#if only notion let you center text then this would be perfect. oh well

[haunthouse]

figured out how to do a color-block mood tracker in notion i am the king of formulas

[elvisabutler]

welp i’m back. becuase apparently we have no self restraint and need some fluff

how about we switch up the vibes…

let’s consider

“pinky promise?” with austin. 🥹🥹

consider that i blame you for the birthday angst (seriously did oh that's a new one re: the line) and the second part clearly your fluff prompt means you get blamed for the whole thing including the end. also! put the reader in a suit to keep myself in line with general gender neutral thing i had going on. also because personally i kind of wish i went for a suit instead of my poofy white dress. tw: anxiety, tooth aching fluff.

two in love can make it pt. 3

you and austin had made an agreement that your wedding would be a small affair. truth be told you had told him that you were quite content to just get married at a courthouse with no fuss and no mess just have it over and done with so that you could call him your husband as quickly as you could. he knew you'd regret doing that though when the rush of everything had faded and you weren't able to have a sea of pictures taken by everyone including him.

it take a lot of planning, working around your job and his filming schedule and- all of both of your friends' schedules but the two of you make it work with only a few panic attacks here and there- mostly coming from him in the middle of the night halfway across the world from you with phone calls and soft words murmured by him in your ears. "you're a godsend, babe, you're gonna have this all planned out and it's gonna be wonderful. text me the number for the venue, i know you said they were booked but maybe i can do something. pull a string for us."

the string he pulls is an hour long conversation with the owner, florence pugh and zendaya. sometimes it pays to be an actor even if he sometimes detests the amount of fame and lack of privacy that it comes with. but if it gets you to smile as much as you do when he tells you over facetime about the problem being fixed? oh, he'll be an actor until he drops dead.

the big day finally arrives and you're fiddling with your suit. it looks fine, your hair looks fine and everything is perfect. you've triple checked everything yourself. the one thing you haven't check on is austin but you might be using ashley as your covert operative- as if she wasn't austin's best woman and considered it her job to make sure her best friend became your husband. he's anxious to the point where ashley has informed you that if she didn't know him- she'd think he was going to bolt. you both do actually know him and know he won't but knowing that he's that anxious has your own anxiety going through the roof.

however, you are a stickler for tradition and won't go see your future husband, which is why it startles you when you hear the door to the room you're in open to reveal austin.

"aus! what are you doing here?" you whisper harshly, as if you speaking any louder will invite all the bad luck in the world to fall on you right in that second. a silly notion, yes, but one that your anxiety latches onto almost immediately.

"i-" he pauses, his eyes looking you up and down before gulping and letting out a small sigh. "y/n, i had to see you. you look- phenomenal." he starts to move toward you. "seriously that suit cuts in all the right-"

you start to back away because it is bad enough that austin has seen you in your outfit before the wedding but now he's looking like he wants to touch you and you will not stand for that. "oh no you don't austin- you- you are already breaking a rule just being here, you are just bringing bad luck looking at me like you are right now."

that makes him stop far too quickly and you raise an eyebrow. you were being serious, yes, but it's austin, you know very well that he'd still be trying to move closer to you regardless. his face- you can see how he's biting his lower lip like its his only lifeline, like it's stopping him from blurting out something he shouldn't or maybe it's just keeping him centered and in the moment. you don't know for sure. your eyes drift over the rest of his frame, taking him in, seeing his tightened shoulders and the way that despite him playing with every single ring on his fingers his hands are still shaking like leaves about to fall off their branch.

oh. he's- really that nervous and you just told him that he's bringing bad luck to the ceremony. that couldn't have been good for the problem. austin finally speaks right about the time you come to this realization and stops fiddling with his hands as he does. "you- i'm nervous. i know you said yes and we've spent this money and everything. i know we've talked about spending the rest of our lives together but i'm- ashley has had to sit me down multiple times with just a glass of water. i'm- i should probably take a xanax or something but i- don't want to. because i'll probably be fine once this- once we say i do."

you listen and you know austin isn't properly paying attention to you because he doesn't notice how you've moved closer to him as he talked and you don't really announce that you're coming any closer until you're right there in front of him and grabbing at his hands and trying your best to envelop them with your own.

"are you scared i'm going to run?" you ask quietly as you bring his hands up to your lips to give them a soft kiss as he nods slowly. "austin, i wouldn't dream of it. you're- remember what you said, you're my solid ground. we're the foundation of everything for each other. leaving you would be like leaving half of myself behind."

if austin shudders a little when you kiss his hands, you both don't comment on it. you know how he can get when he's feeling anxious. he takes a deep breath and sniffles just a tad before he speaks again, shaking his head as he does. "pinky promise."

your eyebrow shoots up momentarily before you recover still a little flummoxed and it shows in your response. "i beg your pardon?"

he holds out his pinky finger as if it is the most normal thing on the planet and like he's not 31 years old. "pinky promise that you're gonna stay with me. that you actually want to be stuck by my side through all the- everything that life is going to throw at us. that you want to grow old together and see my hair turn grey. and that you'll still find me this pretty attractive man when i'm old and you're old. i don't want to be without you. i don't even want to be without you for the time until the ceremony right now."

you can't help the laugh that bubbles up as yuo shake your head, marveling at how much of a sap you find austin to be and how adorable you find that entire spiel he just gave you. it's not you saying no in the slightest, but you need a minute to control your laughter. once you're a little calmer you wrap your pinky finger around his. "pinky promise, babe. i will find you attractive until you're dead and gone. i want to be stuck with you forever because who else would put up with the things i do. i want to cook with you, i want to have you cook grilled peaches for dessert. i want- i want everything with you. always."

his lips upturn into a grin before he pulls his hands away from your and uses them to pull your face to his for a kiss. it's chaste, a simple peck while also having every bit of love poured into it he can muster. when he pulls away his eyes are shining with what you think are unshed happy tears. you're pretty sure yours are the same way. "i'm staying in here until the ceremony, you know that right?"

"you already broke the rule. what's the worst it's going to do?" you respond, nuzzling at his nose and giving him another kiss.

"probably nothing." he shrugs before pulling out his phone. "i'll text ashley and my sister. so they know where to find us."

you nod and for the next hour you two just sit on the couch, breathing in and out together in the most calming way you both can manage. when it comes time for you to walk down the aisle austin acts like it's the first time he's ever seen you and you're struck by how much you adore him. that feeling is what you'll forever blame for your actions at the altar when you step close to him and hold out your pinky finger before anything else his said.

he sighs sounding so blissful it makes you want to cry and then he wraps his own finger around yours without a second thought.

[fangroyal]

#3 What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Fun Meta Asks for Writers

Adding the link to the ask game at the start this time, 'cause this is gonna be a long one, y'all. 😂

Where do I even begin? First of all, @angie-leena​, thank you so SO much for sending me this ask! It was the kick in the ass I needed to get me to actually write this scene, and for that I’m extremely grateful. I still don’t know if I’m entirely happy with the finished product, but it exists now, and that’s something.

So some of you may remember (if anyone actually follows my ramblings, haha!) that I’ve been simultaneously complaining about and obsessing over this gigantic WIP I’ve had since fucking March 2019. Nearly two and a half years have passed since I put the first word to paper, and oh how I’ve loved to cry out in frustration about how I have about 12k written on the stupid thing and yet not a single scene finished.

AT LEAST

NOT UNTIL TODAY

YES, I’VE DONE IT. I’ve finished a scene on this amazing, wonderful, and incredibly stupid WIP, and I could just cry.

FYI for anyone who doesn’t know what the fuck I’m talking about (which I’m sure is everyone, ‘cause I don’t expect anybody to remember this insane thing I’ve been shouting about all this time, LOL): this is the Slytherin My Gryffindor WIP. Yes, that is a working title. 😅 I will find a better one.....some day.......Ron/Draco is the main pair, but there will also be plenty of others sprinkled in the background.

Anyway, about this ask and that context I haven’t been arsed to write yet...

Context required in order to understand this scene 😂:

Fred Lives AU

The Muggle world and the Wixen world has kind of mixed in recent years, and it’s very common for magical people to be using Muggle technology

The Weasley twins have opened a second shop in Diagon Alley...selling sex toys (yes, really)

Their first original product line issssssss..........dildoes shaped like the Weasley brothers’ own dicks (and a fleshlight kind of thing for Ginny)

Yes this is crack!fic (but, like, also not???)

Ron has been made general manager of the shop and is there all the time, as they’re incredibly busy

Draco wants 👏 that 👏 D 👏, but is worried about Ron finding out, so keeps coming into the shop randomly hoping he won’t be there (and of course he always is)

Eventually there’s a day where Ron’s in the backroom, Charlie’s visiting and helping out at the register, and when Ron emerges, Charlie informs him that Draco Malfoy has just run in and bought Ron’s dildo

Cue Ron being incredibly turned on by this notion

So that pretty much brings us up-to-speed for this scene - it’s been a few days now, and Ron’s been trying to figure out a way to contact Draco to talk to him about the whole thing, since they never became friends or anything after the war and don’t regularly talk unless they’re just seeing each other around

The fic is meant to touch on, like...fame in the aftermath of the war (i.e. why anyone would be interested in sex toys modelled after the Weasley siblings in the first place)

Ron has evolved from his teenage self and grown to hate the fame - it prevents him from being able to date, because the press can never let him keep anything private

After this scene, the fic will focus on Ron and Draco developing a sexual - and eventually romantic - relationship (originally under the guise of “testing out” other products from the shop together)

They will try their best to keep their relationship a secret, but, like...everyone knows 😘😘😘

Also Draco is a model in this one (not important for this scene, but just thought you might want to know 😂)

In addition, some warnings/content to make note of before reading:

NC-17 (smut incoming!)

Technology circa 2005

Phone sex

Semi-public sex

Sex toys

Both Ron and Draco are a little drunk (but very consenting!)

Crack taken way too seriously

Of course, this hasn't been betaed or Britpicked, so I apologize for how very rough it is right now, lol. It will likely be a little (or a lot!) different if I ever actually finish this whole fucking fic and post it later on. I am treating this scene like a “sneak peek” of the fic, because I definitely do still want to try to finish it someday...

HOLY SHIT, I had a LOT more to say about it than I thought. 😅 So anyway. Scene under the cut.

Friday night at the Dragon's Head was packed. It took a bit of initiative, but Ron, Seamus, and Dean finally managed to snag them all a table in the back corner, hoarding the extra seats till Harry and Neville finally arrived, trailed closely by Ginny and Parkinson ― who were curiously short one blond wizard.

Ron tried not to think about it. He bought the first round with Harry, listening to him chat about the recent Puddlemere match against the Magpies. They ordered nibbles for the table. Ron munched on chips, his heart skipping every time the door opened across the room and another few patrons trickled in.

He was on his third pint of the evening when he started getting antsy. He sipped his Simison, using the light smoke curling around the rim of the glass to discreetly glance around the pub, hoping to spot a familiar head of blond hair in the crowd. His foot tapped impatiently on the floor.

"Is he coming, then?"

Ron's head snapped to attention. Ginny checked the door as well before turning back to Parkinson.

"Who?" Neville asked, snagging a vinegar-soaked chip from the bowl in the center of the table.

"Malfoy," Ginny said, craning her neck to see her girlfriend's screen.

Parkinson tapped away on her mobile, shaking her head. "No. Says he's already curled up with a bottle of wine and a good book, and doesn't fancy getting all done up."

Fucking hell. Ron drained the dregs at the bottom of his glass. It wasn't often Malfoy joined them on a mostly-Gryffindor outing ― not unless Parkinson could convince him. Somehow, Ron felt he should've known it wouldn't be in the cards tonight. Conversation pivoted again, and Ron ran his fingers up the sides of his empty pint, thinking.

At some point, Seamus and Harry set off to get another round, and Ginny hurried away with them after a quick peck to Parkinson's cheek. Neville and Dean had gotten into a chat about proper Mimbulus mimbletonia care, and Ron saw his chance. He could feel his heart start to thud in his chest as he cleared his throat, raising his voice to catch her attention.

"Parkinson?"

She turned back from watching Ginny leave, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Yes?"

"Think you could give me Malfoy's number?"

The smirk she gave him in response made his hands shake a little as they drummed against the tabletop.

"Whatever for?"

Ron stared her down, knowing full well any excuse he told her would never be enough. Parkinson's expression was predatory ― as if she already knew the answer anyway. He waited for her to comment, bracing himself.

To his surprise, she instead dug her mobile back out of her handbag.

She turned the screen towards him, and he typed the number directly into the dialer on his phone. He waited a few minutes until everyone ― Parkinson included ― had moved on to other things and forgotten about him, and then slipped from the table.

Ron shouldered his way through the crowd to the loo, pushing inside and locking the door behind him. It was a small room, hardly bigger than a broom closet. There was a toilet and a sink, a grimy mirror hanging above it, and a dim ceiling lamp that barely lit the space.

Ron backed up to one side of the room and slumped against the wall. He gripped the phone in clammy hands. Those pints had picked a perfect moment to hit him all at once. Ron blinked away the creeping dizziness, staring down at the numbers glowing dauntingly on the tiny screen. He'd been unable to get it out of his mind for days ― the image of Malfoy riding his dildo ― and now that he had a way to contact him, he was frozen. The leaky faucet dripped, the sound maddening as it mingled with the rush of blood in his ears. This was stupid. This was so bloody stupid.

He hit call.

Ron held his breath, cupping the phone to his ear. The line rang and rang, until he started to realize he didn't have a plan B. What if Malfoy didn't answer? What if he had to leave a voicemail? What would he even say? He should've just texted him, damn it.

Then, suddenly, the ringing stopped. There was rustling and a mumbled, "Bloody useless thing." Then, louder, "Yes?"

"Malfoy?"

"Yes, this is ― Weasley?"

Malfoy sounded surprised. Ron breathed out gradually, his heartbeat slowing with it. Malfoy's voice was clear and present on the other end. No looking back. He tried to think of something to say, and only came up with one thing.

"Haven't seen you round the shop yet this week."

"Don't tell me that's really why you called." Malfoy sighed, trying to sound put-upon, but Ron could hear the hint of nerves underneath. "If you must know, that would be because I found what I'd been looking for."

"I know."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. For a moment, Ron thought Malfoy might hang up. But then he cursed quietly. "Damn that brother of yours. Incorrigible."

So it really was true. Charlie hadn't just been taking the piss. Ron felt a warmth flare up in his belly, spreading down to the tops of his thighs.

"Try growing up with him. And the twins? Now that's a real nightmare."

"I was trying for discreet, but you were always there."

Ron leaned further back against the wall, staring up at the dark ceiling above. He thought of all those times Malfoy had dropped in at the shop, only to hurry out again if Ron ever came too close. Malfoy had jumped at the chance when Ron had been called away to the back that day.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Well. You know. So what, then? Looking to mock me for it?"

"You always assume the worst with me. Why is that?" Although Ron couldn't exactly blame him. He hadn't given Malfoy much else to go on in years past. Neither of them had. "No. No, I was calling because…" Why had he been calling? It had seemed such a natural thing when he'd asked Parkinson for Malfoy's number not five minutes ago. "I was curious. If there was, er." He waved his free hand, searching for the words. Nothing sounded right. "Any particular reason for it."

Malfoy laughed ― a short bark of a sound. "I mean, obviously yes. It's a sex toy, Weasley."

Ron snorted, taken aback. "That's not ―"

"Actually, I thought it'd make a nice statement in the middle of my dining table. It would be an excellent conversation piece for dinner parties."

"For fuck's sake, Malfoy, I didn't ―"

A chuckle rumbled through from the other end of the line. There was that snark again. Merlin, it made Ron hot, his skin blooming from his collar up to his ears. He chewed his lip, pulling back the grin that threatened to spread across his face.

"I only meant ― was there a reason? That you'd picked mine?"

The line suddenly went quiet. Ron had to check his phone just to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

When Malfoy finally replied, his voice was soft, uncertain. "What would possess you to call and ask me that?"

Ron breathed in slowly, his hand tapping an incoherent rhythm on his thigh. "Well, I'm a bit pissed, to be honest," he admitted, still feeling the slight burn the Simison had left in his throat.

Malfoy didn't say anything more at first. The lamp above buzzed as the faucet continued to drip. Ron could hear the noise from the pub pressing up against the other side of the door.

Then, Malfoy said, "Maybe there was."

Ron felt his heart jump into his throat. "Was what?"

"A reason why I bought it," Malfoy said slowly, deliberately. "Figure it out, Weasel."

Oh, bloody hell. Ron took a shaky breath. Every nerve felt like it was on fire.

"And...how was it?" Ron heard himself ask as if from very far away.

Even over the din of the music beyond the bathroom door, he could hear Malfoy swallow. "It was good."

"Oh, ta." Ron chuckled despite himself.

"No, I mean...Bugger." It was nice hearing Malfoy so flustered. A rare occurrence, and one that the little fluttering pixie in Ron's stomach very much wanted to repeat. "It was brilliant, alright? Happy?"

Brilliant. The word tingled down Ron's spine. For some reason, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. Bloody hell, was this really happening? He thought of fleeting insults thrown in the school corridors all those years ago ― then he thought of a night just a few months ago, the look in Malfoy's eyes as Ron told him about the shop.

"You wrote a song about me once, if I remember correctly," Ron said, feeling deliriously happy.

"I suppose I did." Malfoy sighed.

Ron's eyes flicked to the door, to the noise of the crowd beyond. "Why didn't you want me to know?"

"Oh, please, Weasley," Malfoy said bitterly. "Pick a reason."

"I know, but ―" Ron tried to argue, but Malfoy cut him off.

"You don't owe me anything. It would be incredibly unfair for me to expect you to be interested in return."

Ron supposed that was fair enough. He'd had similar feelings towards Malfoy until very recently.

"I would be, though. I mean ― I am."

Saying the words out loud gave them a weight Ron hadn't felt before. He let them roll off his tongue, flattened the tip of it along his lips as he thought about flashes of icy blond hair, high cheekbones, and long fingers swirling around the rim of a glass. He thought of the moment he'd finally realized Malfoy had been looking back.

"Oh." Malfoy paused, seeming surprised by that revelation. "Good to know."

Malfoy fidgeted. Ron listened intently, hearing the breath he released and the scrape of his fingers against his mobile.

"You wouldn't ― ah." Malfoy caught himself, and Ron waited for him to continue, his ears ringing. "Would you want to…?" Malfoy trailed off, finishing his thought with a scoff.

"Would I want to what ― oh."

Oh.

Ron swallowed hard. He wanted to believe Malfoy was asking him what he thought he was asking him, but even after everything, it was almost too good to be true. The long stretch of awkward silence on the other end told him he was right, though, and that made him jittery, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

"I could be reading too much into this," Malfoy muttered.

"No, no, definitely not. I mean." Ron licked his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling far too dry. "I just don't want you to think I expect this."

Malfoy made a sound, and Ron could practically feel him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line.

"Oh, so you don't ring up every person who buys a model of your cock and ask them how they enjoyed it?"

"What? No, of course not!" Ron stopped, realizing, and laughed at himself. "You're joking. That was a joke."

"Terribly clever, this one."

A sudden jiggling of the door handle made Ron jump, almost dropping his mobile in the process.

"Occupied!"

