#What is sublime text

[greenerteacups]

thoughts on Ginny and Harry as a couple?

There are a lot of people who find their romance in HBP forced. I don't think it's forced so much as underwritten, and the books don't get the chemistry quite right (though the movies certainly don't, either). There's potential, but they just don't get enough actual scenes of substance (besides Harry thinking she's pretty or feeling jealous of Dean) for a lot of readers to buy that they're not only in love, but deeply enough in love to break up, get back together, and wind up married.

That's not to say I don't see the appeal. There's a very cool scene in Book 5 where Harry's doing a woe-is-me-Chosen-One act, and Ginny effortlessly puts him in his place about it by reminding him that she was possessed by Voldemort at eleven, which is a rare glimpse into her character and also a great synecdoche for their relationship — Ginny is a grounding presence who, like Ron and Hermione, isn't going to be awed by his past adventures because she knew him before they happened. In that respect, Ginny's probably one of the few women Harry could feasibly wind up with, because he only ever seems comfortable around people (let alone girls) who can see past the Chosen-One schtick and treat him like a normo (see: Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, Luna, Hagrid). True to type, he doesn't get interested in Ginny at all until she's ditched her celebrity crush and ceased to view him as an idol, because in his heart of hearts, Harry wants to be a normal boy, and it's stressed over and over that part of what he likes about his relationship with Ginny is how normal it feels. He kind of has a horribly supercharged version the celebrity dating problem: after the Battle of Hogwarts, anyone he meets is going to know him first as Harry Potter, Chosen One, Boy Who Lived, and Actually Fucking Resurrected Messiah of the Wizarding World, which is... I mean, it's possible that there are witches out there who could get over that, but Harry's not an extroverted guy, and I'm not sure how he'd go about finding them. Ginny's the one who's been there since the beginning, doesn't need anything about him or his past explained to her, and actually likes him for who he is.

When you look at it that way, it's not surprising he married his high school girlfriend. She's one of the few people still alive who doesn't see him as a demigod.

[cedarxwing]

Looking for feminist texts about The Phantom of the Opera and having to wade through a thousand "Christine is a passive protagonist" and "women in phan-dom" takes before finding anything about the actual sexual exploitation that female performers dealt with in nineteenth century Paris... what if i became the joker

[helenvaughans]

a part of me does truly think that if y’all consumed more fucked up fictional media, you motherfuckers would be less bloodthirsty irl

[wolfram-afternoons]

*vagues jesterly* it isn't what it is

[jonnywaistcoat]

What’s your opinion on the contrast between “silly” and “serious” spaces? Do you think people can have very serious interpretations about a genuine piece of media and also be goofy about it? I’m asking this particularly because I’ve seen people in the Magnus podcast fandoms fight about people “misinterpreting” characters you, Alex, and the many other authors have written. Are you okay with the blorbofication or do you really wish the media you’ve written would be “taken seriously” 100% of the time?

And follow up question, what do you think about the whole “it’s up to the reader (or in some cases, listener) to make their own conclusions and interpretations and that does not make them wrong”, versus the “it was written this way because the author intended it this way, and we should respect that” argument?

This is a question I've given a lot of thought over the years, to the point where I don't know how much I can respond without it becoming a literal essay. But I'll try.

My main principle for this stuff boils roughly down to: "The only incorrect way to respond to art is to try and police the responses of others." Art is an intensely subjective, personal thing, and I think a lot of online spaces that engage with media are somewhat antithetical to what is, to me, a key part of it, which is sitting alone with your response to a story, a character, a scene or an image and allowing yourself to explore it's effect on you. To feel your feelings and think about them in relation to the text.

Now, this is not to say that jokes and goofiness about a piece of art aren't fucking great. I love to watch The Thing and drink in the vibes or arctic desolation and paranoia, or think about the picture it paints of masculinity as a sublimely lonely thing where the most terrible threat is that of an imposed, alien intimacy. And that actually makes me laugh even more the jokey shitpost "Do you think the guys in The Thing ever explored each other's bodies? Yeah but watch out". Silly and serious don't have to be in opposition, and I often find the best jokes about a piece of media come from those who have really engaged with it.

And in terms of interpreting characters? Interpreting and responding to fictional characters is one of the key functions of stories. They're not real people, there is no objective truth to who they are or what they do or why they do it. They are artificial constructs and the life they are given is given by you, the reader/listener/viewer, etc. Your interpetation of them can't be wrong, because your interpretation of them is all that there is, they have no existence outside of that.

And obviously your interpretation will be different to other people's, because your brain, your life, your associations - the building blocks from which the voices you hear on a podcast become realised people in your mind - are entirely your own. Thus you cannot say anyone else's is wrong. You can say "That's not how it came across to me" or "I have a very different reading of that character", but that's it. I suppose if someone is fundamentally missing something (like saying "x character would never use violence" when x character strangles a man to death in chapter 4) you could say "I think that's a significant misreading of the text", but that's only to be reserved for if you have the evidence to back it up and are feeling really savage.

I think this is one of the things that saddens me a bit about some aspects of fandom culture - it has a tendency to police or standardise responses or interpretations, turning them from personal experiences to be explored into public takes to be argued over. It also has the occasional moralistic strain, and if there's one thing I wish I could carve in stone on every fan space it's that Your Responses to a Piece of Art Carry No Intrinsic Moral Weight.

As for authorial intention, that's a simpler one: who gives a shit? Even the author doesn't know their own intentions half the time. There is intentionality there, of course, but often it's a chaotic and shifting mix of theme and story and character which rarely sticks in the mind in the exact form it had during writing. If you ask me what my intention was in a scene from five years ago, I'll give you an answer, but it will be my own current interpretation of a half-remembered thing, altered and warped by my own changing relationship to the work and five years of consideration and change within myself. Or I might not remember at all and just have a guess. And I'm a best case scenario because I'm still alive. Thinking about a writers possible or stated intentions is interesting and can often lead to some compelling discussion or examination, but to try and hold it up as any sort of "truth" is, to my mind, deeply misguided.

Authorial statements can provide interesting context to a work, or suggest possible readings, but they have no actual transformative effect on the text. If an author says of a book that they always imagined y character being black, despite it never being mentioned in the text, that's interesting - what happens if we read that character as black? How does it change our responses to the that character actions and position? How does it affect the wider themes and story? It doesn't, however, actually make y character black because in the text itself their race remains nonspecific. The author lost the ability to make that change the moment it was published. It's not solely theirs anymore.

So yeah, that was a fuckin essay. In conclusion, serious and silly are both good, but serious does not mean yelling at other people about "misinterpretations", it means sitting with your personal explorations of a piece of art. All interpretations are valid unless they've legitimately missed a major part of the text (and even then they're still valid interpretations of whatever incomplete or odd version of the text exists inside that person's brain). Authorial intent is interesting to think about but ultimately unknowable, untrustworthy and certainly not a source of truth. Phew.

Oh, and blorbofication is fine, though it does to my mind sometimes pair with a certain shallowness to one's exploration of the work in question.

[blue-eyed-beastie]

A Closer Look at Belle's Book: Part II

In Part I, I went into some detail about the illustration inside Belle's book, but now I want to turn the page, so to speak.

Thanks to the magic of 4K, I was able to zoom in on some details in Beauty and the Beast that I had never noticed before, and this time I wanted to see what story Belle was reading. I've seen theories that it was either foreshadowing Aladdin or referencing Sleeping Beauty, and I myself noticed that it bears some artistic resemblance to Snow White... but it turns out that it has nothing to do with Disney, or its fairy tales.

It's something else entirely, and it's in French!

After zooming in and studying each frame, I managed to make out the following text:

une languissante sirene! Enfin, il sera bientôt heureux, si c'est là ce qui doit causer son bonheur. Je sais que je suis agréable à regarder, puisque j'y ai du plaisir moi-même, et de ce plaisir je ne priverai pas mon mari, au contraire. Je ne sais si je l'aimerai, je l'espère; mais je veux qu'il m'aime lui, et je ferai pour lui plaire tout ce qui lui plaira. Ah! chère Adélaïde, je suis pleine de rêves absurdes et de pensées contradictoires! Je songe à des choses qui me semblent à la fois douces et vilaines, et j'ai des imaginations qui me font rougir en même temps que pleurer! Au moins, je ne m'ennuie pas. Je vis plus en une heure de ces journées que l'an passé je ne vécus en toute l'année. Chaque heure me renouvelle, me grandit et m'épanouit. Je me semble un rosier qui fleur rirait à vue d’œil, je suis fraîche et parfumée; je suis légère et forte: j'attends le bonheur. Paul est plus beau que je ne l'avais encore jamais tu. Il est pâle avec de grands yeux pleins de fièvre et d'amour. Je le trouve sublime quand il s'agenouille près de moi pour me regarder comme en prière. J'ai envie de le prière aussi, parfois, et de coucher ma joue sur ses genoux, mais quand j'ai cette envie-la, je me fâché contre moi-meme et je boude Paul.

Which, roughly translated into English, means:

a languid siren! Finally, he will soon be happy, if that is what will make him happy. I know that I am pleasant to look at, since I take pleasure in it myself, and of this pleasure I will not deprive my husband, on the contrary. I do not know if I will love him, I hope so; but I want him to love me, and I will do whatever he pleases to please him. Ah! dear Adelaide, I am full of absurd dreams and contradictory thoughts! I think of things that seem to me both sweet and ugly, and I have fantasies that make me blush and cry at the same time! At least, I am not bored. I live more in one hour of these days than I lived in the whole year last year. Each hour renews me, makes me grow and blossom. I seem to myself a rosebush that blooms laughing before my eyes, I am fresh and fragrant; I am light and strong: I await happiness. Paul is more handsome than I have ever seen him before. He is pale with big eyes full of fever and love. I find him sublime when he kneels down next to me to look at me as if in prayer. I want to pray to him too, sometimes, and to lay my cheek on his knees, but when I have this desire, I get angry with myself and I sulk at Paul.

By the way, there is one more sentence (maybe even two) at the bottom of the page that is partially obscured by Belle's shoulder and right hand. It may or may not be important to the rest of the excerpt, but for completion's sake, I'll share it here:

Il est ... maintenir un homme dans les ...

Which translates to:

He is ... to keep a man in the ...

Intriguing, isn't it? What was she trying to say?

Overall, the author appears to be an unwed woman dreaming of her future marriage to a man named Paul. Her confidante is someone named Adelaide, but I suspect she is actually writing to herself. Regardless, she is either betrothed to Paul or she longs to be, since she calls him her husband. Perhaps it is an arranged marriage? She goes on to dwell upon his handsomeness, and how she longs to be close to him, but then she gets angry at herself for feeling this way. The last line of the passage is incomplete, but my best guess is that the author is saying that Paul is not to blame for her sulking, so it is not right to keep a man in the dark, i.e. ignorant. I could be wrong, though. In any case, she is conflicted about her feelings on the matter. You could even say that her feelings are "new, and a bit alarming".

I can see why the filmmakers chose this passage for Belle's book.

It may not be a fairy tale, but it certainly has elements from the film. There are references to beauty, roses, imagination, and eyes filled with love, and passion.

Belle:

"Oh, isn't this amazing? It's my favorite part because—you’ll see Here's where she meets Prince Charming But she won't discover that it's him 'til Chapter Three!"

Do the lyrics match the story hinted at on the page itself? No, but I really respect the filmmakers for going out of their way to include this kind of detail in the film. They could have taken the easy way out, by writing out something like "Once upon a time" to echo the opening narration, or used "Lorem ipsem" Latin filler, or even meaningless brush strokes just to fill the page... but they didn't. They chose something in French that Belle herself might have liked to read. And I think that's really cool.

[superpowers04]

You pulled The Programmer Her ability? Talk about Linux for several hours A trend started by @unholytgirl and @sadcoldcoffee. After reading Rain, I saw The Rainbow by @lynnsenpai, then went on tumblr, saw a bunch of cards and thought "This'd be a fun way to finally get me to draw something". It was also one of the rare times I actually had an idea of what I wanted to draw. I drew this in about an hour. The screenshot on the phone is quite literally a screenshot of the ComicFury post for The Rainbow with a Chrome inspect element page splitscreen pasted on. The card header is just a screencap of Sublime Text with a lua file basically defining the card as a table with it's Type as "Trans Girl Trading Card", the Name as "The Programmer" and it's ability as "Infodump about Linux" Character was made explicitly for this card, dunno if I'll do anything with her after this card

[marinettesaltprompts]

Marinette Salt Prompt: Not Sublime at All

Prompt by @bloop24

Adrien was in shock, he replayed the conversation he had with Sublime over and over again. They had met up in a cafe because she had texted him that they needed to talk. He didn’t expect for her to end their friendship. She said she had felt horrible for doing this since it wasn’t his fault but she just couldn’t deal with Marinette.

At school, his friends took notice of his depressed state. When he explained what happened they looked at each other as if they knew something he didn’t. Jacob, one of his fencing team members, said they heard about what happened between Marinette and Sublime. He went on to explain that she had messed up Sublime’s prosthetics while trying to convince her that she was akumatized. By the end of it Marinette cried to her that she was only trying to be her friend. Adrien didn’t know about any of this but he knew that this was how she was. Marinette never meant any harm, she was just a little weird like that. His friends gave him a look before explaining how none of that is normal.

