#this prompt could turn into a thread or just a fun little moment your muse had <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[dailhia]

what if you dropped a 🍵 + a question in the ask and dahlia reads your muses tea leaf fortune <3

[mermaidxatxheart]

Ribbed*

You guys, I am feral for this man. And you can thank @musings-of-a-rose for this story.

Pairing: Benny Miller x Reader

Word Count: 2117

Warnings: smut. unprotected sex. Garrett Hedlund, who needs a warning all on his own.

Master List

The paper fan swings back and forth in your hand lazily. It doesn’t do much to dispel the stifling heat in your apartment, or the heat radiating from your body. But mentally, you have to be doing something. Stop drinking would probably help, but why would you do something stupid like that?

Benny Miller, your brother’s best friend is propped next to you on your couch, working on his 8th jack and coke. You have him beat by about three and a half drinks.

The air conditioning is currently out in your apartment, going on the second week. You’ve put in several requests, but they’ve all gone unanswered. So, you asked your brother’s best friend to try and figure it out. But it stumped him, so the both of you resorted to drinking. Why? Dunno, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. You drag an ice cube across your chest, not caring how the quickly melting liquid seeps into your thread-bare tank top. 

Benny lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face and your eyes catch on his abdomen. Muscles on muscles. He’s so ripped, even his sides have washboard abs. Okay, maybe you’re drunk, but god damn, you can’t help but stare. Beautiful mother fucker. You’d love to smack the good looks right off his fucking face. 

You don’t quite manage to smother the laugh that escapes and he looks at you.

“What?” He asks, his own lips twitching up into a grin, even though he doesn’t know why. 

“Benny, what the fuck?” You gesture and he looks down at himself. 

“What?” He repeats. He drops his shirt and picks his hat up off his head. He scratches his fingers through his soft hair before tucking the hat back securely backwards on his head once more. The move entrances you, turning you on for some unknown reason. Mysterious kink. Why is the hat a thing?

“Nothing.” You mumble, downing a big gulp of your drink. You’re gonna need a refill in a moment. 

“Didn’t seem like nothing.” He challenges. 

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t wanna say it.” You shake your head, the fan fanning a little faster now as if you can wave the words out of your brain. But they repeat on a loop and you know if he pushes you, you’ll come right out and say it. And that would be embarrassing. 

He grabs your wrist, stopping the fan and making you look at him. His eyebrows arch up in the middle end, giving him the softest puppy dog look and you’re melting. “Tell me?” He says, and you know it’s a fucking ploy. You’ve seen that look on him when he’s flirting with girls at the bars, but you never once thought it would work on you. Lord, were you wrong. 

“Fuck.” You exhale roughly. “Fine. I was just thinking that you’re ribbed for her pleasure.” You rush and he stares at you for a long minute. 

He sits back and you think maybe he’s gonna leave, or make fun of you. Either option isn’t ideal. What you don’t expect is him to sit forward and peel off his sweaty shirt, revealing his taut, rippling muscles in all their glory. “Okay.” He says, adjusting himself on the couch and you’re staring at him. 

“What?”

“Ribbed for your pleasure.” He says, patting his abs. “Come on.” The thin gold chain around his neck glints in the dim light, distracting you for just a second. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“You’re the one who said it, sweetheart. You think about riding me a lot?”

“That’s not-“ you stammer.

“Not what?” He prompts. 

“The point.” You finish lamely and his grin widens. 

“You afraid?” He challenges. You shake your head. “I won’t let you fall. Come on.” He repeats. “I know you’re going through a dry spell. I am, too.” 

Fuck. Are you really going to do this? Could you even orgasm from doing something like this? Thigh riding has never really been your thing. But maybe… 

You stand up from the couch and he grins. 

“That’s my girl.” He says proudly and your knees get weak. You’re such a slut for praise and he seems to know it. You move to straddle his abs but he stops you by holding up one of his long fingers. “These need to come off, baby.” He says, slipping said finger up the closest leg of your cotton shorts. 

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and sliding them down your thighs slowly. He watches like a hawk and you feel the temperature in the room rising quickly. 

“Pretty girl.” He praises softly and you’re steadily getting slick between your thighs. He takes your hands and guides you closer. “Knee here.” He cups the back of your knee and you jerk, not realizing how much it tickles. He grins. 

“Sorry.” You mumble but he just shakes his head. 

“Tickle spot noted.” He guides your knees, without touching them, to either side of his waist. You can feel him under you, all solid and warm. 

Fuck. 

He guides your hands to his broad shoulders, letting you lean forward over him. “Use me.” He says softly. “Let me be your leverage.” His big hands slide down your thighs, squeezing the flesh there and you rock forward slowly, cautiously. He hums approvingly and you squeeze your eyes shut against the sight of him under you. Your brother’s best friend, the guy who’s supposed to be off limits. 

His hands blaze a burning trail up your thighs, over your hips, under the back of your shirt where he unclasps your bra with practiced ease. You feel the release of your breasts and it triggers something primal in you. You rock a little more purposefully now. He pulls the bra straps off your shoulders, freeing it from under your shirt. He presses the lacy fabric to his nose for a second and hums before tossing it over the back of your couch. His blue eyes stay trained on your face as he pulls on your hair tie, freeing your hair so it spills down around your shoulders. 

“That’s it.” He mumbles, brushing some back behind your ear. “So fucking pretty.” His thumb strokes along the corner of your mouth and your lips separate, breathing heavily. He slips his thumb inside and you wrap your lips around it, sucking and rubbing it with your tongue, lost in delirium as you grind on his stomach. His free hand, that isn’t in your mouth, slides up the front of your shirt, cupping your breast. He brushes over your sensitive nipple, teasing it into a point, drawing a desperate moan from you. 

“Oh fuck.” He exhales, watching you. He guides you forward, arching your back slightly and you hit a whole different angle on your clit. You whimper, grinding faster, chasing your pleasure. “Yeah, sweetheart. Come on.” He urges. He pulls his thumb out of your mouth and tugs your shirt over your head, tossing it with your bra. 

He guides you up higher, getting you better purchase, and also allowing him to mouth at your nipples. His hands squeeze your hips,your ass, urging you faster. The friction is just right, his hot mouth and tongue are perfect on your nipples and you’re about to cum. Your rhythm falters and your body locks up as an orgasm floods your system. You gasp out his name, unable to move as it grips you. 

He kisses up your chest, sliding you down to his thighs and supporting you. “Look what a mess you’ve made. So pretty when you cum.” He praises, touching the slick covering his abs. “Such a good fucking girl.” He licks it off his fingers, watching you. 

You hold his gaze for a second before pulling his hand away and kissing him deeply. Tongue and teeth and lips clashing as you knock his hat off his head. Your fingers curl into his silky hair, pulling on it as you kiss him with a fierce desperation. He moans, rocking his hips up against yours. 

In one swift motion, he stands up and flips you over onto your back on the couch. “Later, I’m gonna eat you until you can’t fucking stand. But right now, I’m so goddamn hard it hurts.” He mutters, shoving down his jeans. His cock is rising up to meet you and you reach for it, mesmerized by the thick vein spiraling up to the tip. He grabs your hand, stopping you. He strokes it once and kneels between your thighs. 

He pauses, the crown resting at your entrance. “Can I?” He asks softly and you nod, banding your legs around his hips. 

“I’m gonna cry if you don’t.” You promise. He pushes toward and your head falls back as he enters you. The stretch. Oh fuck, oh fuck. 

You whimper, holding onto his straining biceps. He’s struggling to go slow so he doesn’t hurt you, you can tell that much. His arms are shaking, his eyes are slightly unfocused on your face. His hair, no longer trapped by his old ball cap, is hanging in his pretty face. The gold chain is hanging down, swinging gently as he slides in slowly. 

“Trying not to-“ he mutters and you roll your hips, begging him to fill you. 

“Gimme.” You plead, brushing his hair back. “Gimme. I can take it.” You promise. 

He hesitates for a long second before thrusting in completely. You arch off the couch, mouth falling open as you cum instantly around him. Fuck, he feels so amazing inside you, so thick, so full, so deep. A throaty whine escapes you but that’s nothing compared to the feral growl he releases. Your fluttering walls are clinging to his every inch, stroking and kissing along his shaft. 

