enjoyable with early mathmatical ideas and set up a positive connection with your little one. Once the child starts school, it is a great news poor news scenario. The good news is teachers take management of math training. If you a new rich foundation, they must be prepared to consider it from there. Homework is for the teachers, not the parents, so separate on your own from correcting research. That is typically the teachers job. Motivate conversation regarding the mathematics homework, the student may possibly explain what exactly they are undertaking, or play institution and pretend in order to teach you! Unhealthy news is you cannot disregard the search for create a positive atmosphere with home. Finding some fun math games to learn at home that will match what is staying taught at institution will help retain the topic low key. If the parent or guardian with a hate of math plays these fun video games and activities from the get go, then they will construct their own comfort level and possibly understand some math concepts for the first time, filling in holes off their own math education. There is no cause to totally conceal your feelings about mathmatical from your child. But it is not healthy and balanced to place that. Something another little known and overlooked fact like that math was not your favorite subject at school, but Cousin or Uncle Consequently and So loved it, states the real truth without dwelling about it. When the child has difficulty with math groundwork one night, the confirming statement, with a hug, "I remember how this felt while i did not understand. inch or "Have an individual done the very best you can? " That will is any girl inquire for. Creating a positive yet wealthy atmosphere at residence and showing just how math can be used inside everyday life is the greatest way to process this issue. You may well never believe on your own that math is definitely fun, but you can raise children to experience a good experience. Susan Gnagy Fegan used a structured, sequential multisensory teaching approach within the past 34 years. website saw first palm some great benefits of engaging learners in productive, arms on activities in class. She made and has shown Make it Fun! Help to make it Challenging! Help to make it Multisensory! work shop at conferences country wide. Parents will reap the benefits of having a secret weapon available in order to them at house with many different properly researched, fun and modern ideas at their very own fingertips. On http://www.squidoo.com/makeing-math-fun parents will learn considerably more about specific pursuits to try. I actually have just starting a new blog in http://sfegan-makemathmorefun/blogspot.com with even more ideas and recommendations.

#click here #more info #here #read more #website #get more info #check here #Additional hints #Additional info

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noficciondelacreole · 2 years

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TRANSITION

BY JOANA MAY PARDELLO

Over dramatic, overreacting, overthinking, drama, have you been told by someone those words?, or have you ever said those words to others?

Anxiety, depression, trauma from the past, of the present, and of the future. Are you familiar with those? You haven't? Oh I envy you so much. To those who are not familiar with it, let me do the honor to introduce it to you. Those are the thoughts that keep a person like me all night. If the monster under your bed keeps you from sleeping peacefully, well those are the thoughts that keeps me from living freely. Yeah? Still not ringing any bells? Oh and there's more. It's like the trigger of the gun that can be pulled any moment and… goodbye. To be clear, it's like Satan's whisper.

Doubts, worries, fear, and uncertainty. We as humans inevitably can't avoid those horror realities. Yes, I can't say anything about these emotions anymore. We've been through that hell many times, and still. The word is terrifying enough to speak for itself.

A lot of people have experienced these kinds of emotions since this Covid-19 pandemic started. Who would've thought that staying inside our so-called "home" could give us such torment. A torture if you ask me.

Why?

Let me share this with you.

Way back in 2019, everything was fine and normal. I'm enjoying my blossoming youth and building myself to be who I wanted to be in the future. Knowing me, knowing my friends, creating the right circle, and going to places. I still wanna do it. Exploring my potential and discovering myself.

My sanity is still intact.

December 31, 2019 the sun shines brightly as it sets for the last moment of the year, 2019. Sending farewell to the year with a beautiful crimson sky.

As I watched the sunset from our terrace, I was stunned. It's so beautiful. I felt peace as I stared at it until its bright was gone. I can still remember the words I've said minutes before the surroundings completely turned dark. I said in a very calm whisper, "Salamat sa taon na ito. Ang ganda ng paglubog mo. Ito pala ibig sabihin ng payapa. Ang ganda mo tingnan, I appreciate you. Ang tingnan ka sa huling pagkakataon ng paglubog mo ngayong taon ay isang pahinga." I teared a little as I felt joy and gratitude for how exciting and fun that year was. Without knowing that it would be the last time I will feel that sanctuary.

Morning of January 1st 2020 already felt tiring. Well, me and my family partied last night during the New Year celebration. Who would have thought that the year 2020 would give me a new stage in my life. It will change me as a person and as "me". I prayed that this year would be kind to me and hopefully favor me, but God answered my prayer differently.

It was already night and we're eating dinner with my family while watching TV. The news was all about the flu or that virus that came all the way from China. The news warned us to be careful and to stay healthy. More nights and more news about the virus. And it's getting worse as many people are getting infected. The World Health Organization declared the outbreak a Public Health Emergency of International Concern on 30 January 2020, and a pandemic on 11 March 2020.

First Week of the month of March when our school declares not to go to school until the third week of March. At first, we were so happy because we thought it's only a break. We spent our days going outside hanging out. There is no strict restriction yet. I stayed late at night playing online games and overslept in the morning. I felt free because there's no school work to worry about. I enjoyed the days without classes and I admit at the very beginning it was happy and fun.

