#(...and also i got cinnamon edge. that seemed to help)

[universalthaumaturge]

you would not believe how happy i am right now :D

[finelinefae]

sunshine girl (tutor!harry)

synopsis: y/n struggles to concentrate and harry offers to help

word count: 6.6k

contains: reader has adhd, fluff, mentions of mental health, brief mention of medication, shy harry

a/n: i haven't written a soft girl sunday concept in a while and this was requested on wattpad quite some time ago. I personally do not have adhd but I've tried my best to research as much as i could in order to write this. if there's anything wrong or anything i need to change, pls let me know as I'm completely open to understanding and learning more !!!!! <333

. . .

Harry’s eyes darted to the seat next to his as the professor stood in front of the class to begin the lecture. His notebook was open, his pen in hand already prepared to take notes on the current book they were studying for their literature class. He chewed the inside of his cheek, his left foot adorned by a high-top, black Converse shoe tapping against the floor. 

His ears pricked when the door clicked open and his sunshine girl walked into the room, bringing the light in with her. “Hi,” Y/N blushed, bowing her head down in hopes it would divert people’s attention back to the professor and not to her tardiness, “Sorry I’m late,” 

The professor didn’t seem surprised but was no more impressed by her lateness. He shook his head and returned to his place in the presentation.

Harry stiffened as she slid into the seat beside him, catching the sweet smell of her perfume. It smelt exactly like the cinnamon latte he had that morning and the salted caramel ice cream he ate after dinner last night. All the sweet things he came across reminded him of her. 

Her baby pink ballet flat accidentally hit against the tip of his beaten, old Converse. He inhaled, sensing her attention on him and finally looking at her face. “Hi Harry,” She whispered, smiling. Her cheeks were still pink from how flustered she was walking into class. Her hair was in a messy braid, secured with a silk scrunchie on the end and she looked so cosy in the pink, knitted sweater and blue jeans she had decided to wear. 

“Hey,” Harry replied. He wouldn’t often find himself replying to people in class - not that he spoke to many people anyway - but he’d always respond to Y/N, always. 

Y/N grinned, pulling out her notebooks from her backpack and placing them on the desk. The corner of Harry’s lips tugged upwards when he saw each of her notebooks labelled in pink sharpie pen with the names of her classes scribbled across them. 

“Oh no,” She huffed, “I left my literature notebook on my desk,” 

Before she could even ask, Harry was already scrambling to tear out a few pages from the back of his notebook. “Here,” Harry offers, sliding the paper to the side.

“Thanks Harry,” Y/N beamed, taking out her pen which had a little charm dangling on the end and began to write the date in the top corner like she always did at the start of a new lesson. 

Throughout the lecture, Harry remained wholly focused on the professor who began to go through Act 2 of Shakespeare's ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’. Literature had always been his favourite class not only because he got to sit next to Y/N but also because he loved to read. It was all he ever did whenever he had a moment spare, a book was never out of reach wherever he was. 

Speaking of Y/N, Harry glanced across to see if she’d taken any notes during the lecture. He looked down at her piece of paper only to find her scribbling doodles along the lines and edges of the page he had given her. He wasn’t surprised, Y/N always seemed to lose interest midway through the lecture, but he was concerned especially since they were so close to exams. 

“Um, Y/N?” Harry whispered, her head darting in his direction, “Do you want to copy my notes?”

She frowned, looking down at her piece of paper and then over at his notebook where he had filled up three pages with writing. “Oops,” She murmured, “I must have drifted off,” 

“S okay,” Harry assured, “Y’ can take pictures of my notes if y’ want after class,” 

“Are you sure?” Harry could sense her frustration from the dip between her brow, “I’ll take notes for the rest of the lecture.”

Harry nodded, turning his attention back to the professor, hearing Y/N’s pen scribbling against the desk as she vigorously took notes. Which lasted all of fifteen minutes. 

When the lecture finished, Harry caught Y/N gazing out the window, her attention fixed on the clouds drifting across the bright, blue sky. “You can collect your assignments on the way out,” The professor dismissed the class, chairs scraping against the floor as everyone made their way for the door.

“Um, Y/N?” Harry tapped her shoulder. 

“Hm?” She spun around, her big, pretty eyes looking right up at him.

Harry motioned to the front of the class where the students had emptied out, “The class is over,”

Y/N’s eyes darted around the room. She straightened her shoulders when she realised they were the last two people in the room like she had just snapped out of a daze, “Oh, already?”

Harry didn’t want to tell her that the class was two hours long so he just nodded. He waited patiently, even though he had another class to attend, not wanting to leave her behind. Y/N rushed to pack her things away, scrunching the paper he had given her which was covered in doodles and a few sentences as she tried to stuff into her backpack. 

On the way out, they both collected the assignments they had handed in before the weekend. Harry sighed in relief to see the big 95 written in red ink on his paper. He wasn’t one to struggle often with the literature homework but this one had been particularly challenging. 

“Oh no,” A tiny whimper escaped her lips as she held the paper in her hands.

Harry’s eyes looked down to see the 60 circled in the top corner of her paper. “How could this happen?” 

“I-it’s okay Y/N,” He was terrible at comforting people, “A 70 is good, you still passed.”

“Barely,” Y/N whined, creasing the edges of the paper from how hard she was gripping onto it. “What am I going to do? I can’t seem to focus at all during the lesson, maybe it’s Newton being so boring but everything seems to go through one ear and out the other.” 

Harry watched her flail her arms as she explained how much she struggled in all her classes, especially literature. He had noticed how she’d often drift off somewhere in her own head whenever they had a presentation or how she’d forget things or turn up late because she was wandering off somewhere or getting completely distracted. 

Despite the little time he had on his timetable, Harry piped up, “I can tutor you, i-if you’d like I mean.” 

Y/N paused, “Really? You’d do that?”

He nodded, “Yeah, I have a free afternoon on Wednesdays.” It was his only free afternoon throughout the whole week. Harry always looked forward to his afternoons off on a Wednesday which he dedicated solely to spending time doing things he enjoyed or relaxing. 

“Are you sure? You must be so busy already with all your other classes and clubs,” His cheeks warmed, wondering how she knew he had very little time and whether it meant she watched him as much as he paid attention to her. 

“O-of course, I really don’t mind.” Which was the truth.

Harry had been secretly crushing on Y/N ever since she had stumbled into their literature classroom on the first day of University. She was like a fresh breeze that cooled the last bit of summer humidity as she walked straight over to the seat beside him in the lecture hall and introduced herself to him. He didn’t know how all of a sudden he’d find himself all flustered whenever he was in her vicinity but for someone who wasn’t really a ‘people person’, he enjoyed her company very much. 

“I can’t say it’ll be easy,” Y/N murmured, looking down at her shoes in what felt like shame or embarrassment.

“You can’t be that bad,” Harry joked but she just smiled awkwardly. 

“I have ADHD,” She admitted like it was something to be ashamed of, “I-I’ve had it since I was little. It’s why I often find myself drifting off or forgetting things. I just can’t seem to focus on one thing. It's like my brain is constantly overlapping words and sentences and pictures and moments and I can’t organise them into their separate spaces.”

Harry’s face softened. He’d known people with ADHD before. A boy in his class back in high school who was constantly disrupting the class and was taken out of class whenever the teacher didn’t have the knowledge to know how to deal with it.  “I’m good at literature Harry, really I am. I just struggle to show it. I started the essay the night it was set but then I lost track of time and I didn’t pick it up again until yesterday.”

“Y/N,” Harry said, “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. ‘S not a bad thing, it’s just something y’ have to learn to deal with.” 

Y/N felt at ease at his words of comfort, a small smile curving on her lips, “Are you sure you still want to tutor me? It’s okay if not, I know I can be a little difficult but I promise I’ll try and remember everything and turn up on time and I won’t interrupt you when you speak or go off topic because I know I do that a lot. In fact, one time I was having a conversation with my roommate Lila and we were talking about what pizza toppings we preferred and I somehow ended up talking about women’s rights.” 

Harry grinned at her rambling, “I still want to tutor you, Y/N. We can start tomorrow? Is that okay?”

She nods, “That sounds good. Thank you, Harry. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“Okay,” He nods his head once, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“O-Okay! Tomorrow,” She beams, “Oh! And do you want my phone number? Just in case,”

Harry’s lips parted, pausing for a moment to take in what she had just said, “S-sure, yeah sure,” He stumbled to grab his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. His fingers brushed against her soft hands as he passed the phone to her so she could type in her number, he watched as she put a pink heart next to her name. 

“Okay, I’ve got to go but I’ll text you later!” She grins and rushes to get to her next class.

Harry stands in the same spot for a moment, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his phone screen. He looks down at her name almost in disbelief that he actually had her phone number. He then notices the time and curses aloud, realising he’s fifteen minutes late to his next class. 

. . . 

From, Y/N:

Hey Harry, completely forgot to ask where we were planning to study tomorrow ?? x

From Y/N: 

That’s if you’re still up to tutor me. Totally okay if not !! x 

From Y/N: 

It’s okay if you have other things going on x

From Y/N:

It’s Y/N by the way x

Harry felt the vibrations from his phone resting right next to his head as he lay on his bed with his laptop propped open and an episode of Big Bang Theory playing quietly on the television screwed to his wall. 

As soon as he lifted his phone, the screen lit up and he caught a glimpse of the pink heart emoji on his lock screen. He shot up in bed, reading the text messages sent to him only five minutes ago. His pulse hastened at the little kiss at the end of each message, he wondered if she sent those to all her friends. 

From Harry:

Hey, it’s fine. I’m happy to tutor you Y/N :) 

From Harry:

We can meet up at the library, I can reserve one of the study rooms if that helps? 

It wasn’t long before he received a reply. 

From Y/N: 

Oh good !! The library sounds good. Thank you again for doing this Harry, I can’t thank u enough x

From Harry:

It’s okay! Honestly it is. Don’t need to keep thanking me love x

He didn't think twice before sending the message, and by the time he realised what he’d written, she had already read it.

From Y/N:

Thank you Harry xx

From Y/N:

Oops

From Y/N:

Can’t wait to see you ! xx 

Harry released a long breath after reading her last text message. He threw his phone across the bed and fell back, running his fingers through his hair a few times. 

He resumed his work on his computer, trying his best not to pick up his phone again as he eagerly waited for tomorrow to come. 

. . .

Harry was ten minutes early to the library even when he had tried to be right on time. 

The school’s librarian, Heather, was no stranger to his presence as he walked through the doors with his backpack over one shoulder and a tote bag on the other. He walked straight towards the study room he had booked last night for this afternoon in particular. 

It was nothing but a desk and empty walls with a window looking out to the car park. Harry had thought it best to minimise distractions for Y/N to stay focused. He pulled out the things he had packed in the blue tote he carried, highlighters and sticky notes and an old planner he had in his desk drawer that he scribbled her name on. 

Not long after he had set everything up, a small knock sounded at the door and in walked Y/N. She was wearing light blue jeans and a lilac hoodie that was covered in some kind of grey paint, “Hello,” She smiled, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her, “Sorry, I had a pottery class off-campus and didn’t have time to change,” She motioned to the stains on her clothing. 

“That’s okay,” Harry’s heart palpitated as she stepped into his vicinity- that sweet-smelling perfume replacing the dusty air, “I didn’t know you did pottery.” He didn’t know much about her other than what they had talked about in class, a rush of excitement overcame him at the thought of getting to know her more. 

Y/N sat down, putting her bag at her feet, “It’s just a hobby,” She shrugged it off, glancing at the things Harry had neatly laid out in front of her, “So what’s all this?”

A dusty pink glow spread across Harry’s cheeks, “I-I did some research last night,”

A dip formed between her brows, “Really?”

Harry nodded, “I spent some time researching the best ways for people with ADHD to focus and learn the best they can. A lot of it was setting realistic goals and breaking things down but it also helps to use colours which is why I bought my sticky notes and highlighters in case we have to take any notes.”

Y/N was pretty sure her pupils had carved into hearts as she looked at him and listened as he explained the things he had been researching. “I thought we could study for about an hour and a half today and work in twenty-minute increments with ten-minute breaks in between.” Y/N was at a loss for words. She couldn’t remember the last person who had gone out of their way to learn these things for her. 

Harry waited for her to reply, seeing the way her eyes glossed over, “I-is that okay? No problem if not, we can always find a different way of working-”

“No,” She placed a hand atop his, the tips of his fingers flinched and brushed the palm of her hand, “It sounds perfect.” 

Harry smiles, “Well okay, shall we start off with Midsummer Night’s Dream?” 

. . .

“Hey Y/N?” Harry waved a hand in front of her face. They were coming onto the last twenty-minute sprint of studying and Harry had noticed Y/N suddenly starting to zone out a little more. 

“Oh sorry,” She blushed, “I was thinking about the banana milkshakes they’ve put on the menu at the cafe where I do my pottery classes.” 

Harry closed his notebook, “They have a cafe?�� 

“Mhm,” Y/N grins, “I can show you if you’d like. Maybe after we finish studying.” 

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. This was their first time hanging out together off-campus. Something he had been daydreaming about whenever she sat beside him. He’d been mulling over the idea of asking her on a date for weeks and despite the fact she’d invited him to her favourite spot as a friend, he couldn’t help but feel a mixture of nerves and excitement at the prospect of getting to spend even more time with her. 

Harry pretended to glance down at his watch, “Seems like we’re coming to the end already, w-we could go now if you want to?” 

Y/N closed her notebook shut, “Okay then!” 

Harry tugged on his jacket and piled all his books into his backpack. Following her out of the library and towards her pottery studio.

He couldn’t help the smile on his face as she walked with a slight pep in her step as they walked side by side. Harry had never been much of a talker but there was never a moment of silence between the two as Y/N rambled and wandered off into every topic of conversation she could possibly think of. 

“So I’ve started making plates for my mum’s birthday—oh, she got a new car, by the way! It’s an old, vintage blue Beetle. She sent me pictures the other day, and it’s so pretty. For a moment, I wanted to take driving lessons just so I could drive one, but I’ve got terrible coordination. Honestly, Harry, I can’t ever seem to tell my lefts from my rights these days and—oh, what was I talking about again? Yes, the plates I made for her birthday. So, I’m going to paint them baby blue to match the car and—”

Harry listened intently, hanging onto every word she said and mentally filing it away under her name. Occasionally, he would share his own stories, but for the most part, he was content to listen to her voice. In fact, it thrilled him to know how comfortable she was to talk about anything and everything with him. 

They eventually stopped outside of a small building with ‘Paisley’s Pottery Studio’ written on a wooden plaque above the door. 

Y/N pushed the door open, the bell chiming as she stepped inside with Harry close behind her. She offered to take Harry’s jacket to hang up on the coat pegs and switched it over for two aprons already covered in dried clay stains. 

“Come on, I’ll show you what I’ve been working on,” Y/N said, a hint of excitement in her voice as she led Harry through the studio. The space was filled with shelves of pottery in various stages of completion, the air rich with the earthy smell of clay.

They reached a small workbench near the back of the studio where a few plates were laid out, each one uniquely shaped.

“Here they are,” Y/N said, picking up one of the plates. “This is the baby blue I was talking about. I’m trying to match it perfectly to my mum’s car. What do you think?”

Harry took the plate, admiring the soft, pale blue colour that coated its surface. “It’s beautiful, Y/N. You’ve done an amazing job. The colour is perfect.”

Y/N beamed, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Thank you! I’ve been trying to get it just right. And look, this one has little daisies around the edge,” she said, pointing to another plate. “My mum loves daisies.”

Harry smiled, appreciating the delicate details. “You’re really talented. I didn’t know you were into pottery.”

“It’s kind of my escape,” Y/N admitted. “It helps me focus, you know? It’s one of the few things that can hold my attention for hours.”

Harry nodded in understanding, “I-I’ve been meaning to ask before we left to come here, did you find the study session useful today?”

Y/N immediately nodded, “I learnt so much Harry. I know you said I don’t need to thank you anymore but you’ve been so kind. My parents have hired tutors for me ever since I was little but they always got frustrated with me. I was worried you’d feel the same way.” 

“No one should make you feel like you’re not worthy of their time just because it requires more patience,” Harry says.

Y/N’s eyes shine with emotion, “You might be the kindest person I’ve ever met,” She says, “Which is why I wanted to bring you here. I’ve never shared my pottery with anyone.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed, “Really?” 

Y/N’s smile softened. “Really. And now I get to share it with you. Do you want to try making something?”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “Me? I’ve never done pottery before.”

“That’s okay,” Y/N chimed. “I’ll teach you. It’s fun, I promise.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, “Alright, let’s do it.”

Y/N led Harry to a nearby pottery wheel, explaining the basics as she set up the clay. Whilst he sat on one side, she sat opposite him, straddling the seat and grabbing a thick, piece of clay in her hands.  “Just relax and let the clay guide you,” she said, her hands gently shaping the mound of clay on the wheel.

Harry watched, captivated by the fluid movements of her hands. He took a deep breath and placed his hands on the clay, feeling its cool, pliable texture.

“Like this?” he asked, glancing at Y/N.

“Exactly,” she replied but then placed either of her hands over the top of his. “Just keep your movements steady and even.”

Harry tried to remain neutral as the soft skin of her hand touched his fingers. He’d try to keep his attention on the way she moved the clay but every now and then he’d feel himself overwhelmed at the simple touch of the girl he had been enamoured with for far longer than he’d like to admit. 

Minutes turned into an hour, and Harry found himself enjoying the process more than he expected. The feel of the clay, the steady rotation of the wheel, and Y/N’s gentle words of encouragement. 

“It’s good!” Y/N held the clay bowl up in the palm of her hand. 

Harry scoffed but smiled, “You’re just saying that it looks more like a plate than a bowl.” His first clay creation was meant to look like a bowl but some might deem it to be a little more like a wonky flying disk. 

Y/N giggled, “At least you could still eat food from it.” She walked over and placed it on a tray with Harry’s initials carved into the bottom. “These will be put in the kiln later. I can bring it to you in class once it’s ready?”

“O-okay,” Harry nodded, “Or I could just come by and get it? I think I’d like to have another try maybe,” That and he wanted to spend more time with her even if it meant taking up a new hobby in the little spare time he had. 

Y/N didn’t mask the surprise on her face which gradually transformed into the biggest smile he had ever seen. He swore it hit him like an arrow piercing straight into his heart, “Really? You’d want to come back?”

“Of course, maybe I could teach you English lit and you could teach me y’ pottery?” He offered.

“I’d love that.”

. . . 

Wednesday’s had become Harry’s favourite day of the week. 

It was funny how quickly the days went by when you had something to look forward to. When it wasn’t Wednesday, Harry was always counting down the days until it was. 

In the afternoon, he’d meet with Y/N outside of the library so they could walk inside together to their study room where he’d tutor her for a good two hours. Afterwards, they’d walk down to the pottery studio in the nearby town where Y/N would teach Harry how to make clay pots. 

His own kitchen was becoming a museum of clay creations he had made and painted himself. Each one served as a reminder of a particular Wednesday he’d spent with Y/N, triggering a memory or conversation they had shared. 

His feelings only seemed to heighten the more they fell into conversation, talking about everything and anything they possibly could. He cherished every moment he spent with her and even then he couldn’t get enough. Whenever it wasn’t Wednesday, he craved her presence and the sweet-smelling perfume she wore. 

Harry was already heading towards the library one particular Wednesday afternoon when he received a text from Y/N.

From Y/N:

Hey Harry, I’m really sorry but I don’t think I’m going to be able to make today’s session. I left all my work last minute and now I have three classes to catch up on before tomorrow. So sorry, I really wanted to make it xx

Harry frowned as he read the message, feeling a pang of disappointment quickly replaced by concern. 

From Harry: 

It’s okay! We can just pick up where we left off from next week. Is there anything you need help with? 

From Y/N:Hm, don’t suppose you’re any good at poetry? xx

From Harry:

I’ve dabbled here and there ;)

From Y/N: 

Dabbled? Perfect!! Would it be okay if you stopped by? I’m STRUGGLING xx

From Harry:

I’d be happy too 

From Y/N:

Okay! I’ll text you my address. Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver truly xx

Harry felt a thrill of excitement as he watched Y/N’s address appear on the screen. He quickly typed the address into Google Maps and began making his way towards her apartment, anticipation building with each step.

Along the way, he stopped by a flower shop, the words ‘Sweet Juniper’ written on the window and a large display of beautifully arranged flowers decorating the front. He found it rather humorous when he saw the tattoo parlour next door, the dark aesthetic completely differing from the pastel colours of the flower shop. 

Sometime later, Harry stood at the entrance, taking in the charming exterior of Y/N’s apartment building. As he pressed the buzzer, his excitement mingled with a touch of nervousness. “Hello? Harry?” Y/N’s voice crackled over the speaker. 

“H-hey,” He said, “S me.”

“Oh! Stay there, I’ll come get you.”  He did as he was told, standing beneath the porch as he waited for Y/N. 

It wasn’t long before Y/N pushed the glass door open and stood in front of him. It was the first he’d seen of her all day and she looked so cosy and soft in her grey sweatpants and pink sweater, a pair of black slip-on shoes on her feet that she’d put on to come downstairs in. 

“Hi Harry,” She smiles, the sight casting away the grey clouds. 

“Hey Y/N,” He returns her smile and holds out the flowers for her, “I bought these for you, figured they might cheer y’ up.”

Y/N’s whole face lit up as she took the bouquet from him, “They’re beautiful,” She gasped, “I’ll put these in my room,” 

He followed her upstairs and to her apartment, making light conversation along the way. He laughs at something particularly funny she said about a conversation she had with her mother last night which reminded him he needed to call his own mother, who he hadn’t spoken to nearly as much as he should have these past few weeks. 

Closing the door behind them, Harry took in the exterior of her apartment. It was small, the perfect size for two people, most of the furniture was from the tenant who used to live there before they moved to France. 

“My roommate is away so it’s all good,” She says, leading him to her room. 

Y/N’s room was closest to the living room. As Harry stepped inside, he felt as though he was entering a cosy, intimate space that truly reflected her personality. The room was a soft haven of pink hues and delicate decor. The walls were painted a gentle blush, complemented by sheer white curtains that allowed light to filter through softly, casting a warm glow over everything.