He fumbled with the phone, his heart thudding wildly. When he put it back to his ear, Malfoy was laughing. The sound made Ron feel weak in the knees.

"Where are you?" Malfoy asked, still snickering.

"In the loo at the Dragon's Head."

"Oh, of course." Malfoy sucked his teeth contemplatively. "Hang on. Is there anyone in there with you?"

Another frustrated turn of the door handle.

"It's a single."

"Good." Malfoy lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Do you want me to use it?"

Ron pressed his hand flat against the door, waiting until he heard the bloke give a huff and storm off. "Use what?"

"Your dildo, Weasley."

The silken drawl of Malfoy's voice spread like gooseflesh across Ron's skin. "Right now?" he asked incredulously, although he was already half hard at the thought.

"I could give you an exclusive product review. Unless you don't want to."

"No, I do!" Ron replied quickly, and Malfoy laughed again, making him blush.

"Eager, are we?"

"Yes." Ron passed a hand over his face, trying to laugh as well, but it came out shaky. Merlin, it had been all he could think about for the past few days. Still, he'd never imagined Malfoy would offer it outright. "Just didn't take you for the phone sex type."

Malfoy hummed. "You caught me in a randy mood. Now how do I ― ah, right."

Ron assumed he'd been put on speakerphone, as there was now an echo. He dug out his wand for a moment and cast a quick Silencio on the bathroom. It was a wonder how he had the brain power to spare, when all the blood in his body was suddenly rushing to his cock. He could hear Malfoy fumbling for something on the other end.

"Where are you?" Ron asked in return, trying to distract himself from the heady thrum of anticipation.

"In bed. Naked," Malfoy added with a hint of a smirk in his voice. Ron groaned, shutting his eyes against the image of Malfoy stretched out on soft sheets, hard and waiting for him. Merlin, had he been naked the whole time they were talking? Ron pressed the heel of his palm to the crotch of his jeans.

Malfoy went silent for a moment, until there was a faint intake of breath. His bed creaked distantly in the background.

Ron licked his lips, cupping his hand around the solid, hot line of his cock under his trousers. "Are you prepping yourself?"

"Of course." Malfoy breathed out steadily, the bed creaking again. "You're bigger than I thought you'd be. Although I'd always wondered."

Fucking hell. Ron arched against his hand. Was he really going to get his cock out in a pub toilet? The last shred of his resolve melted away when he heard Malfoy moan, low and guttural, a sound that shot straight through Ron, all the way to his toes. He imagined Malfoy laying back, his knees bent up, and slick fingers down between his legs, pressing in and out of his puckered hole. Ron was switching the phone to his left hand before he could give it a second thought. He flicked open the button on his jeans and pushed his pants down to hook under his balls, taking himself in hand.

Ron rolled his hand down over his length. Malfoy's breath hitched, and he cursed, the bed shifting with him. Ron caught his lip between his teeth, wondering how many fingers he had in him. He imagined himself leaning over Malfoy on the bed, licking a hot stripe along his neck as his hand worked him open, his thighs falling open as he settled between them.

"Fuck, I needed this," Malfoy breathed. Ron moaned, pulling his foreskin back and rubbing over the weeping head of his cock.

Malfoy muttered a Cleansing charm, and then a drawer was pulled roughly open nearby. Ron heard Malfoy pick up the phone, moving and setting it down again as he bounced on the bed, adjusting himself.

"Are you ―?" Ron wanted to ask, but he couldn't finish the thought, left hand gripping the phone hard as he tried to steady himself.

"Yes, gods."

Ron paused, listening as Malfoy shifted and panted on the other end. He didn't have to ask when it was fully in. He knew the moment Malfoy's breath faltered, the gasp he gave sending shivers down Ron's spine.

Malfoy huffed, the sound so loud to Ron's ears as the whole world funneled down to a point, to this moment as he listened to Malfoy move the toy inside of himself. He moaned, and Ron thought he could hear the squelch of lube on the other end of the line as it entered him.

"Talk to me, Weasley."

Malfoy sounded wrecked. It was enough to make Ron's toes curl just to hear it. It was almost too much to handle ― the idea of Draco Malfoy being thoroughly fucked out by a dildo modelled after Ron's own cock. Ron's head thunked back against the wall. His hand trembled a little as he began stroking himself again.

"Get on your knees for me," he said softly.

Malfoy swore. Ron heard him flip over, his panting breaths suddenly closer to the receiver. In his mind, he could see Malfoy bent over the bed, arse in the air and cheek pressed against the mattress, lips rosy and parted. He imagined himself knelt behind Malfoy, hands gripping his slender hips.

"There's, uh." Ron swallowed. "There's a self-shagging feature. If you want. The spell's ―"

"Oh, we're well acquainted."

"Fuck," Ron moaned. No way he was going to last like this. He rocked his hips, thrusting into the tight circle of his fist. Malfoy sounded like he was trying to collect himself, even as his voice broke on the last word. Ron couldn't begin to explain why that aroused him so much, but he didn't care, already speeding up his hand as it flew over his cock.

Malfoy cast the spell, and Ron felt his cry as the toy began to move on its own. The bed gave a jolt under Malfoy's weight. He gasped again, and Ron heard his fingers scrambling across the sheets.

Ron could almost see it. He imagined Malfoy's bowed back, his knees slipping and spreading apart, his toes curling. The bed creaked with each movement. A dildo of Ron's own making, Malfoy arching back onto it as it fucked him down onto the mattress. Merlin, he should've known Malfoy would take it so well, his eyes rolling back as he listened to the sounds Malfoy made as it thrust into him.

Ron closed his eyes and felt like he was sitting in the room, watching the whole show, watching a copy of his cock pound into Malfoy again and again. The pub outside the bathroom door fell away from him, and all he could focus on was Malfoy's voice and his hand on his own cock.

"Tell me how it feels," Ron choked out, wanting to hear it, see it, touch it, to watch Malfoy unravel under Ron's hands and cock, to capture each cry with his tongue.

Malfoy groaned. "So ― good ―"

"Tell me," Ron rasped again, thrusting his hips forward into his hand. "Tell me ― ah ― how good it is."

"It's so ―" Malfoy cried out, his hands skittering over the sheets. "So good ― so big ― I ―"

"Fucking hell, Malfoy."

At that point, Ron didn't know if he wanted to be watching the toy fuck Malfoy or if he wanted to take over for it. Was he really getting jealous of a dildo? He wished he was there. He wanted to tell Malfoy as much, but he couldn't manage it, instead moaning loudly as he felt his balls begin to draw up against him.

"Fuck, Weasley, you're gonna make me come," Malfoy whined, his posh accent slipping. 

Holy shit, and that was what did it. Ron made a gut-punched sound, his wrist flicking over the head of his cock. He was coming almost before he'd even realized. He barely had the presence of mind to do anything about it before the first spurt had dribbled onto the floor. He pushed off the wall and lent forward, pumping the remainder into the sink. He heard Malfoy swear, and Ron slumped back against the wall again, listening as he came apart with a shuddering cry.

The line went quiet once more. Ron rested his head on the tiles behind him, closing his eyes, holding his softening cock. For a long time, all he could hear was Malfoy breathing on the other end, his own heartbeat equally loud in his ears.

"I liked that. A lot."

Eloquent as always. Ron half expected for Malfoy to say just that, but instead he heard a very soft chuckle ― and then, quietly, "So did I."

Now that his heart rate was gradually slowing, the noise of the club outside wormed its way back in, reminding Ron of where he was, and what he'd just done. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably, glancing at the door when he heard a chatty couple pass by. How long had he been in there? Were the others looking for him?

Another person suddenly banged on the door, and Ron started, pushing off from the wall and quickly withdrawing his wand, disabling his Silencio and spelling himself clean.

"Right." He wanted to say more. Merlin, he did. But instead all he said just then was, "Well, I should probably, er, get back to it. You know?"

"Of course." There was rustling on the line, and then Ron was off speakerphone, Malfoy's voice close and intimate again in a way that made him shiver. "Have a good night, Weasley."

"You too, Malfoy."

Ron exited the bathroom, ignoring the irritated look the other patron gave him as he slipped past.

The entire way back to their table, he felt like he was floating on a cloud. Harry gave him an odd look when he slid into his seat, pulling the fresh pint they'd bought him an indeterminable amount of time ago towards him. Ron couldn't even begin to catch up with what they were all talking about, his mind drifting to thoughts of Malfoy, his mobile a leaden weight in his pocket as the night wound on.

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling at the Seams Pt 26

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Henry Cavill/OFC Warnings: Language, Sexual Innuendo, Possible NSFW Rating: M Length: Multi Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: this is, sadly, the last part to this story. Thank you all for reading, liking, and commenting. I can’t explain how much that means to me. I loved writing this and I am sad to see it end. But! There are some potential tie ins to come ;) 

thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr for the header

Catch Up Here

Back in London for the summer, possibly the rest of the year, except for a few press tours and maybe a small vacation made things a little more relaxed and definitely content. Filming for The Witcher had wrapped in May, a bittersweet moment. Although there was a confidence that Netflix would order a second season, they'd be crazy not to. In the mean time Henry had taken a role for a film centering around the famed Holmes Family. Portraying Sherlock in a story about the great detective's younger sister Enola.

Period costumes were always a treat, despite having a fraction of the control that she did with Geralt; Nell was holding it together. She'd come to like being in charge, who knew it was where she truly shined? Working with Henry was fantastic, as well, they had an excellent team surrounding them and work never felt like work.

Ivan had accompanied his parents almost daily, hanging out with his mother in the costume department, while Henry was on set. The odd day he would ask to stay home, though it was rare he wasn't milling around watching or blushing like a tomato when a certain young lady spoke to him. Poor kid, he had inherited Henry's bashfulness when it came to women.

A rare day off between press and filming, called for one thing and one thing only. Sleeping in.

Nothing short of an Earth Shattering disaster was pulling Henry from his bed before 10am. Ivan had been under strict instructions that if he woke first, take Kal out, then go watch tv or read a book. There were things he could eat without using a stove, he'd be fine on his own for a few hours. If the house was in danger, come wake an adult.

Snuggling into Henry's back Nell sighed and yawned. She'd spent nearly the entire night with her face squashed into his shoulder blades, too comfortable to move. Fighting her eyes to stay closed, she whimpered, it was too early to be awake. The sun was gently streaming through the crack in the dark curtains, wretched thing, casting a light across the room. Scrunching her eyes shut, she wrinkled her nose.

“Too early,” Henry whispered, his voice hoarse and thick with sleep. “Back to sleep, my darling.”

“I'm trying.” Nell groaned, kissing his shoulder. “What time is it?”

“9:45,” Reading the clock beside his head, Henry groaned and rolled slightly not wanting to crush Nell behind him. He'd grown nearly three sizes since last summer, a wall of solid muscle, if he got any bigger Nell would be sleeping on the couch because the bed was only so big.

“Close enough,” She scooted back, her head resting on the soft pillow. Gently pushing a stray curl away from Henry's eyes, she smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. “I don't hear the wild boy and the bear, they must still be in bed.”

“Even if they're up, I locked the door last night.” Henry winked, a lazy smile on his face. Door locks for the bedroom were a fantastic invention, whoever came up with that idea had clearly been a parent. “They can knock and shout, if they need us.”

“You're learning, I like it.” Nell giggled, stretching her arms over her head. Groaning at the feeling of muscles releasing throughout her body. The air in the room slightly cool on her naked skin. “Do we have to get out of bed, yet?”

“Never,” Shaking his head, Henry wasn't ready to climb out of their little bubble yet. “I say we stay here forever.”

“Good, I will take that offer.” Placing a kiss on his soft lips, she smiled. Kissing him again, she wrapped her arm around his neck drawing him in. “I could do that forever, my love.” Gently playing with the mess of curls, Nell sighed feeling Henry's breath on her neck and shoulder.

“I could let you do that forever,” Henry grinned, giving her another kiss. His arms tightening around her back, holding her against him. She fit perfectly against his frame, a tiny detail that he loved.

Laying in bed, Henry smiled lazily, everything about her was perfect. God he loved this woman. Everything about her made his heart swell and – he groaned, at the phone buzzing on the stand beside him. It was a day off. No phones before noon.

“Go ahead.” Nell encouraged, pulling the sheet up around her. “It could be important.”

Reaching for the phone, Henry frowned seeing the text. The name on the screen sent his heart racing, his mouth dry, and his palms sweaty. Reading the text, he felt the tension and fear melt. To think he'd almost missed this good news. Quickly replying, he continued to smile.

“That was Donna.” Henry beamed placing his phone back on the stand. “We have the house.”

“What?”

Not even a month ago they had agreed that London was lovely, but what they really needed was a place to unwind. A permanent residence where Ivan and Kal could run wild and not worry about neighbours or limited space. Somewhere with room inside and out. They'd found a charming farm house, enough room for an office, a spare bedroom, and of course a game room. The gardens were maintained and unlike any garden Nell had seen before – she was ready to offer listing price on the spot, until logic set in.

Ivan and Kal had gone along to see the potential new dwelling the last time Henry and Nell had gone, both of them had seemed happy enough with the choice. Ivan had been talking for weeks, about the things he could do in a place like that. There had been four potential places and the third one had been it. The second they had walked in, they'd fell in love.

They would keep the current house, allowing them to be in London whenever they pleased, as Nell had made the official decision to keep and continue renting out her house.

“We have a few things to tie up, before we can move in of course, but we now own a country home.” Henry repeated the news. “We'll have to set up a date to go and finalize things, but it's been agreed upon.”

“This is fantastic! Oh, our first party can be an engagement party.” Nell beamed, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

“You're serious about that?” Cautiously Henry tip toed around the words. In the past such a notion would have left him brokenhearted.

“I wouldn't have asked you to marry me, if I wasn't.” Nell smirked.

“The phrase we should get married, while catching up on Younger isn't exactly asking me to marry you.” Henry rolled his eyes, Nell stuck out her tongue. “Although, I didn't say no. So...”

It was a spur of the moment. In the moment and now, the morning after, it felt right. She had casually thrown out the idea, ignoring Liza and Kelsey having their millionth catastrophe, grabbing Henry's attention enough that he had reacted with a laugh. When he'd asked if she were serious, Nell had shrugged and told him that it certainly wasn't a joke.

Why shouldn't they get married?

If he declined, she would understand, so long as they agreed to remain together. You didn't need a piece of paper and some rings to prove you loved somebody, but it would still be nice. In an old fashioned way.

“So? I am assuming that means yes. Yes, you will marry me.” Giggling, Nell leaned into him, her fingers dancing across his chest. Small wisps of hair tickling under her fingers. “Do you not want to marry me?”

“I never said that,” Henry shook his head, watching her through hooded eyes. “I would thoroughly enjoy marrying you.”

“Good, because I think I would enjoy it, too.”

“You really want to get married?” Extending his arm, inviting Nell to snuggle in, Henry kissed the top of her head when she laid against his shoulder.

“I do. But, we don't have to discuss this right now. I know it's probably not how you imagined the proposal going, I need to work on timing.” She shrugged tilting her head to look at him. “Henry William Dalgliesh Cav-...”

A banging on the door, as the knob rattled, caused Nell to pause. Damn it. Henry laughed, his body shook and he did little to hide his amusement despite Nell's annoyance.

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan called from the other side of the door. “Dad? Dad!”

“What?” Henry called back, shaking his head at their son.

“Kal and I were wondering when we could go to the park?”

“After lunch.” Nell called through the door. Nudging Henry, she gestured to the door. “Why not let them in, if not he's going to stand out there and yell.”

“Fine, but only because it's after 10.” Henry kissed the top of her head, stretching and getting out of bed. Nell watched him pull on a pair of shorts, every muscle in his body moving in unison. Unlocking the door, he stood with it open a crack, looking into the hall at Ivan and Kal. Watching him intently, Kal yipped and Ivan narrowed his gaze. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“I'm hungry. I've already had a bowl of cereal, but I want something else. Kal ate, but I think he's hungry too. Are you going to stay in bed all day?”

“If we do?”

“I'm going to call Granny and tell her. It's late and you should be up, be productive and not a lazy bones.” Ivan chastised.

Behind the door Nell laughed. Tying her dressing gown, she shook her head, watching Henry deal with the lecture. Resting her head against Henry's back, she peek around him to see Ivan and Kal in the hall.

“Mum, stop kissing dad and come make my something to eat. I'm starving.”

“I doubt you are starving, wild boy, besides you were told that we were sleeping in. It's not like we ever get to do it.” Nell rolled her eyes.

“Run along downstairs, well be down in a moment.”  Leaving Ivan and Kal with their instructions, Henry gently shut the door on the pair. Parental life had given Henry a new appreciation for Nell and all that she'd done over the years and was continuing to do.

Dressing gown on the end of the bed, Nell traded it in for her favourite shorts and a well loved tshirt. Ready to semi face the day, she ran her fingers through her hair and watched Henry with amusement.

“Are you sure this is what you want? A lifetime of demands and dictatorship?” Nell teased, rubbing Henry's arm.

“We're in it now. May as well stick around, see how it all plays out.” He kissed her forehead, wrapping his arm around her in a gentle squeeze. “Besides, he'll be gone soon. Only a few more years and we can overthrow him.”

“Ah, yes.” Nell nodded in playful agreement. “I forgot, boarding school. You know, you English may be on to something with that.”

“We're smarter than the average bear.” Henry shrugged. “In the meantime, shall we go feed the beasts? Take them to the park and then tell them our good news?”

“Lovely idea, shall we?”  

To think merely a year ago, they were living separate lives. Had someone told Henry, when he'd arrived in Dublin to visit Ivan, they would be talking about marriage and buying a quaint place in the country – he would have laughed in their face. Nell sighed, rubbing her eyes, feet hitting the last step. Surveying the house, she was satisfied that Ivan and Kal hadn't made too much of a mess. Eventually they would have more space, allowing them to run wild whenever they felt the need.

“What's on your mind?” Henry rested his chin on the top of her head, bumping into her as she'd stopped.

“How fortunate we are. It's silly, but I'm glad that you came to visit the wild boy last summer.” She shrugged, waiting for Ivan to realize his parents were downstairs. “Had he came here...”

“You would have been learning to speak Danish?” Henry laughed lightly, wincing when Nell turned and smacked him in the chest. A little harder than she'd intended.

“Alex is a sweet guy, I won't deny that.” Through the grape vine and instagram, she knew that he'd been seeing someone and was insanely happy. She didn't wish him ill, in fact quite the opposite. Alex was a fantastic person, who deserved everything good in life.  “But, I'm not sorry things worked the way they did.” Nell shrugged, gently rubbing the spot she'd smacked. “I am sorry it took me so fucking long.”

“Hey, no.” Shaking his head, Henry lifted her hands in his. Kissing the back of her hands, he smiled. “It doesn't matter, because that was then. This is now. From now on, we go forward.”

“I like that,” melting into his smile, Nell felt the warmth rising in her cheeks. “From now on...”

“Mum, momma, mum.” Cutting in, Ivan slowly drug his feet across the floor, a frown on his face while he rubbed his belly. “I'm hungry. Can you make pancakes?”

“Can you stop and let your father and I speak, for two seconds?”

“You weren't talking, you were probably kissing again.” He made a disgusted face, stalking off to the kitchen.