As much as Marinette and her friends look at it like it is and say “that’s just Marinette” all of it is far from normal. For what felt like an hour Adrien learned about Marinette’s behavior and how everyone in the school viewed her and her friends. Long before they were even dating she would often harass girls who he was friends with and spy on him. Sure, she would later cry to them about how she “felt bad” about what she did to them, but it was only after she had hurt them. Not once did she ever think that she might be taking things too far. Their friends either knew about her behavior and did nothing or helped her with her plans to set them up. Some of his friends were victims of Marinette, even Jacob’s girlfriend wasn’t spared.

Adrien felt numb but he was determined to see how far back this went. For the next couple of days he avoided hanging out with his friends, giving an excuse, while he talked with his teammates and his other friends outside of the class. What he learned was that Marinette had long had a history of stalking him and harassing girls. It was the reason some of his friends like Sublime started distancing themselves from him. He never noticed it before but he really didn’t have many friends outside of the class. The girls were the first to know the extent of Marinette’s “crush” on him but they thought it was cute and went along with it. When the guys learned of it they didn’t really do anything about it and treated it like it was normal.

The most damning story came from Kagami herself. Kagami, like him, wasn’t the best at social situations. So, when he asked how she and Marinette became friends she was honest because she saw nothing wrong with how they became friends. Adrien wasn’t even shocked anymore, just like what happened to the others, Marinette had harassed Kagami except this somehow turned into them being friends. She had harassed and talked bad about her to Alya, but when she saw she had hurt Kagami she suddenly decided to be friends with her.

Adrien let everything sink in and concluded he was dating a fangirl. Worse, his friends knew about it but thought it was cute and ignored it because Marinette was their friend. He felt betrayed that his friends hid that Marinette was a fangirl disguising herself as his friend knowing that he hated dealing with them. One thing was clear to Adrien though, that was breaking up with Marinette and ending his friendships with the class. He was glad he at least had a few friends outside of them so he wouldn’t be alone. It would also be nice to reconnect with the ones that pulled away because of Marinette’s harassment.

[mightbebobbie]

Hei guys! Long time no see!!! Life update!!

I turned 25! I'm also in full swing writing my bachelor thesis about the sublime of the everyday. I am researching old and dusty texts from the 1700s, and its insane how... relatable? A lot of it is... Its easy to put into a modern, everyday perspective, which is gonna be a big part of the artistic part of the project. Which also makes me curious!!

What is your interpretation of the sublime? Is there a moment in your life where you found yourself experiencing something sublime?

I'm not going to use this in my research, I'm just curious to see how you view the word "sublime", as its meaning and definition changes based on where you are, how much you know about aesthetic philosophy, and of course, your view on life. It's a word with many, many meanings!

I'm gonna put a little line down here because I started rambling about my interpretation of the sublime. Just writing about it helped me realize that the sublime is just so. Modern. And it's a privilege, too.

For me, the sublime is when something makes me freeze in abject horror, terror, despair; keyword: any kind of pain. But, only if I get the delight of realizing I am ok afterwards. This is based on Edmund Burke and his idea of the sublime leading to the soul literally freezing in either astonishement, admiration, reverence or respect, with astonishment and the total freezing of all bodily functions the strongest reaction to the sublime. It's interesting, how all of these words are somewhat neutral, but through the lens of "pain", they all become sources of horror. He finds the sublime not to be a feeling, but the object. Burke states: "Anything that excites ideas of pain and danger; conversant about terrible objects; or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime." (Burke, 1823, p. 46)

Like when you stare into the night sky, and you realize it's just so fucking big and vast and all you can do is stare in horror and wonder- astonishment. You're frozen, suddenly so small. And then you feel the wind on your face and you're relieved when you realize you're alive and well and not a speck of dust floating in empty space. But that relief, that delight, as Burke calls this specific feeling, is tinged with horror. Comfortable yes, but stained. The sky is the sublime. I find computers, math and spirals to be sublime too. The internet is also sublime, and the constant stream of information is especially sublime to me! I think the sublime can be beautiful, which is funny because many philosophers (Kant, specifically, often seen as the guy who first defined the difference between the two) mean the beautiful is the counterpart of the sublime. I think they can hold hands. It's beautiful that we humans have this innate empathy and ability to feel fear where there is none, to feel sorrow for humans we don't know. To feel lost for those who truly are, and to feel pain for those who are hurt. Empathy, at its core, is sublime. Love is sublime. Is it not insane that we open our soul to others, we take on their suffering onto ourselves, even if we are safe and sound? We let their pain override our own, we dwell in their history and horror... I think that's beautiful. There is always room for someone else's suffering next to our own. We don't mind crying for strangers or protesting for them. We don't mind the feeling of loneliness when we stare into the sky at night, for the delight of the wind reminds us, we are not alone. The sublime is entirely dependent on that delightful feeling of knowing we are safe. When we go to a protest, we cry and fight for those who cannot. And then we go home, and we are glad we are safe, but not without that colorful tinge over our thoughts, the color of sadness, or rage, on behalf of others.

And for those of us who don't have the privilege of having a sublime experience, because your life is a string of horrors, sadness and pain, I wish in my heart that you too one day will find that feeling of delight. That feeling of being safe.

[theharddeck]

start the new year right (jake seresin x f!reader)

pairing: jake hangman seresin x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: what could be worse than a delayed flight with lost luggage? driving back to san diego with your nemesis. and what could be worse than that? the car breaking down in the middle of the night, on new years eve. and of course, the motel couldn't have a 2BR room available...

word count: 8.2k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: explicit PiV sex, oral sex (f!receiving), bc of who i am as a person overstimulation, not the BEST communication/consent, but everything is consensual! it's just implied; normally i'm better about explicitly asking and confirming

A/N: happy new year, friends! what would my year be, if not ending with me sitting down with a stanley of chamomile and writing more than i've written the whole previous month? hope this new year is gentle to y'all.

Natasha: Hey girl! Just got an alert that your transfer flight was delayed? Are you good?

You: ‘good’ as in ‘safe’, ya

You: ‘good’ as in ‘en route’, not so much. They overbooked the flight and the next one they have available is Wednesday morning

Natasha: nooooooo

You: At least my luggage is on its way to SAN… I’m considering renting a car and just making the drive from Vegas myself

Natasha: I love you and I trust you

Natasha: but an overnight drive by yourself after an already-long day is not the move

You: ugh I know, but i don’t know what else to do

Natasha: …mkay i have a solution but it’s not the one you want

You: let’s have it

Natasha: jake’s flight also rerouted through LAS

You: absolutely not

Nat: you didn’t even hear the actual plan!!

You: if it involves me and hangman, the answer is no

Natasha: it’s just a five hour drive, you can be adults/play nice with each other for five hours

You: when has Hangman ever been an adult about anything

Natasha: fair point

Natasha: but he is also currently texting me saying he’s stranded

Natasha: you know one-way car rentals are stupid expensive

Natasha: and he likes to drive so maybe you could sleep on the way

You: stop being logical

Natasha: i do not want to get a call from the nevada state police when you fall asleep behind the wheel on New Years Eve in the middle of the Mojave

You: good, add a guilt trip to the mix

Natasha: is it working

Me: …

You: it’s working

Natasha: (Ryan Gosling!Ken gif: SUBLIME!) 

You: lol

You: ugh okay text me his number

Natasha: can’t believe that after 8 months stationed at the same base you don’t have his number

Natasha: mkay just sent

Natasha: you have to promise not to kill each other

// 

Three hours later, you were really glad you hadn’t made any promises to Nat that you couldn’t keep. 

Because not only had Jake insisted on renting a truck (“I need the legroom!”), and that you didn’t need to stop in Barstow for gas (“trust me, sugar, I’m an Eagle Scout–I know we can make it to east LA”), the gas-guzzling monstrosity had fizzled out somewhere between exits along the 15.

Now the hood was smoking, there was no way you were getting your security deposit back, and you were just as stranded as you’d been when you first texted Natasha from the airport. 

Only now you were in the middle of the desert, and your phone was almost dead.

Four hours later, you had walked three miles back to the last exit and were checking into a truly shady motel, straight up refusing to talk to Jake because somehow, incomprehensibly, the only room available was one with one (1) king bed. 

Four and a half hours later, you were dripping wet, trying not to shiver because the shower you took to warm yourself up had backfired, since the motel towels were basically handkerchiefs and your wet skin made the room seem extra cold. You hadn’t wanted to wear your airport clothes to bed, but since your luggage was already in San Diego, that left you with just a cropped tee and boyshorts. 

“You okay in there?”

You glared at your reflection in the foggy mirror, since Jake was on the other side of the door.

The audacity of him.

When you’d first met Jake “Hangman” Seresin, you’d been determined to endear yourself to him.

He was a couple years older than you, and pretty close to infamous after that stunt he pulled in eastern Europe a few years ago. He was ruthless and reckless and good enough to get away with both, and you’d hoped that if you befriended him, he could teach you a thing or two during your own time at Top Gun. 

And he was ridiculously beautiful, which maybe – maybe – had your admiration veering slightly into crush territory. But you’d locked that down, determined to view him platonically, and not let that get in the way of any instruction he could give. 

Of course, the first words out of his mouth had been “Honey, you gotta know there’s easier ways to get your MRS degree than to become a naval aviator.”

Your crush and respect had evaporated on the North Island breeze, and it’d been downhill from there.  

You had no idea why, but he had been openly antagonistic at any given moment since then — doubting your competence but disguising it as care for your safety, and tagging a misogynistic “sweetheart” at the end of every condescending sentence. You’d ignored him as much as you could, hoping he’d get that he wasn’t in Dallas anymore, and that shit didn’t fly with you, but that had only egged him on. 

But now you were exhausted, cold, stranded in the middle of the desert, and practically naked to boot, and he had the gall to act like he cared if you lived or died. 

“I’m fine, Hangman,” you said, swinging open the bathroom door and beelining for the bed, hoping you could get to it fast enough that Jake wouldn’t make a comment.

Or before your tits froze off, at least. 

You didn’t look over at him as you dove under the covers, trying your hardest not to think about the last time these sheets had been washed, much less bleached.

Of course, the comforter was tucked into the foot of the bed, and you wrestled with it for a few moments before giving up, and hauling the topsheet up over your body. It was paper thin, but it was a semblance of covering, and you lay stock-still, closing your eyes and hoping sleep would magically deliver you away from this situation. 

A moment later, the bathroom door opened and shut again. 

You could hear the sounds of Jake brushing his teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste you had bought from the “concierge” in the lobby (a relic of a man who looked like he did Civil War reenactments for fun, and seemed highly amused by your outrage at the available accommodations). 

You would’ve passed the time on your phone, but the last of your battery had given up the ghost while you were in the shower. 

A minute or two passed, and the bathroom door opened and closed. From behind your closed eyelids, you could hear Jake shuffle over to the lightswitch, and then he stopped. 

You waited. 

He didn’t move. 

“What do you need, Seresin?” you asked, tersely. 

“Are you cold?” 

Your eyes popped open, wincing at the brightness of the lights, still overhead. A quick glance down at your body made your skin heat – your tee was skin tight, and the thin topsheet did little to cover you; you crossed your arms over your chest, hiding your pebbled nipples, continuing to stare at the ceiling and avoid eye contact with Jake. 

“You could turn off the lights,” you muttered. 

Technically, the cold wasn’t his fault. 

But it was his stubbornness that got you here, so that had to count for something. 

“I was just asking–” Jake started, and you interrupted him.

“It’s the desert in December,” you snapped, “yet, for some reason, this motel has the AC on; of course I’m cold.”

As if on cue, the machine in the windowsill rumbled to life. 

You closed your eyes. “Please, just turn off the light.”

The light switch flicked off, and if it were anyone else, you’d have appreciated the immediacy of the response.

But it was Jake, and he didn’t merit any kind of gratitude, so you didn’t say ‘thank you’.

Silence stretched. 

You heard a rustling, and a moment later, you felt something land on your upper body. You flinched, pulling the material away from you on instinct, and identifying it by touch as Jake’s sweatshirt. 

You opened your eyes, peering through the shadows of the room. The curtains were thin (you were sensing a theme here), letting in lights from outdoors, and you found Jake still standing by the door. He was digging through his backpack, clad in a white tank and boxer shorts, apparently also not wanting to wear airport clothes to sleep, but that didn’t explain why he had chucked his sweatshirt at you. 

“What is this?” you asked.

He looked up, shrugged slightly, and went back to rifling through his bag. “I run warm.”

You pursed your lips. “Jake, I–”

“I had a jacket on over it at the airport, okay? Promise, it’s not dirty.”

That hadn’t been what you were going to ask, but you paused all the same. 

You appreciated that he was reassuring you, and you did remember that he’d been in a jean jacket at the airport. You’d noticed it against your better judgment, thinking he looked like an A-List actor as he walked through the airport towards you, all broad shoulders and smiles, like you were friends. 

“Can I have a pillow?” His question interrupted your recollection, and you frowned in his direction. 