Days and weeks have passed and we're still not allowed to go to school yet. We haven't started our fourth quarter yet. I asked myself "what is happening? Can we still graduate at this rate?" My friends are worried too, we miss each other and we wanna go back inside our silid where we feel we belong. We don't have a choice but to obey the order. They said it's for our safety.

The news everyday is all about Covid-19. I listened attentively to it as it broadcast the alarming number of deaths of the infected people. As I listened to the news, I felt like I was transported to another dimension. That other dimension I was talking about my inner self where I hid all of my fear. I've been brought there with my own thoughts and the only emotion I can feel at that time was fear. I'm scared. I got paranoid. So many "what ifs" running through my mind.

What if my parents would get infected? What if my grandparents get infected too?

What if I get infected and die?

No!

Will I be able to live without my parents? Can I stand on my own?

What about my siblings?

Where can we get our financial support? How can we eat?

What if……?

How….?

I don't know anymore!

Before I knew it, I found myself lost. Drowned in thoughts and hanging. What just happened?

Days gone by but I'm still trying to sink in on what's really happening.

"So this is it?"

Unlike before, I stayed inside my room all day scrolling through social media, playing online games, reading manga and doing anything that can shake my fear and boredom. Until I realized that, although I'm doing many things, I am not genuinely happy.

The height of the pandemic brought a lot of realization to me. I've realized that among all the certain, death is absolute. Once you're gone, you're done. It taught me that each one of us aren't equal in terms of life standing. I've seen my family suffer financially, and so have some of my friends. But it also showed me that some fortunate people don't do as much as we do to have financial support that can support their living. That harsh reality made me wanna do more to achieve the ideal life that I want to have. But how? I can't even go outside due to some restrictions. For a moment, I felt useless. The fact that I can't do anything yet frustrates me.

The nothingness that we have during the pandemic really gave me emotional damage. Don't get me wrong, God doesn't fail to provide our daily needs. But in order for those needs to be provided and attained we need to work hard, and my mother is the one who struggled a lot. None of us wants to see our mother getting exhausted and tired. If I can only switch places with her, I would be the one to work hard for us.

That's not all of it, I also had anxiety and overthink about what might happen to me in the future? Will I be able to find a job? Will I be useful to my family? As the eldest daughter, all the pressure is on me. My parents don't pressure me, to be clear. It's my own urge to want to help my parents provide for our daily needs.

Before I knew it, I was completely drowned by my own thoughts. Consumed by the fear and uncertainty of what ahead me. The emotional state that I am in got me paralyzed, unable to do anything, but to cry. It prevents me from thinking straight and living freely. Sire it's nice having a good heart that wants to help, but a good heart is not enough, and it hurts. I'm sure some of you completely understand me.

Up until now I'm still fighting for survival, not just for my living but I am fighting for my dreams. Although this pandemic hazed my vision in life, it won't stop me from having my ideal life.

For now, all I can do is to pray and trust in his process. Take some actions towards my dream and to at least survive everyday. I know someone truly loves me and it is enough foundation to make me stand up at my pedestal.

To those teenagers that are currently experiencing and feeling what I'm feeling right now, we got this!

Don’t give up!

Padayon para sa atong mga PUHON!

#Journal #Missjuana

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kyleehenke · 3 years

Note

I've been doing real shitty lately, mostly with confusion about school going forward and not knowing if I'll be able to keep doing classes online for this year. But then I remember everything you've said about when you were in your early 20s (same as me now, wheeeee) and how it's taken a long time to figure things out. It's helped me realize I'm not in the prime of life yet, and I don't need to follow "the perfect path" to doing what I want to do. And honestly knowing that you've done so much from animating, voice acting, and singing helps me realize that I don't need to settle for just one thing.

Long sad ask short, I'm glad you're here. I hope your ADHD meds are kicking depression's ass, I hope your pets are doing good, and most importantly, thank you for your presence.

Man!! The older I get, the more I realize that it's better to suffer a thousand false starts trying to figure yourself out & what you want out of life than it is to stubbornly stay on a path that's making you miserable. ESPECIALLY if you’re only staying on it because of a fear of wasted time. In my experience, no time spent on figuring yourself out is wasted. Languishing in a miserable routine every day and slowly dying on the inside, though, IS. And being in your 20s with big decisions looming over your head that affect the rest of your LIFE can make it all feel so much worse.

My 20s were a neverending existential NIGHTMARE. But I'm 32 now, and though I'm still working a couple major things out, I feel more "me" and more content than I ever have. Which is pretty wild when I remember that in MY early 20s, I thought every door of opportunity would slam shut in my face after 30; that life would cease to have things to look forward to and that everything new and exciting and worthwhile would be over. And I'm quite happy to tell you that I was wrong as shit. Turns out that there’s no expiration date on your potential, it just looks a little different depending on what stage of life you’re at. Certain pursuits may be EASIER when you’re super young, but you really do have all the time from now until you’re dead to get to where you wanna be. And in my opinion, if you spend a little while searching for what happiness means to you individually (apart from the standard milestones society tells us we need to meet in order to feel complete), you’ll be better equipped to RECOGNIZE happiness once you’ve found some--and it won’t pass you by unnoticed.