Since his mother had moved in full time, the only thing his parents wanted to do was kiss, and whisper things that made each other laugh. Rolling his eyes, Ivan called for Kal, at least he still had one buddy. Adults.

“Shall we feed them, before he decides to call in reinforcement?” Henry chuckled, taking Nell's hand and walking to the kitchen.

“I'm not scared of your mother.” Nell laughed, nudging Henry with her hip.

“Really? I am.” Barking a laugh, Henry snorted. “You're a brave lady, Janelle Stewart.”

“Am I?”

“Absolutely, the bravest. Even better is that you're my brave lady.”

“Okay, alright. I see where this is going. Grab me a bowl, you can flirt with me later.” She winked, going through the cupboard to find the ingredients for Ivan's pancakes. “And go put on a shirt, if you're going to help me cook. Otherwise I get distracted.”

Teasingly mocking her, Henry handed over the ceramic bowl, placing a kiss on her cheek before disappearing to find the required shirt. On his way to find the rest of his clothing, he was temporarily distracted by Ivan and Kal. Watching from around the corner, Nell shook her head and laughed, Ivan was standing on the arm of the couch climbing onto Henry's back. Chattering about his morning with Kal and the things they did, before waking his parents.

Chaos was a constant, though Nell didn't mind. It was what made life interesting, the laughter and shouting would likely piss off a neighbour or two, though Henry didn't seem to care and Ivan had no care in the world. Kal jumped at Henry's feet, yipping, and wagging his tail as he tried to rescue Ivan from his piggy back. Sneaking a photo or two, Nell watched father and son continue on with whatever game they were playing.

This would be one of the personal moments that, eventually, Henry would decide to share with the world. Nell couldn't blame him, Ivan was rather personable and he seemed to enjoy the attention. Who knew Ivan would  soak in the spot light so easily?

“Mum!” Ivan called between his fit of laughter. “Momma, I need help. Mum!”

“I'm coming, I'm coming.” Nell laughed, taking her time to saunter to the rescue. “What's going on in here, hmm?”

“I am trying to train this dragon, but he's too strong.”

“You attacked me, I am simply trying to fight off the troll.” Henry spoke with the most deadpan expression Nell had ever saw.  Raising his brow, he smirked backing up to the couch, Ivan taken off guard yelped when Henry shrugged hard dropping him on the cushions.

“Bad dragon!” Ivan wheezed laughing, trying to avoid Kal who was instantly there to lick his face and make sure he was okay. “Kal! No! Kal!”

“Right, now that I have defeated the Troll King and fed him to my furry beast, shall I grab the queen and we escape?” holding out his hand to Nell, winking, Henry glanced at Ivan still trying to assure Kal that he was fine.

“Is this the part where the queen kisses the dragon, releasing some sort of terrible curse, revealing that he was a handsome knight all along?”

Henry nodded, comically puckering his lips. “It is.”

“Ah!”

“No! No more kissing! You two are disgusting! No, mum stop. Dad, please.” Ivan pretended to gag for the millionth time this morning. Adults were so gross.

“Tis but a peck,” Henry declared.

Nell laughed. “Alright, serious now. Why don't you two get dressed, I will make breakfast, and then we can go out for the rest of the morning.”

“Fine, but no more kissing.” Ivan grumbled, allowing Henry to help him off the couch. Kal on their heels, Ivan asked his father if he wanted to race to the top of the stairs. Thundering up the stairs, Nell watched the two of them disappear at the top. Shouts and laughter trickling back down to meet her.

For a few seconds, Nell stood listening to Henry, Ivan, and Kal playing upstairs. Running around, shouting, and not at all doing what she'd asked. Not that it mattered. They were happy, all of them. Listening to Henry charge across the hall, Nell laughed when Ivan screeched like some sort of mythical creature, causing Kal to bark loudly.

The four of them, taking on the world, conquering whatever came along. Mythical or real. This was life now, this is what it should have been all along. Nell sighed, only forward from now on. She liked that. The past was that, left behind to be a memory all while new ones were made. Over head, Ivan's feet passed, he was running to his parents' bedroom. Kal was behind him, the big dog as excited as the boy he chased.

Henry had a way of instigating the two of them, riling them up, and taking great pleasure in the screaming and shouting that followed in the games they played. Nell smiled to herself, carefully measuring out the flour of Ivan's pancakes.

These mornings were the greatest. Hell, her life was the greatest.

This is how it was supposed to be.

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(sorry if this hasn’t been tagging people. IDK what is up but tumblr is a prick, It’s telling me you are all tagged, but then shows the links didn’t work, but shows they did ugh)

[florenceandthemachine]

i am in major need of some soft and happy stackson so talk to me about when they first get together and they can’t keep their hands off each other, both in a gross way like making out in front of all their friends and not giving a fuck but also being lovey dovey as shit all the time and surprising the hell out of the whole town because it is not what they were expecting at all.

BB I hope you are ready for a Full Canon Rewrite because honestly, they would probably get together after something super, terrifyingly emotional. Like after Jackson’s monster-master-driven apparently death, it would be Stiles who had leaped forward, and clutched Jackson’s body like his own life depended on it—and then, to everyone else’s shock, Jackson wrapped his arms around him just as tightly, his face now fully wolfed out, not a kanima scale in sight. 

It would be... unexpected. But if anyone could defy the odds, it was Stiles.

And Jackson, of course. But only when Stiles was involved. 

They weren’t disgusting, though. Not at first anyway. Nothing compared to what Stiles had to put up with in the past, between Jackson and Lydia and Scott and Allison. 

It would start with the little touches—the tenderness between the two of them would be undeniable. Stiles would be the type to be walking in the halls next to Jackson, texting with one hand, and the other would instinctively latch on to Jackson—his hand, or his arm, his backpack strap, and ultimately his belt loop, tethering himself to Jackson in a way that made Jackson flush. Jackson would never bring it up, of course, too worried that if he were to say anything, it would stop. 

But it would never stop. 

They would sit front and center in any of the classes that they had. Coach only tried to separate them once during Econ, and they had both done so disastrously bad on their next test that he immediately gave up. After all, they certainly weren't a disturbance in class, it was just kind of.... hard, sometimes, to watch two idiot teenagers in love sitting in the front of the class.

Stiles would be the one who instigates almost all of their contact, but he would only be comfortable doing it because he knows Jackson not so secretly loves it. He would be the one to link their legs at the ankles when they were studying in the library, if they were at a table too far apart for them to hold hands. He would be the one to loop an arm around Jackson’s shoulders during their pre-game locker room rituals, and he would be the one who almost pulls Jackson into his lap during pack meetings. 

(He worried, for all of twelve minutes, that Jackson was just tolerating his touch—he had tried to stop it only once, and after nearly an hour of Jackson being far grumpier than usual while simultaneously staring at Stiles hands, Stiles had idly gripped Jackson’s shoulder, given just the smallest squeeze, and watched the tension bleed out of his face almost instantly. So, obviously, the touching was a win win.)

The only hard part would be getting Jackson to understand that touch was okay between the two of them, in public. Private Jackson was plenty affectionate, but in public, while he responded well to Stiles touch, getting him to instigate anything was nigh impossible. 

Stiles, as usual, dealt with it in a sneaky and underhanded way that appealed to Jackson and his wolf and would probably make Scott frown at him, so he considered it a win. 

In the end, all he had to do was sigh and kiss Jackson’s knuckles while they were walking in to school, smiling sheepishly when Jackson looked over to him with an impossibly dopey smile. 

“Sorry. I just, uh, I like this. Like it when you touch me, you know? Makes me feel like I’m yours.”

His heartbeat was steady—he was telling the truth, of course—but just as he expected, Jackson’s eyes blew wide, and suddenly he had his arms full of happy werewolf, dipping him into a deep kiss on the school steps like they were in some kind of Disney movie. 

If he had known what kind of monster he had released, Stiles would have done that so much sooner; because Jackson, he was basically insatiable once he realized he was allowed to initiate physical contact. And Stiles loved it.

Holding hands in the hallway wasn’t enough anymore. Jackson would have his arms round Stiles waist, walking perfectly in step, close enough that Jackson could point out the rare odd calculation as Stiles poured over his notes, and Stiles could laugh at some snarky observation that Danny texted him. 

Sitting together at lunch wasn’t enough anymore. Jackson would sidle up behind him, arms around Stiles and chin on his shoulder, huffing impatiently when Stiles was too absorbed in something to notice him right away—and that said something, that Stiles was so comfortable with Jackson in his space that he didn’t always notice it, it said something that Jackson both loved and was terrified of.

Hell, even going through doorways wasn’t enough anymore. Jackson would open the door for him and then guide Stiles through, let his hand rest on the small of Stiles back in a way that was the perfect balance between sweet and possessive.

Stiles would, completely unconsciously, lean into any touch that Jackson gave him. 

But no, they weren’t disgusting. At least, not at first. And not in the broad public eye. Publicly, they were fucking tame, or so he told himself, ignoring the way his breath hitched when Jackson bit down on his collarbone, smothering his own groan in Jackson’s mouth when he finally came in their hiding spot beneath the bleachers, whipping an undershirt out of Jackson’s gym bag to clean himself up before sixth period started. 

(Jackson acted like he hated it, but Stiles wouldn’t even entertain the notion that Jackson didn’t love having Stiles’ scent so close to him all day.)

They had actually waited a long time, teenager-wise, before they started fucking. Jackson was afraid of being Stiles first, to be frank, and Stiles was willing to deprive himself of the bounty of Jackson’s body for as long as it took to convince Jackson that he wasn’t just in it for sex. 

(They had come painfully close to it, one Tuesday night when Jackson was staying at his place—literal months after they started dating. Stiles was on top of Jackson and Jackson was being so responsive to his touch, so good, and Stiles could barely hear anything over his own heart hammering because finally, the time felt right, this was right, they were both ready and—

and then Scott had come bursting through his unlatched window.

“Stiles, are you okay? I was patrolling and your heartbeat sounded super fucked up and I wanted to be sure that OH MY GOD MY EYES JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK YOU TWO OH GOD I AM SO SORRY I DIDN’T MEAN TO OH MY GOD.”

Jackson, the asshole, had almost laughed himself into a coma, but Stiles was so red you could fry an egg on his face, his self confidence gone in a flash. Jackson made it up to him with lots of cuddling and reassurance and Thai food while they watched a movie. stiles had said “I love you” for the first time that night, and even though he reassured Jackson that he didn’t have to say it back right away, Jackson just beamed at him and parroted it back almost instantly.

[The first time they did have sex, neither of them lasted longer than a minute, and suddenly Jackson was the embarrassed one, and it was perfect.])

Once they had started, though, it brought a whole new level of insatiable to their touches. Stiles no longer just held Jackson’s arm while they walked, he let his fingers trace every vein and contour of muscle beneath his shirt, in a way that was so blatantly pornographic—and somehow completely innocent—that even the most sexually comfortable bystander felt the need to avert their eyes. 

When they studied, it wasn’t enough to have Jackson’s hand on his thigh—Jackson would let his fingers ghost over Stiles shorts, or pants, or whatever, his fingers getting closer and closer to Stiles groin with every trace, pretending like he didn’t love how Stiles would lean closer to him, until he was basically in Jackson’s lap in the library. 

They had kissed in the locker room before, sure—but now it was to the point where Scott announced himself, loudly, when entering, if there was even the slightest suspicion that the two of them were alone in there (and even then, he had walked in twice to find the two of them very, very scantily clad, blushing bright red and avoiding eye contact with Scott and one another).

Sties, in his defense, had started to fight fire with fire, meaning that each time Scott complained about them at the lunch table (and okay, maybe that one time where Jackson had licked some ranch dressing off of Stiles palm was a bit much), Stiles immediately redirected with some embarrassing thing he had in his Scott folder—which proved to be entirely unnecessary, because less than a week into Scott and Allison bringing Isaac into their little romance, Stiles had more ammo on Scott than he ever wanted to have on anybody else, ever.

Their relationship was fairly public, and that was easy to see, but... there was so much more that came with that. There was a certain level of trust between them, the kind that Stiles would never have imagined before—but once Jackson had those walls down, it was like they were down for good. Stiles was there for every moment of it—he could still remember the first night he had to wake Jackson up from a nightmare, being extra mindful of the claws, the first time he had walked in on a fight between Jackson and his parents, had witnessed first hand what he could only call a temper tantrum where Jackson had nearly shredded his own mattress. 

(Whenever Jackson had an outburst like that, Stiles always took note of the things he took his aggression out on. It was always his own things, never Stiles, and never anything that Stiles held near. It was... fascinating, and so sad, all at once.)

Jackson, in turn, could tell when Stiles was on the brink of a panic attack by the sound of his heart alone, and had actually (literally, unfortunately) ripped a door from its hinges to get to Stiles before he had completely spiraled out of control. Jackson was better than Scott, even, at getting his breathing to even out, his heart to slow. And for once, Stiles actually had the chance to talk about what was bothering him, what had pushed him over the edge in the first place.

Full moons were some of the best worst nights that they had together, because Jackson basically went “full beast mode” as Stiles called it. Basically, anyone or anything came near Stiles, and Jackson could not be held accountable for his actions. Stiles loved it almost as much as the day after, when Jackson was soft and a little embarrassed and Stiles got to pamper him with kisses, and soft touches, and so much love. 

So, alright, maybe they were that disgusting couple, but they were in love, and Stiles didn’t care who saw it. They were together through literally the worst parts of their lives, and now they got to be together for the best, so who cared?

Stiles had his arms around Jackson when Jackson decided to come out to his parents. Jackson was there for Stiles when Stiles told his dad about all the supernatural stuff. They got through some of the incredibly harder points of their own lives with one another—and all the physicality along the way—and Stiles wouldn’t have it any other way. 

After all, as much as he loved Jackson taking his hand as they got ready to walk the stage and receive their diplomas, as much as he loved Jackson giving him a kiss when they all tossed caps, as much as he loved Jackson kissing his wrist when he got down on one knee in that ugly ass graduation robe in front of God and everybody (and he cried, oh God did Stiles cry), he loved the man behind it even more. 

[lost-in-zembla]

On Metamodernism

It’s tough to grasp metamodernism as an artistic movement but most of us live lives strongly affected by the concepts of metamodernism every day. You’re having a serious conversation with your friend about her mental health; simultaneously, you and your friend are part of a groupchat where you are currently making fun of the very friend you are supporting. This isn’t necessarily disingenuous; you are witnessing two different instances of a person and those two instantiations of you happen to be different depending on context and medium. In part, metamodernism is a kind of acceptance of our multiple selves, our tendency to oscillate between states or even inhabit both in a sort of human superposition.

I taught my friends about metamodernism in our groupchat as my friend Jarett consoled me via one-on-one text after the sudden implosion of my five-year long relationship and the fact that my life is generally unbearable—a fact that is more embarrassing when one considers how easy I have it. It’s sort of a shame feedback loop. 

As I was explaining metamodernism for my own satisfaction, I thought that I might actually make an okay professor. I could teach American literature. Maybe. 

So I get a job teaching at the local community college and my life slowly comes back together like a cut that heals. I am relatively respected by my students and I have some abstract sense purpose, the cracks in the surface of which are only visible if one spends a long, existential period of time contemplating the practical or, god-forbid, spiritual uses of an education in American literature what with the reality of a global climate catastrophe and the approaching drumbeats of right-wing strongmen leaders reaching positions of power all around the world.

But things are pretty good.

I get a parking space. I get an apartment that looks bad, then looks better. I start to open the curtains. I don’t want to hide so much. A year or two down the line I lease a practical car and people treat me with a bit more respect when they see me step out of it. I smile at people in the grocery store. At this point I can see peoples’ mouths when I go outside. When I see their mouths, they’re smiling. They can see my mouth. I’m smiling.

I get to know people and people think I’m lovely. The faculty all look up to me. How young and handsome and intelligent he is! He’ll sure go places, they say. And I do. I quickly earn a raise and then I’m head of the department. And so young! When I’m not inspiring awe I inspire smoldering jealousy. Women? Naturally. And I treat each of them with utmost respect. I value these women for more than the thousands of hours of hot naked ecstasy they provide me. I buy more fresh produce. I throw none of it out.

I single-handedly save the English department at the community college. Funding comes pouring in. Eventually, it becomes one of the premier colleges for literary studies in the Midwest. They rename a building after me. I just turned thirty. Before long, I’m offered a job at the prestigious private university in town, with nods toward a proverbial shoe in the door when it comes to tenure. Unheard of! But he’s just that good. My wrists and forearms become perceptibly thicker. People cross the street in front of traffic to shake my hand. I learn what the fuck “ketosis” is.

Then there I am one day in my cushy office. Rows of leather-bound books fill the shelves around the ample perimeter of the room. I’ve read them all, naturally. My hair has started to grey in places but damn if it’s not as thick and lush as the heart of the Amazon. A knock on the door. My office hours ended at one. I answer and it’s, oh, Claire from this semester’s modern American literature course. Of course I’ve noticed her in class. How could I not? But I’d always maintained a professional and appropriately avuncular demeanor in front of her. She’s twenty-eight, French, gorgeous. Naturally.

We discuss her essay on Light in August and I say to her, you know, Claire, it was the French who were among the first to notice Faulkner’s genius. She puts her hand on my thigh. In her accent that itself somehow resembles a beautiful naked body she says, The French notice lots of things. I slide my attractively thick forearm over the crowded desk space and knock the books and pens and everything onto the floor and—well, let’s just say that my life of success and talent has enhanced me in other ways. And it’s hot and insane and weird and papers fly everywhere. And it sort of just goes on like that for weeks and then months—the relationship, not that particular sexual event. At my age, after all the sex and drugs and joy and tragedy, sometimes I think that it’s the clandestine nature of the thing that really gets me off. Like I need more and more secret or shameful shit to fire off those tired old neurons. I start to become cavalier in front of the students. I begin to, perhaps, show my hand. 

I get another knock on my office, sometime in the Spring. Bill, I say. Come in. He sits down and we engage in a tense discussion where every syllable is laced with a double entendre because he can’t just say it out loud, for Christ’s sake. That’s just not how these things are done. He’s old school, but firm, Bill. She’s graduating anyway, and something tells me when we can finally be together publicly then the thrill will already be gone. 

The students already know. I’ve seen the screenshots. I’ve been memed. Things are tense in class and they can tell that I’ve given up. The fire in my eye that led to my meteoric rise has dimmed to a pathetic ember. Sometimes I take my Audi out on a dark highway outside of town and I press on the accelerator until I can’t go any faster. I have to stop myself from shutting my eyes.

One day in class, I look up from my papers and all the students are out of their desks, standing over me. They’re holding pencils and yardsticks that have been modified into edged weapons. What’s the meaning of this? They use my Tom Ford tie to tie my arms behind me and to my chair. They put me in the center of the room. I knew they would betray me. I’d always known. For years this notion has haunted the deepest recesses of my mind: these people, these kids, are going to be the ones to put this old dog down. Is this because of Claire, I ask. They laugh. They laugh because they think I’m an old fool. I am an old fool.

No, professor, Shellie says. She seems to be the leader. It’s much more serious than that, she says. O life! Everything I’ve ever done. I’ve stomped on people all the way to the top and now it’s all coming back to me, some sort of holdup in the karmic clerical system that led to forty years of consequences all delivered at once. Things were so easy for so long, so fun, that I forgot what it was like to live a life with consequences.