“Sorry about the mess,” She cringed, kicking something underneath her single bed which was covered in papers and notebooks much like the small desk in the corner. She placed the flowers in an old vase on her windowsill, replacing the old ones that were losing their petals. 

“S okay,” Harry stood awkwardly, not knowing where to sit. 

Y/N made space for him on the bed, patting the spot beside her with a welcoming smile. Harry tried to play it cool as he sat down next to her, but inside, his heart was racing. The reality of being so close to her in such an intimate setting was overwhelming, and he struggled to keep his excitement in check.

The bed felt soft and warm beneath him, a perfect match for the cosy atmosphere of the room. He glanced at Y/N, who seemed completely at ease and took a deep breath, trying to relax. Her presence was comforting, and he reminded himself to savour the moment rather than overthink it.

She grabbed a purple spiral notebook which she seemed to have ripped a few of the pages out of and threw them in the trash can beneath her desk, “I have to write a poem to present to my creative writing class,” She says. Her sock-covered feet dangled off the bed as they sat next to each other with their backs against the wall. 

“O-Oh and it has to be handed in tomorrow?” He asks. 

Y/N huffs, “I thought I had way more time so I’ve just been putting everything off. I’ve also been given new ADHD meds which I don’t know have been helping very much.”

A wave of understanding rushed over him. Harry had never been prescribed daily pills before other than the antibiotics he was given in the winter when he had a chest infection that plagued him for almost two weeks. Although he couldn’t relate to her situation, he knew having to take pills repeatedly was no easy task especially when they had an impact on your ability to carry out day-to-day things. 

He took the notebook and pen from her lap and ripped out a bit of paper to write on. “Well luckily for you, you picked just the right person to help you out.” He teased, trying to lighten the mood because he knew she was beating herself up over all of it.

Y/N’s lips quirked, “You’re that good at poetry?”

“I was writing poetry and putting them into girl’s lockers when I was seven years old. Let’s just say, I’ve had practice,”  

“Okay Bukowski, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Harry chuckled, feeling a bit more at ease. "Alright, challenge accepted," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He took a moment to think, twirling the pen between his fingers as he glanced around the room for inspiration. The soft glow of the fairy lights, the cosy blanket draped over the bed, and the serene expression on Y/N’s face all seemed to meld together into a perfect moment.

He began to write, the words flowing easily once he found his rhythm. He stole glances at Y/N as he wrote, drawing inspiration from her presence and the warmth she radiated.

After a few minutes, he put the pen down and handed the paper to Y/N. "Alright, here goes nothing. Don't laugh, okay?"

Y/N took the paper with a playful roll of her eyes. "No promises," she teased, but her expression softened as she began to read the words on the page written in his scribbly handwriting. 

Every word she took in had her heart dancing within her chest. 

‘She is sunshine, light pours from her’ 

‘She is sweeter than my own solitude’ 

There was beauty in every line. Everything he had written pulled and tugged at her, evoking this feeling that flooded through her that she had spent the past few weeks trying to keep at bay until she reached the final line. 

‘I watch her hands create beauty from the earth’s clay, 

Does she know I also spin on the wheel, feeling her hands mould me, shape me, bend to her desire any way she wants?

“Is it good?” Harry asked, not enjoying the extended period of silence they were in as she read the poem. He had only tossed words together in hopes of creating something good enough for her to present to her class, he wouldn’t be surprised if she hated it. 

But instead, Y/N looked up at him, her eyes glistening with an emotion he couldn’t place. “D-did you write this about someone?” She asked.

Harry’s face heated, “U-um, not that I can think of,” He lies. 

Y/N nods, “Do you know a lot of girls who do pottery in their spare time?”

Harry’s eyes lock with hers, an invisible connection passing through them. The air thickened around them, his heart suddenly pounding against his chest, desperate for something he had been wanting for far too long now. 

“O-Only one,” He admits.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled looking like the fairy lights on the walls of her bedroom. Harry’s eyes darted down to her lips and then back up again. “Harry,” Y/N whispers, fiddling with the bit of paper with his poem written on it, “T-this is a really pretty poem.” 

“Y-you think your class will like it?” 

“I don’t think I want to show this poem to my class,” She set the poem aside carefully, as if it were a precious treasure, and shifted closer to Harry on the bed. 

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice lowered, “It’s not very good anyway.”

“That’s not the reason,” Y/N's lips curved into a warm, genuine smile, “I think I’d much rather keep it for myself, if that’s okay.” 

Harry's heart raced as he looked into her eyes, seeing the depth of her feelings mirrored in his own. "No, that’s okay.," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. 

She set the poem aside carefully, as if it were a precious treasure, and shifted closer to Harry on the bed. Her eyes searched his, “Harry?”

“Wha’s wrong?” He swallowed the air he breathed. 

“C-can I kiss you?”

Harry felt a lump form in his throat as he searched for the right words, his heart pounding in his chest. Every moment seemed to stretch on indefinitely, each breath feeling heavier than the last. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. He knew he couldn't hide his feelings any longer, not from her. With trembling hands, he reached out to gently cup her cheek, his touch tender and hesitant. 

“H-Harry,” Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

Unable to find the words, he leaned in, his heart pounding in his chest until their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss. It was sweet and gentle. Whilst one hand cupped her cheek, the other moved to her waist gripping it hard and tugging her in closer. One of Y/N’s hands gripped the back of his neck, pulling him in so she could deepen the kiss. 

He couldn’t help but smile the longer his lips pressed against the plush, soft touch of hers. Y/N felt his lips curve and smiled too, a breathy laugh escaping her, “What?” 

Harry shook his head, his eyes hazy and lips pinker than usual, “Nothing,” He shook his head but his smile never faded, “Jus’... I’ve been dreaming of this moment for what feels like forever.”

“You have?” Y/N smiles, her cheeks flushed.

“Mhm,” He kissed her again quickly, “I’ve liked you for so long.”

Y/N tugged on the sleeve of his sweater, fiddling with a loose thread, “I like you too Harry,” She admits and suddenly his world felt a little less lonely and a whole lot brighter.

. . .

“Sunshine,” Harry slurred against her lips as they moulded together. She was sitting on the table in an empty classroom with him standing between her legs. “We’ve got to get to class,” he murmured, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as his hands roamed her waist and hers tangled in his hair.

Y/N’s legs brushed against his as she swung them back and forth. If they were to leave the comfort of the quiet classroom, there was no doubt people would know what they had been up to. They had been walking to their English Lit lecture together when Harry recited a line from the play they were studying. Without warning, Y/N had dragged him into the nearest empty classroom and kissed him before he even had time to register what was going on.

“But we could stay here?” she heaved, pulling away and pouting.

Harry smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I know, but we’ve got a test coming up soon.”

“And you’ve already taught me all I need to know,” she countered, her eyes twinkling.

Despite dating now, their tutoring sessions hadn’t ended. They saw each other every single day, spending time at each other’s apartments and trying to meet up whenever they both had a free period so they could sit and eat lunch together or make out somewhere. But Wednesday afternoons were still dedicated to tutoring, and then Y/N would take him down to the pottery studio afterwards where they’d decompress.

He still hadn’t mastered the art of creating bowls or plates in the same way Y/N had, but the cupboards of his kitchen were slowly filling up with wonky cutlery and multi-coloured dishes. 

Harry smiled lazily, feeling the cotton of her pink cardigan between his fingertips. “C’mon sunshine,” He murmured. 

“Fine,” She huffed, pressing another kiss to his lips before sliding off the desk. “Oh no, I forgot my notebook again,” She huffed.

Harry laughed, reaching for her hand and threading their fingers together, “Don’t worry I bought an extra.” He always packed extra everything whenever he was with Y/N because it didn’t matter how many times he reminded her, she always seemed to forget. 

“Thank you,” Y/N grinned, “I swear I packed it with me last night when we were watching that movie which by the way you’re going to have to explain to me the ending because I was too busy,” Harry was going to remind her he had tried to get her attention back to the film but she was focused on playing a game on his phone the entire time, “Oo and tonight when you come to my place we can finally try that new ice cream flavour I bought from the store and- oh yeah the movie, so I basically stopped watching at the point where the girl falls into the water. Wait, what was I talking about before that again?”

Harry smiled, “The notebook,”

“Oh yeah, the notebook.” She rambled, continuing to explain all the places she could have left it even though Harry knew exactly where it was. 

By the time they got to class, they were ten minutes late. They took the walk of shame to their places in the back, holding hands beneath the table as Harry took notes and Y/N rested her head against his arm, rubbing her cheek against his soft, navy blue sweater. 

He smiled, kissing the top of her head and basking in the warmth of his sunshine girl. 

[lyaswriting]

You trust me with Sprinkles?

Kix x Reader baking cookies

Happy Clone Fic Exchange! I got a prompt with cooking/kitchen‬‭ chaos and celebrating holiday traditions, and thought making cookies could be a nice thing to explore. Hope you like it!

Normally you would frown upon the state your kitchen was in, but today you decided to let it slide, simply because of how alive it felt, and somehow you couldn‘t help but think that it might benefit the clone medic standing on the other side of the kitchen counter.

The room smelled of cinnamon, sugar, cocoa and other sweet things, as the dim last rays of sunlight filtered through the windows of your small apartment on Coruscant, making the sugar Kix had previously dropped glisten like a treasure against the counter top. He had a smudge of flour against his cheek, and somehow the forgotten the war raging in the galaxy, in favor of spending a few hours with you.

The distant hum of city life beyond the thick walls was muffled, leaving behind only the sound of soft laughter and quiet focus.

You stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, a smudge of flour also streaking your cheek like a battle mark, as Kix had teased you before. Your hair was pinned back with more hope than precision, and a few stubborn strands had broken free, brushing against your skin, which you tried to push back with your fingers while sorting out the mess on the counter.

You glanced sideways at Kix, who was looking down at a ball of dough with the same intensity and a hint of frustration he usually reserved for when his brothers didn‘t comply with his orders to rest up.

“You’re overthinking it,” you teased, a smile tugging at your lips. “It’s just cookie dough, Kix. Simple cookie dough”

He let out a sigh then, brow furrowing a little deeper and he looked at you almost pleading, however still with a hint of a small smirk. “I’m not sure dough and I are on speaking terms.”

The laugh that escaped you was light then, a sound that seemed to brighten the small room.

You then stepped to this side, and looked down at the ball of dough that Kix had been trying to work into shape for almost ten minutes now.

“Trust me, it’s not that complicated. Just roll it out with a little pressure, like that.” You stepped closer, placing your hands over his on the rolling pin, your fingers steady and warm. Some small sparks went through you, as you tried to ignore the feeling of Kix next to you. You could think about how good his calloused hands felt against yours later, now the cookies come first, you told yourself.

Together, you guided the pin smoothly over the dough, pressing it into an even sheet. “See? You’re a natural.”

Kix’s shoulders loosened, and he smirked, giving you a sidelong glance. “You say that now. Give it five minutes, and you’ll be regretting this.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you teased, bumping his arm again. “I usually only regret going drinking with Fives.”

„As you should“, Kix claimed confidently, „I swear I heard him talking about trying to get you wasted next time“

„Bold to assume there will be a next time.“, you answered, with a teasing edge to your voice and Kix smiled.

For a few minutes, the two of you worked in companionable silence. The scrape of the rolling pin against the counter mingled with the occasional rustle of a baking sheet. The awkward hesitance in Kix’s movements gradually gave way to something steadier, more confident. He pressed a star-shaped cookie cutter into the dough, carefully lifting the shape and holding it up for your inspection.

“Like this?” he asked, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet need for reassurance. It was almost adorable, as he looked at you like that. Almost like a little boy who‘d never cut a cookie in his life. But then again, you supposed it was like that in some way.

You leaned in, studying the cut-out star. Your smile softened. “Not bad, Kix. You might not be a hopeless case after all.”

He chuckled, setting the star onto the baking tray. “High praise, coming from you.”

Grinning, you ruffled his slowly growing hair. “Hey, not everyone can master the fine art of cookie cutting on the first try. It’s practically a combat skill.”

Kix shook his head, a reluctant smile playing on his lips. “I think I’ve dealt with battlefield plans from Skywalker with fewer instructions than you’ve given me in the last ten minutes. And walked away every time.”

“Precision matters,” you declared with mock seriousness, lifting a perfectly cut snowflake-shaped piece of dough and placing it carefully on the tray. “Now, watch and learn.”

He leaned his forearms against the counter, eyes glimmering with quiet amusement as he watched you. “I’m watching.”

Rolling your eyes at his teasing tone, you stuck out your tongue before focusing on cutting out a series of hearts. Your hands moved with practiced confidence that was gained from years of making cookies with your family, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to the simplicity of dough, cutters, and the warmth of the afternoon sun. Kix watched you, but it wasn’t the cookies that held his attention. It was the way your face softened in concentration, the golden light catching in your hair, making you seem almost ethereal. For someone who had seen too much darkness, this small moment of light felt precious.

When the last batch of cookies had been cut, you handed Kix a small bowl of colorful sprinkles. “Alright, decoration duty. Think you can handle this, soldier?”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. “You’re trusting me with sprinkles?”

“Don’t mess it up, and maybe I’ll keep trusting you.”

He laughed, shaking his head, and took the bowl from your hands. Carefully, he sprinkled the red and green sugar over the cookies. His movements were tentative at first, as though one wrong move might shatter the fragile shapes beneath his touch. But as you began to hum a soft, festive tune, he felt himself relax. The ever-present tension in his shoulders—the weight of duty and war—began to ease, if only for a while.

Tray by tray, the cookies transformed under your combined efforts. Some were decorated with meticulous care, others a little less so, but each one held a quiet joy that you both were proud of. They may look a bit messier than usual, but that just made them all the more special.

When the final tray was complete, Kix leaned back, surveying the chaos you’d created together. Flour was strewn over the countertops, and stray sprinkles lay scattered across the floor like tiny, colorful stars. You also hadn’t fared any better you decided then, as you saw your reflection in a window, your clothes full of flour. The trays held cookies of every shape, from perfect to endearingly misshapen.

You wiped your hands on your apron, a proud smile lighting up your face. “We did good.”

Kix nodded, his smile softer now, although with a teasing edge.“I don‘t know, I don‘t think some of them are anatomically correct.“

You snorted at that.“It‘s cookies, Kix. There is no anatomy for coolies.“

„If you say so“, he answered then, putting an arm over your shoulder, pulling you close. It felt peaceful, you realised then as you leaned against Kix and as the air smelled of spices and sweetness. Like times long forgotten amidst the chaos of war.

Kix then looked at you, seemingly sensing your thoughts drifting away.

„What‘s on your mind?“

“Back home,” you said quietly, “my brother and I used to do this every year. No matter how crazy things got, he always made time for it. It made everything feel… normal, you know? Like we could carve out a little bit of happiness, even when the world was falling apart. Nothing mattered then, we were together, and we were happy”

Kix swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. He looked down at the cookie he’d just decorated, the red and green sugar forming a lopsided pattern. “That sounds nice.”

You looked up at him, your eyes shimmering with something you yourself couldn‘t place. “I guess I wanted you to have that, too. Everyone deserves something simple and happy.”

Warmth spread through Kix’s chest, settling deep in his bones. He reached out, his gloved fingers brushing a stray strand of flour-dusted hair from your cheek. His touch lingered, his eyes holding emotions he didn‘t dare voice quite yet.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Your lips curled into a faint smile. “Don’t go getting all sappy on me now.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Too late.”

You laughed, the sound genuine and bright, and for a moment, the weight of war and duty melted away. There were no battles to fight, no injuries to mend—just the two of you, side by side in a kitchen that smelled of sugar, cinnamon, and the fragile hope of better days.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the moment with a clap of your hands. “Let’s get these in the oven. And if we burn them, I’m blaming you.”

Kix rolled his eyes, smirking. “Fair enough, I‘ll just give them to Fives then”

Together, you slid the trays into the oven. The heat warmed your faces, a comforting contrast to the chill of the world outside. As the door clicked shut, you leaned against the counter, your shoulder brushing his. Kix stayed close, the quiet joy of the moment filling the space between you. There was still a little smile, a small flicker of a sense of wonder there in his eyes, and you knew, even if these cookies turned out to taste horrible, this small smile on his face made it worth it.

@kyzyner

@cloneficgiftexchange

[ninazadzia]

🩸 If You Hold Me Without Hurting Me Chapter 3: "there's things I wanna talk about, but better not to give" Pairing: Bucky Barnes / Yelena Belova Also Featuring: Robert Reynolds | The Sentry Rating: T (tagging E out of caution; Chapter 1 is E) Spoilers: Thunderbolts (2025) Word Count (Ch. 3): ~3k AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65393155/chapters/168665154 Inspired by: Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey

Summary: Yelena is supposed to keep Bob stable. Bucky is supposed to keep his distance. Neither of them are doing a very good job.

Chapter Summary: The team’s changing. Not everyone gets a say. Some choices are louder in silence.

iii. the sentry

~

there's things I wanna talk about, but better not to give

~

The clock over the mantle ticked too loudly. Every second landed like a warning.

We’d been standing in the foyer for twenty minutes. Or maybe five. Or maybe a hundred. Time had lost all shape.

Either way—Sam Wilson was late. And no one wanted to be the first to say it.

The verdict had been delivered a week ago. A long one. No one said much after that night. Not about what happened. Not about what was coming. We were all just… waiting.

The Avengers name was officially gone. Reclaimed. Sam Wilson's team now. And today, he was coming here—to our home base, to our cobbled-together team—to make things official.

Everyone knew what that meant.

Val had been indicted three days after the verdict. Fraud, obstruction, the works. No one said it out loud, but we all knew—we weren’t just losing the Avengers name. We were about to inherit the fallout.

Ava called it a “restructuring.” Walker, a “clean sweep.” Alexei was still clinging to “team meeting.”

But we all knew why Sam was here. To pick the pieces he wanted, and leave the rest behind.

When the motorcade pulled in, the whole house seemed to tense.

I was standing between Ava and Bob, arms folded tightly across my chest. Bucky was planted on the opposite wall, silent, arms similarly crossed, but less like a defensive posture and more like a door slammed shut.

He hadn’t looked at me in over a week. Not really. Just passing glances. Professional nods.

We’d been playing cold war ever since.

Bob, for his part, was—fine.

Fine in the way that made me nervous.

He laughed at Ava’s jokes, offered to carry mission gear, even helped Alexei program a new security rotation last night. He was soft-spoken, cooperative, and still doing his meditation and sunrise balcony routines like nothing had changed.

And maybe nothing had. Maybe he really didn’t hear.

But every time I got too close, he’d step back—casual, easy, polite. Like a waltz I hadn’t realized we were dancing.

If he was angry, he didn’t show it. And that was worse.

“You think he’s gonna be in full Captain America gear, or a suit?” Walker asked, mostly to the room. “I’m taking bets.”

Ava didn’t look up from her phone. “Ten bucks says he doesn’t even look at you.”

“He’d be lucky to,” Walker muttered.

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose. It might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve been a warning.

I caught Bob’s eye for a second. He gave me a tight smile—friendly. Safe. Meaningless.

I had no idea how much he’d heard.

I had even less idea what he planned to do with it.

But if this was the game we were playing, I could pretend too.

I straightened my shoulders as the sound of engines rumbled in the distance. Tires on gravel. Doors unlocking.

“Showtime,” Ava said, tucking her phone into her back pocket.

The front doors swung open.

Sam stepped out like he owned the place. Which, technically, now he did. Polished. Poised. Still playing the nice guy, but with a sharper edge now. Like winning had cost him something, and he wasn’t sure it had been worth the price.

Sam greeted us like we were old friends. Like this wasn’t about drawing lines in the sand. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

He barely glanced at Walker. Nodded at Ava. Said something neutral to Alexei.

Sam nodded. “Mind if we talk inside?”

The conference room still buzzed with that awful fluorescent hum. One of the lights in the corner flickered—barely enough to notice, unless you were already on edge.

None of us sat right away.

Sam took the head of the table without asking. The rest of us filed in, slowly. I sat near the middle. Ava and Alexei settled across from each other. Bob took the far end, back straight, hands folded in his lap like he was bracing. Walker didn’t sit. He loitered behind a chair, arms draped over the top, like he was seconds from either storming out or making a joke no one asked for.

I felt him the moment I sat. Bucky. Across the room, watching without watching. Not looking at me—but not looking away either. The tension between us was so taut it felt like it hummed. Like if we got too close, something might snap.

Sam’s voice cut through the quiet.

“This isn’t a takedown,” he said. “I’m not here to dismantle you.”

He looked around the room like he was taking stock.

“You’ve done good work. And I know how hard you’ve fought. But as of last week, the Avengers name is officially back under the purview of my team.”

He didn’t linger on it. Didn’t gloat.  But he didn’t have to. The suit, the shield, the silence—it all said the same thing: this was his house now. We’d just been squatting.

Walker rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”

“I don’t need a full debrief,” Sam said, tone even. “I’ve read the files. I’ve seen the footage. I know how this team was formed—and how far it’s come. But it’s time for a structural reset.”

“Your old handler left a mess behind. Half your missions were funded with CIA shell accounts. Internal Affairs is still peeling it apart.”

He paused.

“You’ll remain active. But unofficial. Independent.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“No oversight?” Ava asked, skeptical.

“No protection,” Walker added, voice low.

Sam’s eyes flicked to him. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means your ops will be reviewed on a case-by-case basis. No direct sanction. No federal umbrella.”

“So… vigilantes again.” Ava leaned back in her chair.

Sam didn’t answer that.

Alexei lifted his head. “We can still use the name, though, yes? Thunderbolts? Sounds strong. Marketable. Not like… you know.” He gestured vaguely. “Bargain Bin Avengers.”

Ava let out a short laugh.

Sam cracked the barest smile. “You can call yourselves whatever you want. As long as it’s not Avengers.”

“Maybe we try something new,” Walker said, pacing a little. “Rebrand. Pivot. Something leaner. Edgier.”

“Cool,” Ava deadpanned. “Let’s call ourselves The PR Liability Initiative.”

Sam cleared his throat.

“I’m glad you’re thinking about names,” he said. “You’ll have time to sort it out. But this next part’s about logistics—not everyone’s needed.”

His tone shifted — still even, but more final now.

“I need to speak to Bob and Bucky alone.”

That landed like a pin dropped in a quiet room.

Everyone’s eyes darted to me—Ava’s, Walker’s, Alexei’s, Bob’s—everyone, except Bucky’s.