Also, a piece of advice to anyone out there who might feel like ALL your happiness rides on getting your dream job/education: Jobs are just one part of life and they don’t have to define who you are & how you spend every moment of your free time. And, just as importantly, you don’t HAVE to make something into a career to want to be good at it or spend lots of time on it--For instance, I’m learning how to play an instrument as well as learning how to dance, and neither of those things has any practical or financial applications in my life. But they make me happy!! Not everything worth your time has to be “productive.” Enjoyment for enjoyment’s sake is a crucial part of feeling engaged with and present in your own life, regardless of what you wind up doing for a living. Anyway. Long post even longer, life has so many options. I was stunned to discover that it’s possible to be content in a thousand different ways, and that just because one life path didn’t work out doesn’t mean it’s impossible to stumble across a different one that’s just as good--if not better. If what you’re doing now is sucking the life out of you, switch gears! Keep picking yourself up and trying new approaches, even if you sometimes need to lay on the ground and feel like garbage over it for a little while. I can’t promise all your dreams will come true like this, but I CAN promise that you’ll be okay. And you gotta be okay first to open the way to happy.

I wish you the best of luck out there. My pets and I are all healthy and doing great, btw! And for what it’s worth--I’m glad you’re here, too. :)

#long post #psa

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too.

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it.

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo.

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away.

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy.

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences.

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife.

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would.

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.”

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you.

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication.

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder.

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign.

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you.

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in.

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is.

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever.

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you.

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin.

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place.

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her.

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign.

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator.

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening.

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold.

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law.

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally.

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide.

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite.

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit.

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites.

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with.

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you.

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same.

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him.

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick.

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is.

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind.

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you.

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second.

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind.

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him.

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland.

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance.

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

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sandbees · 3 years

Note

Hewwo I enjoy your writing! Keep up the amazing work! I really liked the House Of Mouse where Yuu meets the Great Seven. I was wondering what would happen if the Great Seven randomly visits NRC and requested Yuu as their tour guide or something and like all the students and staff are shocked to see them in the flesh but also seeing Yuu with them or something along the lines.

It’s just been on my mind seeing everyone’s reaction of Yuu being friends with Jafar, Queen Of Hearts, Evil queen, Ursula, Hades, Scar and Maleficent.

Also have a wonderland day! :D

Thanks! And yes, Yuu has to expect random visits from the Great Seven after they’ve grown to like them. BUT- IMAGINE IF THEY SHOW UP IN THE MIDDLE OF CLASS

Crewel: Now, turn to page 154 and start mixing your-

Queen of Hearts: *Walks in* YUU! AS QUEEN, I DEMAND YOU TAKE ME ON A TOUR AROUND YOUR SCHOOL- Oh hello, Trappola, Spade.

Crewel: What-

Students: :00 ????

Ace: Oh my god... *Sinks down into the ground*

Deuce: Ah! H-Hello Queen of Hearts! *Bows*

Yuu: ....But I have cla-

Queen of Hearts: TOUR! NOW! And Spade, turn your toes correctly when speaking to royalty!

Deuce: Y-Yes!

The whole class is dumbfounded as THE Queen of Hearts drags Yuu for a tour of the school. Everyone who passes by stares in shock as Yuu casually gives the Queen of Hearts a tour of the school.

And when they do visit? Yuu makes sure to show them the dorms based on them and introduce them to the Dorm Leaders and Vice Dorm Leaders. It goes as expected.

Riddle faints as soon as he sees Yuu and the Queen of Hearts enter Heartslybul. Well, not really, but he does freak out when he sees her. Trey is much more calm, but he’s very careful of what he says. Wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea of him, right?

The Queen of Hearts approves of both of them! She’s impressed that Riddle knows all 810 rules by memory. Trey also makes the best tarts, and he’s polite so he’s good. (“You have good tastes in choosing your Vice Leader.” - Queen of Hearts, to Riddle)

Yuu ends up talking about Leona as they take Scar to the Savannaclaw dormitory. When he asks about the Vice Dorm Leader, Yuu replies with, “Ah- I’m not exactly sure but Jack told me that there isn’t any Vice Dorm Leader. Apparently someone has to defeat the current Dorm Leader to become Dorm Leader. Then the former Dorm Leader becomes the Vice. Since no one has defeated Leona...well, there’s no Vice.”

Yuu then adds that Ruggie is like a Vice, with how much work he does for Leona.

Scar is pretty impressed, actually. Leona must be very powerful to keep his position as Dorm Leader.

He’s not at all shocked when he sees the two mentioned (+Jack and other Savannaclaw members) practicing Magishift. When they finish, they’re s h o o k to hear clapping, and the one clapping is- IS THE KING OF BEASTS?!

Leona is going to be pretty smug for the next week, since he’s been praised by one of the Great Seven (take THAT, Farena!)