Shut up, she says. You’re here for a reason. What could she know? How did she mobilize all of these students? When did they make the weapons? How many questions could I possibly pose in sequence?

Professor, she says, we have one question for you. Anything, I say. And answer truthfully, she says. And I say of course, of course I’ll be completely honest. Okay, professor, she says, do you consider yourself… a historicist? At this very moment I know it’s over for me. Well, I say, it’s not so simple, Shellie. The mob is in an uproar. A fair bit of verbal sparring ensues. Shellie and the other students in favor of the transcendent nature of literature—whatever that means—and me in favor of a more context-based approach. Sure, if I thought that novels were a good way to learn about history then I’d deserve this. I’d deserve all of this.

How can you read these works outside of their historical context? What about Light in August for God’s sake?  The mob lashes out again—not Faulkner fans, go figure—but Shellie shushes them until the classroom is as silent as the dusty hills of Jerusalem. Literature, she says, is timeless. And this essentially breaks me. I begin weeping openly. You might as well kill me, then, I say. They set upon me like a pack of hyenas. 

A moment or an eternity after my head is pulled off my body like the Bacchae in that Euripides tragedy, I hear waves lap against the rocks. I feel in my face the salty breeze of the ocean. I open my eyes to find a beautiful Mediterranean island. It feels neither hot nor cold. The breeze from the ocean feels perfect, as though there were no storms to be found in any corner of the Earth.

Behind me, inland, I hear the sound of approaching footsteps. I turn around to find Vladimir goddamn Nabokov of all people. It’s perfect. So I tell him the story, how I was murdered by my students over two reductive and non-mutually exclusive schools of thought in literature—two schools of thought that are both perfect lenses through which to view Nabokov’s work. When I tell him he laughs his big Russian laugh and slaps me on the shoulder, and I laugh. Then he hands me a butterfly net and we skip through pleasant hills in that vast and timeless place forever and ever.

No. What’s happening? It’s all slipping away from me now. All the memories, the moments, the time, leaking out of my mind to become something ghostly, an image half-developed, a thought unspoken. I lift my head and look at my hands and there I am, lying on a couch in a high school faculty lounge. My hands are unwrinkled. My body is young. There is no Humanities Wing in my name, no tenure, no Audi. No Claire. Was it all just a dream? Could it all have been just a dream? Is it within the realm of possibility that such an absurdly bad trope could have manifested into my life naturally? Or am I the subject of a cruel and untalented god who simply bats me about and writes hack narratives for me to tumble through like some Sisyphean Rube Goldberg machine? Coffee. Need Coffee.

It’s all silly, anyway. Nabokov and myself cavorting through some weird Elysium? Ridiculous. If that was what the afterlife had in store for me, then Nabokov would probably be hanging out with Pushkin and Tolstoy while maybe Dostoevsky and I build a sandcastle. Maybe. But then, in all likelihood, Nabokov, Pushkin, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and the other cool kids would kick sand in my face and walk off with whatever beautiful ladies happen to inhabit this weird Russian-literary Elysium that I’ve somehow ended up in. I haven’t thought this out very well.

What was this all about, again? Metamodernism. Easy. Let’s think.

Okay.

As I write this now, behind my computer, watching Youtube videos about sushi, wondering how the sushi will make its way into my writing through mental osmosis (not subtly, it turns out), I look at these instances of me, with the meteoric success or the banal day-to-day life, and I wonder who exactly I am. I am a thousand selves. I am nothing. I am trying to remember into the future who I am. I am a metamodernist—no, I’m not.

[thenovelartist]

Falling for the Dork, set 3

<<Previous set  Next set>>

8.      A Favor Only You Can Do

When Marinette called and asked him for a favor, the only correct answer was yes. He didn’t even know what he was doing other than going over to Marinette’s house, but that didn’t matter because she was his best friend and if she needed something, he’d happily assist.

“Honey, I’m home!” he called out teasingly as he headed up to her room.

When he caught sight of her, she was beet red and her smile was forced. “Uhh… welcome home?”

Her forced smile was much more of a cringe now. Adrien felt like that was his fault because all Marinette seemed to do lately was blush in front of him. If he knew how to approach the subject of what was happening to his best friend, he would. However, he had enough social skills to know that asking a woman why she blushed all the time was not the way to handle anything.

So, he ignored it and did his best to try to make her relaxed around him by being the biggest dork possible. “You called; I came. What do you need help with?”

Marinette gave him a half smile. “Well… do you know that design competition I entered?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” She tapped the tips of her index fingers together, unable to look him in the eye. “Turns out… you can either send pictures of your clothes on the mannequin… or with a model. But models are highly encouraged.”

Adrien nodded. “And…”

Her blue eyes looked up at him through her long lashes. “Would you be my model?”

Instantly, his mind went blank. She wanted him to be her model? Like, try to look like one of those ridiculous pretty-but-self-centered jerks his father hired for the sole purpose of looking beautiful? “Uh…” Adrien paused, his mind working.

“It’s okay if you don’t!” Marinette quickly said. “I don’t want to pressure you or anything.”

“You think I’m good enough to?”

Marinette’s jaw proceeded to drop to the floor. “Y…you’re kidding me, right?”

Adrien shook his head. He knew he was somewhat good looking, but model-worthy? If he was worthy enough, his father would have definitely asked him to model for the company by now.

“If I didn’t think you were good enough, I wouldn’t have asked you.”

His heart skipped at that. “Really?”

She blushed. “Yeah.”

Absently, Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. When she put it that way, there was absolutely no way he could turn her down. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

A few minutes later, Adrien was changing into the ensemble that Marinette had put together for him. When he glanced at himself in her bathroom mirror, he had to admit he looked good. Marinette was a fantastic designer and no one could say otherwise.

He stepped out of the bathroom and back to her room. He gave her a spin for approval. “Well?”

She looked intently at him, fingers tapping her lips in thought. No longer was she blushy; she was in full designer mode. “Come here.”

He did as directed, only to become vaguely uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. She reached for his glasses, carefully taking them off his face and sparking a fire in his cheeks. She then ran her fingers through his hair, and he felt his face positively flame. Not so much because of the action itself.

More because he didn’t want her to stop.

Even though his vision was blurry and his heart was pounding, he could imagine in perfect clarity the proud smile Marinette was giving him. “Yes, you’ll do purr-fectly.”

His heart skipped an odd beat. As it always did on the rare occasion she broke out the puns.

What was going on with him today? Why couldn’t he just pull himself together?

“Now,” she directed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Stand still and let me tailor all the outfits I have to fit you perfectly. Then, it should be all ready in a couple days for you to come over again and let me take pictures.”

Five days later, after a busy Saturday of him helping her take his own pictures, Adrien finally got to see all the photos she took. It was kinda hard to miss when they decorated the entire wall above her desk.

He denied that he felt a pang of loss when Marinette took all them down the next week for some reason. However, he learned on accident that she kept a few pinned on the corkboard next to her bed and the rest hidden safely under her mattress. That little fact was enough to satisfy the oddly angry beast that had been so unsettled inside him.

  9.      Birthday Gifts

Adrien had been preparing for this for months. It was Marinette’s birthday this week, meaning the class was thinking up presents. The girls talked about girly things or sewing notions or whatnot. But Adrien had a plan. A plan that he’d been hatching for months and was preparing to execute.

On his way to the fabric store, Nino had shot him a text begging for help on what to get Marinette. Adrien smirked.

I have an idea. Adrien texted. I’ll pick them up for you and then you can take the credit.

I can get them. Nino texted back. What is it?

Needles for her sewing machine. Her last one is dull. I’m heading to a fabric store now. Want me to pick up the ones she needs?

There was a long pause. How do you know this? Sewing needles go dull?

Adrien smirked. Yes they do depending on the fabric and how much you use the needle. Marinette has been complaining about fabric getting sucked into her machine and she’s done everything else to fix it meaning the needle is dull. And if she had more, she would have replaced it and wouldn’t be complaining.

Dude. Nino texted back. How do you know this?

Adrien chuckled. I KNOW things ;)

Freaky. I’ll meet you there so I can at least put effort into getting them.

K. Then I’ll help you find the ones specifically for her machine.

There’s different kinds?

Adrien just laughed. Oh, Nino had no idea.

He sent off an answer of yes there are a lot of different kinds. Just meet me here and I’ll help you.

After telling Nino exactly which store he was heading into, Nino sent him back a text with a thumbs up emoji and a be there asap. But watching little bro now. Waiting for mom to come back.

That’s fine, Adrien texted back after stepping foot in the store and suddenly feeling overwhelmed, which was a rare thing for him. I’ll be here a while.

It was Adrien’s first time in a fabric store, meaning he really had no clue what he was doing or where anything was. However, he had a list of fabrics and yardages that Marinette estimated she would need for each design she constantly talked about. It had been risky sneaking look-sees in her sketchbook to get them without her being the wiser.

This trip would not go to waste.

A solid two hours later scouring the store and comparing fabric, he finally had collected the bolts he needed. Meaning now he had to take a number and wait in line to get said fabric cut.

And from the looks of it, he was going to be here another two hours.

“Dude,” Nino called, tapping Adrien’s shoulder. “Sorry. Mom had me watching my little bro so I had to wait for her to get back.”

“No prob,” Adrien dismissed with a wave. “Took me that long just to find everything and now I have a line to wait for to get the lengths cut.”

“What number are you?”

“Fifty-nine.”

Nino frowned. “Twenty-some people ahead of you?”

“Yup. And don’t look suspicious as you take a look at that group of quilters over there.”

“How do you know they’re quilters?”

“I just do.”

Nino was subtle, pretending he was glancing past the five gray-haired ladies chatting in a circle, each of their carts filled to the brim with fabric bolts.

“Ouch, dude,” Nino whispered, turning back to Adrien.

“Yup. Let’s go shop for needles. And then you’re staying with me until I can get this cut, ‘cause it’s gonna be a while.”

“You saved my butt with this. I owe you at least that much.”

…

Marinette was very thankful to Nino about the sewing needles. “I don’t know who told you, but you are a lifesaver and I love you.”

“You’re welcome,” Nino said, beaming in pride.

When Marinette wasn’t looking, Nino nodded at Adrien in a way that said thanks, bro.

Adrien shot back a wink.

“Last one,” Alya said, shoving the gift box into Marinette’s lap. “And it’s huge.”

“You didn’t go overboard, did you, Adrien?” she asked with a smile, though Adrien could see the seriousness behind it.

“No,” he dismissed. In truth, it was likely she would see his actions as ‘going overboard’, but she was his first real friend and his ultimate best friend, so he really didn’t see an issue going what she would consider ‘overboard’ if he didn’t consider it overboard.

She undid the bow on top of the box, unwrapping the thick ribbon so she could open the box.

Her face lit up immediately at the cut of ladybug print fabric that lay on top. She pulled it out and began inspecting it. “You remembered?” she squealed excitedly.

Adrien nodded. “Of course. You love that design.”

“You’re amazing!”

“Marinette,” Alya broke in. “Looks like there’s more.”

Marinette seemed shocked by that statement, but dove back in, her smile slowly fading with each cut she pulled out. “You went overboard!” she cried once all five swaths of fabric were on out of the box.

“No,” he said. “That’s only enough to make the ladybug sundress, the blouse, the skirt—”

“Adrien,” she interrupted. “No. You didn’t need—”

“I don’t care,” Adrien said, talking over her again. “I wanted to get that for you—”

“But Adrien—”

“No! Just take it.”

“It’s too much.”

“Well, I can’t take it back.”

Marinette glowered at him.

Adrien grinned. “You’re my best friend,” he said. “Let me get this for you.”

After a short stare-off, Marinette looked back at the pile of fabric. And sighed. She stood, walked over to Adrien, and wrapped her arms around his torso. “Thank you,” she said.

His heart skipped a beat, and Adrien happily wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her against him. “You’re welcome, Marinette. Happy Birthday.”

  10.      Puns

It was the first day out of school for summer vacation, and Marinette spent the day at Adrien’s house because playing video games was a lot more fun on his huge screen.

Eventually, Marinette pulled out the snacks that she’d brought to munch on, which allowed her the time to finally ask the question she had had on her mind a while. “Is that a new cat pun shirt?”

Adrien looked down at the blue shirt with three cartoon cats piled on top of on another with the caption ‘purramid’. “No. I’ve had this one a while.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“You haven’t seen half my collection, probably.”

Marinette quirked a brow. “Really?” she asked dubiously. “Because I think I’ve seen enough that you could probably go a solid month wearing cat pun tees and not wear the same one twice.”

Adrien smirked. “You doubt the extensiveness of my carefully procured cat pun t-shirt collection?”

“I’m going to regret this.”

“Come on.”

Adrien took her hand in his, and Marinette felt a blush rise to her cheeks at the contact. Something in the back of her mind was screaming He’s holding my hand! He likes me! while the more rational part of her mind reminded her Keep it together, loon. He’s just leading you to his closet.

A closet that was twice the size of her and her parents closet combined.

“Here we go,” Adrien said, pointing to a line of tee shirts. “For your purr-rusal.” He shot her a wink, and she rolled her eyes even though her heart was going wild.

Within two minutes, she learned that Adrien had been right: his collection was extensive. More extensive than she realized. There were the ones she’d seen such as ‘you’ve cat to be kitten me right meow’ or cats in boxes with ‘I fits, I sits’ or cats with sunglasses that said ‘Cattitude’.

And then there were the ones she hadn’t seen before.

“Really?” She pulled out one that said ‘Catffee’ with a bunch of coffee drinks labeled thigs like ‘Catpurrchino’ and ‘Ameowicano’ and ‘Meowca’ on the front. “Really?” Marinette repeated, turning the shirt toward him.

Adrien’s grin widened in pride.

She rolled her eyes and kept looking. There was a cat in a castle with a crown on its head with the caption ‘Chateau’. There was a cat playing with a music note titled ‘Quatre.’

“Get it?” Adrien cried in excitement when she showed that one to him. “It’s a music pun and a cat pun!”

“Where’s the cat pun?”

“In English, they say ‘cat’.”

Marinette’s expression fell.

“It’s funny.”

“No, it’s not.” She put the shirt back and kept looking.

And then there was one that caught her eye that she had to stare at for a good while.

“Are. You. Serious?”

Adrien looked at the shirt and immediately broke out into a wild grin. “Oh yeah! This one’s new. I haven’t had a chance to wear it yet. What do you think?!”

Marinette stared at the shirt, one that had nine cats, each dressed up as characters Marinette didn’t recognize, but she recognized some of the labels. ‘Dragonpaw Z’ and ‘Sailor Mewn’ and ‘Mewrito’ and ‘Fur Mewtal Alcatmist’. “You got a shirt. With cat renditions. Of your favorite animes?”

“Yes!” Adrien practically squealed. “Isn’t it fantastic?”

Marinette stared at the shirt, then back up at him. His glasses were slightly crooked, his cheeks were pink with excitement, and his smile was completely and one hundred percent giddy. He looked like a five-year-old boy instead of a young man of sixteen.

And she was in love with him.

Marinette sighed, a smile breaking across her face. “It’s very you,” she admitted.

“I know! It might just become my favorite shirt ever.”

As he babbled on, Marinette couldn’t help but watch his excited expressions. Her mind tried to capture his joy and tuck it into her memories under ‘things that warm her heart’. Yes, he was such a dork, but honestly, she wouldn’t have him any other way.

[starlightinhumanform]

The Art of Love: Chapter 8

Fandom: She Ra (2018)

Ship: Glimadora 

Summary: Two sleep deprived gays in a room. Chaos ensues. 

Warnings (for this chapter): Mild language, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: High School AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rivals/Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff

A/N: This chapter is just a nice little break because I think we all need some crack fic after season 3. As always, there’s hella fluff just because... I like it. Anyways I decided to insert the headcannon that like me, Adora gets chattery and kinda loopy (read: flirty) when she’s tired. It was funny to me at least and it seemed to go along with Drunk Adora™️ All notes are so appreciated- especially reblogs!! I also love hearing what you think!! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3    The Art of Love Masterpost    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

They finished far sooner than Glimmer expected them to. At least finished as much as they could, leaving the freshly painted protons to be dealt with in the- well it already was morning- but later at least. Adora had wired the electrons’ form together with expert precision which had surprised Glimmer more than it should have; by now, she should have figured that Adora was basically an expert at everything. Well, almost everything. Apparently art wasn’t her strong suit because she had come spent most of her time threading the protons together multitasking by pausing to practically drool over Glimmer’s painting job.

In Adora’s defense, she was loopy- incredibly so. The lack of sleep had obviously caught up with her because she was acting ridiculous, all previously standard composure completely abandoned. She kept giggling at random things like her hair getting tangled in the wire (Glimmer had to help her untie it because Adora was far too enthusiastic about cutting her soft locks off). Worst of all, she kept leaning towards Glimmer, bumping her face against Glimmer’s shoulder, and cooing for god’s sake. She mumbled seemingly whatever came to mind and almost all it seemed to center around Glimmer. About her art, about her hair, about her eyes, about the posters on her walls. Once, she had leaned over, resting her weight on her elbow and just staring up at Glimmer from below. She hadn’t stopped until Glimmer had asked what was wrong.

“Nothing. You’re just really pretty.”

Oh.

Glimmer knew it was just the side effects of Adora’s exhaustion, that she wasn’t thinking her clear, logical thoughts she usually did and that she probably- no, definitely- didn’t actually mean it. That didn’t mean Glimmer didn’t squirm where she sat or that her throat didn’t make a strange gulping sound when she tried to swallow and that she didn’t blush deep red at Adora’s rain of compliments. Sometimes when Adora’s face found Glimmer’s shoulder she wouldn’t resist the urge to run her fingers through the blond hair and would let herself feel rewarded by Adora’s happy little hums. Her mind yelled at her to push Adora away but she was so close.

So Glimmer decided to let herself pretend- at least for now, at least for this half an hour while her overhead light meant her window was the only glowing window on her whole block. She could pretend that it was ok to like Adora and indulge herself in whatever the hell Adora was doing.

Despite Adora’s apparent drunkenness, she finished the part Glimmer had assigned her to aptly and faster than Glimmer would have guessed with all of Adora’s breaks to whisper into Glimmer’s side.

Adora placed the mildly dangerous looking piece of wire and clay down in front of her and plodded over to Glimmer comically on her hands and knees. She sat down with an oof behind her, stretching her arms loosely around Glimmer’s neck and placing her head on her shoulder.

Glimmer felt her body tense as she took a sharp inhale, “What are you doing?”

Adora started drawing away, “Oh sorry-“

“No it’s ok!” The words came out of Glimmer’s mouth so quickly she wasn’t even sure she had said them.

“Ok then,” Adora settled back into Glimmer’s back, as if it was more comfortable to be close than far apart. Glimmer let herself entertain the idea for just a moment before realizing it was ridiculous to think Adora would share Glimmer’s begrudgingly admitted feelings.

“But... what were you doing?” What the hell- she mights as well torture herself and entertain the notion, right?

“It’s just that this is how me and Cat hang out a lot.”