I blinked. “Just them?”

Not me. I wasn't surprised—but I felt it anyway. On paper, I was just an asset. Field-level. Technically co-lead when Bucky let me be, but no title. No official weight.

Still, something in me bristled.

Sam didn’t look at me when he said, “For now.”

Bob’s brows drew together. Bucky didn’t move.

Alexei stood first, without a word. Walker grumbled under his breath, but followed. Ava hesitated. Her eyes flicked to mine before she moved.

I stayed seated.

“Yelena,” Sam added, gentler this time. “Please.”

I stood slowly, every step of it deliberate.

My eyes caught Bob’s for half a second — a silent question. He didn’t flinch, didn’t nod, didn’t break. Just held my gaze.

Bucky still hadn’t looked at me.

I followed the others out.

The door clicked closed behind me, sealing whatever conversation came next behind soundproof walls and a sharp, sudden absence.

We waited in the hall like schoolkids who’d been sent out for talking too loud.

Alexei leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, scowling at nothing in particular. Ava had pulled out a stick of gum and was chewing like it owed her something. Walker paced.

I didn’t ask what they were talking about behind the door. I didn’t have to. The knot in my chest was already tightening.

“So,” Ava said finally, low and dry, “anyone want to guess what the hell that’s about?”

Walker didn’t even hesitate. “They’re trying to recruit him.”

Alexei blinked. “Recruit who?”

He looked at Alexei like I’d missed something obvious. “Bob. You heard Sam. ‘He read the file.’ That means he knows. Everything. The Sentry, the Void. The whole fucking package.”

Alexei snorted. “So? That doesn’t mean Bob wants to go.”

“Doesn’t matter what Bob wants,” he said. “Sam needs him.”

I looked up.

Ava raised an eyebrow. “You sound oddly confident.”

Walker went on, voice low and grim. “You think he’s here to give us gold stars? No. He’s here to poach the best parts of the wreckage before the lawsuits pile up.”

Val’s indictment was still fresh. We all knew the cleanup wouldn’t stop at her desk.

He motioned towards the door.

“He’s offering Bob a way out. A way up. And if Bob doesn’t take it, they’ll make him. He’s too dangerous to leave on the wrong leash.”

And just like that—panic.

Because if they took Bob? Just Bob?

Without anyone who knew how to ground him—without someone who could talk him down when the static hit—

Alexei shifted, jaw tightening. Ava’s eyes narrowed.

“Sam’s not stupid,” Walker said. “He’s building a team for whatever comes next. And Bob? Let’s face it—he’s our team’s version of the hulk.”

“No,” I muttered, shaking my head. “He’s not. Bruce Banner doesn’t have the powers of a god.”

“Yeah. My point exactly.”

The silence that followed said everything.

Then the door opened.

Bucky stood there, expression blank.

“Yelena,” he said.

Just that.

Funny. Now they wanted me at the table.

My stomach dropped.

I didn’t look back. I already knew what they’d see on my face.

Walker didn’t say I told you so.

But I felt it in the air behind me as I stepped inside.

And when I walked in, I saw it in Bob’s face before anyone said a word.

Whatever choice was coming? It wasn’t his anymore.

Sam didn’t make me sit, but I did anyway—carefully, like the floor might give out. Bucky didn’t look at me. Neither did Bob.

Sam folded his hands on the table. “He said no.”

I turned to Bob. “You did?”

“I said I wasn’t going without you.”

A cold rush slid down my spine.

“And that’s not negotiable,” Sam added. “He made that clear.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I wasn’t even sure how I felt about it.

Then, Bob added, quieter: “I know what it means to lean too hard on an anchor. I won’t do that again.”

He looked between the two of us—me and Bucky—just for a moment. Something flickered behind his eyes. Understanding. And then, nothing. He said nothing. Just sat with it. Let it settle.

The room went still.

Bucky’s jaw shifted—barely, but I caught it. Like he’d been holding his breath and wasn’t sure whether to let it out.

And me? My heart did something strange. Not the heavy drop I’d expected.

Something lighter. Warmer.

Because he’d heard us.

That night. That conversation.

Bob knew. And instead of unraveling, he’d steadied himself.

Not for me. For himself.

And somehow, that made it easier to breathe.

Sam exhaled, then looked at me.

“Yelena,” he said gently, and I hated the softness in his voice. “This isn’t a loyalty test. It’s not about picking sides. It’s about resources. Security. We’re up against threats that don’t wait for the right people to get in the right rooms. I don’t need numbers—I need the ones who can turn the tide.”

He glanced at Bob, then back to me. “That’s you. And that’s him.”

I stayed quiet for a moment. And then, I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Bitter and sharp.

“Don’t flatter me, Sam. You’ve already got—what—two trained spies, on your team?” I crossed my arms. “You wouldn’t be adding a Red Room assassin to your roster, if it was your call.”

Something flickered behind Sam’s eyes.

“I worked with your sister,” he said. “Not just on missions. We were on the run together. For years. When we broke the Accords, when we were fugitives—Nat was the one holding us together. Me, and Steve.”

That landed harder than I expected.

“I don’t say that lightly. She was family. And if she trusted you—if she loved you—then I know exactly what kind of person you are.”

I looked down.

“I know your past,” Sam said. “It’s a part of you, but it doesn’t define you. I can make a case. I will fight like hell to bring you over. The only reason I didn’t bring more of you was because I couldn’t. My hands were tied.”

He flicked a look toward Bucky.

That’s when it clicked.

The night of the verdict. The way Bucky slammed the door so hard the drywall cracked. The way he’d disappeared into his room, wrapped his fists, and taken it out on the bag until his knuckles bled.

The guilt that bled off him like radiation. The words he’d choked out—I fucked up—like they were carved from bone.

He hadn’t meant the team falling apart. Not really.

He’d meant me.

He’d meant this.

Suddenly, it didn’t feel like self-loathing. It felt like a man watching the ceiling cave in on something he’d been quietly trying to hold up for months.

I exhaled. “And what makes you so sure you can pull this off?”

Sam didn’t answer.

Bucky did.

“Because Sam’s not the only one backing you.”

His voice was low. Measured. But it landed like a match strike.

I turned toward him.

He still wasn’t looking at me. Jaw clenched. Arms folded. Every muscle in his frame locked like he was holding something back with both hands.

“I’ve still got contacts,” he said. “People from when I was in Congress. People who owe me.”

He finally glanced up. And for the first time in days, I met his eyes.

They looked dead. Hollowed out. Like he’d already made peace with losing something he wanted.

“It won’t just be Sam’s word,” he said. “It’ll be mine too.”

And just like that, I saw it—everything I’d missed.

The distance. The restraint. The way he hadn’t fought me on anything since the gala. He was doing what he always did.

Protecting from the shadows. Choosing me without ever saying it out loud.

“What about the others?” I asked, barely above a whisper. “What happens to the team?”

Sam hesitated.

“They stay here,” he said. “This isn’t exile—it’s delegation. You and Bob would join the core roster. The others hold position for now. If we need more hands, we reassess.”

That didn’t feel like delegation. It felt like division.

And I think Sam knew it.

“You don’t have to decide now,” he said. “Talk. Think. Sleep on it. I’ll be back in the morning.”

He stood. But before he left, he paused again at the door.

“For what it’s worth—I didn’t expect him to say no.”

Then he walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence followed.

I looked at Bucky. He’d looked away. Which was fair.

Then I turned to Bob.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

He finally looked at me. “I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m not going if you’re not there.” He gave me a pointed look. “It’s the only way I stay steady.”

He left it at that. No yelling. No accusations. Just the truth, dropped like an anchor between us.

Bucky’s voice cut through the quiet, low and worn.

“He meant it.”

I nodded, slow. “I know.”

He stood, and for the first time in days, he looked at me. Really looked.

“You okay?” he asked.

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t. Because I didn’t know if I wanted to scream or touch him. Because, no matter how irrational it was, a small part of me—the part that had been aching since the gala—was furious.

He was making this easier. For himself. For everyone.

He was calling in favors, offering backup, doing the good soldier thing—and I was the cause he’d chosen to champion.

Because if I left, we wouldn’t have to share space anymore. Wouldn’t have to keep pretending the air between us wasn’t charged to detonate.

Wouldn’t have to risk what would happen if one of us finally reached across the chasm we’d been circling for weeks.

We were wired to detonate. And he’d just cut the wire before the clock could run out.

I stared at him, my throat tight. You want me gone, don’t you? hovered just behind my teeth.

But then he blinked. And whatever he’d been holding back cracked—just a little.

Not enough for anyone else to notice, anyone who didn’t know him like I did.

But I saw it. The ache. The resignation. The grief that came from doing the right thing, when it felt like hell.

That’s when it hit me.

He wasn’t doing this for him. He wasn’t doing it for Bob.

He was doing it for me.

Because in his head, this was how he loved. Quietly. From the sidelines. Letting go before the world could take me from him.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

It was a lie. It sounded like one. But I couldn’t stay in that room a second longer.

I stood, turned, and walked.

Fast. Sharp. One foot in front of the other, until I was back in my room with the door shut behind me and the weight of his gaze still burning between my shoulder blades.

[twistedminutia]

A Million and One Minutia: Furniture and Architecture

Gray and the Heartslabyul students discuss magic and its effects on construction.

Content warning: Contains descriptions of scarring and wounds.

Read the rest of the chapters here and crossposted to AO3 here.

It’s the first Unbirthday party of the new year, and Riddle graciously extended Ramshackle dorm an invitation. And then Trey informed me that the invitation actually started a few hours before the party, because I’d be helping him make the tarts.

I told him I like to bake once, and I’m suddenly wrangled into helping prep tarts for an entire party. Trey’s more conniving than I give him credit for.

So, I’m hanging out in the Heartslabyul kitchen, trying to measure out the correct amount of pumpkin filling into a tart shell.

“Fruit tarts are more common for our Unbirthday parties, but in the winter, most students prefer something a little heavier,” Riddle says. He’s standing stiff and still in his pristine uniform. Winter break didn’t sit well for him, I suppose. I’d imagine spending a couple weeks alone with his control-freak mom wasn’t fun for him. He’s wound almost as tight as he was in the beginning of the year. “Though I’m still partial to strawberries myself.”

“We’ve got a strawberry tart, Riddle,” Trey says, holding the treat up for inspection. Riddle leans closer, narrowing his eyes, then nods his approval.

“Good. And the rest will be ready on time?”

“The pumpkin tart’s going in the oven now, the chocolate cream is in the fridge, and the cinnamon-maple-pecan one is already fully decorated,” I say. “I think that’s all of them?”

“The butterscotch tart. Which is also chilling,” Trey says. “And the petit fours and finger food I made yesterday.”

It’s an awful lot of food, but I guess Heartslabyul is a decently sized dorm. I carefully balance the pumpkin pie over to the oven and slide it in. “There. That’ll be done in forty-five minutes,” I say.

“Then everything is on schedule,” Riddle declares. “Provided the freshmen are-”

Deuce practically runs into the room, Ace on his heels. Both of them come to a skidding stop at the sight of Riddle. “H-housewarden!” Deuce sputters. Ace looks like he’s considering just turning and sprinting the other way.

Riddle’s eyes narrow. His hand twitches toward his magical pen. “What’s wrong?” There’s a warning in his voice.

“Uh,” Deuce says. “It’s nothing, housewarden! We were just-” He glances at Ace.

“Getting more plates!” Ace supplies. “To set the tables!” He shuffles toward one of the strange, lopsided cabinets. “We’ll just get them and get out of your hair.”

“I gave you enough plates to set the tables,” Riddle says. “What. Happened?” I move back until my back presses against a wall. Trey moves a little closer to Riddle.

“Why don’t we calm down and talk?” he offers. “I’m sure Ace and Deuce can explain things.”

“We’re sorry!” Deuce says. “Ace was trying to use his wind magic to set the table faster and-”

“Me?” Ace sputters. “You were the one who kept telling me to go faster, and you’re the one who tripped over the cloth and dragged everything down-”

Riddle’s face is going redder by the second. “Hey,” I say, creeping a cautious step closer to him. “Deep breaths, right?”

He breathes in. It whistles through his teeth. “You broke the plates?”

“Not all of them,” Deuce says. “Most of them were fine, they were just…” He hesitates. Swallows audibly. “On the ground.”

There’s a weird grinding noise. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s Riddle’s teeth. He’s breathing enough to lift his chest in heaving gasps, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. Trey edges between Riddle and the freshman, facing Riddle.

“It’s just plates. We have backups, and we can bill the school. Ace and Deuce can reset the table,” he says.

Riddle breathes in, a fuller breath this time, and lets it out slowly. “Yes. It’s… fine.” The color starts to come down from his face. “I… apologize,” he manages. “I should not have gotten so upset.” Another deep breath. “They are… just plates.”

It’s not good, but it’s an improvement. There was no ‘Off with your Head’ this time. Riddle even looks a little embarrassed about losing his temper. He folds his arms over his chest and stares at the ground while Ace and Deuce move to gather the plates.

I glance at the cabinet they’re heading over to. They’re all weird- this one’s kind of thinner in the middle and bulges out toward the top. Two of the cabinets are leaning into each other- I don’t even know how you store dishes in those ones- there’s not a flat surface for them to rest on.

“Hey,” I say. “Why are the cabinets like that?”

Riddle glances over, inspecting the cabinets and apparently seeing nothing unusual. “Like what?”

“Bending over,” I say. “It seems like it would be kind of inconvenient.”

“It’s classical Queendom of Roses architecture,” Trey says. “It’s not as common as it used to be, but since this dorm is in the spirit of the Queen of Hearts, we tend to have a lot of decorative styles that mimic the classics designs.”

“I remember seeing a lot of stuff like this in museums,” Ace says. “Why’d anybody make stuff like this in the first place?” He opens the cabinet I was looking at- there are drawers inside to hold the silverware, carefully shaped to still hold it all in place.

“They didn’t make things like this,” Riddle explains. “Classical architecture from the Queendom of Roses was influenced by the Wonderland Effect.”

“The Wonderland Effect?” Deuce asks. “It sounds familiar…”

“It should. Anyone who grew up in the Queendom of Roses should know about it,” Riddle says. “The Wonderland Effect led directly to the reign of the Queen of Hearts, and subduing the Wonderland Effect was one of the key features of her rule. It is also something you would have been tested on for finals.”

“Erk…” Deuce looks to Ace for help, who just shrugs. “Th-there was a lot of information on the test…”

“I remember reading about it,” I jump in. “But I didn’t quite understand what it meant.”

The color that was starting to slip up into Riddle’s face cools a little as he looks at me. “I suppose the Wonderland Effect isn’t well-known outside of the Queendom of Roses itself, and you would be especially unfamiliar with it.” He clears his throat. “What do you know about it?”

“Only what we studied. The Wonderland Effect was something that occurred in the Queendom of Roses and the surrounding area immediately after the end of the Age of Gods. After that, I don’t know much else.” Our History of Magic class has mostly been focusing on the history of the Land of Dawning and the multitude of countries that make up the Shaftlands, with some mentions of the Scalding Sands and Sunset Savannah thrown in. (As another note, who’s naming these places? I can’t tell if they’re more or less creative than the names back home.)

“A-hem.” Riddle clears his throat and straightens into his ‘lecture time’ posture. “The Wonderland Effect refers to the large-scale concentration of magic that shrouded the Queendom of Roses for almost a century. The magic affected the population in a variety of ways, most of them unpredictable. It made for an exceedingly chaotic area to live in.”

“A concentration of magic?” I say. “Like, the entire area just… had magic in it?”

“Everything has magic in it, technically. Ambient magic exists all around us in nature. That is where mages regain our magic from with proper rest and care. Creatures like fairies, who are more closely connected with nature, can take in that ambient magic much faster and have a deeper connection to it,” Riddle explains. “But the magic in the Queendom was much denser than typical ambient magic, which affected the land itself in strange ways.”

“My mom told me stories about that when I was young,” Deuce says. “The magic warped the environment so much, you couldn’t always tell up from down, and even eating the wrong thing could make you change size.”

“We all heard those stories as kids,” Ace said. “They’re all old legends, though. It’s not like that anymore.”

“Of course not,” Riddle says. “And I’m sure you all remember from your schooling how that happened.”

Trey nods, but Deuce just rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. Ace takes a shot at it, though. “There was some kind of organization effort? Or something? The Queen of Hearts was involved, right?”

Riddle sighs. “That’s more or less accurate, if low on details. Yes, the Queen of Hearts used her position as ruler to instate a series of legislations that gradually helped bring the residents of the Queendom into order. It’s said that those rules and her swift punishments of anyone who dared step out of line, helped decrease the overall chaos, bringing peace and stability to an otherwise dangerous realm.”

“What happened to the ambient magic, then?” I asked. “Why was it even there in the first place?”

“It’s not well-researched,” Riddle says. “But the time after the Age of Gods was a period of overall disorder for Twisted Wonderland. Whether the ambient magic was just denser in some areas, or if it was a spell cast by a mage powerful enough to enshroud the land in magic itself, no one is sure.”

I nod. The vague, dreamlike image of a young girl on a trial stand, the Queen of Hearts leaning over her, swims behind my eyes. I massage my temple with the heel of my hand, digging in until the image fades. Those weird dreams… then again, I’d rather the weird ones than the bad ones.

“Are you all right, Gray?” Trey asks. I nod.

“Fine. But we were talking about furniture,” I say. “How does that play into the Wonderland Effect?”

“As Deuce said, the Wonderland Effect affected many physical aspects of the realm, including warping homes and furniture. Many antiques left over from that time still have that warping. Mimicking it in modern design pays homage to our past,” Riddle says. “Though it isn’t as common as it once was, for practical reasons.”

“So, they’re made that way by hand now?” I ask.

“Usually,” Trey offers. “There was a carpentry shop near my parents’ bakery who specialized in that kind of thing. The cleaner the warping and the more interesting shapes there are, the more prized it is.”

“Magic can be used, but it’s not common,” Riddle says. “Though the Queendom of Roses has the most complex and well-sustained magic architecture in the world.” Given the way he puffs out his chest and lifts his chin, it’s clearly a point of pride for the country.

“Magic architecture,” I say. “How does magic go with architecture?”

“Any buildings using magic to hold their shape are considered magical architecture,” Trey says as he pulls a pie from the refrigerator. “A lot of government buildings and museums in the Queendom utilize magic in their creation. Otherwise, they could never hold their shapes.”

“The school itself uses magic, right?” Ace says. “Otherwise it’s too heavy to sit on that cliff.”

I get to experience the interesting sensation of all the blood draining from my face. It’s one I’ve experienced before, but usually only while I’m also experiencing the unique combination of adrenaline and terror that comes from staring down another overblot. Getting to feel it as its own, unique thing is kind of novel. “Uh. The school’s being held up by magic?”

“Of course,” Riddle says. “There’s no other way it could be sitting on the cliff. There’s magic built into its base to reinforce the cliff and the school together.”

“But isn’t magic impermanent? There’s… like… What was that thing we learned in class? The entropic deterioration clause?”

Ace, out of Riddle’s eyeline, mouths ‘the what?’ at Deuce. Deuce shrugs.

“The entropic deterioration clause is a general rule for magic,” Riddle says. “However, sufficiently powerful mages can create enchantments that last for thousands of years. Admittedly, the school is exposed to the elements enough that magical deterioration is inevitable, but the spells are reinforced every year and inspections are required every six months. And the natural increased magic at an arcance academy impedes the deterioration. It’s all safe and regulated.”

No one else seems bothered. But I can’t shake the fear that’s nestled into my stomach. I know magic’s real. I know magic’s powerful. Obviously. I’ve seen it. But there’s a difference between knowing something and knowing something, you know? I know magic is powerful. But knowing that I’m stepping into a building that shouldn’t exist, by the laws of physics, and that the only thing preventing it from collapsing into the sea is a spell…

I don’t even like bridges all that much. I’m never going to be able to sit comfortably in class again.

A hand touches my shoulder. Just barely, it’s only a tiny point of contact. “Are you all right, Gray?”

“Fine.” I dip my shoulder subtly away from Trey. Most of the guys here aren’t exactly huggy- except Kalim, of course. The shoulder touch is the most contact I usually get from anyone who isn’t Grim or Sassy, and it’s kind of overwhelming. “I just didn’t know the school was held up by magic.”

Riddle shifts in place, his heels clicking gently against the floor. He clears his throat. “It is safe,” he adds insistently. “I can show you the regulations and the inspection reports are available for public use. The next time you go into town, they’ll be available in the records building.”

I smile faintly. I know he’s trying to help. It’s just that Riddle has never met an emotional problem he doesn’t believe can’t be solved with cold, hard logic. There’s a reason he’s not the person students go to when they’re having emotional issues- it’s Trey all the way. “It’s fine, Riddle. I trust you.”

He blinks a few times. I can’t tell if he’s surprised, or pleased, or both. Maybe he’s not used to hearing that? “Ah. Yes. Good.” He straightens his uniforms, and starts inspecting one of the tarts like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Then there are no magic buildings in your world?” Deuce asks, shuffling the stack of plates in his arm.

“There’s no magic, so it follows there would be no magic buildings,” I say. “There’ve got to be non-magic buildings here. It can’t be that weird.”

“No, it’s not weird,” Deuce says, hurrying his words like he’s worried he’s insulted me.

“It’s kind of weird,” Ace says. Deuce gives him a sharp look. “What? It is. Not having magic is weird.”

“Having magic is weird,” I say. We’ve had the conversation so much that it’s basically a bit at this point.

“But that’s gotta be unsafe, right? I mean, most houses don’t have stuff like that, sure, but bridges and public buildings usually have some safeguards, right?”

“Safeguards?” I ask.

“Structural safeties,” Trey explains. “In the Queendom, at least, most significant public works have points of magic at certain areas that are most likely to get damaged or hold the most strain. If there’s damage, the magic holds everything together and prevents collapse.”

“It’s not as extensive as the magic on the school,” Riddle adds. “They’re designed to be temporary. They only last for a couple of hours. Just long enough to have an evacuation.”

Huh. Not hard to imagine the amount of tragedies that could be averted with magic as relatively simple as that. “That’s pretty cool,” I say. “We just kind of deal with collapsing buildings.”

I try to keep my tone light, to make the whole thing a joke, but no one seems to find it funny. Ace sighs. “Gotta get these plates outside, I guess,” he says. “Gray, mind helping out?”