“Baby,” he groans, shifting his arms. You wrap your thighs around him, urging him on. He pulls out and thrusts back in, picking up speed and depth as he pounds into you. Your name is a ghost on his pretty lips as he falls into you. He drops to his elbows, nearly all his weight on you now. 

“Benny,” you moan in his ear and he fucks you faster. You roll your hips, pulling on his shaft and grinding him against your clit. Whimpers fall from your lips as you wind your arms around his broad shoulders. “Harder.” You beg and he looks down at you, his pupils blown wide, needy. His hand grips your thigh, holding you in place as he starts to rut inside you, his thrusts becoming shorter and harder as he reaches deeper into your velvety tightness. 

“So good.” He moans in your ear. “So fucking good, baby.” He praises, burying his face in your neck. The chain drapes against your throat, cool in the humidity of the room. You flex your wall around him, urging him deeper. 

Your third orgasm is fast approaching, it’s going to hit you like a wall, you can feel it. He’s fucking you so good. He bites along your neck, finding the perfect spot and you practically levitate into his chest as you cum again. You’re so fucking wet it’s dripping down your ass. Your body locks up around his as you cum, vision dimming, legs shaking, whimpers and gasps escaping. 

“Oh fuck, baby girl. That’s it. Cum on my cock.” He praises, pressing you tight into the couch. “Gripping me so good.” He moans, fucking into you faster. “Gimme one more. I’m so close. Want you to cum again.” He pleads. “Wanna feel you cum on me again.” He kisses up your neck, making his way to your lips as he pounds you stupid into your couch. 

Your whimpers are growing in volume, you’re so sensitive now, so close. He never really gave you a chance to come down. He kisses you desperately, messily. Your nails dig into his back and he growls possessively. 

“Please, please.” He whispers and you lift your hips to meet his thrusts. “Where? Baby, where can I cum?” He rushes, his breath skating across your cheek.

“I-inside.” You mumble. 

He reaches between your bodies and strums your clit rapidly. You cry out, cumming once more and gripping his shaft so tightly he can barely move. He thrusts in deep and unleashes a torrent of cum, burying his face in your neck. You can feel him sucking a mark, but you’re too fucked out to care. He finishes pumping inside you, rocking slightly before stilling. He looks down at you softly, brushing your hair back. He kisses you softly, his lips tender against yours now. 

Now what?

@everythingisoverrated @musings-of-a-rose

[bangtanpromptsfics]

moonflower.

dialogue prompt #6: “It's 3 o'clock in the morning”

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: established relationships, fluff

word count: 1,550

warnings: making out

summary: a 3am walk in the city with your boyfriend

a/n: got this inspiration from an instagram reel and I wanted to transfer that entire feel into this one shot. hope you guys enjoyy and please drop feedbacks it really boosts motivation!! p.s as soon as I completed this, butter official teaser was released SOOOO EXCITED!!!

masterlist

“It's 3 o'clock in the morning”, you take a breath in and resume kissing him, hands tangling in the locks at his nape.

“I know”, he rasps, pulling back to bring your foreheads together, taking a moment to immerse the image of your swollen lips and cold skin of your face “It'll be fun baby”.

You don't know who exactly started kissing. Jungkook came back from his night shift not long ago and he expected you to be asleep. But he was beyond happy to catch you peacefully listening to music and waiting for him, paying attention to arbitrary details of the city still alive below. What began as a welcome kiss soon turned into a brief makeout-session, the first press of his lips against yours truly reminding how much you missed Jungkook throughout the day.

And during small breaks of catching each other's breath, he suggested for a night walk, much like a date since he had been too busy this week.

“Okay”, you huff, still feeling your chest squeezing together to get the normal breathing rate. A smile tugs at his lips and with one final smooch he leaves you to change your clothes into something safe enough for walking through the cold night.

Maybe it's because you had been with Jungkook for so long that you basically adapted a lot of his fashion sense and little habits. When you step out of your small shared apartment, you both look like members of a punk band, all black and leather.

Jungkook smiles down at you, remembering how much you have changed, it felt like you grew bored of colors as well, much of your aesthetics going monochrome at this point. There was a time Jungkook even went worried about it, thinking you were somehow adjusting to him. But you reassured him that he was all the color in your life you needed.

Jungkook interlocks fingers with you, squeezing palms together as he leads the way down stairs.

“Where are we going exactly?”, you ask, an obvious curiosity he hasn't clarified yet.

“I don't know really. We'll figure that out”.

He always had a way with words which made you warm and curious at the same time. You just smile in return and wrap your hands around his leather clad arms and walk along.

You liked this. Dates with no particular destination to be in. Just strolling till your legs are tired, eating street food, getting coffee together or studying at the public library because your apartment is located at a not so silent heart of the city.

And you liked Jungkook very much too. It sometimes feels like lopsided that it demands to overflow from underneath your skin, and sometimes when you are making love to him or cuddling his head close to your chest, you believe he feels it too.

It hits you all of a sudden that you never shared those three words. Never ever uttered them in this two years of relationship and you question them now. Totally random of a realisation just like the day you woke up in a cold sweat accepting to self that you have to confess to Jungkook.

The first place you stop by is a heavily packed food truck selling korean food. It's a usually visited one so Jungkook ask for the customary meal, fire noodles. His favorite of street foods not because there wasn't anything better, he just adored your blush flushed face when you are done.

“Babe?”, he tears open the ketchup and squeezes the content with his chopsticks while watching you, “you good?”.

Apparently you had spaced out, still fueling on the thread of thoughts from earlier. You ground yourself to the present in a jolt, “I'm alright”. You give him a nervous smile.

Jungkook pulls his chair close to yours so that your arms and knees are touching, your skin growing hot despite not touching your noodles yet.

“What are you thinking about hm?”, he demands to know, but not intimidating you more than the point. He busies his hands mixing the ketchup into your noodles instead.

“I love you Jungkook”, you blurt, eyes planted on a random spot on the ground waiting for an outcome.

“And you realized that now baby?”, he chuckles, watching you all shy. He places his noodles from his lap to the table in front to fully face your direction.

“I love you too baby, so much. And I've said that so many times before, when you are sleeping, or when you were not listening. I think I was not as brave as you”, he confesses.

Your chest swells in warmth knowing he had always told you this. You peck his nose and dig into the food, finally able to feel the hunger settling down.

Content with the late night meal, you begin to stroll again after Jungkook laughs and cups your flushed red face. You always hated spicy food as a child but then this is another one of those quirks you caught up being Jungkook’s girlfriend.

“Where do you wanna go baby”, he asks, feeling lost of a trajectory for the date and now you are equally lost too, dwelled in the fact that he will lead the night.

“I don't know”, you state and at the sight of a specific place you continue, “wanna get some drinks?”.

Jungkook immediately giggles, “We both know you lose your mind over half a glass of rum love”.

You knit your brows together for a pout, “Well then you can carry me back home can't you? That would be romantic”, you press yourself to him for no apparent reason.

“Carry you all the way home?”, he muses, holding your whining head softly on his palms while pecking your forehead.

“C’mon Koo then why do you workout for three hours all day? Make some use of your muscle”

“Oh I make plenty use of these muscles and you know it”, he teases back and you smack his arms in response.

After a few very cliche comebacks you both agree to drink the night away. Good thing that Jungkook had a good tolerance to alcohol among you two. Carrying his drunk body single handedly for a smaller human like you would be a tedious task. The math was correct here, and so you start slurping your glass of whatever cheap whiskey they had.

You were enjoying all of this, truly to the core and to the point that you swore there is nothing better to life than this. But Jungkook always felt otherwise.

You see, you are not a rich couple. Just normal millenials who go to college supported with scholarships and debts to pay, several part time jobs and a very low key life where you prioritise your expenses and plan finance together. A couple who has not went on classy restaurant dates in glittery tight fitting dress, or even a sundress and expensive suits. He always wonders about the things that could make you happier and maybe one day he can afford that Italian restaurant you once said is really nice because your sister was proposed by her husband there. You'll look so beautiful in a dress and he can't wait to allure on that.

“Koo?”, you slur, already feeling consciousness leaving your body, “What are you thinking about now hmm?”

He smiles faintly at you swirling his drink and bringing it to his lips to think upon the answer a bit.

“Nothing babe. You look so beautiful right now”, he says.

And immediately you search for a reflecting surface to check yourself out, and that's because you're drunk. Your more sober self usually ends up processing a lot of butterflies at the pit of your tummy.