Scar approves, 10/10 (Ruggie is ok, he has his own smarts that Scar is impressed by)

Ursula is very impressed with Mostro Lounge when Yuu showed her. Undersea diner with a good atmosphere, completely fits her vibe. And the cuisine 👌

Azul is dying when Floyd drags him out of his office to show him the Sea Witch and Yuu casually talking as they wait for their food. He actually dies when Yuu spots him and Floyd and calls them over.

Jade shows up moments later with their food. He then proceeds to sit down to talk. The talk goes well, Ursula praises Azul when he talks about all the contracts he’s collected over the years.

Ursula could not be more proud of her dorm - Azul is cunning and intelligent (and an octopus merman; wonderful!) with the Vice being charming and dangerous. And Floyd is amusing, and also intimidating which she thinks is perfect. Ursula could not be more happy with who runs her dorm.

Jafar is pleased with how his dorm looks aesthetically. It reminds him of the palace back at Agrabah. He also appreciates the look of the flag(?) (is it a flag? Or is it a banner?)

“It’s really pretty at night - all the lights illuminate the area nicely!” “Oh? Well, then I might request to stay the night.”

Kalim is vibrating in excitement. The Sorcerer of the Desert? Here at NRC? They have to celebrate!! Jamil sighs, but he also admits that a celebration for one of the Great Seven isn’t going overboard.

Jafar...well, he approves of Jamil. He sees himself in Jamil (a servant to a bumbling fool-) Kalim...while a bumbling fool, Jafar notices how more self aware he is than that foolish Sultan, and much more independent he is. He also appreciates Kalim’s gesture of throwing a grand party in the name of him. So, he approves of both Kalim and Jamil and show them respect.

The Evil Queen...well, she appreciates how lovely her dorm looks. Fits her aesthetic. She also adores how the dorm clothes are inspired by her usual attire - a nice touch. All the dorm members; approved. Compliment her more, p e a s a n t s.

When she talks to Vil and learns of his beliefs, she approves 10/10. Go for your goals and do everything in your power to do so! (Doesn’t mention to poison people, again everyone here literally thinks they are amazing, don’t want that image ruined). And a skin routine to keep yourself as healthy looking as can be? She may as well give it a go!

Rook...well, he’s constantly singing praises about her, so he’s alright. (The stalking when she and Yuu are going around the garden is...kind of creepy, ngl) Though she admires how dedicated he is to Vil, unlike a certain huntsman she once knew (never mention the VDC incident to her. EVER)

Well, the Dorm could be worse, Hades says, Though the aesthetic is on point.

He loves Ortho (even though he isn’t a Vice Dorm Leader). Adopted him, basically.

Poor Idia though, Hades and Ortho drag him out of his room so he can give Hades a proper tour of the dorm.

So Idia and Hades do not have a good start, but Ortho is there as the bridge. If it wasn’t for Ortho I don’t think Idia would have the courage to even try to speak to the Lord of the Underworld.

The conversation steers towards Idia’s likes. Hades doesn’t really get it, but he’s willing to learn.

Hades jokes about Idia and Ortho being his descendants or something. Idia looks at Ortho and Hades, goes back and forth. Idia.EXE has crashed, please try again later.

Well...Hades enjoys Idia and Ortho’s company. He approves of his Dorm Leader, as much as a recluse he is (secretly asks Ortho if Idia is getting enough sunlight or going out. If not, that’s fine! He’ll personally invite him out to visit the Underworld or something if that helps)

Maleficent already knows who Malleus and Lilia are, and she approves. Malleus is her grandson after all, and becoming Dorm Leader to her own dorm is a big accomplishment she is proud of.

Comes over with Yuu and asks for tea. They gladly accept. They chat and have fun times. Malleus is happy he’s invited for once.

Maleficent is pretty annoyed that Malleus isn’t invited as often as she hoped. She sympathizes with Malleus, for not being invited to things hurts.

And Lilia? Ha, Maleficent has long chats about the olden days with him. (Even a few inside jokes that only make sense if you lived through them.) She’s also proud how Lilia took care of Malleus, look how Malleus is grown, Lilia, you raised him well.

Enjoys her time at Diasomnia. She’s planning to visit more often.

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eliteprepsat · 1 year

Photo

1. GET ORGANIZED

2. MANAGE YOUR TIME

3. SET REASONABLE GOALS

4. DEVELOP HEALTHY HABITS

5. LIMIT DISTRACTING DEVICES

#studyblr #study tips #final exams #student life #college prep #college admissions #go to college

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

Note

Hi! Can you please do platonic vil hcs with a pomifiore 1st year that's failing? Thank You!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Vil looks cross, yet cold, at the same time when the news arrives to him. “This will not do at all!! I will set a course for correction immediately. On my word as the Pomefiore Dorm Leader, I will not have any potatoes spoiling under my tutelage!”

You had no idea you’d be in for a boot camp from hell until you were rudely roused one morning with the covers literally being yanked from right under you. Before you know if, you’re wrapped up in your own blankets and being hauled over Rook’s shoulder to Great Seven knows where.