“What? Oh, sure.” I glance at Trey. “Is that all right? Did you want me to do anything else?”

“No, go on,” Trey says. I turn to Ace, expecting him to hand off the plates, but a mischievous smile crosses his face. He lifts the plates a little higher, bracing the stack against his body.

“C’mon. Grab the ones off the top.” He’s lifting the plates enough that I can’t grab the ones on my level without taking too much. I make a grab and he dances back a little. “What’s the matter? Just grab ‘em!”

Is this his idea of lightening the mood? I don’t know if it’s working for me. I make another motion to take the plates and Ace lifts them a little more. Somehow, the plates don’t slide all over the place. Deuce still cringes. Riddle looks up from the tart, eyes narrowing. “If you break those plates, it’s off with your head.”

Ace sighs, but lowers the plates a little. I reach for them- the stack’s still a bit too high up for it to be a comfortable grab. Curse my short height. Or maybe curse everyone for being tall. Except Riddle. He’s about the only person here I can look in the eyes without neck strain.

“Hey,” Ace says as I try to shift the stack. “Both hands.”

I grimace, but I lift my left arm too, wincing at the little pull and twinge in my shoulder. As soon as I have a good grip on the plates, I lower my arms. There’s a moment of relief when my left arm drops below shoulder level again. It’s a bit stiffer than usual. I guess I haven’t been reaching up too much recently.

The plates securely in my grasp, I head toward the door. I make it one, two, three steps, and then…

“Gray,” Riddle says. “Is there something wrong with your left arm?”

Son of a bitch. “Uh,” I say. “Why would you think that?”

His eyes narrow. He knows a deflection when he sees it. “You barely extended it at all, even when taking plates from Ace where both hands would have been necessary. And you winced when you did extend it.”

I have to hand it to him: Riddle’s more observant than I have him credit for. “Did you hurt it?” Trey asks, putting down the pie and coming a few steps closer. “You did a lot of work on Ramshackle over winter break. You have to be careful not to strain yourself.”

“Yes, I wi-” I grab at the excuse out of the topic Trey has given me, but Riddle barrels right through it with all the sophisticated conversational grace of a drunken freight train.

“If you’re injured, you need to go to the infirmary,” he insists. “All injuries should be treated promptly, to avoid any complications in the future.”

“But it’s not really a new injury, is it?” Ace says. “Gray’s had it for a while, right?”

Everyone looks at him. Including me. Apparently, Ace has better observational skills than I gave him credit for. “You noticed?”

“You never reach for anything over your head with your left arm,” Ace says with a shrug. “And you’re so short that practically everything is over your head. It gets kind of obvious after a while.”

“Look, it’s not really an injury,” I say. “It’s nothing! That’s why I didn’t say anything about it. It’s just…”

There’s a few seconds of a pause. Then a few more seconds. Deuce shifts a little. “It’s what?” he nudges.

“It doesn’t hurt or anything. It just twinges sometimes if I move it the wrong way,” I hurry to add. This does not help, because Riddle’s eyes narrow. Even Trey frowns, arms folded.

“What exactly is the injury?” Riddle asks, and he’s using his ‘Housewarden voice’ now. The sharp, firm tone that brooks no argument or refusal.

“I’m not… sure,” I admit. “It’s not really an injury. Like I said, it doesn’t hurt. And I’ve had it for a while, so I barely even notice it anymore.”

“How long is a while?” Trey asks, and he’s using his ‘vice-housewardenn voice.’ It’s not as strict as Riddle’s, but there’s a ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ undertone that sucks to listen to.

“It’s… a while?” I offer. Riddle and Trey glare. I glance at Ace and Deuce for help, but Ace looks back unhelpfully, and Deuce… he’s looking at me with concerned eyes. I sigh. “Since the beginning of the school year, I think.”

Riddle jerks, lifting his arm almost defensively. “That long?”

“It’s not a big deal!” I insist. “It doesn’t hurt or anything! It’s fine, no big deal, it just looks bad, but it-”

“Looks bad?” Trey says. I spend several seconds mentally cursing out my big, stupid mouth. “What do you mean it looks bad?”

Riddle thinks for a second and makes a decision. His brows lower and his expression tenses. “Show me.”

I blink. “Say what?”

“If you don’t, I will take you to the infirmary. I won’t let any students walk around with injuries. If it is truly no big deal, then you have no reason to hide.”

I grimace, but he’s called my bluff. I carefully place the plates down, then slip off my jacket, then the vest. Then I unbutton the top few buttons of my shirt and pull my shirt and bra strap aside.

There’s a bit of blushing and averted gazes from everyone except Trey. Most of them seem to forget I’m a girl a lot of the time- Riddle looks almost surprised that it’s there. Deuce’s face goes bright pink.

(By the way- bras? Not super easy to find at an all-boys school. I was wearing two shirts and tying a band of old fabric around my chest until Sam managed to get some in stock.)

Fortunately, their embarrassment lasts only a few seconds. Unfortunately, it’s replaced by something like horror.

Riddle takes two steps closer, moving right into my space. I lean back. “What happened?”

Trey moves closer too. “It looks like- is it some kind of burn?”

I can feel Ace and Deuce at my back. Surrounded in all directions. Desperate to defuse the tension, I lift my hands, fingers spread. “No, no! It’s not.”

“Then what is it?” Riddle demands.

“I don’t… know,” I confess. Riddle’s expression goes three kinds of incredulous. Trey just looks disapproving.

Ace lifts a finger and actually prods at me. “Hey!” I swat him away.

“How do you get something like that and not know?” Ace asks. His entire demeanor oozes skepticism. Deuce looks at me again with big, worried eyes.

“Were you hurt?” His voice is softer, and all the more painful for it. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I wasn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just stiff. Sometimes it kind of twinges, but only if I pull it the wrong away. It hasn’t hurt since the skin started peeling, and it wasn’t even really that bad back then-”

“When the skin started to what?” Riddle demands. There’s color rising into his cheeks now, and not the even flush down from his forehead that usually occurs when he’s pissed. It’s splotchy, patching his cheeks first with a sticky heat.

I let out a low sigh and move to lean on the counter. “Look. All I know is, around the first week I got here, my shoulder was kind of sore for a few days. And then the skin kind of started… peeling.” Deuce looks vaguely sick. “Not like, bad peeling or anything! Like a sunburn! Just… more. And when the skin stopped coming off, it looked like…” I gesture to my shoulder.

The scarring, admittedly, does look rather bad. Ropey lines of slightly raised, pinkish tissue converge at the apex of my shoulder before spreading out and down. Most of the lines don’t go for more than a couple inches from the center point before fading, but there are a few that stretch under my armpit to form a circle. The skin there is stiff, and it must go deeper than the skin, because I can feel something pull if I move my arm too much. So, I just. Try not to move the arm.

“In your first week?” Riddle asks. I can see him mentally reach back to what was happening at that point, and his expression color with equal parts shame and horror. “That was near when- when I-” He swallows. Audibly. “I didn’t...?”

“It started before your overblot,” I assure him. The relief is visible in the sudden slump of his shoulders.

“Was it in the mines, then?” Deuce asks. “Did you get hit?” He frowns. “I didn’t think you did, but maybe-”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t think I got hit, but…” It was a while ago, so I suppose I could have forgotten, especially in the heat of the moment. But I really don’t remember if it hit me or not. And what kind of attack would cause scarring without the wound being memorable? Unless maybe the adrenaline blocked it out.

“Regardless of what caused the damage,” Riddle says, pulling himself into his formal, ‘I am housewarden and I am in control’ posture, “there remains one important question.” His gaze bores right into mine, stern and unyielding. “Why didn’t you go to the infirmary?”

I shrug. My left shoulder doesn’t move quite as much as my right. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

Trey shakes his head at me. “You said your skin was peeling.”

“Your skin peels when you get a sunburn! I was sore, but it wasn’t like I was in agony, and I had a lot of other stuff going on at the time.” They’re all looking skeptical, but I’m serious- it legitimately didn’t occur to me to go to the nurse. The pain had been moderate enough that I’d just assumed I’d pulled something. There had been meds in the toiletries kit Crowley had given me. I’d taken those and ignored it. Even when the skin started itching and tingling and pulling away, I’d just figured- it wasn’t life-threatening, and we were knee-deep in tyrant Riddle at the time. Once that had been squared away, the peeling had stopped and it hadn’t been getting any worse. What was the point of going?

Riddle glares. “Taking care of your physical health is vital for the development of any mage.”

“Well, I’m not a mage, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” My voice comes out louder than I thought it would, and far more sarcastic. Riddle actually recoils a half-step back. Deuce and Ace both straighten. Trey frowns at me. “Uh. S-sorry. I- sorry.” I start to redo the buttons on my shirt. “Sorry.”

Ace clears his throat. “Hey, it’s not like you can’t get checked out at the nurse now, right?”

Riddle nods. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

“It’s not like it’s really bothering me,” I say. “It hasn’t been getting worse for a long time.”

Riddle glares again. “All people need to take care of themselves physically. Not just mages. And that involves attending to wounds, especially one that might be caused by magic. You are not a medical mage, and you don’t know for certain that the damage isn’t still affecting you.”

I grumble a little bit. This is really butting up against my usual way of handling problems, which is ‘ignore it until it goes away or becomes too bad to reasonably ignore.’ And it also goes against my philosophy of never asking for help unless it’s extremely and obviously necessary. I’d much rather figure things out on my own than bother someone else with it. That’s called resiliency. Or something.

“I can take Gray to the nurse,” Ace offers, and I realize that he’s throwing me under the proverbial bus so he doesn’t have to keep setting up the Unbirthday party. Traitor! I attempt to communicate this to him through my eyes, but he’s stubbornly not looking at me.

“I will accompany you as well,” Riddle says. “It is the duty of a housewarden to assure the health and safety of all his students.”

“You’re not my housewarden,” I remind him. “Technically, I’m my own housewarden.”

“And if a housewarden is remiss in their duties, then another housewarden must step up to fulfil them,” Riddle says without missing a beat.

“Riddle,” Trey says. “The Unbirthday party starts in around thirty minutes, and the housewarden needs to be present for it to start on time.”

“Ah,” Riddle says and freezes, caught between the horror of not being punctual and the horror of not properly fulfilling the housewarden duties he’s just assigned himself. I’m starting to hope I can get out of this after all, when-

“Hey all! Just seeing- woah, the vibes are way off in here! What’s going on?” And just like that, Cater’s arrived, orange hair bouncing around his face as he enters the room.

“Graaay!” Grim, wearing a white, red, and black scarf, trots over to my legs. “Cater’s been takin’ pictures of me nonstop!”

“But you look so cute in all the scarves!” Cater says, thumbing through his phone. “Grimmy’s way magicammable, for sure!”

“I’m not wearin’ any more scarves! Or gettin’ any more pictures!” Grim protests, stomping one of his paws. “Not until I get some tarts!”

“Cater,” Riddle says, completely ignoring Grim’s temper tantrum. “I’m glad you’re here. Would you please escort Gray to the infirmary?”

Cater blinks and lowers his phone, a hint of seriousness crossing his expression. “What’s the matter, Gray? Cut yourself on something?” He glances at my hands, looking for bandages.

Grim’s ears perk up. “Didja hurt yourself, hench-human?” His nose twitches with a few subtle sniffs. For blood, maybe. “Can’t take you anywhere.” His tone is exasperated, but his tail’s started quivering.

“We can explain on the way,” Ace says. Riddle narrows his eyes, but doesn’t protest that Ace is coming along. Maybe he thinks they need two people to stop me from bolting (which, first, I wouldn’t, and second, Cater can be more than two people if necessary), but he might also think having someone I’m closer to with me will keep me calmer. He’s not exactly wrong.

“Grim, you stay here with Deuce, okay?” I don’t want him to find out and be worried about me. I’m supposed to be the one looking after him, really. “I might not get back in time for the start of the party, and you don’t want to miss out on first tart dibs, right?”

He narrows his eyes at me, tail twitching in suspicion. “Hrmm… Fine! But if you’re not back soon, I’ll eat your share!”

“I’ll be back,” I promise. Deuce waves and I wave back before Cater and Ace march me out of Heartslabyul.

In the end, I don’t really learn anything I didn’t already know, or at least suspect. It’s a scar, possibly a burn, possibly not. It’s deep enough to impede the rotation of my shoulder, if only a little bit. There’s a lot of skepticism at my explanation- I guess it’s hard to believe I could get such an extensive scar without knowing how it happened. At least the Heartslabyul boys seem to accept it at face value. I’m given some exercises to do and told to ask my parents about physical therapy. And then, a bit more quietly, given the number for the Sage’s Island Department for the Protection of Minors.

That bit almost gets me to laugh. At this point, I was convinced Twisted Wonderland didn’t have anything of the sort.

Cater taps his phone against his mouth and gives me a look as I emerge from the infirmary. It’s indecipherable. Then he smiles. “All good?”

I smile back. It pulls awkwardly at the corners of my mouth. “All good.”

“Then let’s get back to the party,” Ace says, placing his hands behind his head in a casual, lazy fashion. “Before Grim gets all the tarts.”

I tug my jackets tighter around me. “Yep. Let’s.”

Read the next chapter here.

[therealslimshakespeare]

Where can i read Both sides now? If i click the link in the old post you reblogged i cannot find the post :(

Alas, stupid deactivated links. Here, I shall post it anew for you 💋

Sweet like Cinnamon

Warnings and Summary: the entire theme of this is loving on Elvis’ chief embarrassment: his uncut cock. So, be warned, ahead lies body consciousness, savoring of foreskins, edging, talking to cocks, Elvis in subspace and bad safe word etiquette 😆 also suspend your belief that he didn’t get past this with multiple women before in the 60’s

Repost of an old fic

“Gentle now, no need to thump it, it ain’t got a spirit you can animate by kickin’ it like that.”

Susie huffs at him and aims another whack at the motorcycle’s exposed engine with her dainty hand, like she can slap it into submission. “Well then you try!” she whines at him and Elvis woulda done so first if she hadn’t beat him to it. After that he’d gotten distracted by watching the way her bottom looked in those jeans while she was bent double.

“I’ll do just that if you’d get up and stop thumpin’ it.”

“I am not ‘thumping it’, Presley, merely cajoling.” she points her little chin in the air haughtily and Elvis is filled with the desire to grab it between his fingers and shake it. She’d wrinkle her nose at that and all the little freckles on it would fold up.

“Mhmm, well, get outta the way Susie, let the ole man have a shot at it.”

“Good luck.” she grins and moves to stand up and he watches a little too long as she hikes her jeans back up so her tied shirt meets the top of them. He mourns the loss of that sliver of skin and bends down to take a look himself, conscious of her eyes on his ass.

They’re fair like that, Susie and him, he doesn’t watch nothin’ on her that he hasn’t let her watch on him. That’s what good buddies do, they don’t begrudge a mate. So he doesn’t begrudge her much when after getting the offending part off he feels the pointed toe of her shoe slide against the seam of his pants. It gets boring stranded on the side of a country road in the middle of the Californian desert, and little girls need their fun.

“Almost done,” he tells her, “this just came loose, s’why it’s rattlin’ like that. Didn’t help that somebody smacked, too.” he looks up at her out of the corner of his eye, making sure to layer on the patronizing airs so that she’ll break and smack him. She does, lightly on his shoulder and he chuckles and ignores the way the gravel digs into his knees and chalks up his slacks.

“We’re going be late.” she observes, and it’s not a whine, it’s just statement.

“Thought your landlady didn’t know we were comin’?” he grunts, working on the obvious problem he can perceive now, scorching his fingers on the hot metal.

“Careful!” she fusses as he hisses from the burn, rising to his feet and brushing off his slacks, readying to try cranking the motor again.

“You know what I meant,” Susie goes on, admiring him as he swings those long legs to straddle the bike, elegantly swathed as they are in pants tailored to the last inch by darling Edith, “This has thrown us off by an hour and knowing you and your propensities when in the company of little old ladies -we’ll be late at the studio. I’m calling it now.”

His face clouds over for a moment as he ponders the prospect of getting chewed out by the director for taking a brief and condoned break. Just to zip over and wish Susie’s landlady a happy birthday. The shriveled little munchkin was starry eyed the one time he swung by to pick Susie up, and with her son overseas it seemed the nice and gentlemanly thing to do, to use the break to brighten her day. The motorbike breaking down on the side of the road wasn’t part of the plan.

“I ain’t turnin’ back now,” he mutters, frowning at the horizon that wavers in the scorching afternoon sun, “They’ll find somethin’ to bitch about anyway, and you needed the break. Say, you alright with that? With playin’ hooky? I’ll tell ‘em it was my idea.”

“Oh hush now, ‘course I don’t mind and I’ll take full responsibility for myself, Presley.”

They both know he’ll get in between her and anyone trying to chew her out but she tries, really tries to take some of the brunt of the condemnation directed at them when they go off the rails together, lost in their own little world. One where midnight dancing, helicopter racing and practical jokes are king.

She cozies up behind him on the narrow seat, her thighs bracketing his famous hips and the bike cranks to life. They make it to Doddi’s birthday party before it’s in full swing. Susie spends the next hour and a half on Elvis’ knee as he chats with her landlady who informs him she had her son, the one overseas, at the ripe age of fifty five.

“Well I’ll be!” he whistles and that starts a very earnest discussion about modern medicine and the wacky new advice to cut back on fats. Doddi is adamantly against it, as is Elvis. Susie gets her opinion asked after awhile and she informs them that whatever they’re both doing now is obviously working for them. That earns her a ticklish kiss on the neck from Elvis and a sage smile from Doddi.

“You know something, Miss Dean,” Doddi addresses Susie, “I have seen you starring in three films alongside this man.”

“Yes ma’am!” Susie nods, they've got dynamite chemistry and Hollywood isn’t one to let a thing rest until it’s dead from overuse. As for Elvis and herself, well, contracts are contracts and just maybe they’d rather kill their careers alongside each other, out of anyone else in the world.

“And in each one,” Doddi goes on, “you begin as an innocent until finally succumbing. It’s a testament to your skill that you can begin again, three times at that, as a virgin with each new start, when you must have been plundered at some point in real life.”

Elvis had said something equally insightful to her ages ago, something about her doe eyes and gentle face making him feel like the first time each time. Each time they do a scene, of course. Because they’re just buddies. No matter if her real first time was with him. And a good costar is meant to make you feel some kind of way so that you can play off it. It’s just good sportsmanship.

Elvis pats her on the back as she chokes on her mimosa, unable to take Doddi’s inquiring gaze for much longer, seems she’s asking as to when Susie herself got plundered and it’s a memory best left buried. Blessedly, Elvis changes the subject with his typical, stuttering charm.

Drifting on a wholesome high, they slip out together, a good three hours and multiple slices of cake later. He’s pensive on the drive back, speed limit actually being observed and Susie lays her cheek on his shoulder to watch the thoughts flit along his nobel profile.

“What’s wrong, Mopey?” she asks him.

“Nothin’, jus thinkin’.”

Gloomy thoughts by the set of his pouty lips. “Well I want some breeze to help with this heat, so gun it, Presley.”

Those lush lips curve up at that, his shoulders shaking out his mood a little as a rivulet of water the folks around here call a creek comes into view. He doesn’t take the bridge over it, he plunges the motorbike down the bank with Susie shrieking out her joy behind him, gripping his belly for dear life as the motor fights to get them back up the opposite side without tipping them backwards.

It’s damn good fun. Pity their director doesn’t agree when they get back wet and a little muddy, hours late. Filming has been canceled for the evening, and choice words are had about tardiness and Susie’s poor delivery of a inane line of script she hates with a passion.

Elvis takes all of this with dogged sullenness, only biting back when Susie’s name gets drug through the mud. She succeeds at hauling him away and up into his suite, badgering him about helping her with the line.

They’ll end up eating too much hotel food and philosophizing on the how each subsequent film they’ve made has diminished in artistic quality. If they really feel brave maybe they’ll end up kissing, just for practice, just because they’re lonely and the other understands. And won’t hold them to it.

This time he disappears into the shower, a quicker one than usual and when he comes out in nothing but a towel, swearing over having forgotten his clothes, he looks like the proverbial stormcloud is hanging over his wet and sleeked back hair. Susie has got burgers and cola at hand on the bed and is ready for the mood to be over. She’s worn out, too.

“What are you so sore about Presley?” she asks, gently because he might as well have a sign hanging around his neck reading: “fragile! handle with care!”

“You wanna know what it is?” He grunts, rubbing at his face, rosy and gleaming from the shower.

“Yes!”

“I’ll tell ya honey, I’ll tell ya. It’s that I had a grand time with you today and yet I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about how if we would just stop foolin’ around then-“

“-hey now, it was your idea to fool around!” she protests.

“-I know I know, but as I was sayin’ I was preoccupied with the thought that I just wanted to get the next damned scene over with.”

“The one scheduled for tomorrow now?”

“Yeah that one. Another windshield scene.”

“Another what?”

“Windshield scene, honey.” he insists, a little hurt she didn’t get his meaning right away, it was the thing digging at him for awhile now, making him sore. “You knew how many scenes I’ve done where they’ve got a camera on the hood shootin’ through the windshield, while I’m sitting in the driver’s seat pretendin’ to drive while a screen flashes scenery behind me, and I sing a song that sounds a lot like the ones I’ve sang doing the same damn thing in the same damn movie before it? And I’m talkin’ just movies since I been back stateside.”

“Quite a few I gather.” Susie’s mouth sours in sympathy. “So, New Years resolution, no more windshield scenes.”

“Add jet-skies to that list.” he flops back on the bed and blows out a breath, making his lips flap with all the dignity of a five year old.

Susie has long since learned to humor him when he’s in this sort of mood and she contents herself with leaning against the wall and watching the long line of his body, bronze and sturdy and interrupted only by the stark white towel around his waist. He manspreads even in a towel and she is tempted to take a peak. She’d probably get spanked for it and tonight she’s unsure it would be a jovial slapping around, he’s testy and nearly looking for an excuse to blow up. Or pout face first into his pillow until he gets hungry -he’s shockingly petulant for a man dually capable of the occasional bout of astounding maturity.

“Eat your burger.” she nudges his bare foot and the feel of her shoe against his skin gets him to raise his head and give her a once over.