You were clearly on half of the bed, Jake could see which pillows were for him to use. Did he expect you not to have one?

You pointed to the pillow you  weren’t using, confused, and he laughed quietly. 

It wasn’t a sound you heard much from him.

Normally Jake laughed like he was proud of himself, reclining in the golden light of the world around him, blessing you all with his presence. This was a different sound, less pretentious, somehow warmer. 

“Yes, I can see it,” he said, his voice still amused. “But I need it over here, for the couch.”

You blinked.

The couch was maybe three feet long, an atrociously patterned aberration that you’d tossed your carryon onto, and not looked twice at. Jake didn’t explain anything further, but there were still only two pillows on the bed, and you couldn’t understand why he seemed to think you didn’t need more context for why he wanted to decorate the couch with one of them. 

“Why?” you asked. 

Again, that quiet chuckle. 

“Because, sweetheart,” he said, and you bristled on instinct, “that’s where I’m sleeping.”

You couldn’t have heard that right. 

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” you said.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” Jake said, stubbornly. 

“That was never up for debate,” you snorted. “Jake, we’re adults. We can share the bed. You’re not going to fit on the couch.”

“I’m an Eagle Scout,” he grumbled. “I can sleep anywhere.”

“Yes, loyal, brave, clean, etc, I’m sure,” you said. “But I’m not sure how helpful you’re going to be tomorrow, when you can’t drive that monstrosity of a truck due to your back spasming from being rolled up on that couch all night.”

You watched through the shadows as Jake stubbornly tried to wedge himself sideways on the couch. Sure enough, his knees were practically bent up to his navel, and even through the darkness, you could see the furrow in his brow. 

“You could drive it,” he said, too obstinate to accept defeat.

“I will not,” you returned, “drive a vehicle that ostentatious.”  

“Says the pilot,” he grumbled.

“Naval aviator,” you shot back. “Jake, it’s an enormous bed. Get over yourself, get into it, and the sooner you settle, the sooner it’ll be morning, and we can leave.”

He deliberated, the mulish man. 

But eventually he pushed himself off the couch, clambering across the room. The bed dipped as he slid into it, and reached down for the comforter, still wedged into the bottom of the bed. You tried not to be annoyed when he yanked it free easily. It was probably just momentum, or that you’d loosened it up for him. While he was rearranging the comforter, you pulled the sweatshirt over your head, and tried to be calm about the situation. 

His sweatshirt was somehow still warm. 

It smelled amazing, like cedar and fancy cologne.

And also sweat, which you tried damn hard to ignore.

It was cozy, and you snuggled into it, and a moment later, Jake settled. Thankfully, the bed was big enough that you didn’t have to touch each other, but that didn’t mean you could ignore that he was there. 

In bed. 

With you. 

You snorted, thinking how much of a dream this would’ve been to you eight months ago, before you met Jake, and he dashed your crush to pieces. 

“What?” Jake grumbled, and maybe it was the proximity, or maybe exhaustion from the day was setting in, because his voice sounded almost gentle. 

“Nothing,” you shook your head. “G’night.”

“Night,” Jake said. 

You rolled onto your side, pulling your feet up under you, and folding your hands under your face, so you didn’t have to touch your skin to the pillow. Of course, that brought the sleeve of the sweatshirt to just under your face, and you were surrounded by the delicious smell of it again. 

It distracted you for a moment. 

Just a moment. 

Then you had to acknowledge that, even with the sweatshirt and the newly-added comforter, your wet hair was no match for the chill of the room. Your legs felt exposed and the sheets felt like they were damp and wet, and you tried your best to ignore it, but soon you were shivering. 

You tried to be still, you did. 

But when you heard the bed shift as Jake turned towards you, you winced into the darkness, unsurprised. 

“Sweetheart…” he started, and you shook your head, refusing to look back over at him. 

“I’ll be fine, I just need to fall asleep.”

Jake let that statement hang for a moment, just long enough for your shivering to start up again. He cleared his throat. 

“Um,” he said, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he sounded nervous, “I meant what I said earlier. About running warm.”

This time, you did turn over, trying to read his expression in the shadowy darkness. He looked…open. Like he really was altruistically suggesting sharing body warmth, nothing malicious and none of his normal teasing. 

You were suspicious, but not enough so that you could ignore that it was a better idea than freezing yourself to sleep. 

“You sure?” you asked, and Jake grunted, which you figured was as good a response as any. Actually, it was pretty damn good, because if he sounded eager, you’d be creeped out, and if he was uncertain, you’d feel guilty. But being matter-of-fact about it gave you the courage to scoot across the bed. 

“How do we do this?” you asked, and Jake reached for you. It was an easy movement, natural, enough so that it surprised you when he hesitated before touching you. 

“Can I…?” he trailed off. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, hoping you sounded half as unaffected as he did. This was fine, this was normal. Just a guy who was SO obnoxious that it made you forget how hot he was, suddenly not being obnoxious, and basically punching you in the face with his hotness.   

His hand settled on the small of your back and damn it, he was warm. His touch was soft, gentle, almost nervous, and he pulled you closer to him. You realized you’d expected him to turn you over, press your back to his front so that you’d be spooned, but instead he just wrapped you in his arms. He reached around you to tuck the comforter between you and the mattress, insulating you with his warmth. 

Your head was in his chest, and with his arms bracketed around you, your breath heated up the space between his tank and your face. He’d even managed to slot his arm under your head, so your face still wasn’t on the pillow. 

Cuddling with someone new was usually awkward, a tangle of limbs and expectations, but with Jake, it wasn’t. It was…damn it. It was pretty close to perfect.

“Good?” he asked, and he sounded different, with your cheek on his bicep, and your nose practically pressed against his chest. It was like you could feel his voice, rumbling around you, somehow more comforting for the proximity. 

You nodded, not wanting to hear anything new on your voice if you tried to respond. 

Jake hummed. 

A moment later, you realized his thumb was moving. Nothing major, just a small movement between your shoulder blades, a reassuring stroke. It was a comforting motion, gentle, and it wasn’t long before his warmth and his touch lulled you into a sweet sleep. 

You startled awake to the sound of guns. 

Not guns, fireworks. 

Damn it, it was New Year’s Eve; how had you forgotten? 

Jake stirred too, a deep breath expanding his chest, and leading you to realize his head was resting on top of yours, his chin tucked on top of the crown on your head.

“Is that–” he mumbled and how dare he, honestly, how very dare he, because he sounded great. Fuck him, for that, frankly. 

The situation washed over you, half asleep and fully cognizant of how random it was. You didn’t mean to start, but soon you were laughing, your shoulders shaking. 

“You okay?” Jake asked, a thread of concern in his voice, and that didn’t help any. 

“Just the universe’s sense of humor,” you said. 

You didn’t know how, but you knew he was confused and you should’ve been worried about how you knew that, how you weren’t cold at all, how if you looked up, you’d know what a  sleep-mussed Jake Seresin looked like, but all you could think was that this was so, so stupid. 

You took a long breath, starting to explain. 

“I just can’t believe this is how I’m starting the next year of my life,” you laughed. “Like, I’m fine, right? I’m doing alright on a career path I love, I call San Diego home, I have great friends and I’m doing as good with my family as anyone could be. And where am I on New Year’s? Stranded in a motel off an exit that’s literally not even town, cold enough that a guy who hates me is cuddling me so I can be still enough for him to go to sleep, with a dead phone so none of my friends or family can wish me a happy new year, and I–”

“Wait,” Jake pulled back, and you frowned at the interruption, “why do you think I hate you?”

You stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jake said, having the gall to look confused.   

“Jake,” you said, disbelieving. “You’re literally constantly a jackass to me. You’re constantly undermining me, doubting or heckling. You throw in a – frankly overwhelming – amount of southern charm and expect that to distract from the fact that you’re being outrageously patronizing and—”

Jake kissed you.

You weren’t expecting it, and it was so sudden that it thoroughly cut off your train of thought. All you could do was comprehend fleeting sensations and emotions. Jake’s lips were soft, the pressure of them light and teasing against yours. His arms tightened around you, like he was steadying both of you. In the same way you’d sensed his confusion, now you sensed his apprehension, and an unfamiliar determination. 

Just as quickly, he pulled back. 

“I don’t–” his voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. “Christ, I don’t hate you.”

You licked your lips, annoyed that they had the audacity to tingle in response to him.

You wanted to ask what the hell that was. 

You wanted to ask why he was looking at you like that. 

You wanted to ask what that expression meant but more than anything, you wanted him to kiss you again. 

Your arms were curled up between the two of you, and it took so little effort to curl your fingers in the front of his tank and pull him to you. His mouth was on yours a breath later, and his hand was on your jaw, angling your face so he could kiss you properly. 

Of course he was a good kisser. 

Fucking of course he was, he had to be, but it was one thing to know it in an agnostic kind of way, and another to feel his lips pressing into yours. You shivered when his tongue swept over your bottom lip and when you mirrored the motion, something in his chest rumbled, and Jake parted his lips for you. 

He tasted faintly of toothpaste, and he had some kind of chapstick on his lips that was sweet, and you couldn’t get enough of him. His arms were still around you and he was so warm, so broad, and you couldn’t help but press yourself against him. When your arms wound around his neck, Jake broke away from you. You could feel his chest rising and falling quickly, and his hands fell from your back to your waist, as if holding you in place. He turned his head slightly, kissing lazily at the corner of your mouth, down your cheek, to your jawline. 

“That’s not how I wanted to tell you,” he murmured against your skin, and this time when you shivered, you knew it wasn’t from the cold. 

“You still haven’t told me,” you managed, eyelashes fluttering at the teasing brush of his lips, while you tried to look at him.  

To your astonishment and delight, Hangman blushed. 

Sheepish wasn’t an expression you were used to on him, not unlike bashful, but you thought it suited him. He looked like he was gearing up to say something and, curious though you were, you didn’t want to get into that right now. It was late, you were still exhausted, and just a few moments ago, you’d thought he hated you. 

If his expression now was any indication, you and Jake had very different conceptions of flirting. 

“Look,” you said, before he could say whatever he was hyping himself up to say, “this is probably a lot more complicated than either of us were prepared for. So, it’s the New Year…we could start it how we want the year to go.”

Jake’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he smiled softly, a sweet expression on his face. He turned his head to kiss the palm of the hand you had looped around his neck. 

“Cuddling,” he said, at the same time you announced, 

“Orgasms.”

You would never forget the expression on his face. 

Sweetness morphed into amazement, and then quickly into hunger. 

“I can pivot,” he said quickly, and you lifted your chin. 

“You sure?” you teased, “Don’t want to strongarm you into–”

Your sentence ended with a squeal when Jake turned quickly, flopping onto his back, and pulling you on top of him. Your knee was between his thighs and you couldn’t hold back your grin as you looked down at him. Just like with this kiss, he was letting you lead, but being so clear about what he wanted. 

And who were you, to decline?

Kissing him from on top of him felt different, felt amazing. 

You could appreciate how sturdy he was, and when you relaxed slightly, you found yourself straddling his thigh. You’d been a part of plenty of dogfight football scrimmages, and Jake was never one for longer board shorts; you knew exactly how strong his thighs were. But it was one thing to see them on display, and quite another to feel them flexing between your legs. 

One of Jake’s hands was inching under his sweatshirt that you wore, warm fingers spreading across your stomach as you moved over him. 

God, he felt so good, so few layers between his skin and your core, and the pressure of his thigh between your legs was so good. You kissed him again, tongues tangling and teeth clashing, as you ground against his leg. 

When you moved, you felt the hem of his boxers slide against your leg, and sue a girl, you were curious. You shifted slightly, moving your thigh higher, and when you rocked your hips, your thigh brushed against his cock. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Jake gritted as you moved against him, and you thought maybe you didn’t mind the petname, when he sounded like that. 

You braced yourself on the pillow behind him and moved again. 

It shouldn’t be this hot. 

But it was, he was, and you felt pleasure spooling through you, just from his leg between yours, and his gentle touch against your skin. How he reacted to you, how he moved under you, it was so good, like a promise. 

“Not gonna lie,” Jake said, his voice still rough, “I really like you in my sweatshirt.”

Your mouth fell open when he pushed his hips up to meet you. 

You both stifled a gasp at the motion, the sensation with so few layers between the two of you. Jake’s hands crept higher under your sweatshirt, almost tentative, and you leaned into his touch, encouraging. His hands cupped your breasts, and your head dipped to the side in relief. He made a sound of satisfaction, just enjoying their weight in his hand, then his wrists moved so his thumbs could brush over your nipples. He rolled them, and you felt it in your core, your thighs clenching. 

“Love you in my sweatshirt,” Jake repeated, sounding dazed, “but I wanna to see you without it.”

You leaned back immediately, pulling the sweatshirt over your head. 

You missed the warmth of it immediately, but Jake’s gaze was worth it. His expression bordered on reverence, and he actually licked his lips, looking up at you. You wiggled on his thigh, heat pulsing, needing something from him, your skin prickling under his gaze. 

Jake frowned, the lust in his eyes overtaken by concern. “Too cold?”

You certainly weren’t toasty, but you couldn’t say you cared.

“I would’ve thought you’d have a solution to keep me warm,” you teased, and Jake seemed to accept the challenge. 