Rook deposits you in an empty classroom--and who should be at the front board but your Dorm Leader, dressed to impress in a frilly white blouse, black leggings, and stick-thin heels. He has a pair of rounded gold frames on, and his golden hair is up in a messy bun with a pen poking out of it.

Before you can ask what’s going on, Vil waves a hand, and Rook dumps a pile of textbooks onto your desk. “Your failure reflects poorly on Pomefiore. I’ll whip you back into shape,” your Dorm Leader declares, “into someone worthy of the Beautiful Queen’s grace.”

Every day starts with a strenuous morning stretch and jog with Vil. You’re not sure what exercise has to do with improving your grades, but he informs you that it’s necessary to develop a routine for general self-discipline.

After that, it’s time for classes (with a fruit or some other healthy snack in hand to keep you alert). If you start to doze off, Rook will be there hiding in the shadows, flicking erasers your way to jolt you awake (on Vil’s orders)!

When the school day is over, it’s time to hit the books again (and if you try to run, Rook will hunt you down)! Vil looms over you as you tend to your assignments and projects, making sure you stay on task and, at other times, quizzing you on materials.

Vil’s not entirely heartless, though. He’ll take the time to sit down and explain concepts or problems to you if you’re having trouble understanding them. (After all, what are upperclassmen for?)

Vil even goes through the effort of planning your meals for you! You’ll need to eat properly so you have the energy to study, right? Plus, if Vil’s handling the meal planning, that means you’ll have more time to do your homework.

You’re granted 10 minute breaks for every hour of studying you do, and you’re sentenced off to bed at a reasonable time. Vil may be strict with his methods, but he also knows that no good will come if he overworks his students.

When your grades finally start to rise, Vil will tell you, “Certainly, your efforts have paid off--but lose focus again, and your grades will slip back to the way they were before. You’re just barely passing now. Surely you’re not satisfied with this?”

“I’ve seen your hard work and dedication firsthand. You must harness those and let them drive you to even greater feats, with or without my aid... or Rook’s. Understood, potato?” Vil smiles daringly. “Show me what you are capable of on your own. Make me proud.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #Vil Schoenheit #twisted wonderland headcanons #disney twisted wonderland #Reader #self insert #curiouser and curiouser

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tssidesfics · 3 years

Note

Requests: Analogince where they’re human and also single dads? And they all meet because their kids fought and got called to the principals office

Virgil's POV

Upsides to being a single father to a child with ADHD: you got to raise a beautiful, special boy with a sharp mind. You got to teach him all the coping mechanisms you'd painstakingly learned over the years to cope with his condition and watch as he lit up over the things that brought him joy. You got to watch as he zipped from topic to topic, brighter than the sun, mind racing at a million miles an hour. You got to be the first person to hear about his beautifully creative ideas. You got to have a reason for living, all yours and wonderful, that you didn't have to share with anyone else.

Downsides to being a single father to a child with ADHD: you had no one else to pass the buck to when he got in trouble at school.

"It'll be fine," I chanted to myself for the billionth time as I turned off the ignition and unbuckled myself, gripping the steering wheel and forcing deep, measured breaths. "It'll be fine. He probably won't get expelled for this. This is his first fight and you don't even know why he got into a fight. You didn't raise a bully, so he was probably defending himself or another kid." Terror clasped me around the throat and squeezed. "But what if you did raise a bully and you didn't realize it, and now you've sentenced your son to a life of crime trying to make up for the hole in his heart where his father should have loved him oh God I broke my son!"

Immediately, my therapist's voice spoke up in my mind. You're catastrophizing again, he said in that obnoxiously aware, gentle way of his. Calm down. Take it one step at a time.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, focusing on the feeling of my stomach and then my chest expanding with air. I let it out through pursed lips, a quiet whistle in the exhale.

I'd played through scenarios like this a million times in my mind. The second Cassie told me, five months pregnant with tears streaming down her cheeks, that she didn't want the baby, I'd prepared myself for any possibility. I'd created contingency plans and contingency plans for my contingency plans, because I knew how much harsher the world would be on him. With a grandparent, his biological mother, and me all with ADHD, there hadn't been any doubt Drew would get it, too, and I'd prepared for that. I'd prepared for the possibility that poor grades and emotional dysregulation would put him on the back foot and even get him expelled. I'd taught him all the coping mechanisms I could. I'd tried to show him as much love and patience as I could muster, and I'd show him the same now. We'd get through this. We would make it through this.

I nodded, resolute, even as doubt and worry niggled at the back of my mind. I'd raised Drew alone, without any support from my parents or Cassie, working a call center job that barely paid enough to live off of. I'd demanded a child psychiatrist the second Drew started displaying symptoms and beat the system for the help he deserved. I'd beat the system for the help I deserved. I was a badass. I was a badass.

I got out of the car.

The two people at the front desk--a woman with strawberry blonde hair and a baby-faced guy--looked over, presumably torn from their conversation, when I walked through the door. The woman swiveled her chair to face me with a friendly smile. "Hello there," she said. "How may I help you?"

