#the number of bras I have failed to return within the window over the past year

[tuesdayisfordancing]

I have, since I last whined about bras being impossible to shop for, found a few bras that are better than what I had before, but I’ve also discovered that it seems that any bra I can find that cups the breasts closely enough to control bounce as much as I want is too damn tight in the band. Adjusting both cup and band size doesn’t work because then the cups are the wrong shape. (I have found a good sports bra though, so maybe I’ll wait til it’s on sale and just buy more of that one.)

[zenonaa]

3, Togafuka

Him/Her zipping your dress + TogaFuka

***

“I can’t get it off,” says Touko.

The scene is as follows: Byakuya and Touko, together in Byakuya’s apartment. In his bedroom, the door shut and the evening sky deepening within the borders of window panes, tinting the artificial light inside. On his bed, Byakuya lies between Touko’s legs, staring up at her with most of his shirt buttons unfastened. Touko straddles him, resting on her knees, the bun in her hair in an advanced state of unravelment and her hands fumbling with the zip on the side of her dress.

He’s frowning. “You can’t get it off?”

She goes, “uh huh,” and nods. One of her hands finds its way to her lips, where she pokes her thumb against a corner of her grimace. Below Touko, Byakuya rolls his eyes and pinches at her zip. It begins to slide down but soon stops abruptly. 

Byakuya gives another pull. As before, it catches. He drags the zip up then tries again, but it still won’t move down beyond the same point. His brow furrows as he lifts the zip up even higher. With his other hand, he squeezes the strip together, and he slowly trails the zip down, only for it to dig in at the exact spot as every other time.

“Are we going to have to break the zip?” asks Touko.

“That won’t be necessary,” Byakuya tells her, wiggling the zip. Losing patience, he tugs harder. Nothing. He wrenches at it. Despite his best efforts, the zip stubbornly refuses to descend any lower. Fast. Slow. Careful. Rough. Nothing seems to work. Time and time again, the zip will only oblige until that place, where it won’t budge even slightly past it.

He slips out from underneath Touko and grips the bottom of her dress. It’s a dark blue off-the-shoulder number that reaches just below her knees, which he hadn’t seen her wear prior to their dinner at the restaurant earlier that evening. This isn’t giving up, how he lugs the dress up, trying to bring it over her head, because he intends to come back to the zip later. 

The dress gets stuck around her bosom and after some struggling, he bitterly lets go of her dress. Not before noting that her bra matches her lacy white panties, though.

“I don’t mind if you break the zip,” she tells him, blushing.

“No, we don’t need to do that.” Resorting to that would be the same as admitting defeat. He tries the zip again, fails, and thinks. “Soap.”

“Soap?”

Byakuya dashes into the bathroom, returning shortly after with a bottle of liquid soap. Touko watches silently as he applies a few squirts onto his fingers, which he then massages onto and around the zip. Once it seems suitably lubricated, he tugs on it.

The zip zooms down, then halts at the same spot. He jiggles it furiously.

“I think I remember reading that it has to be a bar of soap,” Touko mumbles. Byakuya darts back into the bathroom, this time to obtain a bar of soap, and when he settles onto the bed again, he grinds it against the zip. A shredded crust of soap forms there. Some fleck off as he shifts the fabric.

Due to the liquid soap slicking his fingers, he can’t obtain as strong a hold on the zip as he would like. He wipes his hands against his thighs then pulls the zip, but he hits that snag and the zip won’t proceed any further. Gritting his teeth, he wrestles with the zip, but to no avail. His face grows stonier.

To think, after winning the right to be heir - the right to keep his identity, to be a person, after surviving a killing game and shedding his defences to fall in love... he would be bested by a faulty bit of clothing.

Touko purses her lips. Not with annoyance, but worse. Pity. “Byakuya-sama...”

Not meeting her eyes, which are the same colour that the hickey on his neck will fade into, he wrenches outward both sides of the zip until it breaks. The dress itself doesn’t tear so it can probably be fixed relatively easily. Most importantly, she is free now. 

But at what cost? With no other way to take it off her than breaking the zip, it forced his hand. Victory tastes sour, if it can be called victory. 

She pecks his cheek as a consolation, but rest assured, the rest of her clothes come off a lot easier.

[merflk]

but you’re too young to come undone

Pairing: percy weasley x pansy parkinson Words: 2005 Link: ao3

Now, if you asked Pansy what her type was, she would say: rich guys. Classy guys. Smoking, drinking, lazy guys. Rebels, sometimes.