The hands that had been on your breasts dropped to the back of your thighs, and a moment later he had pushed you back. You were on your back, feet in the air, and Jake turned you gently on the bed so you were resting on the pillows again. You settled in, expecting him to lower himself between your thighs, and were surprised when instead he reached back for the comforter. 

Maybe you had misunderstood, he didn’t actually want…

He pulled the comforter over his head, over your shoulders, and you blinked disbelieving at a Jake-shaped figure under the blanket, moving to the base of the bed, between your legs. 

You were fairly confident, but that was a lot to ask from someone on a first date, and this wasn’t even that, and you ducked under the comforter as well. 

“Jake, you don’t have to–” you protested, realizing belatedly that there was nowhere near enough light to be able to make meaningful eye contact. 

“You said orgasms, right?” Jake said, his voice full of a familiar smugness. 

He settled at the base of the bed, crouching, and through the darkness, you could tell he was looking in your direction. His hands were intentional on your legs, letting you know where he was, giving you time to tell him if you weren’t okay with something. 

If he was offering, you were beyond okay with this. 

“Right,” you said weakly. 

His hands trailed up your thigh, his warm touch light, and his fingers closed over the band over your boyshorts. You nodded, a sound he heard because your head rubbed against the comforter.  

He kissed your thigh. 

It was a feather light touch, a brush of his mouth against the sensitive skin, but it was so gentle that it reassured you. He kissed your other thigh, then higher, and one of his hands felt up to your stomach, and he pushed, an unsubtle prompt. You lay back against the mattress, nerves and desire warring within you as Jake kissed higher.

You felt a brush of his tongue when he reached the edge of your underwear and your breath caught. 

“Plural?” Jake asked, and it took you a minute to understand his question.  

His fingers pulled at the edge of your boyshorts, peeling them slowly down, his mouth pressing gentle kisses as he revealed more of your body. He was exploring by touch what he couldn’t see, so slow and perfect it was overwhelming. 

“There’s two of us,” you managed, back to his question. “Hence plural.”

Jake laughed, a soft exhale against your skin. He’d bared you to him, and you shifted, like you were seeking his touch. 

“I know this is new for us, sweetheart,” he mumbled, a kiss to your hipbone, then the opposite, “but that’s not how this is going to work.”

You bit your lip, nervous again.

You were new to this with him, and some guys thought oral sex was some kind of prerequisite – check the box, half ass it for thirty seconds, guarantee she’ll let you hit it – but something told you Jake would be different. 

You were panting, anticipation making you breathless. 

You whispered his name and it was like he was waiting for permission, because he leaned into you. His first kiss against your pussy was gentle, just as sweet as those kisses he’d trailed up your thighs. It was so sweet it made you squirm, and Jake chuckled, a sound you felt as his breath ghosted over you. He pulled back long enough to draw an audible breath, then his tongue licked over the whole of your cunt, a long, torturous swipe that had you trembling.  

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, muffled, and your hips bucked. “You’re already wet for me.”

You reached under the comforter, your hands tangling in his hair and Jake hummed his approval before following your prompting back to your pussy. He lapped at you, learning you, and when he trailed up to circle your clit with it, you couldn’t stop the cry that escaped you. 

“That right, honey?” he asked, sounding smug, and he circled your clit with his tongue. You felt a hand slip from your hip to your entrance, rubbing over you as his tongue played with your clit. He kissed you, teased you, and when he pushed a thick finger into you while his lips closed over your clit, you moaned. 

“Feels so good, Jake,” you cried, and you felt him shudder at your voice. 

You heard it too, how wrecked you sounded, and it was his fault. Your hips were pushing up into him, chasing the suction of his mouth, the pull of his fingers. He was only a knuckle or so into you, but his finger was so wide, thicker than your own, and you moaned at the unfamiliar intrusion. 

It was Jake between your legs, Jake’s wicked smile, sharp tongue, capable hands, Jake who was working you with his fingers and mouth. He felt so good, and your body felt like it was humming to a frequency he set. 

You trembled as he sheathed a finger in you, you moaned when he sucked your clit, and when his teeth brushed over your clit, the pleasure coursing through you snapped. Your fingers in his hair tightened, and Jake groaned when you pressed your pussy harder against his face. He groaned like he wanted it, like he craved that reaction, and you came hard.  

He coaxed you through it, gentle and steady as he’d been so far, and as you came down, you pulled slightly at his hair. 

“Jake, that was–” you gasped, and you felt him laugh again. 

“Honey, what part of ‘plural’ is so hard for you to understand?” he asked.

And he pushed another finger into you. 

Your back bowed off the mattress; you were so sensitive and it made everything Jake did to you feel so much more. 

His mouth traveled down to where his fingers were pressing into you, and he curled them into you. You heard an obscene slurping sound, and your eyes rolled back as you realized he was pulling your release out of you, tasting it from his own fingers. 

“Like honey from a honeycomb,” Jake mumbled, his voice thick, and you whimpered at how he sounded. 

A moment later, his lips closed over your clit again, and your head thrashed against the pillow. 

“Jake, I just–” you panted, but he sucked again and you broke off on a moan. “I can’t, I just – fuck, give me a second– oh, that feels so good.”

Jake either didn’t hear you or he wasn’t listening. 

He was following your body, the way your hips were pushing up into him, the way your cunt was clenching down on his fingers, and it was like he was drunk on the taste of you. He suckled on your clit, his tongue laving over you, stoking you higher again. He felt so good, and you were sure you were telling him, but you were fast losing confidence in your ability to form words. 

You lost track of time, there was just pleasure, and the heat from Jake, and the way he was working your body. 

“You gonna come for me again?” Jake coaxed, pulling back to blow a long stream of cool air over your clit. You flinched, you writhed, you would do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop. “I think you can do it, honey, it was so pretty the first time. This pussy is so good, doing such a beautiful job coming for me, tasting delicious and I bet you can do it again…”

Your legs felt limp as he licked over you again, tasting where his fingers fed into you, pumping them and pulling pleasure out of you. His tongue flicked over your clit, a maddening pattern, and when his lips closed, he sucked hard. It was so strong, so unreal, and you shook as you came again. 

“Ah, there it is…That’s so good, sweetheart,” Jake soothed, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or your pussy, and you certainly didn’t know which was hotter. 

He continued to stroke inside of you, his thick fingers pulling you through your orgasm, keeping you grounded, keeping your pleasure coming. 

You weren’t cold anymore. 

In fact, you were burning up, and Jake didn’t seem like he wanted to stop. The moment he felt coherency return to your posture, he dove back in. You genuinely didn’t think you could stand another orgasm from his mouth, and you let go of his hair – he wasn’t listening to you anyways – and flipped back the comforter. 

God damn, he was so hot. 

He looked up from between your thighs, the lower half of his face smeared with your arousal, and he fucking licked his lips, before smiling up at you. His hair was in complete disarray, and you could tell his whole upper body was flushed from overheating, and he looked so smug, so proud, and he had every right to be. 

“C’mere,” you asked, and it was enough. 

Grinning, Jake crawled up the bed, caging you with his arms again. 

He hesitated, unsure what you were okay with, but you kissed him hungrily. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, and you felt a sort of possessive pride that it’d chased away the cloying sweetness of his chapstick. 

Right now, Jake tasted like yours, and you were obsessed. 

When he realized he could, Jake returned the kiss with enthusiasm, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. 

Your hands smoothed over his back, curling in the hem of his tank and pulling it over his shoulders. Jake wouldn’t separate from your lips to let you pull it over his head and you giggled as he kissed you through it, like an infinity scarf. You felt up his back, hands delighting in the contours of muscles that you’d only admired from a distance, before you caught yourself. 

He was so strong. 

Warm and toned and big, intoxicating to think of him over you. Finally, he ducked his head to chuck off the shirt, and the motion lowered his hips to yours. You both groaned at the brush of his cock between your thighs, and then Jake was kissing you with fresh urgency. You hadn’t seen him yet, though he’d had his face in your pussy, and you reached between the two of you. 

You felt him over his boxers, and Jake broke off the kiss at your touch, his head dropping to your shoulder. It was like he couldn’t contain himself, and his hips pushed into your touch. You explored the shape of him through the thin cotton, your own hips rocking into him on instinct. 

Fuck, he felt big. 

You felt a small bit of wetness near the fat head of him, and you moaned as your thumb rolled over the leaking precum, rubbing his sensitive head. 

“I have a – shit,” Jake broke off, his hips rutting into your touch, and your head fell back. “I have a condom in my wallet.”

“Of course you do,” you teased, and it would’ve been more effective if you didn’t sound so needy about it. 

You turned your head to press a kiss to his cheek, then scooted out of the bed. 

The room felt freezing outside of the bed, but it was refreshing, as you darted over to his backpack. You found his wallet, and the condom inside it, and when you got back to the bed, Jake had only moved to push himself up. He was kneeling in the middle of the bed, and he shifted as he pulled off his boxers. 

“Holy shit, Seresin,” you whispered, not even caring that your voice sounded reverent. 

His cock was beautiful, thick between his thighs, bouncing parallel to the bed. Jake gripped the base of it loosely, like he had to do something while he watched you watching him, and you crawled back to the bed, still staring, kneeling so your knees almost touched his. 

“Can I?” you asked, holding up the condom. “Please, sweetheart,” Jake said, his voice so gruff and gorgeous. You licked your lips and ripped the foil, but hesitated before you pulled it out. 

“I’m clean,” you told him, sitting back on your thighs. “Um, we should still use this, but I just wanted you to know.”

Jake caught your chin between  his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to him. He kissed you quickly, short and sweet, and there was something unexpected in his eyes when he pulled back. 

“Me too, sugar,” he said, his voice deep. “Thank you.”

You couldn't be sure what he was thanking you for, but you felt like you should be thanking him. For making sure you felt good, for thinking of a condom, for making you feel so cared for. So you tilted your head, reached between you to where he was loosely fisting himself, and replaced his hand with yours. 

You pulled your hand loosely over him, obsessed with the warm feel of him, how thick he was in your hand, how heavy. Jake’s hands hovered like he wasn’t sure where you put them, and they settled on your upper arms, like he needed you to keep his balance. 

It didn’t stop you from leaning down and guiding his tip towards your mouth. 

Jake groaned, a beautiful, strangled sound, and it was lost to you when you first tasted him. 

This wasn’t the proper angle for a proper blow job, and you wanted to feel him, but you were curious, and your tongue lapped at him. His skin was scalding hot, and a pearl of precum beaded at the end of his cock, like an invitation. You licked it into your mouth, moaning at the salty, rich taste of him. 

Jake’s hand fell to the back of your head, not pushing, but like he needed to steady himself. You licked over him, acquainting yourself with him, learning the veins and sensitive spots, knowing you’d want to come back to them later. Too soon, Jake’s hand tightened in your hair. 

You looked up at him, hoping he’d like the picture of you from this angle. His jaw clenched and his eyes fluttered shut, if that was any indication. 

“Need to be inside you,” he ground out, and opened his eyes. “That mouth is so sweet, honey, gonna make this be over too soon. I want to feel that pussy.”

God, you wanted that too. 

You pushed yourself back up, pulled the condom out, and rolled it over his thick length. His thighs were shaking, you noticed, and it filled you with something like tenderness. That he’d get you there twice, then let you play with him, then say “please”, like fucking you was a privilege. 

When your hand reached the base of his dick, condom secured, he surged forward to kiss you. You swayed on the bed, kneeling in the middle of it, his hands cupping your face, yours on his waist. Both pulling, both needing to be closer, and when Jake lowered you back down, you followed his prompting eagerly. 

He settled you back against the pillows, back how you’d been when he’d driven you to the stars with his tongue, but this time his handsome face was right over you. When he settled over you, you closed your eyes against the intensity of the moment. You were both fully naked, and it felt so heavenly to have so much of his skin pressed against yours. He was warm, strong, all around you, and you needed him in you too. 

You spread your legs, letting him rest deeper between your thighs, and whimpering when his hot cock brushed against your stomach, then down. 

“Don’t know how slow I can take this,” Jake said, like he expected you to have a problem with that. 

“I want to feel you,” you told him, honestly. “Please.”

Jake kissed you again, pulling back to press his forehead to yours as he guided his dick between your thighs. 

You’d had two orgasms. 

You’d had his fingers and his tongue loosen you, you were plenty lubricated, but when Jake’s cock pressed against your entrance, you realized it hadn’t been enough. 

“Holy shit, Jake,” you gasped, as his fat head pressed against your pussy, waiting for resistance to melt. 

“Relax, baby,” he whispered hoarsely, “you can do it…You’re doing so good, just a little bit of give, come on…”

You whimpered at the new endearment, but there was no way. You felt needy, cloying. You could fit him, you knew it, but it felt—there.

He eased in, just a breath, and you felt like sobbing. It was so good, so overwhelming, so fucking tight, and you needed the rest of him. 

“Jesus, honey, you’re so tight,” Jake said, he sounded choked, and you loved it. 

“More,” you whimpered. “Please, Jake, want to feel you…you’re so big, I need more, please, please.”

“Honey, you can’t say things like that–” Jake gritted, your words driving his hips forward. 