I forced myself to look her in the eyes and strained through a smile. If you act like a weirdo, it'll just make things worse for Drew. "Hey," I said. "I'm, uh...Drew Griffith's father. You called me and--"

"Oh!" She gestured to the side, at a door that read: PRINCIPAL MOROZOV. "He's in there."

I looked over and gulped, staring in fear at the door. "Say, uh..." I smiled at the woman as politely as I could. "You wouldn't happen to know the correct social etiquette for talking to the principal after your son gets into a fight at school, would you?"

She gave me a funny look. "Huh?"

"Never mind." I hung my head in defeat and commenced the walk of dread to the front door of the office. The wall facing me was all glass, which meant I could see inside. Two adults, one natural-haired in a polo shirt with his arm around one of the kids in the chair beside him and the other behind a desk, looking stern. I couldn't see the other two kids or any other adults.

And then Principal Morozov spotted me through the glass and shit, I was out of time.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. "Sorry it took me so long," I said, hoping that was the right thing to say. "It was hard getting off work."

"It's all right," Principal Morozov said. "We haven't even reached Mr. Accardo yet."

"Hey, Dad," came the halfhearted voice of Drew, hidden behind a chair too big for him, especially when he slumped in it like that.

I peered over the top and smiled at him softly. "What the heck, kid?" I asked.

"He called Patton a freak." Drew pointed at the kid in the middle, with a busted nose and--oh God.

He had scattered burn marks across the right side of his face, with two differently-colored eyes and a scowl.

"So of course you had to beat me up," the kid sneers. "Because that's a perfectly rational, healthy thing to do."

The third kid--Patton, I presumed--bounced in his seat, humming in distress. His father, a man wearing glasses and a polo shirt with a tie, rubbed his back.

"I don't see why my son has to be here," the other father said, looking at Principal Morozov. "He didn't do anything."

“Patton sits alone at lunch time and doesn’t have any friends,” the principal said. “We think if he tried to get along with his peers better, he’d have a happier time here.”

“Or, you know, you could make an effort to teach your students not to bully kids who are different from them,” I grumbled.

“What was that, Mr. Griffiths?”

I hesitated, glancing up at Principal Morozov, then back at Drew. On one hand, I wanted to lead by example: teach Drew that it was okay to stand up to authority for what he believed. On the other, sometimes, you had to pay lip-service to authority just to stay out of trouble. It was a lesson no child had the mental capacities to understand, but I supposed I’d have to do my best to teach him, because if I gave Principal Morozov cheek, he might expel Drew.

“Nothing, sir,” I said, feeling like a child cowering beneath the glare of my teachers again. I prepared to search for the bullshit in the story I was about to get fed and asked, “What happens now?”

"I'd prefer to wait for Mr. Accardo," the principal said.

"Roman teaches at a high school," the bully grumbled, slouched over with a glare fixated on the desk. "He's probably in the middle of class."

"Then you're going to have to stay after school to address this," Principal Morozov told him sternly.

"Whatever."

I had a very bad feeling about that kid. The scars on his face told a frightening story. He could just as easily be bullied for those as Drew got bullied for his ADHD and Patton for being a loner, which probably meant he turned that abuse outward and attacked others for their perceived differences in a never-ending cycle of abuse.

What? I could be bad at people and have a special interest in human psychology. Those two things were not mutually exclusive.

Suddenly, the door banged open. I jumped out of my skin, clamping a hand over my chest and struggling to breathe levelly, eyes crushed shut and body frozen. Then I heard the babbling.

"I'm sorry!" The principal's door opened. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. The kids were in the middle of rehearsal and--Janus, what happened? I'm so sorry, Mr. Morozov." A frazzled man with warm skin rushed inside and sat down next to the bully--Janus--hastily hugging him and turning his attention to the principal.

I frowned at the scene. I withheld judgment and looked at Principal Morozov as he said, "All right. Now that you're all here, there are going to be some serious consequences to what happened today."

********

"I can't believe you let him give me detention!" Drew whined. "Janus deserved to get punched!"

"And you deserve to die abandoned and unloved in a ditch, steeping in your own feces," Janus snapped.

"Janus," his father, Roman, said firmly, kneeling down and taking him by the shoulders. Janus tried to turn away from him, but Roman lightly shook him and made him meet his eyes. He softened. "I know how much you're hurting, but a hero never redirects his pain onto others. There are other ways."

"What if I don't want to be a hero?" Janus snapped. "What if I want to be the bad guy?"

"I don't believe that," Roman said gently, adjusting his bangs. "I don't think you do, either."

Janus turned from him sharply, crossing his arms and glaring at the asphalt. He sniffled.

Drew glanced up at me in confusion and I rubbed his back. "Sometimes," I said gently, "when people are hurting, they deal with that by hurting other people."

"That's stupid," Drew said with the blunt confidence of a ten-year-old.

"Maybe a little," I agreed, "but humans aren't always logical." Drew wrinkled his nose. "I know. It's so annoying, but it's true. You're not always logical, either. Remember when you burst out crying because your pencil broke?"

"Dad!" Drew turned bright red.