“I am!?”, you beam, finally able to see a very blurred something of your bummed out face with hair falling over and maybe there's even a little dried drool at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah”, he giggles, scooping you up in his arms for a tight hug, “Let's get home shall we?”

“Carry me pwese”

“C’mon love”, he helps you climb on his back for a piggyback ride, “I'll carry you”.

You tug your limbs a little tighter around Jungkook, he pats under your thigh to loosen up so he can walk. He listens to random mumbles you are whispering to him and he smiles occasionally, carefully paying attention to everything.

“I love you so much sometimes I don't know what to do with myself”, you say and Jungkook stops dead in his track to process the words a bit.

His skin turns red which you can't see and probably you wouldn't mutter such things on your sobering. And he is glad. Glad to know that you are content with what it is. His mind stirs around, his own set of booze blazing the thought further.

“Why did you stop Koo? You tired? Should I carry you?”

“You love me that much?”, he asks, completely dodging your questions.

“Yes. So much”, you kiss his cheeks, pressing down harder then usual to prove your point.

He is convinced you are the one who has a way with the words. You say things which brings him to his knees and you remain so oblivious to it.

“Let's get you home”, he states through a smile.

Thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡

Original Content of ©bangtanpromptsfics

[intheticklecloset]

Control (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

I really love writing about these two, whether platonic like it is here or romantically like in one of my previous fics. Their dynamic is so great, and I really love what little I’ve seen of their friendship so far. Thank you for the fun prompt! I had a blast exploring Shinsou’s quirk a bit with this one. ^^

7. “Don’t look at me like that!” “Like what?” “Like you’re going to…do something!”

~

Shinsou was starting to hang out around the 1-A dorms more and more these days, and Deku couldn’t be happier about it. Despite his standoffish nature and I-don’t-want-friends attitude, the boy from 1-C didn’t seem to mind that Kaminari and Ojiro had become attached to him. Deku would often see the three of them together in the living room chatting, or outside sparring, or walking to and from the school building together. It made him happy to know Shinsou was starting to feel more comfortable around their neck of the woods. And, if he was honest, he was hoping to start forming a friendship with the purple-haired boy as well.

“Hi, Shinsou,” he greeted one evening after school as Shinsou stepped into their residence, his blonde companions by his side.

Shinsou nodded at him. “Midoriya.”

This would often be how their interactions went. An enthusiastic greeting, followed by a polite return of some kind. As time went on said returns became slightly warmer, but only marginally. Deku didn’t mind. It was a start.

“Hey, Midoriya,” Ojiro said, waving at him. “We’re going to introduce Shinsou to Mario Kart. Somehow he’s never played it before.”

“What?” Deku exclaimed, staring. “You’re kidding!”

Shinsou shrugged.

Kaminari beamed. “I know, right? You want to join? It’d be cool to have four players.”

Yes! Deku leapt out of his seat. “Of course! I’d love to.”

That game – while not one-on-one – was a good ice breaker for Deku and Shinsou, as the former naturally bantered and exclaimed and laughed along with Kami and Ojiro while the latter occasionally spoke up and held conversations but mostly muttered about how his character always seemed to be going the wrong way.

After that, their greetings became much friendlier.

Deku stepped into the backyard of their dorm one Saturday afternoon with the intention of getting some fresh air. He’d been sleeping much better lately, and now that it was getting warmer outside he enjoyed spending time in nature when he could. When he opened the sliding door, he was surprised to see Shinsou sitting on the patio, staring intently into the near distance where his blonde friends were currently duking it out.

“Hi, Shinsou,” Deku greeted, taking a seat beside him.

“Midoriya,” Shinsou replied, offering a small smile.

“Are they sparring or actually fighting about something?”

“I honestly can’t figure it out myself.”

“Oh, boy.” Deku laughed, stretching and then leaning back to look up at the sky. “Nice weather.”

“Yeah.”

There was a slight pause. “Hey, do you want to spar?”

Shinsou turned to look at him, deadpan. “Midoriya.”

Deku realized how silly that sounded, now that he was getting that look. He chuckled sheepishly. “I mean, we could go quirkless. Just physical combat.”

“What purpose would that serve?”

“You know, keeping in shape. Staying on top of our reflexes.”

“In what situation would a villain ever fight without their quirk?”

Deku thought back to the quirk-ereasing serum, but then shook it off. “That’s a fair point. It was just a suggestion; we don’t have to.” Silence settled again, but a few moments later he took his notepad out of his shorts pocket and scribbled something down.

Shinsou glanced at the pad in his hand. Does he always keep writing material on him? he wondered, then froze when his eyes caught what was written on the page. It was a list, with his own name at the top. Deku was currently writing “doesn’t prefer quirkless combat” directly underneath a bullet with an entirely different theme.

According to Ojiro – really ticklish?

Shinsou felt his cheeks heat up in a blush and he snapped his eyes back up to Deku just as the boy finished writing, closing the notepad and storing it away once more. When he turned to look at him, Shinsou quickly averted his eyes, staring not at his friends in the field, but at the ground.

“Shinsou?”

Crap. What do I do? There’s no way he doesn’t notice I’m blushing.

“Are you okay?” Deku asked, sounding worried. “You look really flushed all of a sudden.”

“I-I…um…” Pull it together! “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just getting a little warm out here.”

There was a pause. “I mean, I guess it is kind of fluctuating between warm and cold.”

He knows I’m lying.

“Midoriya,” Shinsou started, then stopped. Great. What do I say now? He’s looking at me. Say something! “I…I’ve changed my mind. I wouldn’t mind sparring.”

Deku blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, uh…kind of.” What am I doing? “I want to…try something. But…it would require me using my quirk on you. Only if it’s okay. I’ll never use it on you outside of combat.”

“Isn’t sparring combat?”

I am digging my own grave here. Shinsou was growing more flustered by the moment, but he plowed onward, uncertain why he was suddenly following this strange train of thought. “What I want to try isn’t exactly sparring. It’s, um. Endurance training.” Oh, brilliant. Truly genius, Shinsou.

But Deku looked intrigued, which encouraged him a little. “Endurance training? Enduring what?” When even more color flooded Shinsou’s cheeks, Deku hesitated. “What…what exactly are you going to make me do?”

“I won’t make you do anything,” Shinsou replied quickly. “Not if you don’t want to. But it’s not…nothing untoward. I just…” He let out a groan and ran a hand through his hair. “Forget it. It’s stupid, it doesn’t make any sense. It probably won’t work anyw—”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” Deku protested, sounding earnest. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

That’s what he’s worried about? Shinsou gave him another tiny smile. “You won’t.”

After another moment, Deku nodded. “Okay. Sure. As long as you don’t make me hurt you, you can use me to test whatever it is you want to test.”

Shinsou couldn’t believe his ears. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Midoriya, are you sure? Do I have your permission?”

“You can brainwash me, Shinsou.”

And with that, his face went slack, his eyes lost their shine, and he was under Shinsou’s control.

What am I doing? Shinsou thought frantically as he watched Deku’s unmoving features and body. What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?!

Still, he’d passed the point of no return. He’d followed his gut reaction to seeing that note about himself this far down the rabbit hole; he might as well go all the way now. He cleared his throat, shifted a little. Heart racing, he mustered up the courage to speak exactly two words.

“Tickle me.”

Deku moved to obey, making Shinsou flinch slightly, but he forced himself to stay put as the green-haired boy found his sides and started digging. Shinsou sputtered, giggles spilling out of his mouth uncontrollably, his cheeks heating up with flustered embarrassment as he watched Deku’s expressionless face. He knows what’s happening. Somewhere in there, he realizes what I’ve asked him to do. He knows. He knows. He knows…

And yet, Shinsou still had control. He whined, then forced himself to speak again. “Hahaharder.”

Deku increased the pressure of his tickling, moving up to Shinsou’s ribs, steadily pushing him down so he was lying on his back on the patio. Absentmindedly, Deku knelt beside him and continued tickling even harder, drawing louder giggles out of Shinsou.

I’ve still got him. “Hahahahaharder,” he said again, and again, Deku complied. Shinsou could feel his control wavering, but he still had it. “Hahahahahaharder!”