You could tell he was trying to go slow, but the feeling of him forcing his cock into you had your legs shaking. You wanted it, needed it, and if begging was the way to get it, begging you could do. 

“Want to feel your thick cock, Jake,” you whispered, and he shivered. He was bracing himself against the headboard, and you could feel his arms shaking as he fought to keep from driving into you. “You feel so good, need to feel you so deep…want to come on your cock, please, Jake…come on and fuck me.”

He groaned like he was in pain, as he pressed deeper into you. 

He was trying to go slow, trying to be gentle, but you wanted to be mindless, you wanted your whole being centered around the deep push of his cock. You wiggled your hips, and sighed as he sunk deeper.  

“Thank you,” you breathed, and his hips punched forward again. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, and you would’ve laughed, but you were too overwhelmed. 

This was what you wanted, this was what you knew he could give you. Your hands dropped from his shoulders to your breasts, squeezing and massaging your breasts as he sank into you. You turned your head to look up at him, and found him staring, slack jawed, down at you in awe. 

“You make me feel so good,” you coaxed him. “Please, Jake…fuck me.”

Jake growled, a sound that came from deep in his chest, and his hand fell between you to brush over your clit. 

You jolted at his touch, your hips opening impossibly wider, and a hotter, stronger arousal racing through you than the steady, heavy press of him. Your hips bucked up, and you tweaked your nipples, working yourself up onto his cock rather than pressing him into you. It took a couple more burning minutes, and you were both coated in sweat by the time he was seated in you. 

“Baby…” Jake breathed, his voice a dream and you had to resist the urge to purr. He was so warm, all around you, inside you, it felt like he was grounding you. 

Then he moved.

His first pump had your back arching, your knees jolting up, your eyes flying open. Fuck, how did he reach that part of you, how was there room, how were you–

Jake laughed, a deep, dark sound. 

“That's what you wanted, sweetheart?” he asked, and he moved again. You cried out, overwhelmed, perfect.

“This what you were begging for?” Jake grunted, between strokes, “This what you were asking so prettily for, and now you have me, and what’s that, baby, can’t find your words? What’s wrong?”

Nothing was wrong, not a damn thing, but you couldn’t summon the wherewithal to tell him. All you felt was pleasure, pounding and sweeping, full and as good as eternal. 

“This pussy is so fucking tight, sweetheart,” Jake swore, his head lowering to kiss down your neck. He sucked at the skin there savagely, needing a distraction, and you clenched around him, when his lips closed over your pulse point. “Pulling me in, so tight and warm. You look so good around my cock, honey, you wouldn’t believe… Like a dream, like a fucking wet dream, but you’re here, stretched around me, taking me so good…”

You moaned as he found a rhythm.

The headboard was banging against the wall with the strength of his thrusts, and he pounded into you. There was so much he hadn’t said, so much he couldn’t say, but he pushed it into your body, swore it to you. He soothed it over your clit with his thumb, he promised it with his thick, heavy cock inside of you, and you felt yourself falling into it. 

“Please, Jake,” you managed, begging again. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything other than take the harsh fucking he was giving you, and craving it, needing it. 

“What’d’ya need, honey,” Jake groaned. “You have me here, so fucking deep, never felt this good, this right—what do you need, baby, tell me, whatever you need.”

Had the room been dark? Surely it’d always been bright light, sparking, blinding. 

Pleasure was rolling over you, suffocating, live-giving and you shook your head, moaning with every thrust of Jake’s hips. The only words you could manage were his name, and please, and it seemed to spur Jake on further. His thumb pressed hard into your clit as his hips sped up, and you felt the wave inside you cresting. 

“You’re close, honey, I can feel it, can feel how hard this cunt wants to come. Are you gonna do it, baby? Milk this cock, make it even tighter around me, want to feel that, need to feel your pussy twitching around me, sugar, please come…”

Your orgasm shattered over you, blinding and perfect. Your throat felt hoarse from your moans, or your breathlessness, but everything heightened. You felt like you were breathing with Jake, felt every hitch and gasp and shudder as he coaxed you through it. You felt like you were suspended in space, like the only thing there was was Jake’s arms around you and his cock within you and you needed, you needed, him to come. 

“Come in me, baby,” you whispered, your voice watery. “Need to feel you, want to feel how you’d fuck me to fill me, please, Jake, it’ll feel so good.”

“Fuck,” Jake shouted hoarsely, his hips thrusting harshly into you. “Oh, sweetheart, you feel too good, you’re so tight around me… I need to come, need to feel– fuck –”

You could feel his thighs shaking, his back tensing, and you turned your head to kiss him as he came. He moaned into your mouth, his whole body jerking as he emptied into the condom. You felt how strong he came, felt how thoroughly it worked through him, and it filled you with pride and satisfaction as he collapsed over you. 

You knew he meant to push himself to your side, but you didn’t let him go. 

You were just as boneless. 

You both lay there, a sticky, sweaty, mess, panting. It was like a dream, a daydream crossed with a fantasy. You were warm, comforted, sated, and the room was still cheap, the motel was still sketchy, but you were suddenly quite alright with this start to the year.  

//

tag list: @cheekymcgrath @laracrofted @callsign-fangirl @bradshawsbitch @bradshawsbaby @withahappyrefrain @hangmanssunnies @callsignspark @lewmagoo @mxgyver @sebsxphia @daggerspare-standingby @ryebecca @teacupsandtopgun @hangmanbrainrot @sometimesanalice @wildbornsiren @whoeverineedtobe @clancycucumber230 @javihoney and i think a couple folks have changed their URLS, so please let me know if you still want to be tagged!

[whereforarthur]

Ménage à trois

A/N: Getting back into writing due to my recent obsession with the British YouTube scene, especially ArthurTv and ItalianBach. There is a lack of ItalianBach imagines and I figured I’d try and fill that void.

Pairing: ItalianBach x Gf!reader x ArthurTv

Summary: As ItalianBach’s girlfriend you are asked to gather fanfics of the boys to discuss on the podcast, not knowing what could possibly happen…

Word Count: 6.4K

Rating: Mature 

Category: Smut with Fluff at the end

Content Warnings: threesome, blowjob, pussy-eating, vaginal penetration, kinda overstim, praise, degrading, reader on the pill, unprotected sex, cum in pussy, cum on pussy, lil bit of choking, kinda forceful at times

italicized text is fan fictions y/n is reading

******

After 2 years of being the girlfriend to ItalianBach, you have grown to admire his uprising and the more and more fans that began to accumulate. Of course, you were proud of your boyfriend's success, but along with it came hundreds of thirsting fans. The number of thirst traps and edits that would now pop up on your FYP was insane. You couldn’t blame them though, to be fair you were dating a Greek god of a man.

So you were quite surprised when Isaac asked you to gather some imagines and fanfics to discuss on the next episode of the Bach and Arthur Podcast.

“Are you sure you want to torture yourselves,” a blush began to rise on your cheeks as you asked Isaac, “Some of those imagines can get pretty naughty.” Having spent your fair time on Tumblr in the past you knew of the kind of filth that people could write up.

Isaac laughed at the blush that rose on your cheeks when you asked him. “Of course, love I’m sure it can’t be that bad and I think it would be great laughs for the pod.” He replied.

You couldn't help but feel a peculiar mix of excitement and trepidation as you thought about the idea of finding hot fanfics about your boyfriend and best mate.

But you hadn't expected to find a treasure trove of fanfics and smut featuring ArthurTv, the charismatic co-host of his show. The explicit scenes had taken you by surprise, You felt a guilty thrill as you realized that the raw passion in the stories had your pulse racing.

*****

Her eyes were transfixed on the words that danced before her, a particular imagine that had caught her attention. It was of Arthur, the charismatic yet enigmatic star of the screen, a man whose allure was as vast as the universe itself.

The image painted a picture of Arthur in a state of sublime surrender, his powerful form bent to the will of unseen hands.

"Arthur looked so gone with each bounce, his chest rising and falling so dramatically with each breath, his eyes half lidded and completely dumbified, the way his lips twitched slightly as though he needed to say something but couldn't between all his high whimpers and moans which had you racing towards your climax."

Her hand wandered down to her thigh, tracing the contours of her skin as she delved deeper into the narrative. The fabric of her shorts grew damp as her arousal grew in response to the erotic tale. Each word she read was a caress, a whispered promise of the intensity that awaited her if she dared to let go.

But she knew she had to move on. There was a podcast to prepare for, after all. With a shaky exhale, she closed the tab and opened the next link. The effort to shake off the excitement was Herculean, but she managed, focusing instead on the task at hand. The next fanfic began innocently enough, a gentle romance blossoming between Arthur and another character. She forced her breathing to even out, her racing heart to slow, as she willed her thoughts back to the podcast. The words on the screen swam in front of her eyes, the aftershocks of the previous story lingering in the air like a seductive perfume.

This new tale took a surprising turn, however, as Arthur's love for lingerie began to emerge.

"A side that made him seem like a menace, almost like he was a horny teenage boy who had been left alone with his female celebrity crush, becoming touchy and needy."

Her cheeks flushed as she read about his tender exploration of his partner's body, his eyes lighting up with wonder as he revealed the secrets hidden beneath layers of fabric. It was a stark contrast to the raw, unbridled passion of the first story, and she found herself drawn to this more intimate side of Arthur. Her own hands grew curious, wandering up to her chest, feeling the soft fabric of her shirt. She closed her eyes, picturing Arthur's hands, so adept at uncovering secrets, working their magic on her.

You tried to convince yourself it was just the novelty, the thrill of the forbidden. But as you scrolled through page after page of steamy content, you couldn't help but feel a wetness between your legs that had nothing to do with the innocent curiosity of reading fanfiction. Your mind began to wander, imagining the scenarios playing out in the stories, with you as the unseen participant. The way Arthur’s mischievous smile would curve into something more seductive when he looked at you. It was wrong, you knew, but the allure was undeniable.

It was like a switch had been flipped in your mind, and suddenly, you couldn't get enough of the idea. The thought of being the one to bring that passion to the surface, to be the one they both craved, was intoxicating.

*****

The sudden sound of the key in the lock jolted her out of her reverie. Her boyfriend, Isaac, was home. She took a deep breath, willing her pulse to slow and her cheeks to return to their normal color. She had to compose herself; she couldn't have him finding her in such a state. Quickly, she minimized the browser and closed her laptop, hoping the evidence of her arousal wasn't too obvious.

"Babe, what’s got you so frazzled?" He said as he entered the living room, his voice a pleasant mix of curiosity and confusion. But as she looked up at him, she saw a glint in his eye that suggested he knew exactly what you'd been reading. A smirk played on his lips, and your heart skipped a beat.

You looked down at your laptop, feeling a sudden jolt of excitement and nervousness.

“Find anything good?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. "Just the... stuff you asked me to look f-for the podcast," you managed to reply, your voice wavering slightly.

He sauntered closer, his eyes darkening as he leaned against the desk. "Oh, I know exactly what you've been looking at," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

Isaac’s smirk grew wider as he approached you, his eyes never leaving yours.

His eyes scanned the first imagine, a grin spreading slowly across his face as he read aloud, "Submissive ArthurTV smut." The title alone was enough to make you blush, and you found yourself eagerly waiting to hear his reaction.

As he read further, his smile turned into a puzzled frown. "These are all about Arthur?" he asked, looking through the opened tabs on your laptop. You nodded sheepishly, realizing your oversight in not mentioning the focus of the fanfics. "Well, I guess I'm not as popular as I thought," he said, trying to keep the sting out of his voice. Isaac looked at you, his expression unreadable. He took a sip of his coffee before finally speaking, "Well, I'm not surprised. Girls do seem to go crazy over his cuteness."

Having read all the imagines and smut all ready in perpetration, you couldn’t help but giggle and blush at Isaac. “Oh, you have no idea just how crazy they get over the boy.” Twiddling your thumbs as your gaze drops to the floor, nervous for Isaac to read them.

He leaned over the back of the couch, his fingers tracing the line of your neck. "You know, I've always wondered what you thought about Arthur," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Isaac’s hand rested on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, deliberate circles.

You had always found Arthur attractive, but you had never allowed your thoughts to wander beyond the realm of friendship. Your relationship with Isaac had been a happy one, filled with love and laughter, and the occasional podcast recording. But here you were, with your body responding to the illicit thoughts that the fanfics had planted in your mind. The room grew warmer as you felt Isaac’s hand slide down your arm, his fingertips grazing the inside of your elbow, sending sparks through your body.

He chuckled softly, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "You know, the way the fans write about us. The... fantasies they have." His voice was a seductive purr, sending shivers down your spine.

"Fantasies, huh?" you replied, trying to keep your voice even as your heart thudded in your chest. He leaned closer, his eyes searching yours, a silent question hanging in the air. "I guess everyone has their fantasies," you added, trying to sound nonchalant, but the tremor in your voice betrayed your excitement.

He chuckled again, a sound that sent a thrill through you. "Yeah, they do," he said, his thumb now tracing lazy circles around the inside of your wrist. His eyes never left yours as he spoke, and you could see the mischief in them. "And what about you?" he pressed, his voice dropping another octave. "What do you fantasize about?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. You had never been one to shy away from your desires, but this was new territory, even for you. "I... I've had a fantasy," you began, the words spilling out of you before you could stop them. "A threesome, with you and Arthur."