“Get comfy honey, you don’t need to be all in your heels and such.”

“Well, i wasn’t sure you really felt like having me stay.”

“Don’t be silly, lil girl.” he rolls his eyes, and sits up, abs rippling and scrunching as he hunches into himself and starts gnawing down on the burger. “This ain’t cooked enough.”

“You weren’t cooked long enough.” Susie tosses back and takes a seat next to him on the foot of the immaculately made bed, kicking her shoes off, and she doesn’t miss the way a pleased smile creeps over his face. He puts the burger up to her mouth and looks so expectant that she takes a bite and lets the mustard and onions and beef ruin the spearmint aftertaste of her gum. “It’s cooked perfectly.” she admonishes him and he sneers at her though his eyes twinkle. “Alright mopey! Nothing else for it, I’m putting on a record.”

Susie abandons him and he watches as she bounces up and across his sterile hotel room to the one comfort he hauled with him, the record player and its case of records. She flips through it until she pulls out the man she commits infidelity against Elvis in her heart with, night after night. Sam Cooke.

She messes with the needle. “Ooh you’ve stopped it at ‘Only Sixteen’ -you thinking about me when all alone, Mopey?” She grins at him so sly and knowingly that he rolls his eyes, and actor though he is he, he can’t feign indifference. “Thinking about sweet little me and how you came in and bamboozled me? Had your naughty, naughty way with me?”

“Don’t remind me!” he groans and flops back on the bed, half eaten burger in hand. “That weren’t my most upright behavior but I was left contendin’ against the sight of your pretty butt in those frilly little swim shorts and I-“

“-couldn’t help yourself?” Susie recites from her stance between his splayed legs, her hands planted on her hips and he really does adore the way she looks when she’s fed up with him. Her face puckers up and she looks at him determinedly, like he’s a project and she’s a contractor. Like he’s some human sofa she’s gonna refurbish or somethin’. Sends a little shudder through him and he braces for what she says next because he feels it comin’ before those red lips start moving, he just knows her that well by now. “I didn’t mind it Elvis, you were a bit boorish about it but look at us now, we’re the best of friends ever since-“

“-damn funny way to make friends.” he scrubs his face and tries to get rid of the mental picture of baby fresh Susie with her cheek pressed to the janitor closet’s door, and the feel of those frilly swimsuit panties shoved to the side and scraping him as he buried himself in her again and again.

“I guess I more wonder why we haven’t done it again.” she honest to god pouts down at him, half a decade worth of platonic hanky panky wearing her down.

“What!” he sits up with an ungainly flail and Susie relishes the way his pupils blow out and his eyebrow quirks in indignation as if he hasn't stared at her with intent written all over his face, day after day, for the last five years since. “What, hang on now Susie, we’re buddies you and I,” he gestures back and forth between them, his hand knocking against her belly as she towers over him for once, “we’re buddies.” he repeats as if he didn’t have his head buried beneath her skirt two nights ago. That’s apparently on the list of things buddies do for each other.

“Buddies can make sweet love too, Presley.” she teases.

“Sure-“

“And grindin’ and lickin’ and jerkin’ off to the thought of me does not give you the moral high ground here.”

“How did you know-“ he looks comically appalled and it’s too adorable a look on a grown man.

“You’re loud as hell, Elvis.” she giggles and he grips her hips and hauls her down to do -well, he’s not sure what he intended, he just feels like wrestling her and she obliges, probably had planned to trick him into this after all.

Her legs flail and she’s liberal with the elbows against his ribs and he grunts and huffs and slaps at her hands and let’s her wriggle enough to keep it fun, and this is why he loves her, she loves rough housing, she loves curling up with a book and she forgives him for a whole load of horseshit he’s put her through. Susie is a woman for all seasons and he loves her in a way, grappling with her on the fresh made bed as Sam Cooke croons:

She was only sixteen

Only sixteen

With eyes that would glow

But she was too young to fall in love

And I was too young to know

Woaaah

She was only sixteen

He gets her pinned beneath him and he leans his forehead against her forehead and gives her a heart melting smile that she savors through nearly crossed eyes. He slowly lowers the rest of himself to lay against her and they give into what they’ve been longing to do, lips meeting as they savor each other, ignoring the lasting taste of the burger and indulging in soothing each other with eager presses of kisses and long, slow licks with hands that cling to each other. He starts to grind against her through his towel, her jeans making him slide roughly. That makes her pull away with a huff, and it’s not her usual pleasurable huffing. Elvis can tell she’s peeved before he can even pull back far enough to get a good look at her exasperated face.

“Why is this teenage fooling all we do?” she huffs.

“Well, Lord honey, if that’s how ya feel-“ he gripes and starts to slither down between her legs, ready to prove her a brat, and maybe torture her a bit. Death by orgasm. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“No, no.” She kicks and rolls away from him in a move he vaguely recognizes as from the “My baby is a swanky cat” choreography. “Nope, Mopey, tonight is gonna be about you.”

“About me?” he deadpans.

“Yup.” She nods and her hands are back on her hips and she’s back to eyeing him up like a plot of land freshly leveled for a subdivisions construction. “But first dance with me!”

She grabs at him and suddenly they’re in the middle of a vigorous and precarious dance off atop the mattress. Sheets and soft down cause two of hollywoods most sought after groovers to fall all over themselves and each other, hands clasped in a good Spanish pose, arms stiff and bracketing each other.

Everybody loves to cha cha cha

Little children like to cha cha cha

The cha cha cha

My baby couldn’t do the cha cha cha

Elvis forgets the renovating gleam in her eye and those unspoken refurbishing plans for a hot minute while watching Miss Susie Dean as Susie goes

I told her one, two

Cha cha cha

And one, two

Cha cha cha

And up now

Cha cha cha

And baby back now

Cha cha cha

And turn now, cross now! Oooh

I taught my baby to cha cha cha

Hearing Elvis sing along to someone else’s music is an entirely special experience Susie thinks more people ought to get the chance to watch, but some jealous and longing part of her is thrilled she’s one of few who’ll ever see Elvis belting out to Cooke while a boyish smile takes over his face, and his hips wiggle atop his swanky hotel bed in nothing but a resilient white towel. She grips his forearms harder and fully unleashes the little girl locked deep inside her. The one who misses goofing around and who only seems to thrive in the company of this very seductive, very goofy angel of a man. His grunts and groans and moans and trills shiver right through her and she longs for him, worse than most nights.

He executes and guides her in the cha cha steps perfectly, even as their bodies wobble towards the bedside lamp and then towards the TV set, a broken leg always in the cards with one snag or trip in the sheets. That would delay the windshield scene for him.

It’s that melancholy thought that has her swaying up closer to him and holding his hips comfortingly as the record turns and

I love, love, love you

For sentimental reasons..

The way men wrap towels round their hips and flip them over and over into indestructible loin clothes has long puzzled Susie, but she loves watching the way the dark trail of hair on his belly disappears beneath the white terry cloth, and how the v of his hips rolls and pumps his pelvis into the air in a mindless sort of entrancement. As if hypnotized she leans her head against his chest and looks down at him from above, perceiving the outline of him, that part of him that’s been inside her once but she’s never actually seen. She trails a finger down his chest, pink fingernails scraping lightly and trailing down to the towel and hooking inside, tugging a tiny bit, just to test the durability of that fold.

“Susie.” he murmurs warningly and she’s tired of that and not a little hurt at how he rebuffs her offers again and again.

“I’m a woman now, you do realize that don’t you? And I’ve got womanly tastes. Just want to make you feel good, Mopey.” she speaks earnestly into his chest.

“Thumper, you know I prefer lovin’ on you-“

“Is it so hard for you to imagine then, that I might want to love on you the same way?” She lifts those dark and perfectly lined eyes to his beseechingly and gah, it makes it worse than anything for him to deny her again.

“I-I-I’ll m-make love t-t-to ya t-tonight, if if that’s what you- you want-“

“Oh good lord,” she throws her hands up in the air, “you’re so thrilled at the prospect your tone sounds like you just got assigned latreen duty!” she gesticulates some more and nearly wobbles off the bed doing so. He grabs at her and saves them both, but his towel is a casualty.

He clutches her close to him standing on the mattress, and she’s surprised by that, the way there’s panic on his face and how he seems to plaster the naked length of himself against her clothed form, as if he’s safer that way. Gone is the Elvis who loves to joke off an embarrassing or saucy moment, Elvis who shoots her a dirty wink when she feels him growing beneath her during a steamy take. Gone is ole Mopey who, as a grown ass man, still refers to his cock as “little Elvis.”

Speaking of, she can feel the chubby length of him against her belly and she goes to grab ahold of him, maybe she’ll squeeze him a bit and lead him around by it like the petulant puppy he is. She can’t fully enact her plan as only part way down he arrests her movements with a gentle but inflexible grip around her wrist, hauling it back up between their chests.

“Elvis, what on earth is wrong?” she cries out, craning her neck to look him dead in the eyes and resolve his jumpiness over her touching him bare, once and for all. For a smug ‘lady killer’ he sure does act like a shy boy when a gal makes a move herself. “Are you sick?” she whispers as the thought strikes her suddenly that maybe he went a little hog wild with a couple hundred willing fans in the early days…

“What?” his eyebrows shoot up, “what? Hell naw, Susie I-I-I there never was a good time to say this but I just. I never wanted to disappoint ya-“

“Oh! Are you one of those baby Bella mushroom sizes?” Susie hasn’t had personal experience with a tiny knob but has always thought it might be fun to work one in her mouth. It’s an idiotic thought to apply to him the moment she gives it a second thought; she had felt him when he first met her and took her in the janitor’s closet. He felt mighty big then. She had been nearly a virgin but still, it felt big. That couldn’t be it…

“S-Susie.” he stutters real bad and she can feel his hands flexing against her upper arms, kneading the soft flesh in his anxiety, “it’s silly really but I just- it’s that…” his eyes pinch closed and he takes a deep breath before blurting out on the exhale, “I ain’t cut, Susie.”

Cut. She thinks of the director yelling “cut” at the end of countless scenes. She thinks of the barbed wire he hopped over the other day that sliced him real good on the hand. Cut. What the- oh. Uncut. He’s got an uncut cock. Her mouth dries out before it floods again in anticipation and she can feel her eyelids growing heavy as she yearns. Yearns for him badly and it’s no artifice when she licks her lips, trying to formulate a sentence that won’t make her sound half feral. As if he wasn’t alluring enough, now there’s this, and tonight is the night she’s going to have her way. She’ll devour him for once and make him let go of that obnoxious grip he has on every aspect of his life from how his burgers are cooked to how all sexual encounters go.

“-nice little girl like you probably-“ Meanwhile, Elvis is adding some stupid and defensive commentary to her youthful crisis, “-mama couldn’t really afford-“ as she thinks about and processes how this impossibly smug and suave cool cat has a hillbilly cock. And she wants it in her mouth, down her throat, nibbled to a angry, cherry red until he realizes she couldn’t care less that he isn’t like every dime a dozen heartthrob here in the city of angels. Actually she does care, she cares immensely, so much she’s gonna wreck him to prove it.

“Oh god.” Is all she manages initially and her voice sounds utterly fucked out even to her own ears. That gets him to stop his dumb monologue on how he’s more than happy just to mess around in other ways, and he’d never expect her to deal with that. “Oh god.” she moans into his mouth as she seizes the back of his head and brings him to meet her lips again, his stunned eyes still wide and blue and open. And little Elvis is beginning to grow brave and firm up, poking a little at her belly.

It’s not a joke as her knees begin to buckle and she lands on them with a hard bounce, a puddle at his feet, sheets crumpled beneath her knees. Dumbly she stares in reverence as she is finally face to face with him and -oh god, he’s exquisite and unmaimed and his initially unimpressive size is swelling into much more before her very eyes. It’s like watching the primal proof of his attraction grow beneath her heated stare. She places her hands lightly on those strong hips of his, holding him close and savoring the way she can feel the muscle flex beneath her palms. He’s so sturdy and she adores that about him.

The fact that he’d have rather hidden this from her, her! who he admits all sorts of shit to, who he’s cried on innumerable times, his Thumper, his ungentlemanly mistake turned bosom friend. It makes her vengeful almost, not towards him but the image of him. She feels a wave of anger for him and all the glitzy weight that’s rained down on him since he first caught the eye of the sleek and shiny machine. Forever unable to just be. Always in need of a touch up or a rewrite, a second take. Tonight is going to be impromptu, even if she has to bully him into it.

Sweet Susie is taking this vulgar aspect of him better than Elvis had anticipated. In some ways, that is. In others she’s acting batshit insane, looking like a fever has gotten to her, eyes gone glassy and then there’s the way she just slumped down the length of him and is now in a staring contest with little Elvis. It’s, well, it’s a lot for a man to shrug off, particularly when he likes and respects Miss Susie as much as he does. When he would like to be at his best for her and is severely lacking in the basics of that.

“We meet at last!” he hears her whisper down there to little Elvis, and it’s so goddamn weird yet she looks so hungry that he’s spooked by it. The spike of fear rips down his spine and his hardening cock jerks in response because he’s a twisted bastard.

She presses a kiss to the angry vein running along the underside and his own knees buckle at that. He grabs at her hair for some steadying balance, careful to not dislodge the pretty pink bow still holding her dark locks in a windswept bouffant.

“Yeah. You’d better sit down for this, partner.” She grins up at him from down there, teasing his accent.

“Susie-“

“Nope, this is happening.” she’s back in renovating mode and his chest feels a little tight and he’s not sure what he’s so scared about anyway, it’s just Thumper. Maybe it’s because it is Thumper that he’s so queasy about it. She’s a tomboy sure, but she’s always so put together, dainty and proper even in improper scenarios, she deserves the best and hell! -he’s pretty sure her parents are devout Catholics.

He lets his legs give out and he flops on his back, legs spread and a defiant look on his face, daring her to admit she’d rather not. But she doesn’t even look at his eyes, she just blows him an air kiss and then she's back to making conversation with his cock and Elvis wants to die or go back to eating his burger. Or her pussy, that would be nice -but no, Thumper is a stiff necked mule of a girl.

She gets down on her belly between his legs and props up on her elbows, nose close to touching him, “You’re as tanned as the rest of him!” she coos to it and it wobbles appreciatively, the length finally swelling enough to hold itself upright.

Elvis is turned on enough to get stiff but disconcerted and untouched as he is, it’s a slow process. He can’t remember the last time he watched it take its sweet time to get up. “Has he been sunbathing you, too? What a vain bastard! All golden and gleaming, even his pretty cock is all tanned. Does he spread suntan oil on you too? Does he forget himself and start jerking you off? Lord, has he ever burnt you like the silly, forgetful boy he is?”

The feeling of her breath huffing over him and her blatant ignoring of the rest of him is working way too well. Pretty in reference to his hillbilly cock is a goddamn lie but still, Elvis hates that she knows him this well, and he hears himself make a funny noise as she gossips about him to his own cock. “I’m gonna call you Coco, alright?” she makes this pact with little Elvis, reaching out to touch him for the first time, gripping him steadily and Elvis forgets for an second that “Coco” belongs to him, nothing is there to remind him he isn’t floating off the goddamn bed, leaving only his cock with Susie to discuss and tease his vanity and silly inhibitions.

This funky dream state gets jarred when she slides her hand up catching the fucking foreskin and begins to pull it back, farther and farther as it ought to go if his weren’t so tight and fucking weird.

“Ouch!” he hollers, fully back to earth and starts to pull away from her attentions, but she looks so grieved by that he reconsiders and takes a steadying breath before explaining, “It hurts to pull it back too far, very far at all, actually.” he admits, apologetic because that would get the wrinkly shit out of her way at least, but she doesn’t bat an eye. She just keeps looking at that swelling part of him with heavy lidded eyes, false lashes fluttering wildly at the corners, making her look like a love drunk animation. He’s seen girls look at his face this way but Susie hasn’t met his eye in a good 60 seconds or more.

“Aha right then.” she gives a vigorous nod, “Let me know things like that, I wanna know what it is you like.”

He doesn’t really know what he likes, beyond his own hand and grinding and being inside a woman. He’s never had someone have their tongue nearly loll out of their perfectly painted lips at the prospect of licking at him: not once they see what they’re dealing with. Usually this is when the lady politely glances away, maybe lays back, suggests a change of pace, a slight adjustment in the script. Those are the ones who aren’t revolted. Once he’s inside a dame, they tend to forget he’s a hick child from Tupelo, or at least they forget the more unseemly, economic realities of that, of being too poor to get trimmed up like all his fellows. Just another thing to make him set apart -odd. But Susie now, Susie’s an oddity like him and as he watches her lick her lips and stare little Elvis down, he’s uncertain he’s actually comfortable with this much devotion coming out of someone who oughta be getting worshiped by him.

She’s still eyeing him up, hungry as ever, and Elvis starts to wonder if he’s got it in him to handle this, if he might have got a freak on his hands.

This thought process comes to a halt as she does the unthinkable, bringing her hand around him and smoothing the skin forward, up and up until it is fully stretched out and only a round little disk of his pink head and his weeping hole is visible. And then he watches as if in slowed time as she takes him in her mouth just like that, her insistent suction tugging the skin further into its natural state, a state long denied it when in this context and Elvis is very much afraid that if he were a woman the sound he just made would be classified as a shriek.

She politely ignores his hollering and drags her tongue around his puffy head, flattening it suddenly like some goddamn gecko, slithering it inside the hood to lick round his pink glans and it’s, well, -it’s too much of a new thing to feel at 30 somethin’ years old and his knee jerk reaction is to plant his foot on her shoulder and shove her off.

She catapults backwards from his shove, back crashing into the TV while wearing an unphased Cheshire Cat smile. He tries not to sob from the sheer amount of feelings he is feeling about it all, his hands coming up to cover his face.

Poor Susie, poor him. Goddamn it all..

He knows if he tries to talk now it’ll be nothing but stuttering gibberish so he waits for her to come and sit beside him on the bed, hands gently petting his shoulders and raking through his tidy hair, pressing soothing kisses to what parts of his face she can reach through his hands.

“Hey, hey Mopey, you’re alright.” she coos and he thinks about shrugging her off for a minute, his pride a little hurt but he never was much good at shrugging off a comforting woman, not since mamas been gone, so he pulls his hands from his face and wraps his arms around Susie’s middle, catching his breath with his head cradled in her lap. “This is why I love an uncut man, so, so sensitive, aren’t you? I’ll be gentler.”

“No one’s ever done that weird ass tongue wriggling thing you just did.” he tries to justify the fact he threw her across the room. “Did I hurt you? You ok? -Wait!,” he sits up suddenly and his mind is whirring from putting puzzle pieces together, “you’ve done this before w-with some, some o-o-other man?”

“Yeah.” she gives him a soft grin, hand rising to his face and her long fingernails scratch at his sideburns like he’s a cat that can be pacified. Maybe he is, for her he’s close to purring.

“When?“ he demands, feeling very fatherly or some such shit. He wants to kick some ass.

“Remember that movie I shot in the Italian Riviera?”

“You were playing some Roman empress or somethin’, right?”

“Yes, that one,” she smiles dreamily, “well, the Italian producer took a shine to me. And you know that most Europeans aren’t cut either.”

“Really?” he pulls a funny face, mouth folding down dubiously, disgust at the thought of some wrinkly Italian having touched his Susie warring with the fact little Susie compares Elvis and his hick embarrassment to some exotic mogul. “And you liked that shit?”

“Oh I prefer it! So responsive!” she nods eagerly, and they’ve had this same talk about pistachio ice cream before, and Elvis really thinks he might go to hell for having been the one to put that hungry gleam in her eye. Over cock. His cock. A sort of vicarious damnation

“Damn right about the ‘responsive’ bit.” he grumbles.

“Now,” she is back to business and Elvis is back to being scared and horny, their brief cuddle session apparently at an end, “I’ll be sure to be gentler and ease you into it, maybe even give you a word to tap out if it gets to be too much. But you, you’ve gotta promise me that if you really want to explore this, you’ll be good and not throw me again.”

“I-“ -he ponders that and long buried memories of highschool jokes, cameras in the milltary barracks and snide comments from costume designers crowd in, the stupid patheticness of a man of his success and worldly confidence having trouble with this-

“You man enough, Presley?” Susie’s sprightly little dare cuts right through the static of his mind and the truth of the matter is, deep down, he wants her to thump him like she thumps his bike. Make him like it, force him to let go for once. But like hell can he actually manage to say that to her doll-like face. “Or are you gonna be a little bitch about getting your cock sucked?”

Alright maybe he can.

Susie is all woman in this moment and he realizes his little girl has grown up, she’s grown up watching him, learning him, and now she knows him too damn well. He loves a challenge and put that way…”You’re on.” he grins at her dangerously and she tries to keep her triumph subdued, just a little bounce back on her heels and a fierce kiss pressed to his lips.

“Thank you!” she whispers against his lips, eyes up close to his and he can see they are very giddy before she finally pulls away from him, pushing at his shoulders until he’s laying out all vulnerable again in the crisp sheets.

Bemused, he watches Susie bite at two manicured nails as she takes his submission in. They’re the prettiest shade of pink and he’s been trying to find the right name for it since filming began. Elvis asked her over lunch one afternoon and she said she didn't know, the makeup artist had chosen it. All he’s come up with is “nipple pink” -and that didn’t do him any favors sitting in the canteen in tight slacks, watching her Bambi soft eyes go wide when he actually said it out loud.

Now she gnaws on them while sizing up plans of torture for poor “Coco” and he grabs the sheets in his hands as a defensive measure.

“You ever been edged, Mopey?” she asks him.

“Not, not like this, nah. Not this way” he shakes his head, sucks in a breath, deciding to pull his legs up and plant his feet on the mattress, feeling a little steadier that way, “I mean, I’ve held off for a couple hours before, in between rounds or, ya know-“ he trails off because, no, he’s never done this, whatever this is that she has planned. He is sure of it without even knowing..

“Ok.” she gives him a sweet smile, “Well I’m going to be nice about it, so you’re lucky, but if it gets to be too much let’s have a word or phrase. Because we both know that your whiny little “no’s” don’t mean anything in the heat of the moment.”

He grunts and quirks an eyebrow to urge her to go on.

“So,” her tone is entirely fake in its soothing, “so if you just can’t stand being loved on without getting all macho and taking control, all you gotta say is ‘I’m a pussy’, ok?”