What she would not say was: stick-up-the-ass, strict, disciplined, sweater-wearing, red-headed librarian.

Yet here she was, staring at Percy Weasley like she had every day for the past two months as she sat studying in the university library.

He was frowning. He was always frowning. There was always something not entirely in place, always something crooked and always something irritating. Often, it was her.

It was her, when she brought a cup of coffee to the library and put it on the cover of a book she wasn’t currently using. He came raging at her the first time, voice clipped and annoyed, authoritatively asking her to please remove that substance from the expensive work of their public library. It was her, when she dropped her books onto the desk too loudly and she could see him keeping himself from violently shushing her, just aware enough that that would make him look ridiculous.

And Percy Weasley never looked ridiculous. He looked crisp and cool and in charge, even though he wore stupid homemade sweaters and vests, the sleeves of his shirts pushed up to reveal unfairly beautiful forearms.

(She had dreams about those forearms. Interesting dreams.)

Percy Weasley was a menace. Percy Weasley was a saint.

He sat up straight every time the headmaster came to visit, the smoothest smile on his face and Pansy could swear he could work his way into any place he wanted, he would never have to pay a dime. He was charming, and it was unfair.

She’d taken a liking to trying to figure out how far up his ass the stick really went. She smiled sweetly at him when she passed him with her coffee, sometimes even brought him some, the most extravagant caramel-mocha-double-espresso-soy-milk-latte that she could think of, always with her name on it instead of his. She wore her shortest leather skirts and highest heels that ticked on the marble floors as she approached and lately she could see his shoulders tense when he heard the sound – as if a storm was coming.

She revelled in the way his eyes darkened when he looked at her sometimes. Not just the anger, the annoyance, but the… more she saw there. The want as his eyes drifted over her bare legs.

She didn’t know what Percy Weasley’s type was, but she was sure she was pretty high up the list at the moment.

It seemed only fair.

Today, his expression had gone blank when he watched her appear in front of him. It was nearing summer, so she was wearing black shorts and a crop top that showed just the tiniest bit of stomach. She’d considered chewing bubblegum – she loved the way he jumped out of his skin every time she popped a bubble – but had decided against it. She was glad of it now.

He was frowning, like normal, but he was worn in a way she hadn’t seen at the start. The shadows underneath his eyes were deeper, his complexion was a tad greyer, even with the sunlight streaming in through the large windows behind him, making his red hair glow with gold. He looked exhausted – no, drained. Like something was sucking the life out of him.

It made her very quiet. She’d given up making his life completely miserable two weeks back. He had taken a sip from the coffee she’d brought him for the first time, tentatively, then appreciatingly, and she had found herself blushing. Happily. It had changed everything.

She loved winding Percy Weasley up, but there was something far more satisfying about unwinding him.  

He looked like he needed it.

She didn’t understand how it could happen. How could people… not see it? What was he doing that took so much of him? Was it classes? She knew he’d been at the top of his classes ever since he started university. She knew he was part of the student council and another special council focused on developing the university’s curriculum. And he was always here, in the library, behind that desk, working. When did he study? When did he even sleep?

When she saw him stubbornly stifle a yawn, she snapped.

Within moments she was at his desk, planting her hands on it and looking him straight in the eye. His eyes shot down to her cleavage for just a moment – she hadn’t thought about that – but then settled on hers with that bright, sharp look that almost made her shiver. She couldn’t remember ever being so close to him.

She liked it.

“Percy,” she said sweetly, “I’ve been looking for a work on the economics of the Heimar republic, but it doesn’t seem to be on the shelf it’s supposed to be. Could you help me look?”

He stared her down for a moment, but this was his job. With a big sigh, he got up. “Of course, miss Parkinson,” he said, still refusing to call her anything but that. “Do you have the number?”

“I do!” she said with a too-bright smile. He probably thought she was messing with him. Well, he wasn’t completely wrong.

He walked around his desk. “Then lead the way.”

Pansy suppressed a wolfish grin and confidently took off in the direction of the historical economics section. The way took them further and further in to the library, to sections where there only one or two students at desks in a corner and then to shelves that were so close together that there was no room for desks at all. The air became a bit staler, but Pansy liked the smell of the old books.

When they finally arrived at the right shelf, she gave him the number of the book and glanced around carefully. Then, her eyes settled on him as he meticulously went through the books on the shelf. She saw his finger move over the covers and watched as he froze and his eyes widened slightly. Then, he let out another sigh that was almost like a groan. He pulled out a book from the shelf.