Isaac’s eyes widened, the smirk on his face morphing into something more serious. "Really?" he said, his voice thick with surprise and a hint of excitement. "You've thought about that?"

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from his. The idea had consumed you since you'd first stumbled upon the fanfics, growing from a simple curiosity to a full-blown obsession. The more you read, the more you found yourself craving the kind of passion that seemed to exist only in the minds of the writers and their devoted readers. "I can't stop thinking about it," you admitted, your voice barely a murmur.

Isaac’s hand stilled on your wrist, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, there was silence, the air in the room thick with anticipation. Then, he leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding. You melted into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch. The taste of him was familiar, yet the context was alien, a heady mix that made your head spin.

As your kiss deepened, his hand slid down to your thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles that made you squirm.

You didn't know how this conversation had turned into this, but you didn't want it to stop.

"What if we made it a reality?" Isaac whispered against your lips, his breath hot and demanding. "What if we invited Arthur over tonight and made your fantasy come true?"

Your mind raced. Would Arthur really be up for that? Was he even attracted to you? The thought was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. You had known Arthur for only a couple of months, but the idea of sharing an intimate encounter with him was something you had never dared to consider. But the way Isaac was looking at you, with a mix of hunger and excitement, made it feel like anything was possible

“You think he'd be okay with it?" you asked, your voice shaking with anticipation.

Isaac’s grin grew, and he gave your thigh a firm squeeze. "I think he'd be more than okay," he said confidently. "You know he's always had a thing for you?”

The revelation sent a shiver down your spine. Arthur had always been flirty, but you had dismissed it as part of his charm. Now, the way he'd looked at you during podcasts, the lingering touches, and the way his eyes followed you around the room, took on a new meaning. You had been so wrapped up in your own life that you'd missed the signs that were staring you in the face.

Isaac’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "We can make it happen," he murmured, his voice a seductive promise. "But only if you're sure."

You nodded, your heart racing. The thought of being with both of them was thrilling and terrifying, but the excitement won out. "Call him," you said, your voice a breathy whisper.

Isaac pulled away, his eyes alight with excitement. He grabbed his phone and dialed Arthur’s number, his eyes never leaving yours. You watched him, your chest heaving, as he spoke in hushed tones, laying out the plan. You could only catch fragments of the conversation, but the way his eyes darkened and his voice grew lower told you that Arthur was on board.

As Isaac hung up, he turned to you, his gaze intense. "He's on his way," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Are you sure about this?"

You nodded again, unable to form coherent words. The anticipation was almost too much to bear. You could feel your body reacting, your core tightening with need. Your stomach was a whirlwind of butterflies as you thought about what was to come. You'd never been with two men at once, and the idea of it was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. You tried to calm your racing thoughts, but the anticipation was too much. You took a deep breath, feeling your chest rise and fall with the effort.

*****

When the doorbell rang, your heart skipped a beat. Isaac gave you a reassuring wink before heading to the door. You could hear the muffled sound of their greetings, and then Arthur’s voice grew clearer as he entered the room.

"Hey, gorgeous," Arthur said, walking over and kissing you on the cheek. His lips lingered just a moment too long, sending a thrill through your body. Isaac sat down next to you, his hand resting possessively on your thigh. The tension in the room was palpable, a delicious cocktail of excitement and nerves.

"So, Isaac here tells me you've been reading some... interesting fanfics about me," Arthur said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. He had a mischievous glint in his brown doe eyes, one that told you he knew exactly what was going on. You felt your cheeks heat up again, but instead of looking away, you met his gaze, letting him see the desire in your eyes.

“They were just for the podcast," you protested weakly, though the tremor in your voice gave you away. Isaac chuckled, his hand squeezing your thigh in a silent message of support.

Arthur’s eyes searched yours, a smirk playing on his lips as he sat down across from you. "Is that so?" he said, his tone teasing. "But they turned you on, didn't they?" he said, his voice low and seductive. You felt your face flush even hotter, but you didn't deny it. There was something about the way he said it that made you feel like you were sharing a naughty secret, something thrilling and taboo.

Isaac leaned back into the couch, his hand sliding up to rest on the back of your neck. "You can tell us, babe," he murmured, his thumb tracing lazy circles that made your pulse race. "It's okay to be turned on by a good story."

You took a deep breath, the words sticking in your throat like a guilty confession. "Yes," you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "They did turn me on." Isaac’s hand tightened around your neck, his thumb still tracing circles.

The two men exchanged a look, a silent communication that seemed to carry more weight than any words could. Arthur's smile grew, his eyes darkening with desire. He took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, his gaze never leaving yours. "Well, if you liked the stories, maybe we could give you a taste of the real thing," he said, his voice like velvet.

You could feel the tension between the three of you, a heady mix of excitement and nerves. Arthur leaned in, his hand landing on your other thigh, his fingers playing with the hem of your shorts. "Is that what you want?" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the tumult of emotions within you. The fanfics had been a catalyst, igniting a desire you hadn't even known existed. Now, with the two men you had fantasized about so intimately right in front of you, it was like stepping into a world you had only ever dared to imagine.

Isaac's hand slid up to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer for a kiss that was anything but gentle. His tongue danced with yours, tasting and claiming, as Arthur's hand began to inch higher up your thigh. You could feel the heat radiating from both of them, their desire a palpable force that made you feel alive in a way you hadn't in ages.

Breaking the kiss, Isaac whispered, "Take off your shirt," his voice a gruff command that sent a thrill through your body. You complied, the fabric slipping off your shoulders to reveal your lacy black bra. Arthur's eyes widened, his hand pausing for a moment before he reached out to trace the edge of the fabric with a fingertip.

The touch was electric, sending a jolt of desire through you. You watched as Isaac's gaze drifted down to your chest, his eyes dark with lust. He leaned in, his teeth grazing your neck as he unclipped your bra, freeing your breasts. Arthur’s eyes locked on them, his pupils dilating with hunger.

Isaac’s mouth found one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before taking it into his mouth and sucking gently. You gasped, arching your back, your hands tangling in his hair. Arthur took the opportunity to kiss along your collarbone, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. You could feel the bulge in his pants pressing against your bare leg, his hand now resting on your hip.

The anticipation was unbearable, the room spinning with the heady scent of desire. Then, Isaac pulled away, his eyes locked on Arthur's. "Your turn," he said, his voice a rough growl. Arthur's eyes met yours, and you could see the challenge in them. You leaned in, your heart racing, and kissed him for the first time.

It was nothing like you had ever experienced before. Isaac's kisses were familiar, a dance of love and comfort that you had shared countless times. Arthur's kiss was something else entirely—it was wild, raw, and consuming. His lips were soft, yet firm, demanding your attention as his tongue slid against yours. You felt a jolt of electricity as your bodies melded together, his hand cupping your face with a gentle urgency that made your knees go weak.

Isaac’s hand slid down your back, his fingers tracing the contours of your body as he watched the two of you, his desire evident in the way his chest rose and fell. You could feel his arousal pressing into your side, a constant reminder that this wasn't just a kiss between you and Arthur, but a shared experience among the three of you.

Arthur's hand moved to your bare shoulder, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin as he deepened the kiss. You moaned into his mouth, the sound lost in the mingling of your breaths. His other hand found its way to your breast, his touch firm yet gentle, teasing the nipple until it stood at attention. You couldn't help but arch into his touch, the sensation making your toes curl.

Isaac's hand slid down to your waist, his fingers unbuttoning your shorts with a deftness that spoke of experience. He tugged them down, revealing the dampness of your panties. Arthur broke the kiss, his eyes dropping to the exposed flesh, his breath hitching in his throat. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice hoarse with need.

You felt Isaac's hand slide over your bare skin, his thumb hooking into the fabric of your panties. He tugged them down, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, yet incredibly turned on. You watched as Arthur's eyes followed the movement, his hand now resting on the bulge in his pants, his fingers tracing the outline. The sight of him, so obviously affected by your shared intimacy, was intoxicating.

"Take them off," Isaac murmured, his voice thick with need. You obeyed, standing up to shimmy out of your shorts and panties, leaving you in nothing but your heels. Arthur's eyes roamed over your body, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. You felt a thrill of power at being the object of their desire, the center of their attention.

You sat back down on the couch, sitting in between the two boys. Isaac groaned as you pressed against him, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. Arthur leaned in, his mouth finding your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. You moaned, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through you. Isaac's mouth found your other nipple, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the tender flesh.

You felt Arthur's hand slip between your thighs, his fingers toying with the slick folds of your sex. You were wet, so wet, and the feeling of his touch was almost too much. Isaac's hands roamed over your body, his fingertips teasing the edge of your ass, his thumbs tracing the line of your hips. You could feel their arousal, the thickness of their cocks pressing against you, and it only made you want more.

Isaac's mouth found yours again, his tongue delving deep as his hand began to rub you in slow, deliberate circles. You gasped into the kiss, your body responding instinctively to his touch. Isaac's hands moved to your ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as he rocked his hips up into you, his hardness teasing your wetness.

You could feel the fabric of the couch beneath you, rough against your skin as Arthur's fingers slid deeper, his thumb circling your clit with expert precision. Isaac's mouth traveled down your neck, planting kisses along the way, his breath hot against your skin. Your hips began to move in time with Arthur's hand, the friction building into a crescendo of pleasure.

“Let's switch things up," Arthur murmured, his voice thick with desire. He gently pushed you back until you were lying on the couch, his eyes never leaving yours. He knelt between your legs, his hands on your thighs, spreading them wider. "I want to taste you," he said, his gaze burning into yours.

You felt a thrill of excitement at his words, the reality of the situation hitting you like a wave. You nodded, unable to form coherent words, as Arthur's hands guided you closer to the edge of the couch. Isaac watched, his eyes hooded with lust, as Arthur leaned in, his breath hot against your center. You could feel the anticipation building, the tension in the room almost tangible.

Arthur's tongue flicked out, tasting you for the first time, and you moaned, your hips bucking upward. He chuckled, the vibration against your clit sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His tongue delved deeper, exploring you with a hunger that was both surprising and thrilling. He was so attentive, so eager to please. Isaac's hands were on your breasts again, pinching and teasing your nipples as he watched Arthur devour you.

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of Arthur's skilled mouth and Isaac's firm grip on your body pushing you closer to the edge. You reached down, your fingers tangling in Arthur's hair, guiding him as he licked and sucked. You could feel the tension building, your muscles tightening as the first waves of orgasm began to crash over you. Isaac leaned down, his mouth finding yours as Arthur's tongue swirled around your clit, pushing you over the edge.

“Arthur, I'm going to cum," you gasped, the words barely making it past the lump in your throat. Arthur's eyes flicked up to meet yours, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he redoubled his efforts. You could feel the warmth spreading through your body, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until you couldn't hold it in anymore. You moaned, the sound muffled by Isaac's mouth, as you came, your body shuddering with pleasure.

The two men pulled back, their gazes locked on you as your orgasm washed over you. You felt a warm glow spread through you, a sense of satisfaction that was new and exhilarating. Isaac's hand slid down to cup your face, turning it so he could kiss you again, deep and slow, as Arthur's thumb lazily circled your clit, sending aftershocks through your body.

*****

When your breathing had evened out, Isaac whispered, "Now it's our turn." He slid out from under you, standing up and unbuckling his belt. Arthur followed suit, his eyes never leaving yours as he stripped out of his clothes. The sight of the two of them, fully aroused and ready, was like something out of your wildest dreams.

Without a word, you reached out and took Arthur's cock in your mouth, the velvety softness of his skin against your lips sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. Isaac watched with rapt attention, his hand moving to stroke his erection as he took in the sight of you pleasuring his podcast partner. The sensation was foreign, yet exhilarating, and you found yourself eager to explore more.

Isaac knelt beside the couch, his eyes on your bobbing head as he stroked himself. His cock was thick and veined, the tip glistening with precum. You felt his hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing against your still-sensitive clit, sending shockwaves through your body. You moaned around Arthur's cock, the vibration making him gasp.

"Fuck, you're so good at that," Arthur groaned, his hand tightening in your hair.

"Arthur, she's incredible," Isaac said, his voice thick with desire. "Her mouth is magic." Arthur groaned in response, his eyes rolling back as you took him deeper, the sound of your gagging only adding to the intensity of the moment.

The praise sent a jolt of excitement through you, making you want to show them just how good you could be. You took Arthur deeper into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked with all the passion and skill that Isaac had enjoyed.

Isaac leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "You're going to make him cum so hard," he whispered, his hand sliding down to your ass, his fingers teasing your opening.

The dual sensations of Arthur's cock in your mouth and Isaac's fingers on your ass were driving you wild. You felt yourself getting wetter, your pussy begging to be filled. Isaac noticed, his hand moving to stroke your clit as he whispered more dirty words of encouragement.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice a low growl of approval. "Take him all in. Show him how much you want this." Your eyes watered slightly as you took him deeper, the tip brushing the back of your throat. You felt a thrill of power as Isaac's hand tightened in your hair, guiding you, his breathing growing ragged. You had never done this before, but something about the moment made it feel incredibly right.