Oh goddamn. What a brat. He growls at her and thinks about flipping her up and over, having his way with her until she can’t form a coherent sentence. But that would just prove her point and this is a competition now, not just sex. The stakes are as high as the time she almost beat him at the corn toss last year. “Ok.” he grits out.

“Good boy.” she murmurs and it sends a shudder through him that he doggedly ignores, wary of that floaty feeling she inspired in him a little while ago. If he’s gonna best her at this crooked little game then he needs his faculties clear. “You all good, Elvis?”

“Yeah,” he gives her a cocky grin and forces his hands to relax, game face on and smug smile back in place, “have at it little girl.”

He hopes she’ll shed some of her clothes and she does but only her stiff blue jeans. Leaving her in her panties and that white crisp shirt which is very wrinkled now. The pink bow remains in her hair and serves to really fuck with his mind, along with her sweet face settling back between his legs, and Elvis is man like any other and he really, really wants to cum at the mere sight of her

“Now where were we, Coco?” she asks his weeping head and his hands start to tingle and he gets a really alarming feeling akin to stage fright, so he digs his heels further into the mattress to anchor himself. She blows on the wet head and the chill makes it twitch futilely, about as fed up as Elvis is over being teased this excessively. “So sensitive! I’m gonna have some fun with you baby. That silly man has been hiding you from me hasn’t you? Real mean of him to keep a toy like you from a girl he professes to spoil.”

It’s vague but also keen, this feeling of being ignored for his own good. Like Susie has kindly decided to remove Elvis and his goddamn lady killer reputation from the room, stripping him down to brass tacks, unmaning him to hopefully rebuild him. He really determines to give it the old college try by forcing himself to accept it, to remember that this is little Susie who’s got him in a such a vulnerable state, and while she might be a stinker, she hasn’t got a cruel bone in her body. He makes himself take steadying breaths and focus on the way her tiny hands grip him and move up and down, never ignoring the hood, always incorporating it in the sweet, slow drag. The way she rolls his foreskin up and over his weeping head again and again is just the right amount of friction, like she’s been watching the way he does it himself and he can’t help but start thrusting a little. His hips flex on their own and his mind settles into the well worn groove of needing to finish, the: “fuck it, who cares I need to cum” mentality that’s had him risking plenty of scandals in public or with the wrong lady, just because he can’t stop once it gets this good. He can taste each roll and grip and drag of her nails, and he needs more.

He lets out a heartfelt moan when her mouth starts running up the crease of his thigh, and that makes her give him a responding one. He can’t overthink now, can’t object to the way Susie has started to lick the pulsing vein underneath, collecting the salty taste of him, moaning all the while like she’s getting a deep Swedish massage or some shit. She looks like she’s in heaven kissing his balls and he whines at that, can’t help it because she looks so defiled right now.

His thighs begin to quiver as her lips drag over his tightening balls, her hands along his cock feeling too good. She’s been nice like she said she would be, no more tongue dipping into the glans and he thinks he might get through this unscathed until her hands stop and she pauses from licking at him like he’s a lollipop, to murmur to wobbling length,

“Oh pretty Coco, you look ready to pop! So soon? You can, you know, you can whenever you want, but I’m not stopping after that. We made a deal.”

Elvis heaves a breath in and somehow it sounds as loud as a wheezbag. He holds it in hopes that maybe the tunnel vision he’s got will calm down, the sheets feeling very foreign against his fingertips.

“You ok you there, Presley?” Susie checks in, raising her eyes from his engorged cock to watch his flushed face, because he hasn’t said anything in minutes as his body grows more and more desperate, all he’s been giving her are pained noises and shocked little gasps. “If you can’t talk baby, tap my hand.”

“I can talk, dammit.” he snaps, “Just wanna cum.”

“Oh alright, we’ll get you there then.” she smiles at him, pleased with the petulant set of his mouth that she’s about to erase.

“Wanna be in you.” he tries, hoping maybe her jaw is getting tired and she’ll abandon this science experiment. “Make you feel real good, lil one.”

“Later. If you’re good for me.” she assures him, “Remember, Mopey, nothing’s getting you out of this but a tap on the hand or our agreed upon phrase.”

“Later then, I’m gonna ruin you.” He snarls.

She watches his face closely as he threatens and then accepts with a roll of his eyes and a head toss against the pillows, setting his face like he does when he just wants to get a scene over with. Poor man, he needs this badly, and Susie figures that maybe edging isn’t his cure, overestimation seems more like the ticket to make him lose his mind. His true mind, the one that needs to give in for an hour or two and let himself be wrung out.

With that ambition in mind she starts stroking him in earnest with one small hand, first focusing on the base until he starts to settle and relax. “C’mon, that’s it, you can thrust baby, let’s get you there.”

He gives a little nod and a moaning assent, broad and gleaming shoulders melting back into the bed even as those snake like hips start to work in earnest with her subdued motions. She spares her left hand to place it on his thigh, just to feel the muscle work, dragging her thumbnail on the soft inside. The scrape makes him shudder, more slick seeping out of his foreskin and dripping down his length and she figures it’s now or never.

He’s distracted with bucking up into her grasp and with his eyes clenched closed he doesn’t see when she props herself up and opens her mouth to swallow him down. Predictably the lower half of him jolts clear off the bed, shoving his cock further into her mouth and she’s ready for it, swallowing him down and keeping her teeth clear.

His breath catches before his voice booms with a plaintive, “Oh god, oh no, oh god!” His hands are shaking like they’re motorized and he grips the edge of the bed in one while the other restlessly roams his chest and throat in a strange and soothing sort of tick.

Keeping the majority of his length snug against her tongue, Susie does the nice thing and rubs her hands along his shaking thighs in a soothing gesture, humming to him with his length still down her throat and his neck snaps back so fast in response he looks mildly possessed.

“God, Susie, I’m gonna!-“ he sounds very worried about it and she’s not having that at all.

She rubs the firm line of his lower belly and takes him out a little so it’s mostly just the tip and its sensitive hood left in her mouth and she works him him gently, lolling him around patiently and she’s rewarded within the minute by his pleas coming back in high pitched whines, like the kind he playfully uses in his songs and it’s the sweetest recompense for her efforts.

“Where, where d-d-do you, where do you-y-you want m-me t-to-“

She pops off him for a split second to chirp, “In my mouth baby.”

Then she gets back to it, sucking gently and working the foreskin this way and that, harmless little nibbles to it that has him sitting up straight in the bed with a sudden rush of adrenaline. His belly shaking he’s so close but he has to watch this, has to see for himself that little Susie is moaning like a paid whore while worrying his extra skin with her painted lips. He starts shaking so badly at the sight of her and gratefully she looks up and meets his eyes right when he needs to see her soul, her doe eyes are full of nothing but assurances, lust and enjoyment. Disbelieving but incapable of anything else, Elvis has all he needs in this moment,. He takes his Thumper at her word and cums against the roof of her mouth in long and steady spurts, his strength giving out as he sags back against the sheets.

“Oh goddamn, little girl.” he groans and hopes he’ll hit ground gently because right now he’s close to the moon he’s so heady.

“My word Presley, you taste Devine.” she moans back to him as soon as she is done slurping him up.

He feels his cock give an indecisive twitch at hearing her hoarse praise before it starts to soften. He’s really quite busy digging his fingers into his eye sockets in hopes that he’ll stop seeing stars so he misses it when she reaches up to her hair and tugs the pink bow out, bringing it down to his slick length and wrapping it around the base.

Hyper aware of everything relating to little Elvis right now, he flails at the feel of velvet sliding along it and before he can crack his eyes open and asses what the hell Susie is up to, his freshly sucked cock is being subjected to the hellish sensation of a hairbow being cinched around its base.

Through the pounding in his ears he hears her sweet little voice mummering: “Don’t get soft on me now, ole man. We aren’t done.”

“For fucks sake, Susie!” he thunders and launches up in a sitting posture, just in time to watch her add the finishing touches to a pretty little bow at the base of his vibrantly angry cock. “Susie, I swear, no, just no I-“

“There’s a word for ‘no’ here, Mr. Presley, and it isn’t no.” she kneels there between his legs, transatlantic accent sounding very commanding and her hands folded primly as if she didn’t just force all the circulation to stay in his aching cock. “Dost wish to tap out?”

He glares at her, shooting daggers and vindication that has made grown men shrink before him. She just keeps batting those Bambi eyes and takes to trailing a fingernail up the seam of his balls and he swears he didn’t sob from the feel of it, he just took a weird sounding breath, is all.

Elvis is almost where she wants him, he’s alarmed that he has more in him, but terrified that giving in to her will result in him really letting go. She wants him just past that, in just enough pain to be begging for her to end it by helping him chase his pleasure again. His bottom lip starts to wobble and watching it closely she moves her fingernail with unhurried determination down his balls, passing them and to that smooth stretch of skin right behind them, leading to his puckering hole. His eyes blow wide as he suspects her destination and it’s comical to see the relief on his face when she goes no further, just keeps rubbing that smooth stretch of skin until he sucks in a deep breath from something other than nervousness. Too late he realises his mistake, his stupid worry that she was going to play with his ass blinded him to the fact that rubbing right behind his balls is painfully good and he wasn’t ready to feel this good, this needy, this soon.

Susie finds that watching his balls draw up snug against the velvet bow is really the cutest thing, they’re having a grand time and their owner is making incoherent sounds and hand motions that suggest he wants her to climb up on the bed with him, be closer to him as he lays back down, his body trembling too hard to hold him up.

She feels a great deal of satisfaction at having him so overcome, she has seen him performing and at play, he has astounding stamina and a shocking amount of toughness when it comes to pushing through that pain threshold. She can tell now that it’s that very gift that was keeping him back in this setting. He nearly sinks down to blissful surrender but that mechanism keeps hauling him back out like he’s getting waterboarded instead of loved on. But he’s trembling now, hands reaching for something and his eyes look utterly lost, he’s sinking and she’s there to catch him

Settling on the bed between his splayed legs she leans over him and takes a moment to soothe him, trace his face and swipe the tears she is astounded to find on his cheeks.

“I’ve got you Mopey, we’re gonna let you break free, together, I promise.” he clutches at the back of her neck when she gets close to his ear and she only hears moans from him for a while. “You trust me?”

His hand is shaking badly where it rests on the back of her neck but she feels him starting to rut against her belly, pain having been overcome by need. “Please, mama” he chokes out. “Please, I wanna be good.”

“You’re always good for me, baby. Always.” she drags her mouth against those high cheekbones and tastes salt. “You’ll be good and tell me if it’s too much, right?” She pulls away to stare him down, make him focus on her eyes and when he does they’re shimmering sapphires in the lamplight. Her breath hitches in awe of him.

“W-wa-want y-you t-t-to ha-have f-fun.” he gasps out and that is a different voice, one she hears when he’s playing with children or making voices up for the sock puppets. It’s a little boy’s voice and she’s sure now he’s gone at last. “W-want t-to make m-my lil Susie p-p-proud.”

“I’ve never been prouder, baby boy. I love you.” she swears and now is not the time for it but it slices through his haze and strikes him as just what he needs. He looks all of 17 himself right now and her heart warms.

“I-I know!” he cries low and anguished, and his lip really is wobbling in earnest now, lashes clumping into dark little spears, “You, you a-always s-s-show me.”

“I’m gonna show you now.” she vows, “I’m going to show you how perfect and lovely and beautiful you are to me.” she kisses down the length of his sweaty chest, his hands never leaving some part of her. Her shoulders, her hair, her arms, constantly petting her and clinging as she goes further downwards. “Wouldn’t be such a challenge to get you to be selfish for a second if you weren’t the most giving man on the planet, Mopey. Look at the production you made me go to just to love on you!”

He does look at his vibrant pink cock and the bow around it and the way Susie won’t suck it like a normal human, she keeps kissing his thighs instead and sucking his balls with loving devotion and he cries from it, unabashedly whining and whimpering from how horribly lovely it feels.

Minutes go by and he tries to savor the white noise in his ears, the pounding of his pulse and the feel of her smearing her lipstick on his sack, all the while dreading and needing the moment she finally takes his jerking cock back into her mouth. She grins at the way it’s wobbling and twitching, like a white flag of surrender begging for her terms, anything she asks for and he’ll give it. It’s shining in the lamp light as precum sputters out of it almost as plentiful as seamen in an orgasm.

“Oh mama.” he keeps groaning in between sobs and she rubs her breast harder against the top of his hairy thigh, nearly insane herself from the sight of him this wrecked. Suave and smug Elvis Presley is weeping and thrusting his uncut cock into the air, a hand gripping the strands of his immaculate pompadour until it’s falling into his face, all in hopes she’ll let him cum sometime soon.

“Dear god, you are exquisite right now.” she moans, uttelry moved that he trusts her this much.

“B-be good to me, mama, I-I need-“ he stutters out, voice shaky, switching course part way through his sentence, “-a-am I-I what y-y-you wanted?”

“You are better than my wildest fantasies, sweet man.” She swears earnestly before giving in to the thing he needs. And dreads.

He was right to dread it. When she does envelop him again, it’s like fire and lightning shooting straight up his spine and the ache in his balls resonates with the ache in his chest and he howls, ass clenching, trying in vain to pump out the seed she’s clamped off. She rides him with her mouth like a damn bullrider, going with him as he makes a bridge with his hips, his whole body strung taut in the moment of denial before slumping back again, eyes wild and chest heaving, unable to release.

His body is eel-like as he writhes in the sheets, svelte and lithe, undulating and seizing up in preparation only for the cruel hairbow to dash him back to earth. Susie is losing her mind right along with him, watching this morphing of a man into his most primal state. She tastes nothing but his salty precum and she rolls his foreskin around in her mouth like a chocolate, occasionally diving down the length of him until her nose is buried in his dark thatch of hair.

It’s suckling the tip that sends him wild, so she spares it often, making sure to give him a chance to breath in between her attentions, but there’s nothing more gorgeous than watching him shake and writhe with no aim in mind, gown dumb with need. The minutes begin to bleed for him and all he can think is that he’s being good, that he’s powerless and weirdly he takes some pride that his sacrifice, each shudder and burn of holding back, makes her pleased with him.

A shaky hand comes down to where she’s scratching his thatch of pubic hair and after a brief moment she catches on to his need, entangling their fingers together as he swims to the surface long enough to shudder and mouth incoherent praises at his lil friend.

“You’re a keeper, honey.” he pants, eyes glittering and his neck strained with the effort to hold his fuzzy head up off the pillow.

“And you, Presley,” she grins at him as bright and joyous as ever, “you look awfully pretty like this, mouth hung open, eyes rolling back. Coco downright weeping for me.”

“I-I-I’m glad.” he whispers hoarsely. “T-thank y-y-you, ma-mama.”

She chuckles, because even teetering on the edge of brainless he’s still a darling. It seems he’s forgotten he even has a need at this point, hips stilling and whines ceasing as he pants, his eyes wavering in and out of focus. They’ve finally passed that line and it’s just him and Susie floating here in white sheets while she tells him he’s pretty and good. She starts to consider that maybe she should start pulling him back up in case he’s forgotten the code.

Then the hand limply holding her own squeezes tight and he mumbles into his pillow, head turned away from the bedside lamp, “I needs it bad mama, please mama!” he whines, hand clutching his own hair and his whole body starts to vibrate as if revving from deep within.

“You wanna let go?” she whispers, spitting gently on the head of him, adding to the gooey mess pouring out of him.

“P-please, oh please, I aint gots it-“ he sobs, baby talk slurring through.

“You’ve been so good baby,” she coaxes, “mama is gonna get you there.”

“Need-n-n-need to pee mama.” He whimpers bewildered.

Good lord he’s so far gone.

She makes sure to grip his hand tight and assuring as she takes him in her mouth once more, tonguing at the leaking slit and his scream is deafening and on pitch, shifting into a wheeze as she yanks the bow loose and takes her mouth off to watch the fountain of seed that comes spewing out of him. His jaw works frantically and his mouth is agape as he tastes freedom and epiphany and trust and all he knows is that he can let go at last. So he does, his muscles locking up for ages, emptying himself and he’s entirely unaware and uncaring of where he’s spraying until he hears Susie’s shocked cheer,

“Mopey you’ve hit the ceiling!” and to his misery and relief her mouth comes back to swallow what he’s giving up, warm and wet and rhythmically swallowing down his spend until it’s making him frantic for nothingness and he cries out,

“I-I-enough, enough, i I like, no I- I I am a pussy! Goddamn it!”

She stops immediately and he feels nothing at all for a few moments. He might as well be dead he is so lost to his reality, numb and his sight gone until he feels her slide beside him, soft, small hands that he’d know even in death, gentling him back to earth.

“Can I quote you on that, Presley?” she grins and he only knows that because he can feel the curve of her cheek against his own as he shudders and relearns how to breath. “Look, you’ve ruined mama’s pretty bow!” she dangles soaked pink velvet in front of his face, and for some reason that’s what makes him blush scarlet.

He lifts his eyes to find that there is a glistening wet spot on the ceiling. Oh goddamn. He moans and gives into the need to burrow, deep deep inside of her, this nasty little girl who knows and loves him. He settles for pressing his face into her breasts, the near suffocating dampness of her flesh a comforting transition after being deprived of air by his own hyperventilation for so long. She obligingly gathers him in, throws a leg over his trembling body to bring him closer and he makes himself small and savors it. Nuzzling into her skin and pressing lazy kisses to her skin, trying to say what can’t be said.

Susie finds words first, “Thank you.” she whispers into his hair, “You just gave me a precious gift. You should have seen yourself, a force of nature, Presley.”

He knows his smushed face is blushing and he tries to raise a hand to bat at her face, waggle her chin teasingly but it just flops aimless and enervated. Gah he’s really wrecked. And sleepy. He grabs at her harder as things start to slip in mushy and cloudy softness. She squeezes back just as hard.

“That’s it Mopey,” she gives him head scratches and that’s when he slips away, downwards but it’s not into blackness, it’s into warmth, “drift off, I’ve got you. I’ll be here when you wake up. Maybe hold you to that ‘later’ you swore to me.”

[fanfics4all]

Mint

Request: Yes / No Fluffcember Day 29

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Ambrose Spellman x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 639

Warnings: Just fresh fluff!

Prompt(s): Mint

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

The Spellman Mortuary was decked out in a strange but oddly fitting mix of holiday decorations and eerie decor. Candles flicker alongside garlands of pine, and silver tinsel caught the light, casting shadows that made the place feel as enchanted as it was mysterious. The familiar hum of magic filled the air as Ambrose and I hovered over a bubbling cauldron in the dimly lit kitchen. 

“Alright…” He said, grinning as he carefully measured out crushed peppermint leaves. 

“A pinch of mint should ass a festive twist, don’t you think?” I laughed, watching as he dropped the mint into the cauldron. The bubbling potion turned a pale, frosty blue and let off a sweet, cool scent that filled the kitchen with something between holiday cheer and mystery. Ambrose was in his element, his eyes bright with excitement as he stirred the potion. 

“What’s next Potion Master?” I tased, crossing my arms and watching him smile. He wiggled his eyebrows, looking very pleased with himself. 

“Next, a touch of cinnamon bark for warmth and a sash of star anise for luck. We can’t have a proper Yule potion without luck, now can we?” I shook my head, charmed by his attention to detail. He moved with an elegance that was uniquely his. Every sprinkle, stir, and whispered incantation was infused with precision and care. I handed him the small vial of cinnamon, watching as he added it to the cauldron. A warm, spiced aroma mingled with the cool mint. The mixture was turning into something magical, even to someone without an ounce of witchy blood like me. 

“Do I get to help?” I asked, reaching for the rod. He placed it in my hand, his fingers brushing mine, and it lingered for just a moment longer than necessary. 

“Of course, love. Give it three gentle stirs clockwise, then tap the edge twice. We want to coax out the mint’s energy, not overwhelm it.” He said softly. 

With his instructions, I stirred. I felt a spark of magic course through the rod. The potion responded, bubbling and glowing faintly and I glanced up at him surprised. 

“You’ve got the touch.” He whispered, his eyes sparkling as he watched me. 

“Maybe it’s rubbing off on me.” My cheeks warming. He chuckled, taking my hand again and guiding me to sprinkle a bit of crushed holly berries into the potion. The cauldron gave off a soft, cool burst of minty mist that swirled around us, shimmering with flecks of silver like tiny snowflakes. It was enchanting and I couldn’t help but be amazed at the way Ambrose could transform even the smallest ingredients into something beautiful. 

“Alright…” He dipped the ladle into the potion and poured a small amount into a glass vial. He handed it to me with a grin. 

“...our very own Yuletide Elixir. It’ll bring clarity, warmth, and just a hint of seasonal spirit.” I held up the vial, watching the pale blue liquid shimmer in the light. 

“What exactly does it do?”

“Ah, that’s for you to discover. It’s personalized. You may find it brings you unexpected joy, or a little good luck, or perhaps just a bit of festive cheer. It’s different for everyone.” He explained. I smiled, cradling the vial in my hand. 

“Well, let’s find out.” Ambrose took my other hand and raised the potion in a toast. 

“To us, and to finding magic in the little things.” We both took a sip and the cool refreshing tingle spread through me, like the taste of mint, snow, and spice all at once. I felt a burst of joy that seemed to light up my entire chest and I looked at Ambrose, feeling like we were the only two people in the world. 

“Merry Christmas, Ambrose.” I whispered and he smiled, pulling me in for a kiss.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1

[ashadowofburnedoutstardust]

Finally heard back from the specialist

I've got an appointment in about a month which to be honest in terms of getting hold of a specialist is actually pretty quick

It's been a massive learning curve using my left hand for everything, though I still cannot write, no can I use a proper keyboard, but I can do most other things

I can't type so I have to use voice to text for everything, and because I can't write meaning that means I can't edit any photos either as I have to use my wacom pad and I can't even hold a pen properly at the moment

I can move my hand forward and I can close my fingers into a fist again, but I have no grip strength and I cannot put any weight on my arm without it hurting

Mechanically speaking, and this is quoting the physio, I cannot physically flex my hand backwards. I also can't fully rotate my arm properly

Apparently the compact fracture has not quite healed properly and my wrist has been set in the wrong position and without surgery I may not regain proper use of it which is annoying given that it is technically my dominant hand

So I continue on with my Italian lessons to pass the time

I've started evening walks again although I'm skipping it tonight because it's a heavy flow day and I feel like s***

I have to say the honey/lemon/ginger/cinnamon mix that I've been drinking in warm water not only seems to be making a difference in terms of my hydration and my skin, but it also seems to have reduced the sugar cravings that I've spent the majority of my life battling with

It turns out cinnamon is something that helps balance your sugar levels which is something I picked up from the herbalism page I follow where I recently signed up for an introductory course, although I didn't know that at the time when I made the syrup to begin with, I just wanted something to take the edge off what the lemon does to my stomach if I have too much of it

When I go to make the next batch I might try making something else alongside it as I don't want to get bored of the taste, but I may end up making this particular drink my evening one as it's main intention is to soothe and it seems to help my stomach

My cup of tea from the other day was actually the first time I've had any amount of caffeine in a very long time, it was a cup of earl grey, black with brown sugar (trust me on the brown sugar thing it does a whole caramel thing that you will definitely enjoy)

[edenfire]

For the ask game: U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

(+ favourite ship for each??)