Soon Shinsou realized it wasn’t the amount of pressure Deku was applying that would make him lose control, as he was tickling about as hard as he could in this spot and the boy from 1-C still had him under his command. The only way to really test this would be to switch spots. “Stohohohohohop!” he commanded, and Deku obeyed.

Shinsou was blushing furiously, but he was also genuinely curious now, so he continued in his mission. “Straddle my thighs,” he said, “and tickle my hips as hard as you can.”

Deku swung a leg over so he was sitting on Shinsou’s legs, pinned them to the patio, grabbed his hips, and tickled with everything he had.

Shinsou tossed his head back and screamed with laughter. He lost control instantly, feeling the thread connecting his mind to Deku’s snapping in half like a twig, and after a few more moments, the tickling stopped as well.

Deku stared down at the usually quiet boy in awe. “You…you wanted me to tickle you?”

Shinsou covered his face, too embarrassed to look at him. “I wanted to know if I could maintain control while being tickled. It’s a pretty distracting thing. Clearly, when tickled in the right spot, I can’t stay in control. You can put that in your notes, too.”

“What?” Deku sounded surprised. “Wait…did you see…?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, man.” Now Deku sounded embarrassed. Shinsou dared a peek at him. Sure enough, he was blushing now, too. “I’m sorry. That was probably weird to read.”

“It turned out to be a win-win for us both, though. I got my answer, and you got to see for yourself how ticklish I am.”

Deku frowned. He still hadn’t moved from his straddling position. “I mean…technically. But I wasn’t myself. I’d hoped to catch Ojiro tickling you sometime, or maybe Kaminari.”

Shinsou looked up at him. “Is it true? Do we share a death spot?”

Deku glanced down at his hips, and something seemed to change in his expression. He went from looking slightly bothered to looking incredibly inspired and mischievous. He grabbed onto Shinsou’s hips and kneaded. “Well, let’s see.”

“GAH!!” Shinsou yelled, unable to help the flood of laughter that bubbled up and spilled out of him in response. “MIDORIYA!!”

“It certainly seems to be a good spot, but there are plenty of other places I didn’t try just now,” Deku mused aloud as though he were mentally taking note. He probably was. His fingers moved up Shinsou’s sides, skittered across his belly, tweaked his ribs, scribbled in his underarms. Shinsou was kept in constant giggles, squirming as much as possible and hiding his face a lot, but never protesting.

Finally, Deku moved back down to his hips and dug in again, beaming at the laughter he produced. “Yeah, I think we do share a death spot, Shinsou.”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” The purple-haired boy pleaded, squealing and shrieking. “PLEHEHEHEASE, NOT THEHEHEHEHEHERE!!”

Deku couldn’t help but laugh. “You even sound like me!”

That’s exactly what Kaminari said!

“I have to admit, it’s kind of fun tickling someone else who has the same worst spot as me.” Deku chuckled. “Now I can see what I look like to the others. No wonder everyone goes for that spot so fast. It’s fun to tickle you here!”

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Shinsou cried, trying to grab at Deku’s wrists and failing. “MIDOHOHOHORIYAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! I’M SOHOHOHOHORRY!!”

Deku did stop, frowning down at him. “Huh? Sorry for what?”

Shinsou gasped for breath, trying to circulate enough oxygen to his brain to formulate a response. “For…um…I-I don’t know…brainwashing you?”

“I gave you permission.”

“F-For…ah…for looking in your notes? Ruining your chance to see how ticklish I am while still in control of yourself?”

Deku smirked.

Shinsou’s heartrate sped up. “Midoriya…d-don’t look at me like that…”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to…do something…”

“Oh, well, sorry about that, Shinsou. But I am going to do something.” Deku grabbed the taller boy’s wrists and pulled them down to his sides, pinning them there with his knees. “Because you haven’t ruined my chances to see how ticklish you are.” He grabbed his hips but didn’t tickle yet, enjoying how Shinsou gasped and flinched with a look of clear excitement on his face. “There is one thing I have to ask you, though, that I won’t be able to figure out on my own.”

“W-What?”

“Ojiro told me you ‘don’t mind’ being tickled. Since we’re already so similar when it comes to tickling, does your saying you ‘don’t mind’ actually mean you like it? Because that’s what I mean when I say I don’t mind.”

And that’s exactly what Ojiro said, too!

Shinsou couldn’t help but whine, flustered and embarrassed and blushing so hard he felt the heat of it on his cheeks. But having Class 1-A’s most fascinating student on top of him like this, so close to making him laugh again, made him give in.

“Y-Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I like it.”

Deku smirked, and he pressed his thumbs into his hipbones, and Shinsou was lost to his laughter.

[efkgirldetective]

~part V~ { part I & part II & part III & part IV }

thank you thank you to the anon who sent in this prompt! 💗💗💗

book + cerulean + passion

“Don’t have too much fun while we’re off, yeah?”

“Never, Padfoot, we—”

“Head Girl? Can you reassure?”

“Former Head Girl, mind you—”

“Sirius, honest to Merlin, we’re so, so late, and you know how Moody gets, he’ll have our—”

“—bollocks, yeah, had the exact same and shuddering thought, dearest—”

“—amount of calling me dearest can make up for that image, fuck’s sake—Pete? We’re near—”

“I’ve been ready, Remus!” Peter exclaims, springing indignantly from his seat on the sofa. “Been sat right bloody here, reading a book while you lot argue on and on about ‘oh, do you have the coordinates, or do I?’ Honestly, could’ve read through Hogwarts a bloody History frontward and backward, already!”

James grins at the exasperated trio, puffy-coated and scarf-wrapped and leaving not thirty minutes after they ought to have left. Between his wide-leg lean at the kitchen counter, Lily calls out, “Be safe, okay?” Sirius accios his wand all the way from down the hall, quite nearly missing the tawny tuft of Peter’s hair—“And be polite!”

“Polite, Evans, honest?” James tucks into her sweet-smelling hair. “Like Moody wants politeness, not moxie or gall or some imposing four-syllable word that escapes me at the moment.”

Lily pinches the skin of his arm.

“See you for dinner, yeah?” Sirius is calling back. “Right chuffed for steak pies—”

“Black!”

“Oh, for—coming, coming!”

Peter’s aggravated scowl is the last thing they see, the babble of Remus and Sirius floating down the hall, disappearing behind the closed door.

“If we’re going to be parents,” Lily says, running her hands along James’, wrapped round her waist, “We ought to start practicing, no?”

James laughs, sweeping her hair away and leaning down to kiss her neck. He contemplates the skin, a small pair of freckles marking the place where neck and shoulder meet. He thinks of their furtive trip to the fertility clinic earlier in the day; how the charms glimmered cerulean over Lily’s stomach, her hand gripping his tightly as the Healer surveyed her vitals, told them how healthy the baby—their baby—looked, inside, just about ten weeks along and growing so well. James took it all in as if from afar; heart beating out of his body, sense of place, of home, tied so firmly to Lily’s five-fingered hold on him; how her eyes shone with nervous excitement as she looked at him from the examination table—red hair a stark contrast to such a sterilized room. She whispered, “Okay?” and squeezed his hand. He nodded, bent to kiss her forearm, unable to find words for how he felt; an overflowing of love that left him just as tethered as it left him unmoored.

In the kitchen, he tries to make sense of the paradox: how he might be sinking for all his unruly, anxious fears—and at the same time buoyant, near-weightless in pride, in joy. He bends his cheek to the freckles and blinks slowly. “You’re going to be such a good mum.”

She sighs, turns in his arms. Happy and healthy and growing. “If you let go of any absurd dream involving an infant Quidditch player,” she murmurs, hands winding up his chest and neck, “then I know you’ll make a really wonderful dad.”

Though he is unwilling and unable to let go of hope for an infant Quidditch player, he makes no mention—he leans forward and kisses her cleanly, slowly, letting the overflow transmute into tenderness, deliberate and ebbing; Lily responds in kind, threading his hair through her fingers, some soft urgency sounding in the back of her throat. Her body melts closer, thin pink cardigan letting him know just how little she’s wearing beneath—and is unsurprised, given the turmoil surging inside, that need floats so easily to the top; skimmed out of overwhelming affection, of the delicate knowing that their bodies, together, created.