You felt Isaac's breath against your ear, his words sending shivers down your spine. You could feel his arousal pressing against your back, his hand still working magic on your clit. Arthur's hips began to buck, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth in a rhythm that matched the strokes of your hand. You could taste the saltiness of his precum, a hint of what was to come.

Suddenly, Arthur's body tensed, and with a guttural groan, he came. You felt the warmth of his cum fill your mouth, and you swallowed eagerly, not missing a beat. The salty taste was surprisingly delicious, a testament to the power of the moment. You pulled back, licking your lips, watching the aftermath of pleasure play out on his face. Isaac's hand slid away from your clit, giving you a moment to catch your breath. Isaac leaned in, watching with hooded eyes as you continued to pleasure Arthur, drawing out every last drop of his release.

Arthur leaned back, his chest heaving, a look of pure bliss etched on his features. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at the power you had over him, the way he had lost control in your mouth. Isaac chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Good girl," he murmured, his hand tracing the line of your jaw.

You looked up at Arthur, his cock still semi-hard in front of you. "Can you go again?" you asked the question dripping with curiosity and desire. He blinked, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "For you?" he replied, his voice still thick with arousal. "Always."

Isaac chuckled, his hand guiding his erection closer to your mouth. You eagerly took him in, his taste a heady mix of desire and power. As you began to suck, Arthur's cock grew harder, the anticipation building. You felt him shift behind you, his fingers ghosting over your ass before he positioned himself at your entrance.

With a single, smooth thrust, Arthur entered you, filling you up completely. You gasped around Isaac's cock, the sensation of being filled by two men at once was unlike anything you'd ever experienced. Isaac's hand tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as Arthur began to move, his strokes long and slow, drawing out the pleasure.

"Look at her," Isaac said, his voice filled with pride. "Taking us both like a champ."

Arthur's hand smacked down on your ass, the sound echoing in the quiet room. You yelped, the sting turning into a rush of heat that only added to your arousal. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You're so fucking sexy."

You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that had you on the edge of another orgasm. Isaac's eyes never left yours as you took him deeper into your mouth, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, a testament to Arthur's passionate strokes.

Arthur's hand tightened on your hip, his other hand sliding around to your throat. He didn't squeeze, but the mere presence of his touch there sent a shiver down your spine. It was a silent claim of dominance, one that had your body responding in ways you didn't fully understand. You felt Isaac's cock swell in your mouth, his breathing growing ragged.

The three of you moved in a symphony of passion, each touch and stroke building upon the last. You could feel Arthur's cock twitching, his movements growing more urgent. Isaac's hand in your hair tightened, his hips jerking as he approached his climax. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

Suddenly, Isaac's hand left your hair, his fingers sliding down to trace your cheek. "Look at me," he ordered, his voice strained. You obeyed, your eyes locking with his as he began to spurt into your mouth, filling you with his warmth. You swallowed, the salty taste of him mixing with the pleasure of Arthur's cock inside you. Isaac's eyes never left yours, the intimacy of the moment searing into your soul.

Arthur's pace quickened, his breaths coming in harsh pants as he felt his release building. He leaned over you, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking the nipple. The two men watched each other over your body, their expressions a mix of lust and possessiveness. Arthur's strokes grew more erratic, his breathing ragged. "I'm going to cum," he warned, his voice tight. You felt your orgasm building, the pressure in your core threatening to shatter you.

“Come for us," Isaac murmured, his hand sliding down to stroke your clit in time with Arthur's thrusts. The combination was too much, and with a scream that was muffled by Isaac’s mouth on yours, you came again, your body convulsing around Arthur's. He followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he filled you with his release.

For a moment, the three of you stayed like that, panting and trembling, lost in the aftermath of your shared climax. Then, Arthur withdrew, his cock glistening with your juices.

You felt boneless, your muscles turned to jelly as Arthur pulled out, his breathing ragged. Isaac helped you up, his arm around your waist as you swayed slightly. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a low rumble of concern. You nodded, a lazy smile on your face, still reeling from the intensity of the experience.

The three of you stood there for a moment, panting and sweaty, the air thick with the scent of sex. Isaac leaned in to kiss you, his tongue claiming your mouth in a way that left no doubt who you belonged to. Arthur's hand rested on your shoulder, his own need for dominance sated for the moment.

*****

The three of you collapsed onto the couch, breathing heavily, your bodies sticky with sweat and cum. You felt a sense of euphoria wash over you, a heady mix of satisfaction and disbelief.

“Damn, that was incredible," Arthur murmured, his voice heavy with satisfaction. You nodded, unable to find the words to express the tumult of emotions coursing through you. You felt used in the best possible way, claimed by two men who had given you pleasure beyond anything you'd ever known.

Arthur stepped closer, his hand tracing the line of your spine as he leaned in to kiss you. "You're both incredible," you managed to say, your voice a hoarse whisper.

*****

Arthur stepped back, his desire still evident in his eyes. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said, his voice still thick with lust. You nodded, your legs wobbly as Isaac helped you to your feet. He led you to the bathroom, the two of them following close behind. The warm water of the shower washed over you, the steam filling the room as they lathered your body with gentle, soothing strokes.

They took turns washing you, their hands gliding over your skin with a tenderness that belied the intensity of what had just happened. You felt cherished, desired, and utterly consumed by them. Isaac's hands lingered on your breasts, his thumbs flicking your sensitive nipples until you gasped. Arthur's soapy hands roamed down your back, his fingers tracing the lines of your ass before slipping between your cheeks.

You took a deep breath, feeling both sated and overwhelmed. "Guys," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... I can't handle anymore tonight." You felt a twinge of regret, but your body was begging for a break from the intensity of the evening.

Isaac's arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your ear. "Sshh, baby," he soothed. "You've been amazing. We'll save the rest for another time." His words were like a warm blanket, wrapping around you and easing the tension that had built up in your muscles.

Arthur nodded in agreement, his eyes still dark with hunger, but understanding in your exhaustion. "You've done more than enough," he said, his voice a soft rumble that sent shivers down your spine despite your satiation. "Let us take care of you now."

When you were clean, they helped you out of the shower, wrapping you in a soft, warm towel. Isaac's arms circled you from behind, his chest pressing against your back as he kissed your neck. Arthur took the towel from you, his eyes never leaving yours as he dried you off, his touch lingering in all the right places.

They led you to the bedroom, the soft light from the bedside lamp casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. Isaac laid you down, his hands smoothing over your skin as Arthur climbed in beside you. They surrounded you, their warm bodies a comforting cocoon that seemed to chase away any lingering nerves or doubts.

You snuggled closer to Isaac, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you against his chest. Arthur's hand found your thigh, his fingers idly stroking the soft skin as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. You felt safe, cherished, and more alive than you had in a long time.

You looked up at Isaac, your hand sliding up to trace the line of his jaw. He opened his eyes, the intensity in them replaced with a soft, affectionate gaze. "Thank you," you whispered, the words barely carrying across the pillow.

He smiled, a gentle curve of his lips that made your heart flutter. "For what?"

You shrugged, feeling a little shy. "For making this happen. For making it feel...right."

Isaac leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and reassuring. "You're welcome," he murmured. "Now get some rest. We've got a podcast to record tomorrow."

You chuckled, the mundane thought of the podcast a stark contrast to the erotic whirlwind of the evening. Arthur's hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray lock of hair. "Sleep tight, love," he whispered, his voice thick with affection.

“I can't believe we're going to talk about this on the podcast," you said, a hint of nervousness in your voice.

“Don't worry," Isaac assured you, his thumb tracing small circles on your hip. "We're not going to spill the beans about what happened here. That's our little secret." Arthur nodded in agreement, his hand still resting on your thigh. "But we will definitely talk about the fanfics," he added with a wink.

The three of you lay there, the tension of the evening slowly unwinding. The air was still heavy with the scent of sex and desire, but now it was tempered with a warmth that was almost comforting. Isaac’s chest rose and fell steadily beneath you, his heartbeat a reassuring throb that lulled you closer to sleep. Arthur's hand continued to move in lazy circles, his breathing evening out as his eyes drifted closed.

The podcast was going to be interesting tomorrow, you thought with a small smile. But for now, you were content to bask in the afterglow of your newfound reality. This was a night that would go down in history, not just for the podcast, but for the three of you.

******

Ménage à trois (Part 2)

A/N: Let me know what you guys think my first time writing in a while, I am going to open my requests to imagines of the British YouTube scene. Let me know if anyone would be interested in that!

A/n: Big shoutout and thanks to @g-xix and @live-laugh-lenney for letting me reference and use some of their brilliant smut in this imagine

Smuts references:

Submissive ArthurTV smut

arthur loves lingerie

[thefearofcod]

What your western classics tattoo means:

-Inferno: cringe. you think about hell a lot but don’t believe in god. You like the boiling river of shit. You say you think Paolo and Francesca are romantic but you don’t understand courtly love.

-Purgatorio: pretty good. You probably payed attention to the reading. You should take up endurance hiking with a bag of rocks

-Paradiso: excellent. You’re annoying about the existence of the sublime in music. You were really into string theory in middle school. If I give you a drink you’ll start talking about Hildegard

-Lysistrata: you had a lesbian separatist phase. You're really into your community garden, or you want to be. Every thirteen months, one of your posts goes viral

-Iliad: your meat is huge

-Odyssey: your wife is smarter than you. You're a killer tabletop DM. You would fuck a witch if pressed

-Don Quixote: based. unless it's the picasso illustrations, then you're basic.

-Pascal: if it's math, you're gay. if it's philosophy, you're a stoner

-Aeneid: you also have a tattoo of the Capitoline Wolf. You love the origin story part of superhero movies

-Middlemarch: you don't exist. nobody has a middlemarch tattoo

-Jane Austen's works: you're the person people text "can i be mean." You're good at parties but you hate them. You're think you're funnier online than in person

-just the word "logos" in Greek: you didn't do the reading

-Sappho: you are a trans lesbian

-Proust: you post a lot of "slut in theory" memes. you get anxious going to the seven-eleven

-Euclid: you taught yourself to draw a perfect circle. You think about geological formations a lot. You've memorized that Edna St. Vincent Millay poem

-Herodotus: you're a worldbuilding geek. You wanted to talk about the necrophilia passage more in class. You will buy any novel with a map at the front

[apdreadful]

Something in the way he walks

Evan is leaning against the truck with Ravi and Lucy.

He glances up as Tommy walks out of the back of the garage wiping his hands on a shop towel as he chats with Eddie.

Evan can’t take his eyes off him. He feels the heat rise to his face because yeah he’s totally staring at his boyfriend. His incredibly hot sexy boyfriend. And when Tommy glances up and sees Buck, a grin splits his face and he winks.

He says something to Eddie, tosses the rag on a bench and starts toward him with that loose hipped swagger that makes Buck flush just watching him. He loves the way Tommy walks, slow and laconic and it reminds Buck of the way Tommy likes to fuck on the rare mornings they both don’t have a shift.

Morning sex, any sex, but especially morning sex, is sublime with Tommy. Because he likes to take his time and just dismantle Buck.

Tommy starts to pass him heading toward the hanger, when he gets right next to Buck he leans in and whispers “Evan” in that voice that makes Bucks skin tingle “If you’re going to keep eye fucking me. Be ready for the consequences.”

“If you want me to stop, you’re going to need to stop walking like a fucking wet dream then” Buck retorts softly.

Tommy’s eyebrows shot up followed by the wickedest damn gleam in his eye. “I didn’t say I wanted you to stop”

He ghosts his lips by Bucks ear “But I like that you dream about me”

And Buck feels an honest to god shiver run right down his back and straight to his dick.

Suddenly remembering Lucy and Ravi he turns to look at them.

Lucy’s eyes are wide “Holy shit Buckley. Im not going to lie. I find a man who looks at me like that and I’m climbing him like a tree right then and there”

“Yeah” Ravi chimes in “I’m straight, and even I’m feeling a little something”

Evan’s blush sets his face on fire. But he can’t keep the smile off his face. Because yeah. His boyfriend is hot as fuck.

“That man” Lucy says with awe in her voice “Is 100% into you. Like I think he made me spontaneously ovulate with the look he gave you”

Bucks phone buzzes in his pocket. Pulling it out he sees a text from Tommy “So, let’s get outta here. I’d like to hear more about this dream..in detail, with props, and immersive details”

He knows his face is on fire as he stands up, putting his hands in his pockets to quickly and covertly adjust his erection saying “I’m going to head out. See you both later”

“Yeah. Go on you lucky bastard. Kiss him once for me”Lucy teases.

“Yeah. Not from me though” Ravi adds.

As he’s walking away he hears Lucy say “Ravi, you wanna go grab a drink?”

Bucks still grinning when he slides into the car with Tommy.

“What’s so funny?” Tommy leans over and gives Evan a quick kiss.

“Lucy just asked Ravi out”

“What prompted that?” Tommy asks.

“Well, I’m pretty sure it was the way you looked at me. Apparently, you’re so hot, you’re getting other men laid” Buck told him with a smile.