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

1) Makoto Tachibana (free!): god he's just so soft and sweet and kind and fiercely loyal to his friends and family,,, and like, in addition to that, i find his insecurities particularly relatable;; plus he's a very caring and genuine person,, and i find his crybaby moments to be particularly endearing like i need to protect this boy at all costs!! not to mention he's gorgeous lol it was love at first sight i knew he'd be a big softie from day one <3 <3 <3 my top ship for him is ofc: harumako! <3

2) Goro Akechi (persona 5): to be honest, i fell for his detective prince, sweet, naive persona (another case of love at first sight lol) but his ragged, broken, and sharp parts captivated me too🥺his big brown eyes and deranged demeanor have bewitched me body and soul <3 <3 <3 and like how much he loved his mother and how society had discarded him and abandoned him for being an illegitimate child with no family or support really got me in the sob story feels tbh;;; like he struggles so much to do the right thing, but deep down in his heart he cares for and wants to fight for justice he's deeply insecure and feels like he's ultimately unlovable and my heart just aches for him;;; my baby </3 how he truly craves being accepted for who he is even if he's shattered and messy and rough around every edge i think he genuinely cares for akira as being the first person to acknowledge and accept him for all of his faults and meet him where he's at and truly challenge his worldview. his greatest wish is to be together with akira and i cry every day thinking about it (also also he's such a fucking dweeb when he geeks out about how the metaverse works and his lil lightsaber and ray gun and his little dance during his all out attack god i love him so much) and ofc my otp for him is: shuake!! <3 <3 <3

3) Saika Totsuka (oregairu): i'll be fully honest, it was tough picking a third character bc there are so many that i love, but makoto and goro are like my TOP babygirls (i literally spun a wheel between saika totsuka, keith kogane, and kenny mccormick lol) but saika is the absolute definition of sweetheart!!! <3 <3 <3 cinnamon roll too good for this world,, too pure,, like not only is he really soft and sweet, but he is by far the most considerate character in the show <3 <3 <3 when hachiman is being self-sabotaging and is really struggling, saika was the only one who asked him how he felt and if he was okay;;;; he also seems to be the only character that genuinely really cares for hachiman and accepts him as an imperfect person while still trying to support him and help him when he needs it,, he's just so kind and openly loving that i melt whenever he's onscreen <3 it also helps that he's cute as a button lol <3 naturally, my top ship for him is: hachisai <3

thank you anon for being so sweet and sending me this ask!! im sorry this post is so long but i just love my boys sooooo much <3 <3 <3

if you'd like to send me an ask from this game, the list of questions is > right here < or if you'd like to reblog it yourself~~

[anthonybialy]

Controversy Settled

No: you’re wrong.  Humans argued about every last thing before social media’s invention, although the ease of typing a bitchy reply to a stranger not in the same room because the fiend dared claim Lucky Charms are better than Cinnamon Toast Crunch exacerbated the unfortunate tendency.  The existence of personal tastes remains outrageous.

Fighting regarding all imaginable stupid topics has extended to political stances that were once rightly dismissed as fringes.  Living on the edge isn’t as exciting as rock stars claimed.

People now routinely spar over what shouldn’t be controversial in order to ensure the goal of keeping unity evasive.  Dissenters are stupid jerks, anyway.  I don’t agree to disagree.  Not everything needs to spur an argument.  Sure it does, you say.  A fervent commitment to normalizing lunacy shouldn’t be accepted as a normal term.  Everyone thinks everyone else has lost it, but actuality only conforms with some claims.

China sucks.  They crush freedoms every chance they get, including the one of everyone else to breathe freely.  A country populated with a few tyrants is an American enemy for good reason.  Contempt is based in outlook and behavior, not petty jealousy.  We didn’t arbitrarily select a nation of ineptly cranky genocidal totalitarian supervillains as a foe like gym class dodgeball.  They won’t simmer down and sit with us at lunch.

The most grateful Americans show how much they love the free world by mocking the notion it has enemies.  Treating fighting terrorism like the evil was the precedent.  Freedom’s exploiters never got around to condemning the Soviet Union’s clunky attempts to conquer the areas it hadn’t yet ruined, perhaps because they sympathized with the ultimately daft notion of government making life go.

We all remember spending high school biology classes telling teachers they didn’t know anything.  Noticing genders are predetermined is scientific and so transphobic.  Similarly, grades are bigoted.  Context changes everything, like whether or not you’ll be banished from this loving society.  Claiming someone was born this way is either an indisputable fact or the most diabolical insult.

There may not be bugs on you.  Telling someone who incorrectly claims there are they are totally right is the opposite of helping.  Coddling is the new form of enlightened compassion.

Helping those who are confused avoids getting a second thing wrong.  Vainly attempting to verify a strong personal feeling that’s in defiance of observation shows the limits of fact-checking.  Alleged verifiers may believe the same silliness.  The correct classification is not to hurt feelings, which is what this is all about.  Calling it a mental condition is an acknowledgment of struggling to perceive reality that can be treated.  

Seeing government at work doesn’t work should inform every opinion.  But, as with indulging delusions about deciding to flip genders, results are deemed irrelevant.  Self-righteousness on behalf of silly notions explains why there’s so much arguing about incontrovertible notions.

The side that claims they’re for facts and science spends most of their full days warping narratives in order to make them fit their twisted takes.  They also got shutdown bullying wrong.  That’s unless the health goal was to boss around others, which may be the case.  People might be free to choose who deserves their business for the best price.  But options are only allowed when it comes to terminating inconvenient babies.

A radical is now someone who advocates a system where someone other than our stupid and rotten politicians decide what should be built.  Czechoslovakia may have gone extinct for good reason.  We could call the concept a free market.  Disappointed liberals despise the notion because the right to negotiate is the free part, not the stuff.

Suspicion of anything that seems American is one way to express patriotism.  Ungrateful citizens like everything about this country but its essence.  Those who think life should feature guarantees prove why they never work.  This country is about not promising stuff, which is a promising outlook.  Demanding this icky nation take guns and the choice of insurers is how liberals create certainty.  They succeed in the sense of achieving the precise opposite.

A reflexive debate is surely well-considered.  Screaming about restructuring the universe inspires flinching.  The sanctimonious never ponder why they believe in what they do.  That’s why they believed it in the first place.

A continuous unwillingness to examine results leads to blaming lack of gun control for shootings in jurisdictions with plenty of it.  Every single last topic simply must be made into bickering.  Taking a stance against anything conservatives might like is a sign of maturity in multiple senses.

The quarrelsome flaunt how truly independent they are by rejecting anything their foes believe.  Check details later.  Wondering why it’s so tough to find common ground is common amongst juvenile adults who squabble about accepted truths as part of their ideology.

Point out how many times sanctimonious liberals would agree with Donald Trump if you replaced his name with Joe Biden’s for a rueful laugh.  You’ll never guess who was for shutdowns, tariffs, and endless entitlements.  The names of tiresome types who turn incontrovertible notions into rumbles never change.

[mega-punani]

Okay this may sounds weird, but In your pirate au (which I really love the idea and how the crew look like).

But if a child (or a baby idk) is found on their ship, what would be their reaction?

Im sure cinnamon would be so wholesome.

IT THIS A HEADCANNON MOMENT? I def think this is a headcannon moment 🙂

How are the Skull pirates with a little kid Y/N:

(NOT ROMANTICALLY)

Sans found a lil you! And now, you're part of the crew as the official adopted child? How do you guys get along?

Sans: He's kind of a dad figure to you. He says dad jokes ALL OF THE TIME. And the amount seemed to have doubled the moment you got on board. He's always sleeping too, and sometimes when you need him for something, he fake snores, so you would ask someone else. You remind him a lot of when Papyrus was a kid, and he likes reminiscing on it, much to Pap's embarrassment.

Papyrus: Since he's so energetic, he's practically the perfect babysitter! You'll run around for hours and get into silly little competitions. You just think it's fun, and Papyrus gets genuinely competitive. Of course, the great Papyrus will let you win once in a while. Seeing you so happy and chipper brings a smile to his face. After a day of puzzles and battles, he'll give a very tired you a piggy back ride to bed.

Blue: Blue forgets that kids are fragile (as he was not a particularly weak child) and sometimes puts you in danger. Not by accident, of course! Much to your delight, but the crews horror, he brings you along on many dangerous endeavors. You'll both be in huge trouble after, but the adventure was always worth it.

Stretch: Stretch doesn't smoke around you cause "it's bad for the baby." He'll tease a lot and poke fun at you, never in an overwhelming way, though. He's a fun dude to talk to if you disregard the constant puns, and you both like getting philosophical. Well, as philosophical as a kid, your age gets. Sometimes you two make goofy songs together and perform it to the crew.

Red: You are usually told not to bother Red, as he's usually working on something dangerous that can get you hurt. But occasionally, you'll sneak in to talk to him, and he's quite a buddy to have! He tells you a bunch of stories, real and fake, while tinkering away at whatever he's working on. Sometimes, he'll even let you try, but he gets in trouble cause no fire around the kiddo.

Edge: Mama hen all the way. He helicopter parents you sometimes and really can't help it. You're just a child. He's scared you might get hurt in this dangerous world of pirates. When he isn't hovering over you to make sure you're safe, you and him enjoy tea time with books and snacks. Sometimes, he'll read stories to you dramatically while you laugh away. Or he'll read you his boring archeology books to put you to sleep.

Razz: Razz really didn't like you at first, but you really grew on him. He will let you scrawl on his leftover papers and let you crayon over scrapped maps. Sometimes, he'll humor you and hang it on the wall with all of his finished maps. If you're dirty, he'll spray you down with a raincloud and dry you off with wind. He refuses to do it for the rest of the crew, though. They are perfectly capable of cleaning themselves off!

Cash: Cash loooooves poking fun at you. You're just so small and easy to bully! He'll snatch things out of your hands before you can even blink. Then, he'll just place it back in your hands like he did nothing wrong. He also doesn't smoke around you: Edge's rules. He will whine about it to you all the time, so you just give him candy to gnaw on.

Bear: Small child. Must keep safe. Bear makes sure you are safe and healthy at the end of the day. You always get a good portion of food and slap at Blue when he tries to take a bite out of your plate. He definitely seemed scary at first, but you'll come to realize he genuinely means no harm. If you have trouble sleeping, he'll get you some cookies and a warm glass of milk.

Cinnamon: Cinnamon is a great buddy, and you two like fishing together. He's also very thoughtful and doesn't get you to do too many dangerous activities in fear of your safety (and his). You two will sometimes throw bottle corks at each other for aiming practice. Of course, he always hits you right on the head, and you sometimes get him with them. You guys like doing trickshots with his aim.

[bellascool]

I wish I never existed Pablo Gavi imagine

Posted : 29/01/2023

Posted : 29/01/2023

My life is so damn worthless.

I was standing on the edge of a cliff, watching the large city of Barcelona, thinking about leaving everything in that city and starting a new life alone.

I have a girlfriend, dating her for 2 years now. She's wonderful, she helps me when I feel down but I just wanted to be alone right now.

Everything was good in my life, I was good with money, my love situation was nice too, my family loves me and I have a nice career on football but I still wanted to leave everything behind me.

"Damn, I wish everyone could just forget about me like I never existed." I said to myself, watching the large city by night.

I suddenly felt a heavy headache come from nowhere as I sat down, feeling deezy. My eyes slowly shut down and everything went dark.

When I opened my eyes, it was still night and it seemed like nothing changed, I checked my phone to see the time, it was 19:32 (7:32pm), damn only 10 minutes passed.

I went back to where I parked my car to only find a vacant parking spot.

Oh shit. Don't tell me my car got stolen please.

After some minutes of searching, I gave up. My car was definitely stolen.

I walked to my shared apartment with Y/n, which was 10 minutes away.

What a nice day. I want to disappear, someone stole my car, it's cold and my phone died.

As I was walking, I saw a familiar shape.

"Pedri!" I yelled, running up to him but when I taped his shoulder, I was met by an unknown look.

Definitely not Pedri.

"Oh I'm sorry I thought you were someone I know." I apologized, the man just nodded and kept on walking.

After some minutes, I finally arrived at my apartment but when I tried to put my keys on the lock, it just didn't work. 

Oh well, maybe I didn't pay attention and took the wrong keys.

I knocked on the door, waiting for Y/n to open and greet me with a hug as she always did, but instead all I got was a strange gaze.

"Y/n!" I said with a smile, leaning to kiss her but she took a step back

"Excuse me but do I know you?" She said, still suspicious 

Okay now what the actual fuck

"Nice joke, amor, but I won't fall for it" I said chuckling a bit but immediately stopped when I saw her serious face 

"I'm sorry but I really don't know who you are, maybe you went to the wrong person? And how do you know my name?" She asked with a confused tone

"We're literally dating, stop with your joke Y/n. I don't find it funny." I finally said with a serious face

"Yeah sure we're dating and I'm the queen of Spain. Now if you'll excuse me, I have something to do. Have lovely night." She tried to close the door but I stopped it by putting my foot, starting to panic.

"Look, please let me in and I'll explain to you." I begged, she seemed to hesitate before letting me in

It was cosy and sophisticated, just like her. She always loved when everything was clean and I always loved to take her to expensive hotels when I had a match, the smile on her face seeing how clean it was had no value for me.

I sat down on the couch as she did the same with the opposite one.

"So.." She started, waiting for me to continue

"Look, we've been dating for 2 years, you love cats, specially when they have long hair, you also love baking cupcakes, red velvet are you favorites. You always have a cinnamon candle in your room because it reminds you of your mother, Angelina. You absolutely love visiting new places and going to the beach helps you when you had a hard day." I said in one time, my eyes filling up with tears as I watched her confused face turning into a sad one. 

She sighed

"I don't know how you know that much about me but I do not know you! I don't even know what's your name and I don't have a single memory with you. I'm really sorry." She sadly said "But maybe if you tell me what happened before coming there, I'll have some memories?" Her eyes met mines, small smile on her face

"I'm Pablo Gavi, remember? I had a shitty day, I messed everything at training and even got mad at Pedri for nothing." I took a pause, regretting everything I've done before continuing "When I came home, you baked me some chocolate chips cookies, you always add some cinnamon in them because you love the taste." I smiled to myself, thinking that I had an amazing girlfriend "But I fucked up again, I didn't pay a single attention to you and just got out." tears almost rolled down my cheeks as I spoke, feeling like shit for treating my girlfriend like that. "I drove to the nearest cliff and wished that I never existed. Then I just fainted and when I woke up, my car was gone and the key I had for our apartment didn't work so here I am." I finally said, a single tear dropping from my eye. 

She looked at me with a sad face before looking down

"Look, Pablo, I have something to tell you." She marked a pause before continuing "Pedri, he died months ago, he was hit by a bus and didn't make it." 

What. 

My sad face changed into a shocked one, I couldn't believe it.

"And.. you're telling me that you play for the Barcelona team but.. There's no Pablo Gavi in there. And finally I'm so sorry but I'm already dating someone. His name is Joao Felix and we've been together for a year and half now." She said, feeling bad as she looked at her feet

My heart broke into several pieces, tears were now covering my red cheeks as I took my head in my hands

Why? What did I do? How?

I lost my bestfriend, my dream job and the woman of my life who's now dating a guy that I hate.

I just couldn't believe it.

She stood up and sat next to me, hugging me.

"Look, I'm so sorry for you, I do believe everything you told me and maybe if you came back to that cliff it will go back?" She said stroking my back

Maybe she was right?

I stood up and took her hands on mines "Y/n, even though you don't remember me, I promise that everything will go back. It'll be fine." I said before leaving her alone, running to that cliff.

I climbed and saw someone standing in the edge, the same position as me a hour before

"Hello?" I said, suspiciously

"Why are you crying Pablo? Isn't what you wanted?" He asked me, turning to face me

"No! I don't want that, I regret it, I want everything back! I want Pedri to live, I want Bella to love me, not Joao! I want to play to play for Barca again! Please!"

I yelled, falling into my knees

"Pablo, you wanted the world to be as if you never existed thinking your existence was worthless. But look, if you never existed, Pedri would be dead, you were the one who saved him from the bus accident. If you never existed, Y/n would've fallen for another one, for someone who would love her cookies after a harsh day and of course, you wouldn't play for Barca. Isn't that what you wanted, Pablo?" He calmly said looking down at me

"No, I didn't mean it. I promise I'll never get mad at Pedri for nothing, I promise I'll treat Y/n like she's the last woman on the hearth. I'll never get mad at her again. I promise, I'll always do my best! Please just give me back my old life!" I whispered, not knowing if he heard me or not.

I suddenly felt a cold breeze hit my soaked cheeks and when I looked up again, the man was gone.

After some minutes of sobbing, I got up, wiped my tears and went down.

Suddenly, I noticed something on the parking slot.

It was my car!!

I ran, unlocking it with my key, a hopeful smile on my face.

I drove as fast as I could to my apartment and when I parked, I noticed a familiar shape.

I ran up and jumped on his back, tears filling my eyes.

"Pedri! Oh I missed you so much, my bestfriend." I said hugging him tightly

He chuckled, hugging me back "What happened buddy, weren't you supposed to be mad at me?"

"Fuck that, I'm so glad to see you again." I smiled

"I'm glad too then, I'm happy to see you but I have to do something now. I'll see you tomorrow" he said before going to his car

I ran upstairs and took out my keys, praying that they'll work. I put them on the lock before opening wide the door.

A sweet cinnamon smell filling my nose as I heard Cinnamon girl by Lana Del Rey play

"Pablo? Is that you?" Y/n came from the kitchen a sad smile on her face "I'm so sorry for earlier, I didn't mean to hurt y-" I cut her off by hugging her tightly as if she would disappear if I let her go 

"No. I'm sorry for getting mad at you, I'm so happy to have you as my girlfriend and I wouldn't change it for the world. I love you so much, you don't have an idea of how much I missed you" I said happy to have her in my arms

She laughed, hugging me back "I'm so happy to have you too, Pablo. I baked you some red velvet cupcakes to comfort you" 

I chuckled, breaking the hug to look at her

She's there and she loves me.

"I'll be honored to try them." I said a big smile on my face before grabbing her chin and connecting our lips on a soft and passionate kiss, placing my other hand on her hip

I stopped the kiss, still smiling "Come on now let's try your cupcakes, I'd like to see if you put cinnamon in them." I said taking her hand

"I did! They taste soooo good, it reminds me of-"

"Your mom's cupcakes." I said cutting her

"Exactly!" She laughed before handing me one

I wouldn't change my life for anything in this world.

-

Hi! This is my first time posting an imagine so forgive my mistakes :)

Also, this is inspired by someone, I don’t remember who but as soon as I find it I’ll put the credits!

[sterek-is-eternal]

Hellooo! I just want to ask if you have any fic recs wherein Derek is kinda asshole to Stiles and he isn't the first one to fall in love? But ends up falling in love when Stiles gives up or so. I have read a bunch of sterek fanfics in the past 5-6years but it's all the one Derek falls in love first and idk I just like the angst and groveling of Derek to pursue Stiles ^^

Hey, Hello!!

Nobody ever ask me for fic recs before so this is my first time recommending anything. Those are fics I enjoy reading myself. Hope you can find something new and interesting!

1. They work together. At some point Derek yells at Stiles, then regret it and trying to apologize. Fic of one of my fav author <3

Mr. Hale and the Lumberjack by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) 15,4K

“Derek,” Stiles whined, draping himself across Erica’s desk. She patted his back comfortingly. “Derek, why doesn’t the lumberjack like me? What can I do to change that?”

“If you’ve opened your mouth around him, that explains everything,” Derek told him coldly. “Maybe try shutting up for once. And standing still. Not breathing would help your cause, too.”

Stiles let out a wail of despair, and everyone quickly moved in to comfort him. Derek scowled, annoyed, and clapped his hands loudly.

“Enough. Back to work. Stiles, get the fuck out of my department.”

“Language,” Stiles chided, pointing one finger at him while still draped across the desk.

2. Angst! So much angst! Stiles gived up his love for Derek to save his friends.

The Price by theroguesgambit 18,4K

Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

3. Exacly what summary says. Stiles see ghost of Laura in wolf form following Derek. Apologetic Derek is almost at the end but give this fic a chance. I really enjoy it.

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of by Lissadiane  14,9k / Wayback Machine

It's a cold, snowy night and Stiles is halfway through his shift at the campus coffee shop when a tall, dark and handsome stranger walks in, one who seems unaware that he's being haunted by a wolf.

In which Stiles Stilinski sees the ghosts of animals with unfinished business, and Derek Hale is unaware that his dearly departed sister left a few things unfinished.

4. Derek got into accident and has amnesia. He is a asshole to Stiles but then love happen.

Hello, Heartbreaker by astoryaboutwar 18,4k

It’s a popular joke among Alphas: fuck an Omega, get heartbreak on your hands. Omegas are fragile little emotional things, needy and whiny. Stiles refuses to become that, or to believe that he’s anything like that.

Stiles and Derek have been fuckbuddies for a while when Derek loses his memories of the past three years - and them - in an accident. (Also - everyone's a werewolf, and everyone's alive.)

5. Another one fic about Derek having amnesia and hating Stiles.

To Feel Your Heart as It's Keeping Mine by Vendelin 8,5k

Stiles and Derek have been dating for four months, when Derek gets in an accident and loses all his memories from the past year and a half. Now, he’s once again the Derek Stiles used to despise, and even worse, Derek thinks that he still hates Stiles’ guts.