“Oh,” The timid little ball of warmth that had worked so hard to climb up Glimmer’s chest suddenly plummeted. Just the mention of Cat was enough to set Glimmer on edge, but the thought that Glimmer was just a temporary replacement, a stand-in for Cat? That was the poison her mind had been warning her about earlier, an insidious venom that made Glimmer sick to her stomach.

“I just assumed that’s how most friends act, ya know?” Adora continued on, completely unaware of Glimmer’s rushing thoughts only inches away. But hey at least she was trying to act like friends? The warmth began to rise again but it was sickly.

Glimmer huffed a laugh without actually laughing, “Why would you need to assume? You’ve got tons of friends.”

Adora shrugged, “I mean, I know a lot of people but I wouldn’t say I’m really close with any of them. Cat’s my only real friend.”

Adora’s voice was higher than usual and held an odd sing-song quality that made the whole, relatively serious conversation feel completely surreal.

“‘cept for you of course.”

“What?”

“You’re my friend too,” Glimmer could feel Adora’s smile on her neck as she spoke and Glimmer was worried she going to start glowing.

“Well that’s one good thing isn’t it?” Glimmer was smiling too now.

At some point Adora made the decision that the correct place for her head was in Glimmer’s lap, settling her face into the softness of Glimmer’s thigh. She looked up with quickly drooping eyes as Glimmer’s hands and paintbrush worked above her. Apparently she didn’t notice Glimmer’s pounding heart or screaming brain because she fell asleep quickly.

Glimmer stuttered through her remaining work because she kept gazing down at Adora, trying to comprehend how this had happened. Less than a week ago she had hated Adora- or at least thought she did- now, she was sitting with the girl curled in her lap like a snuggly cat and a throbbing crushing in her chest. It was too much for head to wrap itself around; especially if part of her mind was still in vicious denial.

Glimmer tried to sort through her options, sifting them through a mental filing system. She could try to be friends with Adora but that would risk her crush growing and that would be painful because obviously Adora would never return the favor. There was also the fact that Adora would probably get tired of her quickly and then that would really hurt and even if she didn’t, Cat held herself far above Glimmer and would never tolerate being around her so then Adora would have to choose between one of them and of course she would choose the friend she’d had for literally her entire life. Ok so what’s the alternative? Stop hanging out with her, push her away as far as possible. Her brain had an immediate answer, but it wasn’t without consequences either. Namely, it might hurt Adora’s feelings and Glimmer wasn’t sure she could stand to see sadness in those big blue eyes- especially if she knew she had caused it. And... Glimmer couldn’t bet on her crush wearing off just because she distanced herself from Adora. Now that Glimmer had ripped the top of Pandora’s Box off, there was no guarantee the flood of emotions that drenched her every time she looked at Adora would stop any time soon.

Glimmer finished painting and sighed, letting herself relax for the first time since Adora had texted her the evening before. She set down her brush and the last “proton.” There was nothing she could do until they dried and she let her shoulders slump forward. Glimmer could feel the exhaustion running through her very bones. She hadn’t pulled a night like this in a long time and it was definitely catching up with her. Her eyelids felt almost as heavy as Adora’s head in her lap. Adora.

She let her smile creep towards fondness as she looked down at Adora. She was too tired to listen to her stupid, crazy brain and anyways, even her thoughts were starting to get sluggish. It gave Glimmer the time to think- actually think- without having to compete with her own input. Adora looked peaceful but very very human. She struck Glimmer as perfect but somehow she had never seen someone look more real than Adora did in that moment. She looked absolutely and, with out a doubt, perfectly sincere- ah, so that’s the word she had been looking for.

Glimmer smiled as she slumped forward.

———————————————————————

When she woke up, she was hunched over Adora exactly where she had passed out. She couldn’t have fallen asleep for more than half an hour but it was long enough to develop one hell of a crick in her neck.

Her eyesight was nearly as blurry as her thoughts but she was aware of two things, the first being that the darkness outside her window had become marginally lighter and was beginning to shift from pure obsidian blue to gray. The other thing she knew was that there was something solid and yellow lying across her lap. Oh, it’s Adora.

Shit, ADORA. It suddenly hit Glimmer that it was morning and her mom would be here any minute and Adora was not only here but sound asleep and Glimmer had no idea how she was going to get her out of the house. Glimmer’s mom had made the habit of checking on Glimmer to make sure she made it to bed at least once in a night while she stayed up until her-mother-didn’t-want-to-know when. She would not be incredibly enthused to find her daughter curled on the floor with some strange girl that she had no idea about. But it wasn’t like Glimmer could throw Adora out onto the streets in a not so great part of town at 4:30 in the morning. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she could wake Adora.

“Adora, Adora, hey Adora. Wake up,” She shook the girl’s shoulders without being rewarded with any sort of response, “Adora!!”

The girl was completely gone and the only signs she showed of being effected at all by Glimmer’s continuous movement was the occasional noise. She might as well have been a large rock for as responsive as she was being. At least a rock wouldn’t piss Glimmer’s mom off so much, though.

Glimmer gave up, huffing and letting her hands fall to her sides. She stood up slowly and carefully so that Adora’s head didn’t roll off her lap with the inevitable clunk that comes with someone’s head hitting the floor (Glimmer knew about this sound because she had experienced it herself multiple times). She sighed through her nose and with her hands on her hips she realized how much she must look like some parent looking at their unruly child and saying “Now what am I going to do with you?” Gross.

Glimmer flopped the palms of her hands against her thighs for a moment before resolving to physically move Adora. She bent down, hooked her arms under Adora’s armpits, and lugged her own body upwards, hoping Adora’s form would move with her. Unfortunately, Glimmer soon found that Adora was roughly as heavy as a large rock as well. Maybe even a small boulder. Either that or Glimmer was somewhat weak. She shook her head- nah that couldn’t be it.

She tried a different approach this time, keeping her knees bent and tugging Adora as she scooted backwards in baby steps. She was able to swivel Adora so her feet were facing the door and her head was towards Glimmer’s bed. It was at this point that Glimmer realized there was a maze of wire and clay and whatever else she had piled up between them and the other side of the room; there was no way she was going to be able to navigate all that.

Glimmer groaned with her head thrown back before placing Adora back down as gently as she could and wincing when the girl slipped out of her arms a little too quickly. Ah, there’s the clunk. Glimmer was almost sure Adora would wake up as her head made contacted with the floor. When she made no movement whatsoever, it flashed across Glimmer’s mind that maybe the impact was enough to actually knock her out.

She pushed the thought aside and began moving the materials out of the way. It took at least ten minutes for Glimmer to reach the bed and in that time period she wasn’t able to figure out anything that resembled the next step. She had already found that she couldn’t lift Adora and even if she could, her mother would be even less happy with finding Glimmer in bed with some random girl.

Glimmer set Adora back down, placing the girl’s back against the mattress side. The only thing she could think of doing was attempting to wake Adora again. This time her rough shakes were successful and Adora sat up only slightly straighter than the position Glimmer had slumped her in. Adora turned her head as she looked around the room with bleary eyes as if she didn’t know where she was.

“Adora, thank god you’re alive- I mean awake. Look, I need you to hide,” Glimmer was whispering just in case her mom was home early by some odd twist of fate.

“Ooo ok,” Adora struggled to her feet, using one of Glimmer’s arms as an anchor to haul herself up. She began walking unsteadily to some unknown location in Glimmer’s room.

“Where the hell are you going?!”

“Hiding,” Adora twisted rather floppily to give Glimmer a conspiratorial wink.

She made her way to Glimmer’s closet, pulling open one of the paneled doors and slipping inside.

“Adora!” Glimmer hissed, “Come out of the closet!”

“Ok, I’m a lesbian,” Adora stage whispered from behind the door.

Glimmer couldn’t stop herself but laugh, hiding her face behind her hands, “Oh my god, you’re an idiot. Get out of there.”

Adora stuck her head out, grinning and Glimmer grabbed her wrist to pull the rest of her out into the room. It was strange how natural it felt- to interact with Adora, to grab her hand and laugh at her and with her and it was all very new but it was all very right. Once again, it struck Glimmer how quickly things had changed.

Adora clambered out of the closet and grinned at Glimmer, “So what’s up?”

“Oh, uh,” Glimmer ran her hands through her hair, “sometimes my mom will check on me and I think she’ll be pissed if she finds me sleeping with some strange girl.”

It took a second for what had come out of Glimmer’s mouth to second to sink into her brain, “Not like, ya know, sleeping together- we just both happened to be asleep. Together. Not even that close. Just like in the same room.”

Adora wrinkled her eyebrows, “Didn’t I fall asleep basically in your lap?”

Shit she remembers that?

“Oh yeah- ha- guess you did,” Glimmer tried for a smile.

Adora returned it with a genuine one, full of smugness that made the blood rush to Glimmer’s face, “So we were pretty close?”

“Uh, yeah, that it pretty close again,” Glimmer prayed that her blush wasn’t showing through, “I mean- um, I guess we were pretty close, yeah?”

Adora was stepping forward, laughing like a chime on the wind, “Is that a question?”

“I don’t think so...”

“You don’t sound so sure,” Adora was right in front of her now, smile close-lipped but still as playful and bright as ever. She swung her arms around Glimmer, clasping her hands behind Glimmer’s neck. Oh no no no no no no.

Glimmer was a gay disaster and her thundering heart couldn’t handle this shit. She wondered vaguely if she could die from- well she didn’t know what this was, but it sure felt deadly. It suddenly struck Glimmer that Adora was flirting with her, causing her to stare up at Adora with eyes filled with more terror than what was usually associated with someone attractive flirting with you.

Adora laughed and replaced her hands by her side before Glimmer’s mind could dissolve further into a tangle of short circuiting wires. Glimmer let out a sigh of relief but her heart sunk fast enough to make a splashing wave in her stomach. Adora’s hands were warm; warm enough to spread heat straight through Glimmer’s core. She looked up into Adora’s blue eyes, searching for answers in the mirth that swam there.

“Glimmer? Glimmer?” Adora’s face came back into focus wearing a grin, “You kinda spaced out there.”

Glimmer wished she could just stare into that blue forever without having to worry about anything else. But Adora was staring at her with a quirked eyebrow and confused smile, “Yeah sorry, just a bit out of it.”

Adora tilted her head to the side and let the ghost of her finger tips run along the side of Glimmer’s face. It made a shiver run down her spine and the breath in her throat glitch to a stop. This girl needed to stop before Glimmer just completely lost control of all her functions, “Well I’ve gotten a lot more sleep than you; you should let yourself rest until we need to get up in the morning.”

“Yeah, uh, about that; how are you getting to school?” Glimmer breathed out the words but it still didn’t feel like her lungs were working.

“Cat’ll pick me up in the morning. She always does.”

“Oh, uh, right,” Cat. Jeez, it was always Cat wasn’t it? She had gotten so worried about blocking herself from Adora that she had forgotten that Cat would actually keep Adora from her- physically.

“Don’t worry about me, though,” Adora’s grin beamed through Glimmer’s thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what?” Damn, am I being that obvious? Glimmer shook her head slightly, hoping it could sort everything in her head to an easy little set of boxes that she had never been actually able to create, “Why would I worry about you? Like, heh, what would give you the impression that I was worried about you? I’m not worried about you!”

Adora’s face fell immediately and the small expression made something twist in Glimmer’s gut. It was nothing like the smug, (dare Glimmer hazard it) flirty smile she had held on seconds before, “Oh, uh, you seemed to get really worried when I said that and I just thought maybe it was because I’ll have to walk a ways to where I get picked up but I was wrong and I shouldn’t have just assumed that you’d be thinking about me. It was stupid-“

“No! It’s not that it’s just-“ Glimmer couldn’t stand the way Adora had turned her head to the side, eyes downcast and only daring to make eye contact for a second before breaking it off to examine the floor. Nah, it was Glimmer’s job to be an insecure loser.

“It’s just what?” Adora’s eyes flashed up and help steady with Glimmer’s for longer. There was that sadness in them that made Glimmer’s heart crumple like a soda can.

Glimmer deflated. She wasn’t ready to let Adora only to be told she was reading into everything way too far; she wasn’t ready to get hurt, “It’s nothing.”

Adora managed to complete her transformation into kicked puppy, forcing a sigh out of Glimmer.

She composed herself. She could lie, she did it all the time- Adora was no different. Except she was different. Glimmer pushed the thought to the side and straightened like an actor preparing to step on stage, “I wasn’t worried about you because you can obviously take care of yourself so I have complete confidence in you.”

The effect was immediate, Adora’s face brightening like the sun breaking through clouds after a rain storm, “Oh, really?”

Glimmer raised her hand to cross a X across her chest and she was reminded of just how close they were, how little space there was between. But she had to continue, finish the act- for Adora and herself, “Yeah, really!”

It occurred to Glimmer that she was more or less doing exactly what she had accused Adora of. Just another thought for Glimmer to shoosh to the side, whispering that she had good intentions while she had thought Adora was just trying to recruit her... or whatever she had thought. It all seemed very far away now.

“Oh... ok,” Adora smiled and Glimmer could swear a lead jacket had fallen off her shoulders.

“So anyways,” Adora yawned, sentence broken by her never satisfied exhaustion, “What are we going to do about your mom or whatever? Do you, uh, do you want me to hide somewhere.”

She grimaced, glancing back at the closet she had climbed out of and Glimmer couldn’t stop herself from laughing, “I’m not going to force you sleep in the closet.”

Adora giggled, “Good- I’ve spent enough time in there.”

Glimmer laughed again before chewing her bottom lip and scratching the back of her head. She dragged the short, thick waves through her fingers as she spoke, “I think we could just share the bed again.”

“Won’t your mom see me?”

“If you take the wall side, I think it’ll be ok; she doesn’t really look too hard,” Glimmer set all her previous concerns aside to create new, fresher worries, her face scrunched up in thought. She had a lot to consider- mainly the fact that she and Adora had a tendency to get wrapped up in each other when they slept near each other and she wasn’t confident her pinning heart and divided mind could handle the inevitable situation. She wasn’t sure if she could stand to wrap her arms around this girl knowing she was never going to be able to do it again.

But Adora was already shuffling forward, Glimmer’s wrist held loosely in her curled fingers and Glimmer’s heart grasped firmly in her casual movements. Glimmer had noticed before the hypnotizing qualities of Adora’s signature ponytail that she wore to school everyday; she had never given herself the time to let herself wonder why she was so fascinated. Here though, she couldn’t help it. Adora moved like someone who knew exactly what they were doing- despite they fact that they were somewhat drunk. Her torso swayed from side to side far more than it usually did or probably should. It caused her loose hair to shift across her back like sand move from dune to dune.

Adora turned with a confused grin to face Glimmer and gave the wrist she was holding a small tug, “You planning on just standing there?”

“What?” Glimmer realized her feet had forgotten to move. She considered taking a step forward but wasn’t prepared to stand practically nose to nose with Adora- again.

“It’s like you never want to sleep,” Adora’s smile was real but so was the question beneath it.

“Oh, uh, I guess it’s just I’m not used to sharing a bed with someone,” It wasn’t really a lie. It’s not that I don’t want to sleep; I just don’t want to do it next to you.

Adora tilted her head the side, “You don’t like being in bed with someone?”

What sort of question is that?? Glimmer took the easy route, shrugging and hoping it was enough to throw the conversation back to Adora’s side.

Adora seemed to be thinking, eyes staring at something far away and a few inches left of Glimmer’s head. She was rubbing the pad of her thumb along where she was still holding Glimmer’s wrist, completing a semicircle from the soft inner side and back up to the top and back down again. Once, twice, three times, four. Glimmer knew it was just a compulsion as Adora thought, but the gentleness made her breath go feathery.

Finally Adora shared her grand conclusion, stopping the movement of her thumb- but not before Glimmer’s knees had given her an arched eyebrow sort of warning like Ya know you can’t handle this sorta shit and we might give out soon, “I like sleeping next to someone; it’s just cozier.”

Adora wrote off her words with a shrug but Glimmer could tell she really meant it, that she felt safer with someone sleeping by her side. It wasn’t Glimmer’s thing, but Adora obviously felt that way with her whole being.

“Ok,” Glimmer wasn’t sure what else she was supposed to say, “well, we should probably go to sleep if we want to be awake for any of our classes.”

Adora snorted and began moving again, Glimmer actually following this time, “God, don’t remind me of that. I am going to look dead tomorrow or actually today haha.”

Adora’s laugh was bitterly fake and it made Glimmer cringe internally, “Yeah I’m sorry about that.”

The girl had already thrown herself onto the bed, back to the wall and face turned up to look at Glimmer who was still standing. She looked confused again, with just a hint of incredulity, “Why would you be sorry? It’s Weaver’s stupid fault that we needed to stay up until god knows when to work on this stupid project.”

Glimmer laid down as Adora continued ranting, resting on her hip so she could watch Adora as she spoke.

“I just hate teachers who assume we don’t have any other classes or homework or- dare we even mention it- lives outside of school?!” Adora’s tone had risen while the volume had stayed the same.

She was quietly hissing her words out, spitting venom at the whole of the American education system, but her wide eyes stared at Glimmer with out any kind of ill will, simply looking for agreement.

Glimmer wanted to just give in, tell Adora that she was absolutely right (that wouldn’t be a lie) and she could listen to her rant for hours (also not a lie). She liked the passion sparking off Adora; she was always so contained and proper that this enraged, adorable fireball excited Glimmer. Because Glimmer could work with that; Glimmer knew fire- she felt it everyday. But they both needed sleep and especially Adora, “You’re completely right and you should say it... just not right now. ‘Cause if you keep whisper yelling, neither of us are going to be able to get any more rest.”

Adora nodded, looking disappointed but conceding to Glimmer’s point, “Yeah, ok, you’re right. But we’ll have to take a rain check on this- I have whole essays about that shit.”

Glimmer huffed through her nose, “Of course you do; and you probably wrote them for fun.”

Adora lifted one shoulder, “Can’t deny that.”

“Well you can tell me about it some other time.”

“I’ll just start yelling at you from across the halls,” She grinned brightly and gave a playful wink, “I’m sure that’s exactly what you would want me to do.”

She plans on talking to me at school... Butterflies were hosting a full on rave in Glimmer’s stomach. And that wink; she was actually going to kill Glimmer.

“Anyways, what time are you planning on getting up?”

Glimmer tried to shake off her blush without success, “Oh, we shouldn’t sleep in too long because my mom usually comes into my room in the morning to physically drag me out of bed.”

Adora laughed and Glimmer continued on, “Anyways, what time were you thinking about?”

Adora quirked her mouth to the side for a second to think, “Would six be ok?”

Glimmer checked her phone and set an alarm, “Sure, that’d give us a whole two hours and twenty minutes.”

Glimmer had spoken with a sarcastic tone but Adora nodded and seemed to get ready to fall asleep. She snuggled her side into the mattress, curling inwards but scooting towards Glimmer. Within a few seconds her breathing had fallen into a steady rhythm.

So Glimmer had no idea if Adora was actually aware of her actions when she reached out, placing her arm across Glimmer’s and pressing her hand into Glimmer’s back. It forced Glimmer to curl herself closer to Adora, but there was no force in it; Glimmer had melted at her touch.

She fell asleep counting Adora’s freckles.

[samingtonwilson]

Relationship Tutor: (12) Cooperative Napping

relationship tutor masterlist

Summary: College AU. Bucky, a relationship novice, asks for your help in dating your friend. Unable to say no to him, you agree despite everyone and everything telling you not to.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: language

A/N: FINALLY time for my absolute favorite part bih!