“Well tell Ravi, He’s welcome”

<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/55983970"

Inspired by this gif..because reasons 🔥

[mrsoftthoughts]

Nico di Angelo headcanons

- He was very confused the firts time that someone called him "Emo"

he doesn't have a clue of what the fuck is that, he just bought up the clothes and accessories that he looks at and thinks "cool"

It was a karen who say that btw, the fact that she only was saying nonsense prob was guilty of Nico confusion too

- both Acts of service and Gifs are his way to show affection to others

He often helps his close friends and Hazel with anything they need, he also would get whatever thing that they expressed to want or need even in the slightest way possible, it doesn't matter if it's expensive af or hard to obtain for any reason, he's getting that thing for later wrap it in pretty paper .

He also buys whatever that he sees and reminds him to someone he loves, New rome postal service is tired of getting packages of the pluto ambassador for the praetor Levesque atleats 3 times at week ( that's not all the things that he gets for hazel, it's just the ones that he doesn't give her face to face)

- He's a polyglot ( i kinda talk about it here)

It was a part of his education back in the 1930s so he doesn't remember a lot of how he learned most of the languages he spokes, or even remembers that he actually spoke that especific language until he is in a situation were is needed

Something funny it's that one of the languages he taked longer to realize that he spoke it, it was greek, like, modern greek, he doesn't know how to feel about that

He also has a inherent understanding of dead languages so he's really good at read ol text of any kind

He also it's kinda a nerd about etymology

- He has a lot of beauty marks

Like, a lot of them, the most noticeable ones ofc are the in his face ( one at the bottom/side of his left eye and above the right eyebrow and two at the left side of his nose and bottom of his lips) but those things are everywhere in his body

- A lot of people feels that his appearance seems out of place, like, something ood to look at without an apparent reason

The things starts to make sense when you put his hair back with a bit of gel and give him a suit, then you realize that he looks like one of those pictures of grandpas when they were young

It can be a bit eerily because, in fact , he is actually from the same generation of those grandpas, that's why he looks like them but due the Lotus he's a teenager instead of an old man

the fact that his appearance it's the definition of a haunting beauty contributes to all that, he's beautiful, there's no a sigle appice of doubt about that, but you can compare the feeling that he evokes to the feeling of looking at a gothic church or the one of being at one of those old and Rich graveyards full of angel's scultures but cover in moss after years of abandonment , beautiful and stunning but also imponent and bone freezing

But hey!! It's also cool, and you can say that he's the antitesis of an iphone face

- Kinda related to the previous one, but his eyes are always changing colours.

It's not like piper tough, her eyes are literally a multicolor spectrum, Meanwhile, Nico's are more like his eyes being shallowed by the deep and dark waters full of misery of the styx, deep ebony black but in constant movement and little forms that looks like ice sublimation

Still, sometimes in moment of pure joy or when hes relaxed his natural color is visible, being a mostly brown iris with little details of grey and deep green like the bark or the fruit of olives

- Has a large collection of silly bands ( you know , the 2000s elastic bands with form of anything you can imagine?) think about any collection of those things and he has it

He also knows how to do those bracelets of bands btw, he uses his fingers for it and as a result he always has the strangulation marks or bruces

- He and Drew ended up being friends

He had that little hunch Drew's attitude having more behind that she just being a Bitch without reason, he was totally right

They aren't attached to the hip or something, there's a lot of things about each other that they don't know or they didn't bothered to ask, but they thrusts each other and are close enough to talk about their life and things they feel can't talk with anyone else every once in a while

Nico's is also drew personal manikin/ken doll for her fashion design projects, he isn't complaining tough, all the clothes are stunning

- Other of his friends is Clovis from hypnos cabin

A lot of people doesn't understand how they have a lot of anecdotes about things they did together, because Clovis is always half sleep or straight up in another world or something during the day

The last part is they key, they literally are in other world, or something like that, dream magic has potential to take the phrase "live your dreams" to another level

- Full grown up , He isn't tall or short, he's just (technically )average

He's 5'7... It taked a time for him to grow up to that point though, he was stuck in 5'5 for a while until he was around 17/18yo

Still, he looks a bit short at the side of most people around him, it's not his fault 90% of the people he knows are fucking giraffes

The fact that a lot of the boys he falls for are... Well, pretty tall ( Solace, Torrington, Grace, yk that you're the ones im talking about) isn't helping neither.

- He has a transatlantic accent ( alongside with a slight Italian accent)

Is a result of learning English as a second language and having both american and British people like reference and not something made on purpose

Is almost vanished after being living in America at the XXI century for the past few years, but you can still hear it in the way he say some words and the fact that his idiolect mix indiscriminately British and American words

Btw, something funny of that is that if you let his guy at the Uk for enough he would totally turn into the other side of the coin and now he picked up the accent of the region were he is at the moment

- He has a wii and a DS ( he later got a 3DS when it was released), nobody knows how the fuck is that he isn't chased by monster 24/7 using that thing

He also end up with a insane amount of amibos once they were released in 2014

- For some reason his collections of anything are in those vitrines that the grandmas uses for the pretty dishes

- He got the standar lobe piercing

usually he just have a pair of black diamons studs ( kinda looks like the diamons by the yard earring of Tiffanys) but sometimes he uses a bajoran or a pair of drops

- Even whe he is older his job is basically being his father second had and ambassador, but a general concense is that he is also a really god tourist guide

Probably he would be turned into a god after he passes away for just be doing exactly what he already was doing as a demigod, just with immortality.

-Despite being Italian and the stereotypes, he was a disaster in the kitchen, the kind of person that you say them to boil 2 glasses of water for the rice and the next thing you now is that 2 cristals glases are straight up in the stove

in his defense, he at best can remember see his Nanny doing something or being with her sister and mother doing some kind of dessert ( his only contribution to that was eating the chocolate)

Now he may not be a five stars chef but he can do pretty good stuff sometimes, he's trying

- He can make pretty concerning "old fashioned" coments sometimes

Alright, he is not an asshole ( at least non on purpose) or something like that, but sometimes while talking he would say things that are the daily reminder of the fact that this guy over there is a white ass boy raised in the 30's decade with the addition of being Born in a pretty much wealthy and probably Noble family and who's whole social interaction with other people that aren't hundred of years old beings has been limited,and that leads to his perspective of society being a bubble of privilege and old high society ethics.

Like, the most of the time if he say something really... Questionable, is because he really never has stopped to think about it and he is just saying what they teach him ,was normal at the time, or is just a comment made of pure ignorance mouth-is-fasther-that-the-brain-tipe.

Sadly for him ( and luckily for the rest of the people that have to hear him) 90% of the times hazel is close when he say that kind of stuff and two of Three times he ends up being hit by the closest thing that was at her hand or for one of her shoes if nothing else is available, the other time its a 50/50, he realizes that he just said something that isn't right or hazel just look at him in full deception mode.

[blckbrrybasket]

ᯓ★ 𝐉𝐉 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

SFW

- 0.1% of top Sublime listeners on spotify

- does not have spotify premium and tries every trick to get around the ads, half the time he ends up groaning loudly over them to drown them out.

- one of the kids who went on youtube 24/7 to look up codes to get free things from vending machines.

- spaces out constantly

- has never had a hangover. nobody knows how he does it and he says he has a trick to it. he doesn’t. he just doesn’t get them 😭

- says harry potter, maze runner, hunger games, etc. are for nerds yet has been caught trying to read them over pope’s shoulder.

- games > movies > books

- when he fished as a kid JJ used to put his hands in the bait bucket to hold the worms + he fully believed that worms could multiply if they’re cut up.

- surprisingly good at english

- hates how wetsuits fit and would rather freeze than feel the material drag on his skin.

- his favorite food is spaghetti and steak (separately or together he’s not picky)

- doesn’t have good table manners but gets so excited over a home cooked meal.

- extremely loyal, he would rather die than rat out his friends. also hates snitches!

- instead of buying muscle tanks he cuts them himself from old t-shirts his dad has owned for decades.

- couldn’t buy a punching bag so he used one of those inflatable punching bags until it popped.

- hopping off the last one JJ pretends to punch everything in the vicinity of him.

- has sunk his old canoe at least five times and had to pull it out of the lake every time.

- doesn’t hug that often but when he does he makes it worth while he’s a massive bear hugger.

- uses an ungodly amount of abbreviations when texting. says ‘omg’ out loud unironically

- says he won’t do something for you or complains about doing it but if you threaten to go do it he jumps up and runs to do it.

- started working on cars when he was a kid watching his dad work under the hood.

- cannot keep plants alive to save his life

- certified yapper!!

- stopped using a juul after a few years, saying that weed is natural so it’s better for you. “mother nature grows it so it has to be good for you…like potatoes.”

SFW (serious)

- undiagnosed adhd not because he has a lot of energy but because he fidgets a lot, has self restraint issues (may say things not socially acceptable in a situation or blurt things out), difficulty controlling emotions, etc.

- he has anxiety (pretty sure rudy said this was canon!)

- very awkward with emotions (canon) shit at comforting people he loves but he still tries. he doesn’t know how to deal with emotions after how his dad raised him.

- unfortunately wouldn’t want therapy for a very long time. he wouldn’t accept the offer until long after the events of hunting treasures.

- has very mixed feelings about his dad

- wanted siblings as a kid to keep him company but after his mom left JJ hated the idea of his family growing. he only saw it as an opportunity for more people to love him. John B is his brother though, through and through. JJ is a firm believer that blood doesn’t equal family.

- it takes a lot for JJ to open up but when he does he will forever trust you.

- that being said do not betray him because he WILL be looking for revenge even if it’s petty

- sometimes he lets himself dream about what life would have been like if he was born a kook. thinks it would have been better because at least he could have bought things to make himself happy.

- as much as he wants money he wouldn’t trade his life with his friends for anything.

- doesn’t like letting his trauma define him and brushes it off anytime someone brings it up.

[hrizantemy]

(Neines) I have been thinking about this a lot in between writing my research papers, but do you think that acotar canon could be read as a tragedy? Twofold, where feyre is broken down into a shell of herself, essentially giving up her human heart for shallow delights (taking her sisters and innocent civilians down with her) and where the story (and world) of prythian will forever be stagnant as the narrative demands the world revolve around the night court/ ic; and since the ic (namely rhysand) cannot be anything less than perfect or happy, no meaningful change will happen to anyone, not without nc intervention (who makes it worse) or inevitably fail to ensure that the "narrative halo" of the nc is intact and unchallenged despite the contradictions of the actual text.

(This was also asked to @ofbreathandflame-archive I would like to hear both your opinions on this)

1. Feyre’s Personal Tragedy: The Death of the Human Heart

Feyre’s arc, especially from ACOMAF onward, reads like a slow, glamorous descent into spiritual and ideological rot. And that’s not to say she isn’t “empowered” in a surface-level way—she gains magic, a powerful mate, material abundance, and social status. But all of it is framed through external validation and transformation. She doesn’t become someone new so much as someone sculpted—remade to suit the needs of the Night Court. What is often sold as liberation is actually assimilation.

This is especially stark when you look at her trajectory from ACOTAR—a girl who hated fae, had a strong sense of human loyalty, and fought tooth and nail for her sisters—to ACOSF, where she’s cosplaying as a goddess, cloistered in Velaris, celebrating holidays while war crimes are happening on her doorstep. Her “human heart”—the part of her that once fought for starving children, for her sisters, for justice—is sublimated into Night Court propaganda. And as you said, she drags Elain and Nesta into that same machine, demanding they change or else.

Her art, her voice, her moral compass—everything gets hollowed out in favor of curated Night Court aesthetics. The tragedy is not that she dies—it’s that the best parts of her do.

2. The World’s Tragedy: Narrative Stagnation & the Tyranny of the Inner Circle

The second layer is even more devastating because it transcends Feyre. It’s a world tragedy. Prythian cannot evolve because the narrative itself shackles it to the whims of the Night Court, and by extension, Rhysand. Any attempt at structural or emotional change, whether political (Thesan, Beron, Koschei) or personal (Nesta, Lucien, Tamlin), is either sabotaged, ignored, or mocked—unless it aligns with the Inner Circle’s vision.

This creates what you described perfectly as a narrative halo: a protective mechanism that ensures no one within the Night Court can be meaningfully criticized, and no one outside of it can succeed unless the Night Court allows it. And they rarely do. Worse, the narrative always reframes their destruction of other courts (like the Autumn Court or Hewn City) as noble or justified—even when it’s imperialistic or self-serving.

Velaris is treated like the sun around which all else must orbit. But that sun is static. Frozen. Uninterested in collective progress. The IC are untouchable not because they are perfect—but because the text insists they are, despite evidence to the contrary. And that rigidity chokes any potential for world-building depth. We can’t explore Spring Court politics, or Illyrian uprisings, or the theological crisis, because it would require dislodging the IC from their throne. And they won’t move.

So yes—ACOTAR is a tragedy. Not just because its heroine is lost, but because the world around her is slowly calcifying into a beautiful prison of power, image, and narrative control. What started as a fae retelling of Beauty and the Beast has metastasized into a warning: that unchecked power, when coupled with narrative worship, does not lead to utopia.

It leads to silence. And then to stagnation. And then—eventually—to ruin.