And the idea of when that might have been—when it happened, in any of the jumbled and run-together instances of love, of impatience, of time-taken and stolen and stretched out and yearned for—eats at James, digs at him—merges with the feeling of limbs lethargic on his, her lips moving from chin to jaw to neck and loitering, heatedly, on his throat. “When—” he begins, short on breath, hands moving up her back, under the thin fabric, finding the warm skin of her back—“when do you think it happened?”

Lily hums into his neck, nipping gently. “When what happened?”

He laughs, ruefully, fingers pressing into the curve of her hips. Closes his eyes to her hair. “Er, the conception.”

“The conception?” Lily emerges from his neck, laughing, too, lips pulled apart in mirth. “What, we're religious, now?”

“Well, it’s the technical term, Lils—would you rather I call it procreation?”

Lily groans, “Oh no, that’s far worse—so detached and impersonal,” she steals a long and wandering kiss. “Hardly what I feel when you’re inside of me, moving.”

"Oh, fucking hell—" James kisses her, can’t help it—and again, and again. “Really, though, semantics aside—” he moans, and she kisses him again, still laughing—“I want to know when you think it happened, is all.”

Leaning back from him, and really looking at him clearly, Lily lets her smile fall into something smaller; something like a smirk. “Alright, well,” she exhales, thinking, hands falling from his hair down his shoulders—and slowly, slowly, down his arms, pausing at the sleeves of his shirt. “It had to have been two months ago, or so,” she muses, eyes meandering from their lean to the expanse of kitchen counter behind them, the oven and the hob. “Maybe, it was just there, over the...” her eyes turn back to him, aglimmer.

James swallows deliberately, tilts his chin upward; takes a short moment to compose himself. It hardly works. “Evans,” he articulates, slowly. She laughs, fingers slipping, rounding his biceps; an insufferable squeeze, and stroking.

“I imagine an act of such passion could surely lead to conception,” she stands on tiptoes, finds his ear, nips at the lobe, “don’t you agree?”

For this he has only one long, breathless moan—the memory of a night without housemates, a shared bottle of wine; her breath so soft and wanting as they necked in the kitchen, necking that turned— near instantly—into a clamor of hands under and tugging at clothes, lips on necks, whimpers and gasping and an oh, Merlin, please as he sunk to his knees and fixed his tongue between her legs— which led, inevitably, to a growing plea for more and more now; to her impatient keening as he grappled with her skirt and knickers, his own pants barely pushed aside before he pressed inside, hard and leaking, half-gone and humbled at her neck, her shoulder—her sweet gasping James what took him clear over the edge, right there in the kitchen, adjacent the hob; her hips tight in his hands, legs shaking madly under his.

And in the same kitchen her mouth connects to his softening breath, drinking it down, knowing. “Or,” she continues, “perhaps that time in the en suite, when not five minutes in you—”

“Jesus fuck,” James interrupts, voice high and reedy—a sound that changes, and breaks, as Lily swivels her hips over his—“Hadn’t seen you for three days, you can’t just—it was—”

“I wasn’t complaining, though, was I, love?” she laughs into his mouth. “Especially not when you said such nice things with your tongue, afterward.”

"That made up for it?"

"More than made up for it, darling."

He smiles, quietly, and slips his hands down the warmth of her back, round her thighs, and lifts, jostling her into his arms. Lily tightens her grip on him, presses a kiss to his neck. “Could’ve been any one of the times you’ve fucked me senseless into our bed,” she muses. “Oh, excuse me—our premarital bed.”

“Thank you,” James says, “for acknowledging our unwed sin.”

Their bodies sway forward as he pushes up off the counter and staggers, indiscriminately, toward the bedroom, urged on by her burgeoning moan. “You know, I—” he tries, fixing her weight against a doorframe, finding it near impossible to speak around her suddenly desperate kiss, the sparring of tongues—“I just think—”

“—do tell me what you think—”

“—that talking about this was a shit idea.”

“Shit idea? No, really?”

“Really,” James repeats, short on breath and having stumbled from the door right into their bedroom, replete with purported sin. “Because all this talk of conception has me thinking—”

“All this thinking,” Lily whines into his ear, tongue swirling, dangerous. “You’ll hurt yourself, Potter.”

James lays her down on the bed, laughing; hair scattering and soft, cardigan pulled taut at the buttons, a flush of red spreading down her neck. She bites her lip as he leans back, looks at her.

“Thinking of...?” she prompts, fingers fall down his forearms, stroking.

“Of everything that leads up to conception,” he clarifies, swallowing, dipping his face into the swells of her breasts, nuzzling; lifting her sweater up enough to find her belly. His touch slows, gentle as it traces down the skin, as his mouth bends to kiss, slowly, like she is some delicate thing. He turns his face, lets his cheek rest against the center. Closes his eyes. “Hi, baby.”

Lily clambers onto elbows and reaches a hand through his hair. “Baby says hi back.”

James lifts his head. “Oh, you can hear the baby?”

“Yes,” she says, fingers moving across his brow, down his cheek, feeling the indent of his grin. “We’ve a telepathic connection.”

“And what’re they saying, now?”

“Mmm,” she hums. “Saying it’s alright if mum and dad want a bit of a shag, they’ll close their eyes.”

His laughter precedes his body, coming over her, weight shifting down. Her hands latched to the exposed skin of his neck. A gentle kiss between. Pulling and yearning, like yarn. The center, a knot, growing stronger.

Lily weaves her legs around his waist. Breaks gently from his mouth. “When do you think it happened?”

The question is considered, serious and slow, in the nape of her neck; in the pink plane of her cheek; in a blinking, unbroken stare. James lets the world settle down into the space of the bed and their bodies. Answers, eventually, with a tensed forehead, a hand gentle along her thigh. “If this came to be...because of an intention to love you as much and as long as I can,” he murmurs, “then it could’ve been any one of those times.”

She exhales, and he takes the same air as his breath.

He dips toward her mouth, quietly. “Any time at all.”

Lily makes a small sound, pulls down his lips—and of course he can feel their love growing, still, even in the quiet of the room. If he is to drown and float, all at once, then let it be like this; in warm and gentle waters, fixed to the tide of their hearts.

[lokigayforhela]

Hi how are you? I wanted to know what it would be like Hela telling the reader that she wants to have a baby with her?

W/C: 1401

TW: mention of pregnancy

A/N: Dearest reader, you know exactly where my heart is, and I thank you for giving me a prompt that let’s me think about Hela and reader having a baby together. Also, I NEVER write modern Hela x reader, so this was extra fun! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

A/N 2: ...what are our thoughts on making this a series with different pregnancy milestones?

You and Hela had been together for only a few years, but to you it felt like it had been forever.

You connected in a way that you knew not even everyone in love was lucky enough to connect with their partner, and every day that you got to spend with Hela, you cherished, and not a night went by that you didn’t thank the stars and moon above for bringing her into your life and letting you be the one that got to love her and hold her for the rest of all eternity.

You’d never had a wedding. Not like the fancy one you’d always imagined as a child, with a dress that rivaled a princess’, or a giant cake, or a bunch of your family and friends around. Instead, it had been a simple affair at the courthouse, with Hela’s brothers, and your family, and that had been enough for the both of you.

You’d been told that waking up next to the person that you loved would lose its charm over time, like a favorite song that just didn’t make your soul feel the way that it used to, but you didn’t think you could ever grow tired of waking up to find Hela watching you softly and playing with your hair, or curled around you like a cat craving the warmth of the sun, and this morning was certainly no different.

As you blinked your eyes open, waking yourself up a little more fully, you found Hela already watching you, brushing her fingers through your hair as she smiled softly upon realizing that you were awake.

“There she is… The anniversary girl…”

You gave a sleepy little giggle, and snuggled up as Hela pulled you closer. “It’s your anniversary, too, you know…”

“Is it? I had no idea,” Hela mused, earning a laugh from you as she pressed a kiss to your forehead and traced her fingers up and down your spine beneath your thin sleep shirt.

For a long while, you just stayed like that in silence, with your head tucked in the crook of her neck, and Hela pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder and temple and head, and anywhere else she could reach comfortably, until finally, she broke the silence, keeping her arms wrapped around you. As she spoke. “What do you want to do today to celebrate?”

You hummed softly, and withdrew yourself enough so that you could lay on your back, lips twisting to the side as you thought. “Mm… I don’t know. I thought maybe we could go out for dinner later. I made reservations at that nice Italian place you love so much.”