Bucky was nursing a mocha latte he suddenly no longer had an affinity for, the far too creamy, far too sweet beverage making his heart race and his teeth gritty. He scowled with every sip he took as if he didn’t already have a grimace in place.

He sat back against the cushioned booth bench, his head lolling against the wall behind him. He would’ve given anything to just shut his eyes and take a nap right there.

Natasha made that difficult, though. She was surveying the circumstance from every angle, devising plan after plan for Bucky to finally win the affections of the person he loved.

She brought up several cliché tactics— all of which seemed to center around jealousy.

“Give me a gross pet name. Like ‘Natty’ or ‘Tatty.’”

He made a face. “Absolutely not.”

“How about we start using terms of endearment? Like, I’ll call you ‘babe’ and you call me ‘sweetheart.’”

“Does that idea come with an airsick bag?”

“No, but you come with an attitude apparently.”

She continued after a few moments of silent contemplation. “Kiss me in front of her.”

He snorted. “Pass.”

“Fine, I’ll kiss you in front of her.”

“Oh,” he mused sarcastically with a nod. He dropped his indulgent smile and narrowed his eyes. “Pass.”

It made Bucky uneasy to even contemplate the idea. Jealousy was not only a childish technique but, in this case, it was a dishonest one— and, partially because of you, he knew he couldn’t be dishonest to someone he cared so deeply about.

“She’s in my head, Nat. I can’t lie to her.”

Natasha shook her head, smirking as she tucked a wavy lock of ginger hair behind her ear. She held a cardboard cup of herbal tea in her hands, long nails which were painted blood red scraping against the sleeve embellished with the café’s name. “This would be much easier if you weren’t such a saintly person.”

Even if only momentarily, he smiled at that. “Wanting to be honest doesn’t make me saintly. It should just be expected.”

“You’d be surprised by how few men feel that way. You’re in the minority, Barnes.”

He fiddled with his phone in his free hand, toying with the lock button and swirling his fingertip over the touchscreen. “I can’t just tell her you and I aren’t dating anymore?”

“If you want to tell her that, feel free to. I’m just asking that we have a little fun with this.”

“Fun?” he repeated with narrowed eyes. “In what way is any of this fun?”

“It is for me,” she shrugged as she took a long sip of her tea. A corner of her lips quirked up in a smirk when she noticed his incredulous expression. “What? You needed her guidance to even have a conversation with me, went on four dates with me, and kissed me twice only to need my guidance in getting her.”

“Getting her,” he repeated as if the two words left a bad taste in his mouth. “She once said something about that objectifying women as if they’re prizes to be won.”

“God, keep talking like that and I’ll sabotage this whole thing to keep you all to myself.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Do you have any other ideas or has the well run dry?”

She sat in silent contemplation for a few beats. “How about we just don’t tell her we’ve stopped dating?”

“What?”

“Just don’t tell her that whatever we were has ended.” Her smirk grew more pronounced when he tilted his head like a confused puppy hearing a wayward, unfamiliar noise. “We’re still friends, we can still hang out around her— we’ll just omit the fact that we’ve ended.”

“Isn’t omission just fancy lying?”

“Okay, Saint Barnes, you need to determine the degrees of all these evils and settle on the lesser one.”

Bucky mulled each idea over, wiggling his jaw back and forth and reading the ridiculous names of the drinks written on the chalkboards bolted to the wall behind Natasha. “I’ve been going to her every couple of days for the last few weeks asking questions. What if she wonders why I’m not doing that anymore?”

“Say you don’t need her help now— that you’ve got it handled. Which is true, you handled ending it very well.”

“You ended it.”

“Yeah, but you handled listening to me end it very well.” She narrowed her eyes after a brief pause. “Were you ever actually interested in me?”

“Of course I was. I don’t enlist help for building foundations with just anybody.”

“But you couldn’t get her out of your head, huh?”

“It’d be nice to get her out of anywhere,” he snorted. “I am sorry for all of this, though. You didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “No harm, no foul. You never told me this was a relationship— you said you wanted to try dating and we tried dating. Not to sound like a broken record, but I appreciate the honesty.”

“I had a good teacher,” he replied fondly, his phone vibrating under his fingers with an incoming message. Your name brightly written across the screen, his smile grew but shook a bit with the feeling swarming his stomach.

“I, uh,” he began, still staring at your simple message. “I’m gonna leave.”

“Is that your girlfriend?” she asked in a juvenile tone, laughing when Bucky scowled. “Go. I’ve got work to do as it is— I don’t need you wasting my time like this.”

He rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh and gave a single wave in goodbye.

For only a moment, Bucky felt profoundly foolish. It only took a text message from you to send him to his feet, racing to his car and speeding to your apartment. A lot of his friends would call him pathetically whipped, completely helpless to your every whim— and, maybe during his teenage years, he would’ve found that to be mildly shameful. He would have thought it was like he had no backbone when it came to you, no freewill.

But now, when Bucky thought himself to be slightly more evolved, he wasn’t embarrassed by how quickly he succumbed to you. Especially not when the reward for it was so sweet.

Of course, it was never an objectively substantial reward— he didn’t think an objectively substantial reward was ever even merited. However, subjectively he was rewarded substantially each time. May that reward have been a genuine smile, a gleeful laugh, a sigh of relief, or just a chance to be around you longer, he always felt as if the universe was being undeservingly kind and gracious to him for every minuscule thing he did.

It wasn’t as if he needed the rewards to do anything he did. If you wanted him there, he would rush over without a second thought at even the concept of reciprocation. It was something he’d read somewhere that didn’t birth the lack of expectation but gave it a verbal reason— very roughly paraphrased, it was something about never looking for reciprocation in love.

And he was in love— so, so in love. He flirted with the idea that he’d been in love with you from the moment he met you as Steve continuously teased him for, but he remained committed to the notion that it was a love that bloomed from a simple infatuation.

Infatuation that took root the second you walked into the  party in the apartment he shared with Steve with an overly-tabbed Romantic period volume of The Norton Anthology of English Literature. Highlighter in hand, you nodded at Steve and went straight to his room to finish your reading assignment before letting yourself have even one hit of the joint waiting for you.

When you blew the smoke out in a perfect stream and let your chest collapse in relief, he elbowed Steve in the ribs to introduce him to you. You only smiled politely, gave him a playful two finger salute, and offered up the joint with a giggled, “Take a hit, pretty boy. Consider it a ‘Welcome to the world’s most boring university’ gift and a one-time offer.”

But that was all it took for Bucky to ask Steve about you— how he knew you, why he’d never mentioned you, and if you all hung out a lot. Steve replied with a suggestive eyebrow waggle and a cooed, “Sounds like Bucky’s got a li’l crush!”

A year of self-control later, Bucky would have applauded himself for his restraint had that restraint not been so imbued with fear. After all, it wasn’t noble fear. It wasn’t as if he was keeping himself away from you for fear of your heart breaking because of him like some terrible excuse for a martyr. He kept his overwhelming feelings to himself for selfish reasons— reasons ranging from not losing the warmth of your presence to not losing the rush of your gaze.

He only had to knock twice before you pulled the door of your apartment open, looking breathless and a little tired. “Bucky,” you sighed in relief and he could’ve sworn no one had ever said his name in such an addictive manner. “Thank God, please save me.”

He tilted his head questioningly as you let him in, watching as you pulled your jacket on and tucked your phone into your pocket. “Save you from—”

A loud, almost shrieked moan answered his question, his mouth falling open so a disbelieving laugh lifted your own lips despite your sourness. He pointed in the direction of the adjacent hall. “Is that—”

“Yes. I withstood it at first— figured it would stop soon enough. But Sam is so… The man has some steely control and quick recovery because this is, like, the third time I’ve heard a complete stranger climax.”

Bucky continued shaking in laughter. “Do you know who he’s with?”

You shook your head as you pulled your boots on. “I didn’t see.”

“Why didn’t you just leave?”

“It’s colder than the fucking tundra out there and my car’s getting serviced.”

He frowned in consideration, poised to reply until another moan cut through the room. He covered his ears with his hands, earning a laugh from you.

You started towards the door, gripping the lapel of his jacket to tug him behind you.

He let you guide him through the hall and to the stairs, his eyes tracing your form and the way even the minimal sunlight pouring from the dusty windows seemed to love you as much as he did.

“Where are we going?”

You shrugged and let go of his jacket, putting your hands in your pockets instead. “As long as it’s not the library or any other place Sam’s fucking the living daylights out of someone, I don’t care.”

“You need to give me more to work with, doll.”

“Doll?” you repeated, stopping in your tracks to look at him with raised eyebrows and amusement over your every feature. “S’been a while since you’ve called me that, Buck. You sure Natasha won’t have your balls for it?”

“My balls are secure, trust me.” He glanced at you when you shoved the lobby doors open, a smile over your lips despite the extreme coolness of the outside air. “You hungry at all?”

“Not really. I’m more tired than anything else.”

He hummed noncommittally and unlocked his car as the two of you approached it.

You sat back quietly and only opened your eyes after two minutes of driving, the heat from the vents comfortably caressing your cheeks as Bucky’s music played at a calm volume. You narrowed your eyes at the passing landmarks. “Are we going to your place?”

He nodded, keeping his gaze on the road. “You can take a nap there.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Watch you sleep like that creepy ass vampire in those books my sister reads.” His smile widened when he glanced at you rolling your eyes. “I’ve got a paper due in four days. Might as well start it.”

“Wow, you’re going to start an assignment four whole days before it’s due just so I can take a nap?”

He nodded once more. “Basically.”

You sighed dreamily, placing your hand on your chest. “My fuckin’ hero.”

He wore a self-satisfied smirk and pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex. “You’re lucky I just cleaned my room this morning.”

“So I won’t get to bury myself under your piles of clothes, you utter embodiment of indecisiveness? Color me disappointed.”

He put the car in park and popped his door open. “Color yourself grateful instead.”

“I already called you my hero. I don’t know why you think you can expect so much from me.”

You followed him up the stairs to his apartment and practically ran to his bedroom once the door was unlocked, kicking off your boots and tossing your jacket onto his desk chair as you fell onto the freshly washed comforter and sheets. You hugged one of the pillows to yourself and sighed as you heard his soft chuckle from the doorway as he entered. “Why does it smell so nice in here?”

He heard you despite your voice being muffled by the fabric you were snuggled into. “Steve bought this bullshit lavender powder you sprinkle onto the carpet before vacuuming. He forced me to use it.”

You set your chin onto your folded arms and narrowed your eyes at him as he tried miserably to stifle a yawn. “Are you sleepy, too?”

He half-nodded. “A little.”

While you knew it wasn’t your greatest idea, the selfish part of you won out and you shuffled to the rightmost side of the full size bed. You patted the side closest to him. “Come on.”

A single eyebrow of his rose. There was a dryness in his throat he needed to cough to speak over. “What?”

“Nap with me.” You pulled his dark green fleece blanket over yourself. “We’ve been married for fifty years and you still have to contemplate this? It won’t constitute cheating on your mistress and I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

He didn’t think on it for too long. He just did what he really wanted and climbed into bed, his shoes strewn beside yours, his jacket tossed alongside yours. He took half the blanket and risked a glance in your direction.

He smiled as he traced your shut eyes, your peacefully parted lips, and your messy hair with his gaze, snapping his eyes closed when you cracked yours open.

You noticed the slight redness dusted over his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, smiling to yourself as you suppressed the urge to run your fingers over the dark, stubbly beard that contrasted with his skin almost starkly.

When he shivered a bit, you moved closer to him and he instinctively moved closer to you. There were still a few inches separating your bodies when unconsciousness took you both under heavily and relaxingly but in the middle of your slumber, you somehow ended up with his chin atop your head and your nose near his sternum, his arm thrown over your waist and your legs tangled with his.

Bucky made that discovery when the shutting of the front door woke him, sleepily delirious as he confusedly looked over the scene before him. He wished he could breathe deeply and slow his heart rate so as to not disturb you with his heightened nervousness, his body’s reaction to the sparking nerves everywhere your skin met his— but he knew the beating in his chest would take a few moments to calm.

There was a knock at his door much to his dismay and he held his breath as he pulled away from you at an almost snail speed. He climbed out of the bed onto tired legs and combed his fingers through his hair to pull on the ends.

He opened the door to Steve and his wind-bitten cheeks, blonde hair in disarray and coat still done up.

Bucky decided to step out and shut the door behind him, his voice gravelly as he asked, “What’s up, man?”

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to order a pizza for dinner,” he began, peering at the door with narrowed baby blue eyes. “Is Natasha here? I thought you two ended things, Bucky.”

“We did, we did. Nat’s not here.”

“Then who— You told Y/N you were turning a new leaf and you said you would finally tell her how you feel. You can’t fuck this up now, too—”

“Mother Rogers, if you could stop lecturing me for half a second,” Bucky started, glaring, “I could tell you that Y/N is the one in there—”

“What?”

“— and she’s taking a nap,” he continued. “Wilson’s got a girl at their place being loud as fuck. She just needed somewhere to go, I offered up our place.”

Steve smiled and playfully punched Bucky’s shoulder. “You gonna tell her when she wakes up? Maybe before the party tomorrow night?”

“I’ll tell her when I want to tell her, Steve. You can’t rush this shit.”

“S’been over a year, Buck. Glaciers move faster.”

PART 13: COMPETITIVE CONFRONTATION

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[onlylovekpop]

Young, Wild and Free | Min Yoon Gi + Park Ji Min | One-Shot

suga (bts) + you (reader) + jimin (bts) word count: 4,140 warnings: this is a poly!au threesome and there are obvious dom and sub themes, there is also plenty of language and dirty talk, mainly there is graphic sex not limited to choking and overstimulation, the biggest warning is for some anal so if you aint into that then read at your own risk a/n: yall i swear on my cat this was not supposed to turn out this filthy but shit happens i also didnt mean for it to turn into two parts but it did this is part one and i will link up part two when it is finished lovelies

It started innocently enough.

There has never been a time in your life you have been without them. If three people ever fit together in a seamless bond that went beyond explanation, it was the three of you. But maybe you pushed too hard, too far.

When you were a little girl, you made it your life’s goal to find a way to climb the kitchen counters to the ugly jar on the top shelf. A pitiful daisy was painted on its front and inside, your mother kept her prized double chocolate cookies. You were permitted one a night and that just didn’t cut it for you.

With this in mind, you devised the best way of scaling the counters using a combination of boxes and chairs. Your mother eventually caught you, but by then it was too late.

You soon became educated on the meaning of “too much of a good thing,” as you spent the rest of the night emptying your stomach violently in the bathroom. The human body has its limits and since then, you have always been in better control of your sweet tooth.

Who would have thought love could be the same way?

For the most part, your lives are stereotypical domestic bliss. Your house is quaint. It never feels overcrowded. The bed on the other hand; well, you actually prefer being crushed between two men every night.

You can’t exactly recall who proposed the idea in the first place. Considering as a trio you were already inseparable, the notion of living together was easy. Then physical affection came into play. Your emotional bonds were already solid. Romance followed and has yet to leave.

When most people think of polyamory, the first thought is of sex. Sure, sex is a factor, just as it is for all relationships, but it’s not the only aspect you have. The three of you are perfectly functioning adults, oddly enough.

Each of you works from home and have earned certain levels of success in your respective fields. The condo you own boasts three floors and a five minutes’ walk to the beach, which if that walk is changed to the opposite direction, leads into trails through the woods.

Jimin is active. You jog with him almost every morning, switching up between the beaten path through the trees or the hard sand for added inclination. Either way, you always end up winded with your legs burning from the effort while Jimin flashes that perfect smile and acts as if he hasn’t even broken a sweat.

“You irritate me,” you whine, walking at his side as you head home. The condo is in sight and the morning is underway.

“I have a lot of stamina,” he comments offhandedly.

To which you retort, “I, of all people, know that very well.”

Jimin blushes and hides his sheepish grin. He’s a sucker for compliments, especially of the inappropriate kind.

As you and your partner step inside the foyer, sliding off your shoes, the smell of breakfast wafts through the air and you quickly exclaim, “Hey, good looking, what you got cooking?”

A very tired and cranky voice shouts back, “Not only do I bring home the bacon, I also have to cook it.”

Jimin exchanges giggles with you. Ignoring and/or irritating the oldest member of your perfect trifecta is a favorite pastime of yours. You bound up the stairs and into the kitchen where Yoongi is stirring something on the stove. You immediately approach him from behind and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

“You’re sweaty, get off me,” Yoongi groans insincerely, which only serves to entice you to tighten your grip on him.

“I like when she’s sweaty,” Jimin teases in passing, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

Glancing over your shoulder, you stick out your tongue in a taunt. Jimin promptly glides closer and captures your lips in a kiss, wiggling his tongue playfully against yours.

“Excuse me, are you two making out while I slave away?” Yoongi snaps, shifting in your arms as you don’t let go of his waist.

Jimin parts from you after one last tender peck and sashays to the nearby counter, hopping on to it and gulping his water. Meanwhile, you turn back to Yoongi and lift to your tiptoes, tilting your head to plant a loud, wet kiss to the base of his neck.

Suddenly, he’s in a much better mood.

The three of you sit at the small table on the patio, enjoying the gentle autumn breeze to its fullest. For the most part, you eat in silence, but once the plates are cleared, you sip coffee or tea and make small talk. It’s the definition of peaceful.

“I’ll be in a meeting for two hours at headquarters. My phone will be on vibrate in my pocket if you need me,” says Jimin blandly. He hates going into the corporate center, though you’re practically doing cartwheels. Having a big important meeting means Jimin will have to put on his suit and you’re a big fan of those.

“And I have a routine doctor’s appointment. An hour at the most, then I’ll be home,” you told the pair, sipping your coffee.

Yoongi skims over a folded newspaper and asks, “Lady doctor?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum. “Gotta make sure all the womanly parts are functioning properly.”

Yoongi glances up and retorts, “Jimin and I can tell you they are working just fine.”

Snickering, you turn to Jimin and he lifts his eyebrows up and down, before teasing, “Do you need us to write a letter of recommendation?”

Yoongi actually snorts.

“No, thank you.” You roll your eyes and change the subject, “Do I need to pick up anything on my way home?”

Jimin shakes his head, but Yoongi says, “When you get back, you and I can go to the store.”

“Fine by me.”

You didn’t expect your appointment would run late and you were disappointed when Yoongi texted you to say he would be going to the store without you. When you returned home, it was to an empty house and that was depressing.

Distracting yourself with some work, you nibbled on snacks and let the time pass, wondering who would come home first. Not long after, the garage door alerted you to someone arriving.

Jimin stormed inside, slamming the door behind him and proceeding to rip off his suit coat almost violently.

You jogged into the foyer, about to chide him for his rather loud entrance until you saw the frustration on his face. “What happened?” you asked worriedly.

“Those bastards think that just because I inherited this business I’m a complete idiot,” Jimin growled, yanking at his tie harshly.

You tilted your head and approached him coyly, sliding your hands up his dress shirt before helping him remove the tie.

While you began unbuttoning his shirt, Jimin persisted, “I swear, I want to fire all of them. They think they can manipulate me like I’m some child.”