“Pansy, it’s right here.”

She was momentarily taken off guard when he said her name, so she didn’t react immediately. He looked up at her, probably to demand an answer, but he was caught off guard too by the light blush on her cheeks and her obvious disorientation.

When their eyes locked, however, she found herself and advanced on him.

“Hmm,” she murmured when she reached him, almost pressing herself against him as she took the book from his hands. “Thanks.”

His eyes flickered down to her lips and his breathing was a tad shallow. She looked over the shadows on his face one more time and then put her hand on his neck, pushing herself up against his chest very carefully.

“Pansy,” he demanded, his voice clipped, “What are you doing?”

“You need to relax,” she murmured in return as she brought her face closer to his. Her eyes were on his lips, but she glanced up at him right before they touched. The tension was clear in his expression, but his eyes were burning and he wasn’t moving. She gave him a chance to do something – push her away, if he wanted. When he didn’t, she felt a burst of joy hit her and she pressed her lips to his.

There was something ecstatic about it, like lightning about to hit. His lips were perfect and he bent his head at just the right angle for her to trace his jawline with her thumb. She could feel a little stubble on it.

Before she knew it, his arms were around her waist and he was pulling her even closer, her breasts pressed against his chest and her free arm circling his neck to play with his hair. He nipped at her lips until she opened them in a gasp and then he pressed her tongue against hers briefly, making her shiver. He tasted like caramel, and she felt a little drunk.

Still, when his hand moved under her shirt to her bra strap, she pulled back for a moment. He froze immediately, searching her face, and she shook her head slowly.

“Not today,” she whispered, a smile on her face. She brought her face back to his and pressed soft, languid kisses to his jaw. “Today…” she continued, “is about relaxing.”

His eyes fluttered close and she could feel some of the tension in his shoulders easing. Soon, he was like putty in her hands.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, just kissing. She did know that at some point, they moved towards the floor, until she was straddling his lap in the historical economics section, kissing his plump lips until they were bruised.

Eventually, she pulled back. He chased her lips with his and she giggled, but she stayed out of reach. When he opened his eyes, they weren’t dark anymore. They were soft, and light, and comfortable. She felt like she might be glowing and couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

“Better?” she asked him softly.

He smiled like he understood. “Yes. Much better.”

She stroked his jaw softly and gave him a smile that was softer than she thought was possible for her. “Glad I could help.”

“How did you…”

It was the first time she’d seen him fumble for words or even stumble over a sentence. A rush of warmth flooded through her.

“How did you know?” he asked eventually.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve been paying attention to you.”

That brought a wonder to his eyes that stung her a little. Why was that such a surprise to him?

She knew what it was like to just want some attention. She’d never realised he might be the same.

“Right,” he said softly, a smile tugging at his lips.

Unable to stop herself, she pressed another kiss to his lips.

“So,”  he said, “Can I take you out for coffee?”

She laughed. “Where would you even find the time?”

“I’ll look hard,” he smiled.

She smiled back. She felt giddy. “Okay. You can take me out for coffee. If you want.”

“Yeah…” he whispered, his gaze going back to her lips, “I want to.”

“Okay,” she repeated.

They were quiet for a moment. She realised the sun had dropped significantly.

“You should get back to work,” she said and she tried to gracefully move off of him – she failed, but he was looking at her so tenderly that she didn’t really think he’d noticed. She sent him a teasing smile. “You took quite the break.”

“I earned it,” he said and he got up. He pulled her up behind him and within a moment he had spun them around and pressed her against the bookcase. She gasped again, electricity immediately back in the air and a hunger clawing at her throat.

Percy brought his lips to her ear, brushing against it as he spoke. “And next time,” he said, “It will be your turn for a little reward.”

Her eyes fluttered shut at the promise. “That would be appreciated.”

“Oh,” he grinned, “I know.”

He laughed when she pushed him away and she couldn’t keep the smile from her face entirely either. “Fine, you jerk. Now get back to work. You’re wasting my taxes.”

“I’m not sure it works like that.”

“My taxes, Weasley.”

He laughed one more time and then he took her by the hand. “Alright,” he said, “Come on.”

Together, they walked back to the main part of the library. Not much seemed to have happened. At least, there wasn’t a line of people waiting in front of his desk, complaining loudly about his absence. He settled back into his seat smoothly and picked up a pencil, twisting it between his fingers with a little smile on his lips. The tension in his shoulders was gone and, for the first time, he wasn’t frowning.