“That’s very sweet of you.” Hela leaned over to kiss your cheek, turning over on her side so that she could watch you as she threw an arm over your waist, just so she could keep touching you in some small way. “Lunch in bed, then? I’ll do all the work?”

You laughed softly. “Is it that late already?”

“Mmmmno. But I figured there’s no way we’re getting out of bed for at least another hour or two.” Hela had that mischievous little grin on her face that she only got when she was feeling in a particular mood, and you couldn’t help but to laugh in response.

“So bold, dear wife.”

“Well, one of us has to be,” she teased.

“Hey!”

But before you could argue any further, Hela started poking your sides gently, effectively cutting off any retort you might have made as you squirmed and laughed, writhing desperately in an attempt to try and escape the tickles.

It didn’t take long for Hela to give up on her crusade, instead opting to cup your face and kiss you sweetly, and you hummed softly as you returned the kiss just as gently, sighing softly in pure, happy bliss.

Time seemed to melt away, the longer you laid there, kissing and cuddling and laughing softly every time one of you had to separate long enough to breathe, and after a while, Hela drew back, expression a little more serious as she brushed the backs of her fingers down your cheek gently.

“…I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, no. A divorce? On our anniversary?” You said it only to be funny, and Hela did laugh a bit, but she shook her head.

“Gods, no, not a divorce. I don’t think I could live if I didn’t get to have you by my side every single day.”

You smiled softly, and reached to hold her hand in yours, threading your fingers together and kissing her knuckles before looking back up at her. “…what, then?”

Hela was quiet for a moment, and you could tell she was gathering her thoughts and figuring out how to say what she wanted to say, and you let her take her time, watching her softly.

“…we’ve been together for some time now, and… we’re steady, and we have stable work, and money in a savings account.”

You nodded along, but couldn’t help but feel a little confused as to why Hela was bringing something like that up, but you remained silent, letting Hela continue her train of thought.

After a long moment of just looking at you, like she was looking for some sort of sign that she needed to continue, she smiled softly, squeezing your hand gently.

“…I want to have a baby with you.”

“….what?” You weren’t opposed to the idea, not by any means, and you couldn’t help the small little smile that crept up as you watched Hela gently, falling in love with how nervous and excited she managed to look all at once.

“I’ve seen the way you are, with Thor’s kids, and… and you’ve talked about what it might be like to have them before, and I know you want them, even if you’ve never said so in as many words. And I just…” She huffed out a shy little laugh, gaze going distant as she pictured the future. “I can’t stop thinking of getting to hold a tiny little girl that looks exactly like you, or… or a little boy that has your hair and your eyes, and your smile… I never thought of myself as the motherly type, but… I can’t express how much I want to do this with you.”

The longer Hela rambled, the more your heart absolutely melted, and by the time you finished speaking, you couldn’t tell if your eyes were watering because you were smiling so hard or because seeing Hela be so open and honest with you still made you so emotional, and all you could do was nod, laughing a bit.

“…okay.”

Hela smiled, as well, though she still looked a little worried that you were agreeing only to shut her up. “…okay?”

“Yeah, I mean… You’re right. I’ve wanted kids since I was a kid… I know my mom’s told you that story about how I told her an angel had visited me when I was four and told me I would have a daughter in the future. Though, I can't imagine she expected it would be like this.” You brought your hands up so that you could press a kiss to her knuckles again, smiling softly up at her. “Hela… nothing would make me happier than to have a baby with you. Maybe two, if we decide the first one isn’t enough. And I know the idea of childbirth isn’t thrilling to you, so I wouldn’t even be mad if I’m the one that has all of them.”

Hela only smiled, reaching a hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear before kissing you gently. “…we’ll have time to figure all of that out later, I promise. I just… I want to do this with you. I need to.”

The way she spoke so earnestly had your stomach turning flip-flops in the best way, and you just had to kiss her again, keeping your fingers laced through hers as you cuddled up.

“…I love you, so much. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I can’t wait to do this with you. Together.”

Hela smiled, and squeezed your hand, nuzzling her nose against yours as you both closed your eyes.

“Together.”

You hummed softly, content to stay close to Hela as you held each other. “…best anniversary gift ever.”

Hela only kissed you sweetly in response.

[drethanramslay]

i would like to request 18 & 56 for ian x mc if you wanna write it🥺👉🏼👈🏼

Thanks for the ask @raleigheffingcarrera ❤️❤️

You can find the prompt list here.

#18- “Do you own anything that isn’t a woollen jumper?”

#56-“I don’t think i’ve ever see you without a book in your hand…”

Word count: 2.1 K (fuck that is longer that I thought it would be)

Author's note: okay so this is my first time writing Ian X mc and I hope it lives up to your expectations 😅

And also I have changed the MC's character a little because let's agree.. um qb MC is creepy🤢

Forgive me if I make any mistakes and I hope you like it ❤️

Falling like the stars

Bianca sat on one of the tables in the almost empty quad, studying. Sure, she was part of 'the Elite' and climbing the popularity charts but being a straight A student for most of her academic career would never remove the nerd in her.

Fall was around the corner, so the trees were a burst of red, orange and green. The leaves rustled with the wind and the setting sun casted long shadows on the ground. The birds chirped and the sky was a hue of reds and pinks, making the entire place look so serene.

There used to have such pretty sunsets back home. Bianca thought, swimming in nostalgia.

Shaking her head, she dived back into her notes, several books open around her as she resumed writing.

It went on like that for an hour before she heard laughter and chatter from the other end of the quad. Students filed out of the anthropology class.

Must be the class which Ian set up for the people who failed the mock test. Bianca mused to herself.

As the students poured out, her eyes kept on flitting to the entrance, waiting for him to come out.

God, just how whipped are you?

Whenever she thought about her past interactions with Ian, she would mentally face palm.

She wanted to bang her head at how cringy and dumb she acted around him. She wanted to be smooth, but she would come across as a creep. She wanted to come across as understanding, but she would come across as pressurising. She wanted to come across as caring, but she ended up being overbearing.

Ian was such a sweetheart that he would brush of the comments but seeing the discomfort in his eyes made her want to curl up into a ball and die.

She just couldn't understand how she manage to fuck up everytime. Sure she was good at flirting with both guys and girls but, that was just mindless fun. Just a mutual exchange.

But with Ian, it was different. Ian was not the kind of guy you could just add to a list of hook ups. He was the kind of guy you could have long conversations and not get bored. He is the kind of guy who would listen to your problems and guide you. He is the kind of guy you could call at 3 am and he would come over to be by your side as you cry.

He is the kind of guy you could fall in love with.

And those guys were dangerous. If you fell for him, your life would never be the same, take it however you want.

Yet... She found herself doing the exact opposite of what she promised herself to not do.

Fall for her anthropology professor.

She saw Ian exit the classroom, his laptop in hand. She observed his outfit and it was the usual he wore. Tie, woollen jumper (for it was chilly), formal pants and brown Oxfords.

Does he own anything that isn't a woollen jumper?

She saw him talk to a couple of students before bidding them good night.

Look away Hughes. Look away before-

His eyes snapped to hers, as if he had an inbuilt radar.

-he sees you.

Blushing and caught in the act, she raised her hand and sent a small wave. He gave a grin and started walking towards her.

Shit shit shit. He is coming here what do I do?

Be yourself. He inner voice said, which sounded eerily like Zoey's.

Be myself? What kind of dumb advice is that.

She looked down at her notes, her voluminous curls covering her face praying to God, that she doesn't fuck up this time.

"In the entirety of this week, I don't think I've seen you without a book in your hand..." Ian spoke up, an amused grin on his face.

Twirling her pen she spoke. "Well there is a saying- No matter what clothes you wear, you can't shake out the nerd in you."

"Let me guess, its a quote which you came up on the spot."

Shooting an embarassing grim she spoke. "Guilty as charged. There is a reason I'm not majoring in Lit."

They both chuckled. Cupping her face in her hand she said, "You look awfully cheery today."

"Obviously, it's the weekend and I'm not going to have to deal with students and faculty for 48 hours."

Giving her books a stink eye she sighed. "I wish I could get out. I'm just so done with everyone."

"Why is that? Aren't you like Miss Popular now? Where are your friends?"

"They aren't-" stopping abruptly she sighed and played with her hands on the table.