Roman chuckled. "So." He stood up and crossed his arms. "You're the little rascal who dared challenge Janus to a duel for--Patton, right?" He looked at Mr. Davis--or Logan, as he'd introduced himself--who nodded. "You're the rascal who challenged Janus to a duel for Patton's honor," Roman finished.

"He was being an asshole," Drew protested.

"I'd say it's not my fault he uses that language," I said through a wince, "but it's definitely my fault he uses that language."

"I'm the same way with Janus, don't worry." Roman chuckled--a low, rumbly sound. He turned back to Drew. "You're got a paladin's heart and a temper. I was a lot like you when I was a kid."

Drew snorted. "You think you're cute, don't you?"

"He's always like this," Janus said, shoving in front of Roman. "He thinks it's so inspiring to talk about heroes all the time, like fairy tales are the best thing ever."

"That's gotta be annoying," Drew said, wrinkling his nose.

"It is." Janus stopped and scowled. "Don't relate to me!"

"Ew! You're a jerk! Get away from me!"

I exchanged a fond, exasperated look with Roman, who chuckled and squeezed Janus' shoulder. "Hey," he said, "maybe, if you apologized, you could have a friend."

"I don't want to apologize."

"So you'd rather another kid think you're a horrible person!"

Janus hesitated a moment before straightened his back. "Yes."

"I don't believe that."

I glanced over at Logan and saw that he was busy talking to Patton, kneeling on the ground and smoothing his hands over his shoulders in measured strokes. It seemed to soothe Patton. I looked at Drew.

"You know how it sometimes hurts you when you think about your Aunt Cassie?" I said softly, pulling him into my side as the shadow washed over his face.

"He called Patton a freak, Dad," Drew argued. "He's not even really my friend, but he's not a freak. He's just...different. Like me."

"I know, kiddo," I said, squeezing him against my side. "You don't have to give him a chance. He hasn't asked forgiveness, and you wouldn't owe him one even if you did. I just know you don't like to see people struggling alone."

Drew hesitated.

I looked over at Logan. "How's Patton?"

Logan glanced back at me, then looked at Patton. "Do you want to answer?"

Patton hesitated.

"It's okay," I said, not looking at his face. Patton hadn't made eye contact with a single person, including his father, since I'd met him. He clearly had more trouble with it than I did, and I wasn't always a huge fan. "I'm autistic, too."

Patton immediately perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah." I smiled, looking over the top of his head. I looked at Drew. "Can I tell him about you?"

"I'm ADHD," Drew told him, turning to him. "I got diagnosed last year."

"Oh cool!" Patton flapped his hands at his sides and bounced eagerly. "I don't, I don't think, because I'm actually pretty good at focusing most of the time and I have a really good memory, but Dad says autism and ADHD are really close together. It's really nice to meet someone else! I don't have many friends."

"Well, I guess you have me," Drew said. "I didn't get in trouble defending you for nothing."

Patton squealed and continued stimming enthusiastically. Drew offered a hug, which Patton considered for a long moment before accepting.

Logan smiled softly at the exchange and looked over to me. "You've raised a very kind son."

"More than half of it is all him," I said. "I do the best I can, but...I'm just one person. He's probably gonna hate me once he's a teenager."

"Nuh-uh!" Drew objected, charging over to embrace me around the middle. I smiled and hugged him close, squeezing him as tight as was safe. He grunted.

I caught Janus staring at us. I couldn't read his expression. He was glaring, but I had a feeling it wasn't anger. But clearly, Roman did understand it, because he knelt down and hugged him close, even when he tried to push him away. He just held fast. I thought for sure Janus would react badly--he hadn't wanted to be held, what was wrong with Roman?--but then he slowly relaxed and leaned against him. I still couldn't read him very well, but that...didn't look particularly resigned.

"You know," Roman said, pulling back after a long while, "I bet Drew and Patton would be willing to forgive you if you really, really earnestly apologized."

Janus shoved away from him, crossing his arms and glaring at the ground. "I don't want to apologize."

Roman sighed heavily, and Drew whirled on him. "You're such a freaking jerk!" he screamed. "What's wrong with you? Why do you have to be a jerk to everyone? I tried to be your friend and you just spit on me!"

"I don't want your pity!"

"It wasn't pity!"

"It's always pity!" Janus screeched. "You think I don't know what these scars make me? You think I don't know I'm a freak? If the fire didn't teach me that, then my parents sure did! I'm nothing! The only reason anyone would be nice to me is pity and I don't want anyone's pity! I just want to be left alone!"

Janus turned and ran. Roman chased after him frantically, never sparing Logan or I a glance.

Drew and Patton stood stunned. Drew looked at Patton, who stared at his forehead. "Well..." he said. "What the heck am I supposed to do now?"

Patton ran in the direction of Janus.

At that point, about the only thing for Drew and I to do was chase after his new friend, hot on the heels of his father.

We found Patton with his backpack unzipped, standing beside Janus' car door, already buckled in with Roman partway into the driver's seat, holding out a picture of a flower.

"It's ivy," Patton said. "It means friendship."