6. This is a really good one. Derek bullied Stiles in school when Stiles loved him. Now they have to work together in coffee shop. Derek trying to apologize in very Derek’s way.

Sweet Buns by skoosiepants 17,9k

Stiles hasn’t seen Derek Hale this close up for over a decade. He looks almost exactly the same, except somehow he seems even bigger and broodier—criminally handsome, with soft-looking dark scruff, heavy brows, light hazel eyes. His gaze zeros in on Stiles almost immediately, and his scowl lightens minutely in what looks like surprise.

Stiles is acutely aware that he has melted butter and cinnamon all over his face, and tries to surreptitiously wipe it with the ends of his sweater-sleeve.

Or-

The a/b/o bakery au with feelings

7. College AU. Omega Stiles droped when Derek touched him. Stiles is on the edge on going into heat, Derek helping him. In main roles: stuborn Stiles and protecting Derek.

Is This Unwise by Innaz (zanni_scaramouche) 17,8k

Derek expects Stiles to react poorly, maybe even file a formal complaint and that’s gonna suck, but Derek won’t say shit cause he knows he deserves it, so he prepares an apology before Stiles has even turned around.

What he doesn’t expect is Stiles to fucking drop.

8. College AU. Frat Derek wants to apologize to Stiles. Please make sure to read tags in this one.

Alpha Beta Omega by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) 8,5k

“So, we’re graduating this year. Crazy. It’s been a great four years.”

“Some moments definitely better than others,” Stiles muttered under his breath. “Like the times you actually left me alone.”

“And I get that. I do. Mea culpa. But I was thinking—”

“No.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” Derek insisted.

“Still no.”

[lumau]

I wanted to finish another drawing during @polyshipweek (inspired by various prompts, including Cinnamon Roll Protection Squad from Nozle's ship dynamics meme), but it didn't get past the sketch stage. I'll still share it, together with some hcs (slightly nsfw and kinky ones included) for an AU in which these five got entangled with each other in more ways than just crime solving.

Tang Fan:

Firmly believes that he is the littlest cinnamon roll of all cinnamon rolls and behaves accordingly. Would do anything for his friends. Now that he has more than one brat tamer at his disposal, it does not make him any less needy. The only one he is secretly afraid of is Ding Rong, knowledge that Wang Zhi is frequently using against him. With his dramatic antics he suffers the most prettily, so he is the most common to get wrecked (and makes it everyone's problem). Doesn't accept anything less than three bowls of noodles as aftercare.

Wang Zhi:

The actual cinnamon roll, but in denial (no one should dare to imply that towards him). It is not always easy to encompass the conflicting facts that he is both the youngest of the group and the 2nd most powerful man in the dynasty. Is making strides towards learning what he wants and deserves, but easily bristles when his inexperience becomes apparent. Has developed a habit of showing up at anyone's door at any time out of the blue and has no qualms to take up the most space in bed, even though he is by far the smallest. He has become the biggest flirt and the most touchy-feely once he learned how nice it is to have such a big, loving family.

Ding Rong:

Nobody really knows what he does most of the time. He is married to his job, aka Wang Zhi, a room full of meticulously sorted jars and 2 1/2 skeletons. Anyone who wants to get it on with Wang Zhi needs to get past Ding Rong's intense glare first. When they all get together, he is both the one who makes sure that everyone has all the oils, towels and implements they need, as well as the service top who is the last man standing at the end of a long night. He is also the kinkiest of the lot, his intricate knowledge of the human body combined with his sadistic tendencies make him light up as soon as any kind of edge play is mentioned. Might start to silently cry when held tightly for longer than 30 seconds.

Jia Kui:

After his retirement plan got forcefully cancelled, Jia Kui still doesn't quite know why he's here (tbh, same), but somehow, to his even greater bewilderment, everyone seems to love him (also same), even though he rarely talks and is mostly just there. He finds it kinda nice, though. Jia Kui gives the best of hugs and likes to join Sui Zhou in the kitchen, where they bond over cooking and military trauma.

Sui Zhou:

Similar to Jia Kui he isn't quite sure how he got roped into this new, big family life, but their community helps him to cope with his ptsd. It's hard to take his nightmares too seriously when burried amongst a heap of blissfully snooring men. He is appreciated by everyone for his cooking skills and his generosity, loyalty and his unobtrusive, pleasant company (as well as his great physique). He has learned that he does not mind sharing Tang Fan, in fact, it gives him fuzzy warm feels to know he is enjoying himself.

One would think that with five handsome guys there is a lot of action in the various bedrooms - however, given the stressful lives they lead, usually everyone just passes out as soon as they find a moment to lie down. With their youthful energy Tang Fan and Wang Zhi are the two most likely to initiate anything. The times when Sui Zhou and Jia Kui happen to get it on together are special highlights and have the others watching in awe (because clearly, they are a sight to behold!). In his efficiency Wang Zhi has tried to schedule regular sexy times, but after the third attempt failed due to some emergency or imperial affair getting in the way, he has now resolved to simply send out carriages to pull everyone away from whatever they are doing whenever he's in the mood. He has also now reserved a much bigger private suite at Huanyi Lou for such occasions.

[creweemmaeec11]

Hi! Could you please write on this prompt if you're comfortable with it? It would mean a lot! No pressure!!

(Too pure for this world and a lil naive) Hero, who does something really selfless for the (Big Bad) Villian. And villian who never really experienced people being nice to them, then vows to protect their lil' cinnamon roll hero forever. Then once they witness supervillain, or another villian taking advantage of hero's kindness into something bad, rushes to stop them, but too late, the damage has already happened. Now it's up to the villian to nurse them thru their worsening mental health, (OBV. THRU LOADS OF KISSES AND CUDDLES AND LIL PRAISES;) and get their sunshine of a hero back!!

I hope you don't mind? Sorry if it's wayy too specific 😅 had this idea for a really long time but couldn't think further...

A Story of Starfish

The hero flinched, sucking in a sharp breath at the pain.

"I know, I know," the villain soothed from behind, continuing to clean the hero's wound as gently as they could, "I'm almost done, you're doing great,"

"Don't patronize me," the hero hissed through gritted teeth.

"I'm not," the villain replied earnestly finishing the last stitch, "I mean it. Not many people would be able to stay this still,"

The hero didn't reply, instead tightening their grip on the edge of the tabletop, hanging their head.

A few minutes later, the villain finished dressing the other's wounds.

They rounded the table just in time to see a silent tear fall from the hero's eye.

It broke the villain's stone-cold heart. Made in feel heavy and empty inside. Before the hero, it was a sensation they didn't think possible for them to feel.

But now...?

They stepped forward, slowly raising a hand to either side of the hero's head, gently twining their fingers into the other's hair as they guided the other forward to rest their forehead against the villain's chest.

"Shhhh" the criminal whispered softly into the crown of the other's head, voice muffled by the hero's hair. Gently, the villain's fingers began drawing perfect light circles against the hero's scalp, "you're okay, I've got you,"

The hero shivered, leaning into the touch.

They still hadn't spoken about whatever had happened with supervillain. The villain wasn't sure they wanted to know what had left the city's hero in this state.

The problem, was that aside from a couple nasty scratches and other injuries, the hero wasn't all that terribly hurt. At least not as much as one would imagine when dealing with a supervillain.

So what was it they'd said to the hero to leave them like this?

They were also jumping at practically anything, as if scared of their own shadow. The worst part was noticing how frustrated the *hero* seemed to be over that particular development, as if admitting they were afraid only made them angrier at themselves.

Part of the villain hated themselves for not getting there sooner, before it had even happened.

A few minutes of unmoving silence passed, the only noise being the soft comforts whispered or the smallest sniffle.

That's when the villain realized the hero was starting to lean more and more heavily against them.

"You should try and get some sleep,"

The response came in the barely discernable shake of the hero's head.

"Hero you're hurt, you need-"

"Don't want to be alone," the hero grumbled under their breath.

The villain hummed.

"Would it help if I laid down next to you?"

The hero pulled back at that, sitting up again, surprised at the casualness of the offer.

"You'd do that?" they asked quietly, the hint of hope in their voice obvious.

"For you," the villain replied honestly, trying for something like a soft smile. Reaching up, they used their thumb to wipe away the remaining tears on the other's face.

They spoke like it was that simple, but- perhaps that's what made it feel that simple.

A slight pink dusted the hero's cheeks and they nodded, "o-okay,"

Sleep did sound amazing. Safe sleep sounded even better.

The villain didn't say anything, extending their hand out. The hero realized what they were offering, and it only made them blush more. It was stupid, they shouldn't need such a stupid thing to feel better- and yet...

They reciprocated, taking and holding the villain's hand as they lead the hero through a few different corridors of their facility. The pair got into a coded elevator, which opened to...

"Is this your room?" the hero asked, a mix of surprise and almost wonder.

"I thought you'd feel safer behind the coded doors, and my room is much nicer than our guest rooms but if you're uncomfortable-"

"No, no," the hero cut them off, offering a smile, "I wanted to say I liked it,"

The villain smiled faintly.

*They were still holding the villain's hand*

Shyly, the hero let go, wringing their own hands together nervously. The villain had to bite back a laugh.

The next few minutes were spent getting the hero into some clean, fresh pyjamas, which, to ensure they didn't rip any of their stitches, required a little bit of extra help. Much to the hero's chagrin.

"I thought you were going to lay with me?" The hero asked after getting into bed, a note of panic in their voice.

"I am, I am, I'm just going to go get another blanket-"

"You have a king bed," the hero replied in amusement, "we can share the blanket,"

The villain gave a small defeated smile, "Okay. Would you like me to turn off the lights?"

"Y-yeah, but leave a small light on?" They asked meekly.

The criminal nodded and shut off the lights, leaving only the small desk lamp in the corner before crawling into the other side of the bed.

The following few minutes of silence was eventually broken by a shy, quiet question.

"Can I come closer?"

In the dark, it felt easier to ask.

The villain turned their head, glancing over toward the hero, who was peering up at them. The look reminded the villain of a child who was asking to sleep with their parents after having a nightmare. It was obvious the hero meant more than just shuffling over a little.

A small smile broke out on their face as they opened their arms, "come here," the villain instructed.

They'd barely managed to get the words out of their mouth before the hero basically lunged at them, snuggling just about as close as they could get.

The villain only sighed and held them closer, as if to protect them from the world.

"Hey, hero?" The criminal asked after another few minutes of silence.

"Hmm?"

"What happened with supervillain?"

The hero in their arms immediately tensed.

"Shh," the villain hushed, rubbing the hero's arm comfortingly, "You're alright, we're just talking,"

The hero took a deep breath, shuffling slightly, "They made me realize how pointless being a hero is,"

This time, it was the villain who stilled, "what do you mean?"

"It's just- I'm never going to be enough. No matter how hard I try people are going to die, crimes are going to be committed. Even if I get to a location in time, there could be another robbery across town happening in the same moment. I'm only one person, in a city full of crime and accidents. It's pointless,"

The villain glanced down when they felt a dampness in their shirt, realizing the hero had started tearing up again.

"You saved my life," the villain replied quietly, "Do you think that was pointless?

"No of course not! It's not about that, it's about the bigger picture!" The hero snapped, wiping at their eyes angrily, "No matter what I do, or how many bank robberies I stop, there will always be another one, even long after I'm dead. It's like throwing a thimble of water on a bonfire. It'll never make a difference,"

The villain hummed quietly, twining their fingers through the other's hair as they considered the hero's words.

"I heard a story, once, about an old fisherman who lived in a small village along the coastline,"

The hero peered up at them in confusion at the abrupt change of subject.

"It was early spring, and there was a forecast for a hurricane, so he tied up his boat at the harbour at went home for the night. The next morning, on the way to the dock he noticed the beach was covered in starfish. They had come into the shallow water to breed for the spring but the rough waves of the hurricane had washed them all out of the water and left them to dry out in the sun. There were hundreds littered along the coast,"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Just listen" the villain shushed, brushing a strand of hair out of the hero's eyes before continuing, "knowing there were way too many, the man was about to continue to his boat when he noticed a young boy on the beach. Upon closer inspection, he realized the boy was throwing starfish back into the water one by one,"

"But I thought there were too many?"

"There were,"

"So why is he bothering?"

"Well, that's exactly what the fisherman asks as he approached. He told the boy his efforts wouldn't make a difference. The boy turned to him and replied, "but it made a difference for that one, and this one, and this one too," he explained as he continued tossing them in,"

The hero was suddenly very quiet.

"But a couple starfish won't change anything, hundreds are still going to die," the fisherman argued. The boy agreed that the man was right, "for all of them, it will change nothing, but for some, well, for some of them it will change everything, and that will always be better than nothing,"

The criminal glanced down, noticing the hero was simply staring off into space.

"You're right that you will never change the world, not for everyone," the villain continued, "but that doesn't mean you can't change the world for someone,"

The hero was sniffling softly again, loosely holding onto the villain's shirt as if it were a teddy bear and not a monster they were cuddled up to.

"You saved my life," the villain reminded, "Certain people might even say that made the world worse. Out of all the starfish on the beach, you choose the poisonous one to throw back in, and I can tell you that meant a lot to me, as well as the rest of the starfish you've saved. What you do isn't pointless,"

Suddenly the hero snuggled into them even more- somehow.

"Thank you," they said quietly, "For that and- well- for all of this, and for not making fun of me either,"

The words "your welcome," seemed to catch in the villain's throat. Saying the words felt wrong. *They* should be the one thanking the hero, not the other way around. They didn't *deserve* a thank you from anyone, let alone the maddening creature practically on top of them.

"Close your eyes and try to get some sleep, you need it," the villain said instead, tucking a strand of hair behind the hero's ear, watching their eyes flutter closed, "I'll be here,"

Silence fell over the room, with nothing more than the patter of rain on the window and the soft sounds of breathing for a few minutes.

Finally, the hero spoke again, "Saving your life might not have made the whole world better," they said quietly, muttering and half asleep, "but it definitely made *my* world better, poisonous barbs and all,"

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[lordhelpme0-0]

Crossover - MDZS + Twisted Wonderland

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, End.

Backstory: the MDZS cast was transported to the twisted wonderland world by a talisman or from a gathering nighthunting or with an ancient artifact. Though, when they get back it’s where they started so it’s a pause on their world. This will be taken place after all the overblots actually. ENJOY!~~

Twisted Wonderland Part 6:

Ignihyde Dorm:

Idia:

“What is this?! An anime coming to life?!” - Idia who si about to be flogged for saying AnImE when it’s a xianxia or manhwua or Donghua whatever you prefer

I’m just casually putting Chinese and Japanese cartoon characters together lmao!

Idia will be terrified and even more so he be in his tablet form meet going a near world record of 5 kilometer

Poor shut in isn’t ready for these and even label them as extroverts

Yeah I wouldn’t call Lan Wangji or Jiang Cheng extrovert Idia

Funny thing is that Nie Huasiang or maybe Wangji can break into Idia exterior with no problem

Maybe even Sizhui cause Sizhui is good radish boi

It took some convincing and chill encounters for Idia to help out these boomers

Cause technology is vastly different

Even though Wei Wuxian is making talisman and invention somewhat similar to modern day but ancient style

Wei Wuxian and Idia will bond on invention and making new technologies

Wei Wuxian might even show Idia his notes and theories

Idia will be edged forward to the Junior quartet with Sizhui silent urging

He will stick to Sizhui, Yuu, Ortho, and even Ouyang

Like cmon!

Zizhen and Idia will bond on romance novels and simping for not alive girls

In different sense-!!

Nie Huasiang will most likely have Idia under his tutelage

Cause both be damn similar

Lan Wangji may seem cold like a certain tsuntoro—!

Idia will likely ramble about his games and such to the juniors and Wei Wuxian

Idia will enjoy the rabbit cuddle and not so much the burying but at least he has his hands out

Lucky bastar—

ADOPTION GO BRRRRRRRRRRRR

Basically he be around once in a while

Definitely see Wen Ning as a SSR+ character

Much to Wei Wuxian dismay

Cause I know Wei Wuxian gonna be like Lilia lmao!

Wei Wuxian: Wen Ning is an UR+ character!

Idia: No way, he must be a SSR+ Character!

Wen Ning: *pikachu face* ?????

Definitely interact in a way but takes some convincing

Ortho:

Similar to Kalim, he is welcoming them all!

Basically mdzs Wen Ning while Wen Ning is twisted wonderland Ortho

Back from the dead duo!

They will definitely click and see each other as besties

Cinnamon rolls go BRRRRRRRRRR

Ortho is intrigue by Wei Wuxian as a whole

Definitely loves the stories

He will research many ways as he does for Idia to Wei Wuxian

Wei Wuxian be having his own personal google here—

Ortho is definitely gonna be given lots of attention by the Junior quartet

Jingyi will no doubt ask many questions which Ortho happily replies

Jin Ling is curious and will be more calmer

Zizhen will light up and ask any questions regarding if Ortho knows any fair maiden

Child. No.

Sizhui just gonna be the mediator and mom friend of the three

Ortho is overwhelmed but who cares!

Will definitely rate each scoville level of Wei Wuxian cookings and record them as entertainment

He just happy to have new friends honestly.

Also. Bunnies piles and being buried? YES.

He gonna be buried in bunnies and be surrounded by radishes with a happy face.

Someone draw the bunnie pile PLEASE!

Diasomnia Dorm:

Malleus:

He will definitely respect these people as they have lived longer than him.

Literally.

Will want to know EVERYTHING!

Will definitely be invited no matter what!

I mean, how did you think Wei Wuxian got his fuddy duddy?

Lan Qiren gonna see him as his youngest nephew

Wangji and Malleus be bonding like quiet bros

Definitely talking about bunnies and gargoyles!

Just a whole bunch of bunnies hopping around while these “cold” duo converse in calm manner

Wei Wuxian drawing go BRRRRRRRRRR

The Junior Quartet aren’t scared of Malleus at all. He just gives the same vibes his Angry Grape Uncle and Hanguang-jun (Lan Wangji)

Jingyi will strike a convo with Malleus and definitely waves to him

Dragon boi happy stat go BRRRRRRRRR

Like Lan Xichen will INVITE him for tea

Lan Qiren will ACKNOWLEDGE HIM

Jiang Cheng will TREAT him NORMALLY

Nie Huasiang just gonna be Nie Huasiang but WILL get to know Malleus better

He even suggest to be in the gargoyle club.

Definitely makes fan of gargoyle for malleus

Wei Wuxian gonna talk to him like a little brother

Will toss him in bunnies and be buried with gargoyle scarecrow around

Cause I’m his vignettes, any gargoyle must have some kind of use or else it’s just useless

Definitely will be happy that these cultivators treat him as normal

Cause they faced way weirder and worse

Malleu honey, you can’t even compare to the people these men meet

Definitely enjoys Wei Wuxian storytelling and babying

Will make fun of Leona suffocating under bunnies

Very curious of the cultivation world and Wei Wuxian works

All in all. He is happy~!!

Lilia:

Boomers meet boomers?

Wei Wuxian and Lilia will CLICK!

Both have so many stories and definitely will co-mama the first year+Junior Quartet on adventures

Will happily adopt the Junior quartet and be those mom friends

Lilia has adopted two so he willing to adopt cultivators too

Sizhui be having three parents lmao! And they’re all men~~

Will tease Lan Qiren and Jiang Cheng

Quite curious and had a pleasant convo with Nie Huasiang

Respects Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng

Sees them both as good leaders and let Malleus hang out to learn more

Thing is that both aren’t really good in the inside if ya know what I mean?

Those who knows. Knows. Those who don’t. Dont.

Lilia definitely amused by Lan Qiren almost qi deviation and will ask about this illness among the cultivators

Want to learn more of the cultivation world and it’s history

SAY HELLO TO SUNSHOT CAMPAIGN

He is weirdly invested in the campaign and how. It. Go. Down.

Like the events and how it led up was from these people standing before him.

Cough cough.

Lilia gonna be amused by the PDA of the shameless couple and Wei Wuxian irrational fear

Definitely teases Wei Wuxian about who teases him back

I smell vinegar from a certain Lan.

Yeah…after that. No one slept. It can be heard from even at RSA.

Lilia gets the messages and backs off even though he was merely gossiping with a fellow comrade

Definitely invested in music cultivation and demonic cultivation

Never was something he has seen before

Happy that these people accepted malleus

Will ACTUALLY help to bury any of the kiddos lmao!

He gonna be a happy old bat with these old men too.

Silver:

Somewhat got buried in bunnies before Wei Wuxian initiated

Partly adopted but adopted regardless

He is sleepy which Lan Xichen worries about

Lilia had to reassure that Silver has slow metabolism and it’s normal

So the Junior quartet kinda just picked him up with them to hang out whenever seen

Silver will get some duels on the sword with each of the juniors

They will definitely trade tips on their swordsmanship

He finds solace nearby Lan Xichen

Lan Xichen be a comfort level literally and figuratively

Basically is chill and got adopted twice lmao

Mama Wei and Mama Lilia be taking care of this sleepy boi

Sebek:

Silencing spell right on the spot

Just silenced

Cannot open mouth unless he wanna be some kind of creepy guy with ripped lips

He learned his lessons to lower his voice for once

Everyone celebrated this

PRAISE THE LAN SPELLS!!!

Sebek knows not to be loud towards the Lan

Wangji does not take loudness unless it’s from his WiFi

Lan Qiren almost shouted and lecture Sebek lol

Lilia is enjoying the whole show while comforting a silenced sulking crocodile at a corner

Sebek almost run his mouth so Jin Ling being Jin Ling walked up to him.

Jin Ling: first time? *smirks*

Sebek: *cannot say anything beside mumbles and jumbles*

Yeah…these two kinds clash a bit before setting their differences 1 month later.

It took fricking one month to settle their dispute.

He definitely learns to be quiet when needed

Definitely finds Wei Wuxian sus until he saw how they all treated malleus

Sebek: *crying tears and wiping it with doting face* sniff It’s been so long since Lord Malleus was so joyful! Sniff

He will learn….eventually..

Definitely tossed in bunny pile and buried beside malleus

Adoption paper go BRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!

———————————————

FINALLY!! ITS OVER YES!!!!!! Anyway ask me or request! If you want to see more mdzs X twisted wonderland content~!! BYEEEEE!!!!