Ian reached and squeezed one of her hands which had her looking up to see kind dark eyes stare back at her. "Something's bothering you. Do you wanna talk about it? I'm a good listener."

Her heart leaped but her notes glared back at her. "I would love to but I have to study."

"Yeah, I know that. But I also know that you should not burn yourself out. When was the last break you took? Or the last time you are?"

Silence.

"Well that answers my concerns. C'mon I know this food truck with delicious giant burritos."

Closing her book shuts and placing her pens into her pouch she stood up and stretched. Ian's eyes narrowed on to the exposed skin of her torso.

Ian, calm down. Don't stare at her like you want to fuck her. She is your student and you are the professor. He chanted to himself before helping her close her books.

Placing the books in her satchel, she threw the strap over her shoulder. "Okay. I won't turn down a giant burrito. But we will need to come back in an hour and half."

"Deal."

"This guy is a culinary genius. I used to come here to eat when I first shifted to NYC. They are so big-"

————————————————————————————-

"Oh god this smells sooo good." Bianca said as they stood in line for the food truck.

"That's what she said." Bianca snickered to which Ian gave an unamused expression.

She shrugged and gave an unbiased grin. "What? I saw the opportunity and I just couldn't let it slide."

"I swear you need Jesus." Ian muttered under his breath before stepping forward to place their order.

"Here, let me pay-" Bianca said as she reached for her purse but, was stopped by Ian grasping her wrist and shaking his head.

"It's my 'good luck for your exams' treat for you."

Bianca looked down, a shy smiling on her face.

Why do I get so flustered around him?

Taking their food, they walked further into the park and sat on a bench facing a small pond.

Unwrapping her burrito eagerly, she took a big bite and groaned as the spicy flavours burst into her mouth. "This is sho goofff." She said with her mouth full.

"Told you it would be worth it. " Ian said as he took a sip of his coke.

Gulping she smiled. "Never doubted you for a second."

"Wait you have something...here." Ian reached forward to wipe the sauce at the edge of her mouth with his thumb which left an onslaught of butterflies in her tummy.

Thank god it's dark and he can't see my cheeks.

They continued to eat in a comfortable silence before Ian spoke up. "So, are you ready to tell me what's bothering you?"

Swallowing her bite, she sighed. "It's just... I'm exhausted."

"Is it about your exams?"

"Nope. I love studying as dorky as it sounds. It's my only escape. But... I'm tired of everything else, y'know?"

"Is it about 'the T'? Poppy? The popularity hierarchy here?"

She scoffed as she agressively took a bite of her burrito. "Try all of the above."

Turning towards him, she spoke, her forehead furrowed with annoyance. "Do you how shitty this entire charade is? It feels like I'm in the fuckin Hunger games over here. I never gave a damn about how popular I am or how feminine I need to look or what kind of threads I need to wear to impress people. I am a 'band tee, shirts and Vans' kinda girl but here I am wearing-" she pointed at her black woollen turtle neck, her pleated skirt and knee length boots "- THIS! My mom would be shocked that I actually am wearing a skirt."

"I think you look beautiful." The compliment slipped out of his mouth without him even realizing.

His eyes widened after a moment. "I-" he began but he was stopped short by Bianca shaking her head and squeezing his arm in gratitude.

"Thank you Ian. But coming back to the topic, this is straight something out of mean girls and it's so unnatural. Hell, in my previous college everyone was too stressed and depressed to bother about this... This popularity contest!"

"Yep. That's Belvoire for you. Where the rich will trample over the poor." Sarcasm dripping off his lips which had Bianca chuckling.

Raising their coke bottles they clinged to each others. "I will drink to that."

Taking a sip, they both gazed at the water. The night sky reflected in it which made the entire place look magical. After sometime, Bianca spoke up. "I am not liking how it's changing me."

Ian turned towards her, their knees brushing against each other. Ian exercised his absolute control and willpower to not look down at the expanse of her legs.

"Care to elaborate?"

Letting out a humourless laugh she continued. "When I was accepted to Belvoire, I thought it would open up so many new opportunities. The exposure and knowledge would help me sharpen my skills. The various job offers and the placement deals... The list could go on and on."

Looking down at her almost finsihed burrito, she sighed. "But it's just opened up doors to manipulation, deceit and savageness."

Sighing, Ian gazed into the distance. "Well that is the funny thing about these elite schools. They promise you dreams but tell you you aren't good enough the moment you enter. They promise you hope that life will turn around but tell you that you are destined to your old ways. At the end of this torment, you are so way off from your morals. It's a paradox which I hate."

"Exactly!! And see, I'm assertive, I don't take shit from anyone and I won't hesitate to give it back to a bully. But, that became an invitation for people to see me as someone who would dethrone Poppy. It's tremendous pressure and Zoey has taken up the job of being some, marketing manager, trying to sell this brand called 'Bianca Hughes'. I love that girl but damn... I didn't sign up for this."

Ian wiped his mouth before continuing. "Sorry if this come across as crass, but I have noticed how you bask in the constant fawning and how most of the campus is head over heels in love."

"Well, I also have years of drama classes under the belt. It's all an act Ian. I am in this constant state of turned on and I am not able to turn it off."

Ian eyes bugged out and Bianca turned red after she realized what she said. "I didn't mean it in the sex way I meant it- argh!" She smacked her hand on her forehead.

Chuckling Ian squeezed her shoulder. "No I get it. You have been putting up a facade of someone you aren't and that would, of course be tiring. Years of staying here in the Big Apple and till this day, I wonder how far have I gone from the wide eyed boy who grew up in the suburbs. Would he be proud of what I have accomplished? Or be ashamed of how I have deviated from my morals?"

She shot a smile his way. "Well I think he would be proud. Despite how much the people around here drag you down, you are one of the most genuine people I have come across in this jungle filled with snakes. It feels nice that I have someone I can talk to about mundane problems without being judged, y'know?"

Ian smiled back at her and squeezed her hand. "Me too. I care about you and I am always here to listen to your problems and guide you. You are unique and don't let this entire ordeal take that away from you."

"Thank you Ian. I really appreciate it."

They got and threw the trash into the adjacent garbage as they started heading back for campus.

"Ian?"

"Yeah Bianca?" Ian turned towards her, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"I'm sorry if I come to hard on you. I don't do it on purpose, I swear! It's just - oof all my words get muddled up due to my feelings and I end up embarassing myself and making you uncomfortable."

He chuckled as he tucked her hair behind her ear, his gaze flitting to her brown orbs. "It's okay Bianca. People do crazy things when they have crush-itis."

"Lemme guess, you came up with that disease right now."

"Just like you did with that quote. Remind me again, what was it? No matter what clothes-"

She cut him off by lightly shoving him "Shut up." But he just continued laughing.

"You are annoying." She grumbled.

"But you still like me." He said as he nudged her shoulder.

That I do...

Ian X MC: @lucy-268 @ethandaddyramsey @noboundariesplease @hyperlightgrifter @mals-chesthair @theodorepjames4 @edgiestwinter @findmeafterlife @magicalshepherdtreeprofessor @ohramsey

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[teamdoubleoh]

Q’s nephew

(Vaguely) based on this post by @needacuppa and @midrashic ‘s dialogue prompt. (technically) featuring @caffeinatedflummadiddlebutmerlin ‘s non-binary Merlin bc I like to see myself represented.

wordcount: 2312

Beware: Q is Holmes and has a fourth sibling, like in all my other fics bc I love consistency and Merlin.

TL:TR James thinks Q is married, Q thinks sleep is overrated and Mordred is very not-amused that James thinks Q is straight.

Q woke up in at 03:08 am because there was someone in his flat.

Someone other than himself, Mordred, Turing and Hawking. Q silently prayed that whoever it was could be killed quietly, so the cats wouldn’t wake.

He kept his eyes closed and listened. He could tell the someone wasn't moving, even though the door to the living room was shut. He turned his head to the bedside table, where his phone and glasses were sitting. He reached out, carefully avoiding to make any noise, put on his glasses, unlocked the phone and and logged into his security feed.

Apparently the intruder had had the decency to enter the flat trough the front door, which was a feat in itself.

Q selected the camera the monitored the door and went through the timeline. The feed was monotonous until two minutes ago, when a figure had walked up to the camera and opened the door with a key. Before entering the figure looked around, exposing their face to Q’s camera.

It was Bond. Who else would manage to steal acquire a key to his flat and show up in the middle of the night.