Janus stared at him through the window, unmoving. Patton, to my shock, held his gaze for one, two moments and then averted his eyes. Logan hurried over to hold him, clearly expecting Janus to reject him again.

Janus opened the car door. "Why would you want to be my friend?"

"He didn't say he wanted to be your friend," Drew sneered. "He just said it meant friendship, dummy."

"Drew," I chided softly, and he recoiled into my side.

"Because it's nice to know I'm not the only one who can't make any friends," Patton said. "I like having other friends who are special."

"I'm not special," Janus snapped.

"Dad says that being different is always special, because different people have discovered some of the coolest, prettiest things ever."

"It's true," Logan said. "Albert Einstein, Hans Christian Anderson, and Michelangelo. were all autistic."

"See?" Patton bounced and beamed at Janus. "So maybe we can all be different and special together and do really cool things one day! Like the three Musketeers."

Janus considered strongly. "I'm Athos."

"You can be whoever you want to be!" Patton said earnestly. "Then we can all have lots of musketcheer."

Drew, Roman and I choked on a laugh. Logan shook his head fondly. "He watches one sitcom that likes puns and he suddenly won't stop," he said.

Even Janus cracked a small smile. He accepted the paper. "Fine," he said. "We can have musketcheer."

Drew pouted. "Does this mean I'm your friend now?"

"Yes," Patton said firmly, looking at him.

Drew jumped, looking fearfully at Patton, who somehow managed to look intimidating while also avoiding eye contact. He looked up at me. "What have I done?" he asked.

"Made friends." I rubbed his back. I looked around. "We should probably get all these guys home. They've had a long day, and school will be letting out soon."

"I guess now that all our kids are friends, I'll be seeing more of you," Roman said to both Logan and me.

Logan hummed. "I presume so. Patton does not own a phone of his own. I can give you my number if your children wish to contact him?"

"I hate to say it, but you should probably get him his own phone," I said. "It's dangerous not to have one. If I ever lost sight of Drew...I'd rather he have a phone."

Logan considered this. "I suppose you have a point. Nevertheless, for the moment, you'll have to go through me to reach Patton."

"Don't have to ask me twice. Here." Roman accepted Logan's phone and typed in Janus' number, then passing it to Drew, who stared at it for a moment.

I recited his number to him and he punched it in. "Don't worry, kid," I said. "One day, you're going to have to tell so many doctors your number that it's going to be emblazoned on your brain."

After all numbers had been exchanged, I shook Logan's and Roman's hands goodbye and let Patton and Drew embrace again. Janus stayed stubbornly in his seat, refusing any sort of affection, which kind of concerned me, but then Roman whispered, "This is the most receptive he's been since I started fostering him."

I nodded and smiled, leading Drew back toward the car. He looked at me. "I guess I have friends now."

I glanced back toward Roman's car as it drove away and caught Logan's eye as he loaded into his own. He smiled at me.

"Yeah," I said. "I think I might have, too."

#sanders sides human au #analogince #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #ts sides #sanders sides #ts patton #ts janus #adhd virgil #autistic logan #trans virgil #autistic virgil #kid patton #kid janus #kid oc #virgil being trans has nothing to do with the fic #it is just important to me that you know there is no such thing as a cis virgil when i'm writing him in a human AU #this mostly turned into janus angst hour #he's very young and very little and needs much therapy #i tried to write the actual chat with the principal and it did not work well #so the principal is a caricature on which i'm projecting all of my neurodiverse school troubles with authority figures onto #i did not have a fun time in school #yes most of these characters are neurodiverse #i'm not PROJECTING or anything #why ever would you think something silly like that #one ask down #many more to go #caffeine save my soul

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1kook · 4 years

Text

youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count: 8.7k

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him.

And then winter comes.

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years.

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household.

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute.

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets.

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick.

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house.

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable.

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold.

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him.

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional.

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.”

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before.

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again.

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty.

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house.

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions.

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever.

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through.

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times.

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner.

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong.

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor

You blink.

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago.

Oh, so this was new.

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on.

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again.

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy.

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning.

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest.

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you.

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck.

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss.

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?”

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck.

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest.

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck.

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds.

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy.

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side.

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again.

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip.

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers.

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct.

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip.

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt.

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery.

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again.

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him.

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored.

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately.

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth.

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again.

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate.

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear.

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum.

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad.

So you do.

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.”

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm.

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes.

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth.

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet.

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves.

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that.

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t.

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him.

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully.

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed.

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight.

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off.

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly.

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you.

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face.

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch.

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble.

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?”

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls.

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy.

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully.

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip.

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite.

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely.

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why.

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now.

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months.

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—”

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions.

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing.

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss.

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat.

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss.

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty.

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off.

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up.

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good.

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading.

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds.

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it.

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan.

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...”

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick.

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you.

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you.

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his.

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.”

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt.

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips.

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.”

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin.

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm.

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you.

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success.

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself.

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell.

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle.

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out.

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart.

To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death.

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying.

It fits perfectly.

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”