You kissed his throat gently and crooned, “They’re afraid of you, baby. They’re scared of all the power you can take away from them.”

Jimin growled in the back of his throat, hands settling on your hips as you untucked the shirt from his pants.

“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” you asked, donning your sweetest, silkiest tone.

Jimin shook his head and said, “No.”

“Do you wanna go for a run together?”

His eyes were on the floor, rubbing his aching brow when he answered, “No.”

You bit your lip and whispered, “Do you wanna fuck?”

Jimin glanced up, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. After studying your face, he murmured, “Yoongi isn’t here.”

“I’ll take the blame for you,” you coaxed, kissing his neck and cupping his jaw to keep him from escaping.

Jimin fought a smile, but his teeth flashed in a grin soon enough. “He’ll punish me, too,” he sighed, kneading your waist as you sucked on his flesh.

You nodded and teased, “You like when he punishes us.”

“How did you know?” Jimin smarted, flexing around you and jarring you loose from his neck to crash his lips on yours.

There was a little rule the three of you had somewhat agreed on when entering into this polyamorous relationship and Yoongi was always keen on enforcing it. Twosomes were highly frowned upon.

But at the moment, Jimin was angry and doubting himself. As his lover, you wanted to give him an outlet for his stress. And on an entirely selfish note, you were a very big fan of how rough Jimin tended to be when he was annoyed from work.

You cried out from the sheer force of Jimin slamming you into the wall and the sound was muffled as he slid his tongue into your open mouth. Jimin grabbed your ass with both hands, squeezing incredibly hard as he hauled you into the air. You locked your ankles behind his back and yelled his name as he started dry grinding into you.

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin suddenly began. “How was the doctor?”

“Everything is fine,” you told him impatiently, wanting him to focus on the mood.

Jimin chuckled and pressed you into the wall with his body, the firm muscles of his chest pushing into your bouncing breasts. He kept jerking his hips between yours, rubbing the growing bulge in his pants into your clothed core.

Your lips found the base of his neck while your fingers traced every line of muscle across his bare back and shoulders. You bit and sucked on him until he moaned your name and bruised your thighs with his fingers.

“Ugh, I wanna fuck you so good right now,” Jimin murmured in your ear.

You were about to ask him why he wasn’t, but you knew he was worried Yoongi would catch the two of you. Deep down, you hoped to god Yoongi would walk in on Jimin balls deep inside you. Having an angry Jimin and an annoyed Yoongi pouncing on you simultaneously was one of your favorite combinations.

“Jimin, do it or I’ll just handle it myself,” you threatened, sinking your nails into his lower back.

Jimin groaned.

Your back had barely hit the mattress before Jimin was ripping your panties off. Naked underneath him, you gripped his arms as he hovered into position and you raked your tongue across your teeth to make him shudder with desire.

When he finally slid his cock into your folds, you held your breath, but the moment he sheathed himself to the hilt, you sighed with pure satisfaction. Jimin propped himself lowly over you, allowing himself to feel your perky breasts against his nipples while he flexed his thighs under yours. You let your heels sit on his plump ass while he pounded at a steady pace into you.

“We need to be fast,” Jimin panted, sweat kneading at his brow.

You nodded, mouth agape for breath, and said whatever he wanted to hear, “Yes, fine, baby. Just fuck me.”

Jimin breathed heavily on your neck, groaning when you began smacking his ass with your legs as you clamped your pussy on him. You were trying to push yourself to an orgasm quickly, not wanting him to be the only one to get off from this little tryst.

You wrenched your fists in the sheets and tipped your head back, closing your eyes and moaning at every rut of his hips, because - for fuck’s sake - did Jimin know how to move his cock.

“There, Jimin,” you whimpered, gasping.

Jimin tightened his arms as they hooked under your shoulders, biting his lip at the feel of your wet, scalding heat wrapped around him. “Here?” he asked, mischievous. Angling his hips, he drove hard into you and by the way you cried out his name, he knew he hit the jackpot.

At that, Jimin proceeded to drill into you as hard and as fast as he could. In the back of his mind, he just knew Yoongi would walk in and catch him fucking you. Jimin enjoyed the punishment, but he didn’t particularly care for the adrenaline that came with an offended Yoongi putting him back in his place.

“Come on, baby,” Jimin ordered, fisting a hand in your hair. “I swear to god if hyung catches us…”

“Who – me?”

You and Jimin froze on the bed in perfect sync at the sound of his smooth but icy voice. Every fiber of your being forbid you from moving, but you slowly lifted your head to see Yoongi standing in the doorway.

“Yoongi,” you exhaled, imagining the look that must be on Jimin’s face at the moment.

Yoongi waved a few fingers at you and asked slyly, “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

“Hyung,” Jimin started, still at a dead-stop while fully seated inside you.

You were quick to interject, “It’s my fault, oppa. I saw Jimin in his suit and you know I can’t control myself when it comes to suits.”

Yoongi smirked with amusement and teased, “Yes, you have very poor self-control, sweetheart. Are you trying to tell me Jimin is the innocent party in this?”

“Yes, I completely seduced him,” you lied, stroking Jimin’s arms soothingly. “He told me over and over that we should wait until you came home, but I couldn’t wait.”

Yoongi chuckled and sighed, “Baby girl, you are oh-so-obvious when you’re trying to manipulate me.”

“I would never,” you began shakily.

Yoongi sternly interjected, “Don’t speak again until spoken to.”

You shut your mouth and gripped Jimin’s arms a little tighter like a safety blanket.

Yoongi stalked toward the two of you, rolling up his sleeves as he did so, and asked, “Jimin, tell me the truth. Was she the instigator?”

“Yes, hyung,” Jimin answered immediately.

Well, it was true, you conceded.

“But if you’re innocent in this, why are you on top?” Yoongi pressed, sporting a devilish smirk.

You opened your mouth to answer, but remembered you were not to utter a word, least of all in your boyfriend’s defense.

“You know she loves to be on the bottom,” Jimin rambled, still avoiding Yoongi’s eyes.

“Well,” Yoongi sang nonchalantly, rifling through the night stand drawer at your side. “Now, I gotta decide which one of you takes it up the ass.”

You swallowed and couldn’t decide which option you would like better. Either would be fantastic, if experience served.

“Jimin, keep going,” Yoongi suddenly ordered calmly, but he quickly added, “Slowly.”

Jimin met eyes with you, full of sympathy, before sliding his length shallowly in your pussy. You pinched your lips together, avoiding any noises to keep the dominant member of your relationship satisfied.

“Neither of you will come until I say,” Yoongi continued, a condom in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other.

Jimin kissed you breathlessly, both of you wondering who was going to get it.

To your surprise, Yoongi settled behind Jimin, observing where your bodies connected and merely watching for a few moments. It turned you on so hard, the way Yoongi licked his lips at the sight of your pussy swallowing Jimin’s thick cock.

Then, you remembered being turned on was not a good thing right now. There was no telling how much time would pass before Yoongi felt benevolent enough to let you have an orgasm. At that reminder, you let your head fall back and closed your eyes, humming lowly in frustration.

You couldn’t see Yoongi bringing out his own hardening cock and pumping it lazily in his fist. A moment later, Jimin sucked in a hard breath and you gathered Yoongi was preparing him.

“Baby girl,” Yoongi called almost obnoxiously. “You’re gonna come last. You hear me?”

You nodded and wanted to argue furiously, but you didn’t dare.

Yoongi pushed Jimin until he was laying squarely on top of you. With the position, Jimin’s thrusts of his cock into you were even slower and you felt it took more effort to breathe, but you hardly noticed. Your eyes were fixated on Yoongi as he gathered behind Jimin.

Your mouth watered as Jimin suddenly lifted his head, eyes pressed closed and face tensing as Yoongi entered him. You coiled your arms around Jimin, anchoring him to you as the most heart-stopping of moans fell out of his mouth. You felt Yoongi’s legs bumping yours and you lifted your thighs into the air, clamping them on Jimin’s hips. Yoongi grabbed your knees, holding them as he began thrusting.

When he pushed into Jimin, Jimin drove deeper into you. From this point on, Yoongi had all of the control - you and Jimin were just along for the ride.

Your arms dropped to the bed and splayed out, your entire focus becoming resisting the urge to orgasm. Your head was spinning. Jimin was inside you and Yoongi was inside Jimin. The three of you were interlocked together, sharing in the same pleasure.

“Yoongi, please,” you begged, tensing with restraint. “Please, I…”

“Hold her down,” Yoongi suddenly ordered.

Jimin quickly grasped your wrists and pushed them into the mattress. His breaths were ragged on your neck, clinging to the moisture of sweat across your skin, and barely distracted you from the way your clit was pulsating.

“I can’t,” you keened. “Let me come, please.”

Yoongi released one of your legs and brought his hand to your lips, forcing three fingers into your mouth. The sound of you choking promptly echoed through the room.

“Hush,” Yoongi hissed, dominant as ever. “You like being on the bottom so much, why don’t you fucking act like it.”

You lurched as he kept pushing his fingers toward your throat, not contented until you gagged around the digits. Jimin held you firmly despite the way your entire body attempted to undulate beneath him.

Yoongi finally withdrew his fingers and pulled your thigh back to position, gripping both with an iron hold. He changed his steady pace on Jimin, resorting to hard thrusts that thumped Jimin against you.

Your eyes rolled back. Yoongi was being rough and you couldn’t breathe. Jimin was crushing you and his cock was deep within your walls, driving hard and fast into your soaked pussy.

Of the three of you, Jimin was the loudest. Every time he breathed, a moan was joined with it. The more he held your arms down, the more you could tell it was less to keep you pinned and more to give him something to cling to for dear life.

Yoongi grunted and bruised your thighs while he fucked Jimin, harshly smacking his hips into Jimin’s ass. You couldn’t take it. It was too much; too arousing to ignore. Adrenaline raced down your spine. Your innermost walls began to pulse as your clit swelled.

You started struggling against Jimin’s hold on your arms. He lifted his head from where he had been hiding his face against your neck and looked at your reddening cheeks.

“Don’t come, baby,” Jimin choked out. “Hold it.”

You shook your head back and forth over the sheets, feeling your hair cling to the droplets on your neck. “I’m gonna come,” you quickly yelled, letting your partners know you couldn’t fight it anymore.

“Do it. I dare you,” Yoongi warned darkly, but he knew there was no stopping you.

You tried; you really did.

You cried out incoherently, your back arching despite Jimin’s weight on your body, and you began shaking as the orgasm took over you. With a dull ringing in your ears, you could barely hear Yoongi’s reprimand but your mind snapped to full attention when he began picking up speed.

Jimin squeezed your wrists and groaned loudly against your throat, saliva from his open mouth dripping on to your skin. Yoongi was drilling into him and he was doing it precisely to overstimulate you.

Beyond sensitive as the orgasm kept clinging to you, taking its time ebbing away, you fought against Jimin’s restraint on you and screamed, “Yoongi, please!”

Yoongi ignored you and kept his brutal pace, filling the room with the sound of skin slapping against skin. You shuddered and begged for a reprieve to catch your breath. Your clit throbbed like an exposed nerve, making you twitch every time Jimin’s hipbone rubbed it.

The room was weighted with the sounds of moaning from each of you. Yoongi was low and quick, mostly grunting and sucking in a hard breath every now and then. Jimin was groaning in the back of his throat, whimpering yours or Yoongi’s name when the pleasure became too much for him. The mattress squeaked from Yoongi’s effort and the frame knocked into the wall incessantly.

Tears pricked your eyes as Yoongi fulfilled his quest to punish you. The added stimulation was growing closer and closer to unbearable. Your body vibrated with pleasure and your pussy kneaded and clamped on Jimin’s cock over and over.

Jimin was a heartbeat away from blowing his load. Every muscle in his body was taut like metal. Sweat dripped over his reddening skin. Veins bulged in his neck with the exertion.

The last of the climax finally faded away and you went limp on the mattress, leaving Jimin and Yoongi to do as they pleased with you.

Yoongi released your legs, letting them fall to the bed, and grabbed Jimin by the hips, moving to finish him off rather quickly.

“Jimin-ie,” Yoongi panted in his ear. “If I catch you in that tight pussy again without me…”

Jimin nodded rapidly, a mewling mess above you. “I… understand, hyung.”

“Good,” said Yoongi, grabbing Jimin’s throat to keep driving him down to meet his cock. “You can come now.”

Jimin clamped his teeth on the bridge of your shoulder, needing something to muffle the way he wanted to chant every swear word he knew endlessly. You winced and endured his cock still ramming into your swollen pussy, feebly cooing his name to help him along.

You howled for Yoongi as he reached past Jimin to grab your shoulders, using you to keep Jimin in place. Jimin was out of his mind and you could feel every spasm of his body as he emptied himself into you. The sounds falling from his mouth were garbled and senseless while you milked every last drop out of him.

Yoongi kept fucking into him, arrogance gathered across every feature of his handsome face. You gasped as Jimin became dead weight on top of you, his cheek resting on your throat. He groaned at the sensitivity when Yoongi bottomed out inside him.

The two of you lay there, sated and overstimulated as Yoongi continued to thrust into Jimin, finally reaching his end and releasing into the condom. You freed your arms from Jimin to grab Yoongi by the collar, realizing for the first time he was still wearing his shirt and pants, though the jeans were down around his knees.

Yoongi glanced at you and let you hold his neck while he draped himself over Jimin. You spurned him on, speaking submissively to your dominant partner to help him through his orgasm. Satisfied, Yoongi slapped Jimin’s hips and ass with appreciation before withdrawing his length. You blinked tiredly as Yoongi stroked your cheek and lips, letting you suck on his thumb momentarily and giving you a proud smile.

“You both did so well,” he commented offhandedly, vanishing into the bathroom.

Neither you or Jimin made any intention of moving from your current positions. You doubted Jimin could move even if he wanted to at the moment.

“Fuck, that was good,” Yoongi groaned, lingering on the curse word a few good seconds. Then, he smacked his lips together and said, “I’m hungry. Should I order food?”

You and Jimin merely lay there, breathing ragged and uncontrollable.

“Black bean noodles?” Yoongi asked, zipping up his pants.

You simply nodded. Jimin made some noise that closely resembled the word, “Okay.”

Yoongi chuckled with a shake of his head, making a comment of how fucked out the two of you were while he sauntered in search of his phone.

Once Yoongi was out of earshot, you whispered, “Jimin.”

“Mmph,” was all he could manage, borderline asleep already.

“We gotta get him on the bottom one day,” you plotted, racking your brain for a way to get revenge on your boyfriend.

Jimin shook his head against your neck and shrieked, “Are you crazy?”

“Yeah, a little bit,” you retorted, shameless and brazen. “But you’re going to help me.”

“I absolutely, most definitely am not.”

Flexing your legs, you clenched on his softened length and Jimin let out a burly whine. Raking your hands into his sweaty hair, you whispered, “Jimin, you and I are gonna fuck Min Yoongi.”

There was a pause, followed by his very quiet reply, “I’m listening…”

For more oneshots, click here for the masterlist.

Author’s Note: This fiction is written and owned by me. I monitor my work diligently and will take measures to protect my writing if it is stolen or plagiarized.

[skeletonwoman]

9. Cinema At Its Finest

honeslty, christmas movies are wyld and they literally all have the same casts and it’s just so impressive. also. this one is abt THEO RAEKEN AND EXCuse the horrific text talk but as that old text post says “its hard to make the words go [etc etc] so text speak easier or something” idk i can’t quote it perfectly whatever

You grimace as the delightful song starts filtering through your speakers. The credits are rolling, the girl got the guy, everyone is happy and the world is right.

And now you’re here, alone.

Snatching your phone from beside you, you open a text window.

Me: I mean

Me: Fr

Me: like I want a boyfriend so f*kn bad my guy

Me: But like I don’t

Me: I am strong and f*kn know that guys are bullshit

Me: but also pls love me

Me: y’know?

Me: like I f*kn hate movies but like

Me: ugh

Theo: u know I died and don’t have emotions anymore, right

Me: suck a dick

Theo: bby love me

Theo: why u text me anyway? Ur friends w girls

Theo: do u want me???

Me: ……………….ya lol take me now theodore raken

Theo: I came out to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now

Snorting, you beam at your phone before sighing and sitting up. Maybe you should’ve texted Lydia or Malia but they wouldn’t get it. A stupid notion, of course, everyone gets those feelings after movies but…

You grimace at the title before shoving to your feet and leaving the random holiday themed movie and your laptop behind.

“I’m here, I’m here, you can all relax,” you call, coming to a stop in the center of the room and Scott sighs.

“Finally!” Liam cheers, jumping to his feet and you turn to him with a smile, only to frown as he runs past you. “Pizzas here, guys!”

Scowling, you slump into his seat and sigh. Beside you, Theo grins at you before flopping back against your chest. You grunt at the sudden pressure but allow him to pull your arm over his front anyway.  You'd press a kiss to his forehead or something equally romantic and adorable if he wasn't wearing a Santa hat. As it is, you're having a tough time blowing the pompom away from your nose.

“That’s my seat,” Liam whines and you smirk at him.

“You wanna take my place?” You ask, nodding at Theo and he hesitates.

“I’d like to take Theos place,” he mutters under his breath and Theo growls, his clawed hand settling on your thigh possessively.

“Don’t talk to me or my undead son ever again,” you counter and Liam harrumphs but takes a seat across the room. “As your penance, you will get me a slice.”

“What? What’d I do?” Theo whines, already climbing from the circle of your arms to grab the pizza.

“You had a little peeing contest on me. It was gross.”

He hums, peeking at you over his shoulder and grinning. “Must be why you’re so stinky.”

“Honestly, I’m so freaking over you,” you growl, opening your arms as he lays back against you and taking the slice from his hand. “You’re a nightmare and a pain in the ass.”

“Hey,” he says with a scowl and you glare. “I won’t respond to your boyfriend texts next time.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Obviously.”

Beaming through your misty eyes, you set your laptop aside and snatch up your phone.

Me: wjy r all the movies abt boys

Me: like I love elle sm

Me: but im totally that other girl who snaked her in the beginning

Theo: wtf

Me: Legally Blonde

Theo: wtf x 2

Me: I want a bf n not a christmas themed one :/

Theo: just ask me out already jeez

Me: smd hoe I also want a dog and maybe a law degree

Me: def a dog and a law degree

Me: a bf could probs wait

Theo: ur killing my vibe

Me: What vibe? R u out w/out me????

Theo: I was napping

Me: sounds abt right. Come over 2mororow?

Theo: ok, feed me snakcs

Muttering to yourself, you stare at the elevator doors and wait. Clunky, industrial and orangey brown, they creak open and you step inside.

“Wait!” A voice calls and you hold the doors open, spotting Theo coming through the lobby doors. “Ah, my sweet, sweet were-pig.”

“I’m a were-tiger if I’m anything, mutt,” you hiss and he laughs, stepping in beside you. “Sucks about our plans.”

“We were probably just going to end up napping,” he says reasonably and you hum an agreement. “This is something to do.”

“I’d rather be at home napping.”

“Yep, me too.” He sighs and you grin. For a moment, you’re caught in his blue gaze and the doors slide open.

“Oh- hey! Come on in, guys,” Stiles calls from the doorway and you blink, frowning at the decided lack of holiday decorations in the interior of the apartment.

“Come on,” Theo whispers, his arm settling over your shoulders and tucking you into his side. As a pair, you waltz past Stiles and into Dereks lair. Definitely a lair considering the lack of holiday joy.

“You guys took long enough,” Malia complains and you sink down onto the couch beside her, Theo still glued to your side.

“I was doing stuff and didn’t see the message,” you mumble and Theo smiles lazily instead of responding.

“Anyway,” Scott says, clearing his throat and blushing, “we have a lot to talk about.”

Theo: girl

Theo: girl

Theo: girl

Me: I have a f*kn name

Theo: ok girl

Me: what u want, snake

Theo: mood.

Theo: y’know that mood. When post movie that’s cute or someshit

Me: omfg

Theo: my emotions aren’t as dead as my body

Me: ur boddy is very alive so

Theo: ikr fml

Me: aw boo

Laughing, you tuck the phone under your pillow and snuggle down among the blankets. This winter weather is just delightful, perfect for naps.

Stretching, you lean into the warm blankets and sigh. When they sigh back, you can’t help gasping and flailing. Kicking something, you hear a recognisable grunt and groan.

“Theo?”

“You didn’t text me back,” he whines and you roll over and cringe. A pillow crease has left a red line down his cheek and you watch it disappear, fading like a scar over time- though in hyper speed. Why is he here?

“So you broke into my house and climbed into my bed while I was asleep?” He makes a softly protesting noise but doesn’t voice a denial. Instead, he gives you a sad look and cuddles just that little bit closer.

“I wanted to hang out,” he says softly and you grunt noncommittally. Who cares about hanging out- you were napping.

“Liam exists.”

“Liam doesn’t like me.”

“Scott.”

“You know,” he starts, voice getting serious and you push your leg between his calves. “The pack only tolerates me cause you like me. None of them actually like me, they actively dislike me.”

“That’s crazy of them-”

“Thank you.”

“Thinking I like you. Why would I like you?” You tease and he growls. The sound draws a smile from your lips, only for a laugh to escape your belly when he turns his fingers into claw shapes and digs them into your sides. “Ah! Werewolf hands!”

Your bluff works but only for a moment when he pauses, pulling his hands back and inch to check. Proven wrong, he digs his entirely human fingers and nails into your sides once more.

“N- not fair!” You gasp out, shrieking another laugh. His grin is savagely delighted and you’re about to shove him off you when a knock on your door has the both of you freezing.

“Kiddo?”

“I’m alive! All good! I saw- uh, a really good vine. Patrick Charlton…” You answer awkwardly, silence following your words as Theo fights to contain a laugh. Smacking a palm over his mouth, you clutch him to your chest and wait.

“Okay, don’t wake the neighbours.”

“Will do!” You agree quickly and heave a sigh of relief as footsteps sound down the hallway. Theo snickers against your hand and you bare your teeth at him.

“You absolute rat,” you snarl, still holding him tight to your chest and you feel him grin under your hand.

“You’re the one who couldn’t keep quiet,” he muffles and you have to let him go or you’ll break his neck.

“So you two aren’t dating?” Lydia stares, a crease between her eyebrows and an uncomprehending look in her eyes. All around the room stare similar expressions.

“No! What? I would never.” You scoff, looking down when you feel Theo twist around and look up at you. Your arms hang over his shoulders and down his chest, his back against your stomach and his head pillowed on your chest. Or it was, moments ago. No Santa hat this time though- because he'd stuck it on your head instead.

“Rude!” He gapes, glaring at you. “What do you mean never?”

“What do you mean what do you mean never?”

“I thought my question was pretty clear.”

“And I thought I was too. Why? Do you want to date me or something?”

“What the f*ck? Gross, no.”

“Okay, what the f*ck do you mean by gross?”

“So you guys aren’t dating?” Malia puts in but you can’t even look away at this point. Theo. Theo just called you gross.

“You can’t get angry, you said you wouldn’t date me,” he argues and you blink at him, looking him up and down- sort of.

“I didn’t- I would but like…”

“What does “but like” mean?”

“It means what it means, jeez, back off,” you snap, pushing him off you but you can’t get him to budge too far. He’s too invested in this awfully embarrassing and public conversation. In fact, he rolls over completely so his chest is pressed to your belly and his arms are around your waist.

“So… Definitely not dating?” Scott asks and you spare him half a glare.

“Well we are now,” you grumble, glaring at your spectators, spectators who happen to be very interested in the various pulls of thread on their clothes.

“What do you mean “we are now”?”

“It means exactly what I said, honestly, I know dying can kill parts of your brain but I didn’t think this was a symptom.” You scowl at him and he glares, begrudgingly rising to his hands and knees and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“You’re such a bitch. All the f*cking time.” His words are a whisper, sweet and gentle to the ear and you shoot him a dark look. Stilling, you’re caught like a cobra in a song. The unadulterated affection on his face, written in his eyes, has you transfixed.

Wow.

as i schedule this fic, i am late to posting one from like 4 days previous woops

[childofthrenody]

January 7th, 2020.

8:09pm

Dear Dera,

I’m stuck in my head. 

I feel like there is so much pressure in my chest. Right in the center, and it is just there, all the time now. It’s a lot. I mean, it was a lot in middle school, and the beginning of freshman year. But, idk, it just feels like it’s all *really* fucking hitting me. All the revelations from dad, all the mess of college--applications, acceptances, denials, moving--combined with all the screaming and drinking and fighting and classes and events and this and that and whateverthehell. It’s so much. I feel like I’ve taken a thousand steps backward and I’m going to fall asleep one night and just wake up, back in middle school, back writing these letters and pouring my head and heart out and reading tumblr--making everything worse without knowing it yet--and not knowing what is going to hit me senior year. It should be terrifying, but it’s not nearly as bad as all of this right now. I won’t let myself talk to you anymore, or really anyone, actually. I feel like I let so much out in the past years that I can’t do that to anyone anymore, I can’t let anyone see that shit, have that shit. 

Except, for some reason, except for one of my teachers. You know who I’m talking about. It’s the internet, so I won’t name names, but. God, Dera, honestly, I’ve never met anyone who is more trustworthy. Kind. Caring. Compassionate. I still remember this moment. The important parts of it, at least. I walked into his room, I think. For class or commons or whatever. Probably commons. And, like always, he asked how I am. Calling me by name and everything. And, I was like, eh, I’ve been better, or something like that. And he was like “oh?” or “what’s up?” or something like that, y’know? but more how he would say it, if it makes sense. But- his eyes. It was his eyes. God, Dera Hope, they held so much compassion. So much trust I saw there. I guess eventually I’ll forget that look- but I just remember looking at him and just knowing I could trust him. So much compassion, like he really really really did/does care. I don’t really trust easily anymore, but I feel like he is one of those people you only meet a few times, or maybe only once, in a lifetime. He knows everything. And, I can just t e l l that he cares. And for that I am forever grateful, as Hazel Grace would say.

But, I didn’t come back to this old ass account to write about that. I came back because he suggested to let it all out by writing. Because he does that. Writing or something of the sort. Tbh, it’s kinda sad that I can’t really write on paper without constantly being worried about someone finding it, but the internet is the better option? isn’t the internet supposed to be more connected? Idek. Whatever. Anyway, well, here I am. This is supposed to be to mom. Well. Well, here goes, I guess. 

Mom. What the FUCK. “Can you even hear me? Sometimes I wonder.” That’s a lyric I just heard. I know everything I fucking say goes in one ear and out the other. Maybe, if I’m lucky, you’ll hear it enough to TEXT ME a half assed apology that never comes through.

God, I’m not even really mad. Abs said it was more ‘exhausted’. Which I think is accurate. I’m just...sad. Numb. Hurt. Exhausted. Just, hit with all this shit and I don’t know what to do with it. The sad part is, I don’t even know if I want the drinking and screaming and shit to stop anymore. At least I know it’s coming, rather than guessing. All I want to do is get out. you keep doing the “you hate me, don’t you?” thing, followed by, “well, you’ll come back and love me again in your 20′s,” thing. Fuck that shit. God, I don’t hate you. Obviously I love you. But, god, you make me sad. Really sad. So hurt. Every time I’m around you it just hurts me. And I just, need to get out. To leave. Dad’s yelling and anger issues and shit around the little things is bad too, but somehow throwing salad at me in the middle of a restaurant and passing out drunk 1-2hours after arriving at christmas eve is a *little* worse to me. Just a thought!!! Sigh. It hurts to even go home, y’know? Today at school was even bad. As I told him, I just wanted to scream at everyone. To snap at everyone. I’m completely off my game. And midterms are coming. I”m so off, and I don’t know what to do. I’m talking it out, I’m writing right now. God, I did an english assignment today and I overthought it and it was so shitty. And my in-class midterm essay was so shitty. The only thing that might come out okay is my art still-life. But the written portion is tomorrow and I won’t be able to do it and jesus I just want to cry cry cry cry cry cry cry. CRY. I was so angry today, right? and I wanted to snap at everyone. Anything anyone did, I wanted to fucking SCREAM. Then, then, I talked it out a bit, and I was still so angry, but, but now I just wanted to cry. God, I wanted to cry. And I did. In the car on the way home, I was driving and something small happened or something and I just started sobbing. Not that much, but this sudden horrible thing just ripped out of me. Like I was holding it in all day. I remember wanting to cry sometime in the middle of some class, maybe english idk it seems like it could’ve been, and not being able to. Obviously. Fine, whatever, but that shit NEVER happens in school! that’s middle school level emotional crap! Jesus Christ! Sorry to take His name in vain, but I think He sees what I mean. How far back I’m going. I only random start crying at home when I just need a sob, or around you, mom, when I turn a corner and just need to let my real feelings surface for a second before the mask goes back on to trying not to piss you off. 

God, I try so hard not to piss you off. To be the perfect kid. To stop the little things. I thought I had it together, that I’d realized that I will never be perfectly enough for you. I will never, at least here and now, stop pissing you off and doing the wrong things. Like, yeah, that’s okay. But, god, it’s all going back. I’m stuttering more again. So badly. And of course you hate that! God forbid something different is okay, right? And my thoughts. My thoughts are getting so bad, with my mentality. I have midterms!!!! I have applications, and MAKING IT THROUGH THE YEAR! This isn’t the same as middle school, where I could coast more and it was okay because it didn’t really matter as much, if I remember right. God, I want to go away. So far away. Yes, from you. Okay? Yeah, I said it. I guess dad too, to really see a new place. And I don’t want to come back for holidays and breaks. I know I will have to, at least for some of them. But, ugh. SH asked me today something like, “if you could leave right now and just go to college, would you?” and I was like, 100% yes. Idk 100%, because the whole high school experience and everything, but, god, I want to get away. Half the year is already gone. I want to experience senior year, truly, but I also want prom to come, and graduation, and to have all my acceptances, and the supposedly legendary senior retreat, and all that shit! And to read the letter I wrote sophomore year that’s to my senior self that I’m supposed to forget exists or what it says or whatever. I didn’t, really. Oh well, I guess. I did try.

I think, most of all, I don’t want to lose him. Talking to him. I’ve only known him for like, 4ish months, even though I met him sortof freshman year amist charlie and greg, lol. I remember looking up at him between these two giant seniors and they introduced me and i felt so small and he looked so tall lol, and he was like “hi, I’m [name], I’ll see you senior year!” or “..in a few/four years!” or something like that. Idk, I think expressing it comes across as weird. I want to clarify, I’m NOT like a weird and creepy kid who’s like in love or even anywhere close to that at all. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT, please know that!!!! I’m not even NEAR the same time-zone as that notion. I’m like 5 times zones away from that. But, I just want to keep in touch with someone who really cares, like magistra or mrs c, and stuff. That’s it. Just one of those people it feels like you really want to keep in touch with. Like, I feel like I could visit my high school years from now and he would be totally welcoming. I saw it with past students who visited while I was there. Some a year or two out, some more. He offered to go for coffee with one! Totally rad, chill, normal adult things, y’know? Someone you know, and remember, and could probably invite to like your wedding or something. Idk. Not that I want to get married, but that’s the idea.

Please don’t think of it the wrong way- hence why I’ve never voiced it. I guess it’s the gender thing? Idk. But, all in all, I want to get out, momma. I”m so done with this shit. So done. And it isn’t helping me mentally, physically, or emotionally. I have to exercise ig. Lol. Sigh. You’ve also told me that. I get it, but it hurts. Also, stop fucking touching me. It’s not sexual, but god, leave me the fuck alone! I don’t like being touched! It doesn’t mean i was abused when I was younger or some shit, just leave me alone! Cut out all the“But you’re my kid!’ bullshit, god. I’m not the fucking dog. Sigh.

I’m really sad. I’m really hurt.

Exhausted, as Abs said. Definitely, without-a-doubt, one-hundred-percent exhausted.

Forever Yours,

Camber.

[dubstepkazoo]

So I recently finished watching Hina Logi.

And yup, sure enough, it sucked.

Okay, I play the card game (by which I mean I bought the trial decks), and I can confirm that this anime had no reason to exist. They were clearly just trying to advertise for the game. It was an act of desperation, since even in Akihabara, I couldn’t find anyone who cared about it. The only other players I found were also newbies.

So how do you advertise your card game? By making it incredibly impossible to tell that the source material is a card game. We gots us another SOL CGDCT BBQ anime here, ladies and germs! One that doesn’t really do anything original. None of the characters really develop in any unique way, nor is any of the comedy new or... well, funny.

Wait. Before I launch too deeply into the bad stuff this anime did, I at least want to make it clear that it did two good things. The first was Lion’s outfit when she Trances with Rosa. That was really cute. Like, I’m more of a Nina guy in the card game, but come on. Warawa!Lion is so cuuuuute! I want her to whip me. The second was Yayoi. Her entire character. She was the best thing about this anime, despite being an ojou-sama. Nay, I assert that she is how to do an ojou-sama character right. Rather than assaulting the viewer with obnoxious cackling (LOOKING AT YOU, TO LOVE-RU), she carries herself with an air of elegance while reading social cues and displaying care for her friends. Also, she’s adorable. Also, her Trance outfits (especially with Qipao) are adorable. Also, she’s perfect.

Okay, that’s enough positivity. Let’s get into why this anime is garbage.

As if the genuinely ear-bleeding OP and ED (and their unoriginal lyrics, apart from their L&L flavoring) weren’t enough, this anime didn’t have the decency to give us any interesting characters. Every single one can be described in just a handful of words. Lion? The infuriatingly energetic ditz. Nina? The quiet girl who learns to open up. Yayoi? Ojou-sama, correctly though she may be executed. Yuuko? Ara ara. Mahiro? Tomboy, complete with -ssu. I could go on, but I think you get my point. Now, you might argue that Lion’s dad was unique. And while the doting father character isn’t commonly done, it turns out there’s a reason for that. It’s annoying. He was a waste of screentime, his voice was obnoxious, and nothing he did made sense. Like, he launched a missile at a foreign country’s school and experienced no repercussions? Why? How? Oh, and then there’s the principal, or whatever. All she did was speak in riddles that never made sense, though those scenes were shot with the kind of gravitas that tries to make you think they do. Just because something is cryptic, that doesn’t mean it’s profound! No scene that contained her left me thinking anything other than, “So what was the point of this scene?”

The A story of this anime was very clearly centered around Nina’s development, but it never really ended up being interesting. It was just the same as any loner character’s development. Heck, didn’t My Little Pony do this? It’s been years and years since my brony phase, but I’m fairly certain this character arc was lifted straight from Twilight Sparkle in season one. At least that cartoon had an interesting setting and good music.

Another thing the anime dropped the ball on would be its inclusion of Trancing. Yeah, I get it. It’s a fundamental aspect of your world’s lore. It’s the cornerstone of your precious card game. But it’s kinda underwhelming to make your characters into magical girls and have them do nothing but spar against each other every once in a while. Let’s see them engage a hostile Foreigner, or something! I’m assuming that’s what the first Luck and Logic anime was about - I haven’t seen it - but again, this is the fundamental premise of your IP. Bring it to the forefront. Heck, you can even keep the SOL-ness. Just give us a reason to care about their fighting prowess! Justify your inclusion of magical girls! And no, I don’t consider the girls’ rivalry to be sufficient justification. Their shoving in of this element regardless of its meaninglessness is what made me realize this series was meant as nothing more than a desperate advertisement. That, and the excuse to reuse transformation scenes gave them an easy out when they needed to save budget or find ways to fill an episode.

Okay, now it’s time for the elephant in the room: the fan service.

This anime made several half-hearted attempts to sexualize its characters. Its characters who are first-year middle school students, which puts them safely in the category of “too young.” Once you get younger than about the third year of middle school (since Kuroyukihime didn’t trip the creep alarms), fan service stops being sexy and starts being off-putting - usually.

If you really want to sexualize young characters... well, setting aside how I feel about that decision, I do believe there’s a way to do it without creeping your viewers out (or at least, without creeping them out too much). As an example, I direct you to Prisma Illya. Prilya is an anime that will put any of its viewers on about a dozen watch lists, but for good reason: it successfully portrayed elementary school characters as sexy.

Wait. Hear me out.

Prilya succeeded at this because it knew it was ridiculous. It knew the very notion of sexualizing elementary school girls was downright insane. So it used over-the-top methods as a tongue-in-cheek way of acknowledging this. Notice the unbelievably lust-filled actions taken by Kuro at just about any point in the series. Notice how she cranks situations from zero to eleven in the blink of an eye. Notice the dramatic cinematography and art direction in these scenes. Notice Illya and Miyu’s over-the-top reactions that kick in instantaneously. Heck, the fan service scenes were more funny than arousing. Done incorrectly, the viewer would have grimaced at the show and said, “You’re going to hell.” However, Prilya’s sheer audacity and willingness to poke fun at itself (coupled with its genuinely interesting story, but that’s a different post) resulted in the viewer laughing and saying, “We’re going to hell.”

However, the majority of Hina Logi’s fan service took itself seriously (or at least, as seriously as fan service can take itself), like Strike Witches did. And that just doesn’t work when your characters are that young. To its credit, the Valentine’s segment in the penultimate episode had fan service that, while cliche and unoriginal, was at least a step in the right direction. That Mahiro/Yayoi scene was the only fan service moment in the anime that actually held my attention and didn’t make me roll my eyes. What I’m trying to say is, I know what doujinshi I’m looking for the next time I go to Japan.

My final rating for Hina Logi ~from Luck & Logic~ is a four out of ten.

Nobody liked the first L&L anime, and I’ll be surprised if anyone likes this one. Yayoi was indeed a miracle of the universe, and Lion had her moments. But other than that, this anime swings and misses on almost every level. It’s aggressively mediocre. Ordinarily, that’d result in a five out of ten, but its stubborn refusal to explore the few elements that did stand out left the sour taste of resentment in my mouth.

I’ve actually watched a lot of series recently that I just haven’t written about because I never really made the time for it. Stuff like Guilty Crown, Canaan, Nanoha (okay, that was months ago, but I still haven’t written about it), Strike Witches, Grisaia, you know. If there’s anyone who wants to hear what I think about any of those, drop me an ask.

Actually, first, maybe I should ask if anyone even reads this stuff at all. Eh, who cares. Even if nobody does, I’ll keep writing these dang walls of text anyway.