Q sighed and slipped out from under his comforter. He then reached under the bedside table where one of his personal guns was located and slipped it into the waistband of his pyjamas. He knew the double ohs well enough to know that taking a gun would be the best course of action.

Now armed, he opened the bedroom door. "Bond. What are you doing in my living room."

Bond was sitting on the couch, illuminated by the light of a half-moon that shone through the window. "Q! how nice to see you, what a coincidence."

"You've gotten yourself injured and the best thing you can think of is to break into my flat. Hospitals exist, you know that right?"

"Oh Q, I missed you. How did you know I was injured?"

"Posture." Q sighed.

"Ok, thats fair. You don't happen to have a bandaid or twenty lying around, do you?"  

Q sighed deeply and went to retrieve the MI6 issued medi-kit from under the bathroom sink. "Over here Bond. I don't want any stains on my couch."  

Bond stood and even in the relative darkness of the room Q could tell that it was a painful endeavour. Not a grazing shot then. Q searched the medi-kit for needle and thread. Bond sat down on the tiled floor, already pulling up his shirt over his left hip, where the bullet had dug into the flesh but had luckily been stopped by the hip bone.

Apparently the shot had been long distance, which would make the surgery relatively easy. Bond groaned when Q poured disinfectant over the wound.

"Honestly, Q. There is an intruder in your flat and you’re not even armed. What do they even teach you in basic training anymore."

Instead of answering Q pressed down a cotton swab on the bullethole and pulled out his P99 from his waistband.

"...Touché"

"Now if you'd be so kind and refrain from talking. You’re not making this any easier for either of us and I swear to god, if your noise wakes the cats or Mordred I'll-"

"Too late for that." Came a sleepy voice from the living room.

Bond was already half on his feet, trying to shield Q with his body, before Q could stop him.

"Hi. I'm Mordred." The boy, he could’t be older than 17, waved sluggish.

Bond looked hesitant but slowly sat back down again.

Q pinched the bridge of his nose with his unbloodied hand.

Bond smirked. "Didn't know you were the 'married with kids' kind of person."

"You do realise I can kill you, 007."

Bond looked stunned at the mention of his designation. he looked from Q to the kid and back to the quartermaster. "Uh, Q..."

"What."Q snapped.  

If the Quartermaster wanted to throw around his top secret designation so be it. Q knew what he was doing.

"...Nevermind."

"I don't think he wants me here. "the kid murmured turning away, obviously still half asleep. "I'll go back to bed."

Q sighed. "Now that’s is some good thinking. Bond, hold still." he picked the pair of tweezers. "This might hurt a tad."

Somehow James ended up in Q’s bed. With a very disgruntled Quartermaster in it. 007, being himself, couldn't resist commenting. "If you wanted to get me into bed, you should have just asked, Q. I mean I don't usually go for married people when off mission, but I'll make an exception for you."

"Shut up or I'll put you on the couch."

"Pray tell, if I’m annoying you so bad, why am I not already there? Should I inform the other agents that you're secretly concerned about our well being or do just like me?"

"That couch was my mothers, and she is ready to maim anyone who leaves stains on it."

"...Stains, huh? Got it. Thats the no-fun zone."

"You should know that I am also ready to maim anyone who keeps me from sleeping."

"Good night, Q"

Bond woke at 6:38 am precisely.

Someone was working in the kitchen, and since the bed was empty, save himself, it was probably Q. Or his son, apparently. Come to think of it, if Q was married and had a son, where was his wife?

The smell of toast and freshly brewed earl grey wavered into the bedroom and James decided that those were questions for another time.

The kitchen was, to Bonds surprise, well stocked and maintained.

He wouldn't have pegged Q for the cooking type but he hadn't pegged Q for the married-with-kids type either so that was that.

Q was just pouring a mug of tea when James limped in. The boy - Mordred, what a peculiar name - was sitting on a stool, nursing his own tea.

In the light of day his dark brown hair seemed to be a similar shade as Q's, while his pale blue eyes were a little unnerving, but that could be a side effect of him being a teenager. Everyone knew teenagers were dangerous creatures as they didn't need sleep and had fatal levels of cynicism, sarcasm and caffeine running through their veins.

Q handed James a mug of steaming tea, which tore him out of his staring.

"You should sit down." Q advised, pointing towards a kitchen table with three mismatched chairs. "And you should go to medical. I'm head of Q branch not a doctor." He hesitated for a second. "Well I am a doctor, just not of medicine. My point is: get that checked out, or I'll kill you."

"Aw don’t worry, I will, or it might kill me first."

"As if you wouldn't just come back from the dead to just to annoy me, hm 007?" Q smiled sweetly, something dangerous lacing his tone.

"I have before, I could do it again. Given a good enough reason." Bond eyed Q provocatively up and down.

Q just sighed and turned to take the slices of toast out of the toaster, placing them on a plate. "I assume you will join me on my way to work, seeing as your flat is on the way and you need to stop there for new clothes?"

Bond looked down at himself. He was wearing his boxer briefs and a tee shirt that definitely wasn't his. Since there was as science pun on it, he was pretty sure it was Q's.

“Yeah.... that might be a good idea.” James mused and went to find his slacks.

***

“So, what kind of a name is ‘Mordred’ anyway?” Bond asked the boy some months later.

He had broken in again and again and at some point Q had given in and made him his own key, which only made Bond come by more often.

Now he was sitting on the no-stains-allowed couch, enjoying a cup of perfectly brewed Rooibos tea he had gifted Q a few weeks prior. Mordred, currently located in the kitchen, was busy making dinner for himself and Q, who was still at Q-branch handling 009′s Washington mission.

Mordred, who rarely ever talked, much less with Bond, kept dicing onions and garlic. After half a minute of silence, just when James thought he might never get an answer, the boy opened his mouth. “It’s from the Arthurian legends. According to the popular legends Mordred was Arthur’s son.”

“You say ‘popular’ like you know better...”

“Well-” Mordred smiled ever so slightly. “-I know Arthur is my uncle.”

James grinned. “Is your mother a historian by any chance?”

Mordred shook his head and turned his attention back to the stove. “My mother is a PA. But her name is Morgause and her half sister is called Morgana - you know, like, from the Legends? -, so she thought it would be funny.”

James smiled and emptied his cup. Now that was something he could tease Q about.

Q chose that exact moment to stumble in through the door. He looked like he was dead on his feet. His tie was askew and his hair ruffled. He closed the door behind him, hung his parka on the mantle piece and placed his messenger bag on a nearby drawer, but his movements were that of someone who was kept awake only be caffeine and spite.

By the time he reached the living room his eyes where almost completely shut. He dropped down on the couch where James was still sitting, but Bond just steadied him as Q slumped against him.

“James?”

“Hello dear Quartermaster. You do know that sleep is essential for your personal health, right?”

Q only groaned and closed his eyes.

***

Four hours later Q woke to the smell of pasta and the clinking of cutlery being placed on a table. He sat up and opened his eyes, but everything was blurry. He groaned. Someone entered the living room.

“James?”

“No this is Patrick.” James answered deadpan. “Honestly Q, I thought you were supposed to be smart!”

“Firstly, You took my glasses. You should be glad I can distinguish you from Mordred right now. Secondly, why are you quoting Sponge bob at me?” Q asked in a tone that made it very clear that he was ready to murder someone or just fall asleep again at any moment.

“...Oh, yeah. I forgot about the glasses. You look adorable with out them, I have to say. Here you go--” James care fully placed Q’s glasses on his nose.

Q blinked twice and waited for his eyes to focus again. Right in front of him was James, smiling widely. Q shrunk back and tried to stand up in an effort to hide the slight blush on his cheeks.

“So. Why were you quoting sponge bob again?”

James took a step forward and held Q on his upper arms so he wouldn’t keel over. “I don’t know what Sponge bob is but that’s what Mordred sat to me when  I ran into him in the city the other day.”

Q rubbed his forehead. “Ah yes, he does that. And here I was, thinking you knew what memes were.”

“Whats a meme?”

***

Mordred cooking, James decided, was divine.

“You should become a Chef.” James mused, after finishing his third plate of Aglio olio and fourth glass of wine.

“How about I finish school first.” Mordred aswered snarkily.

Q snorted. “Aren’t you planning on becoming a pharmacist or bodyguard?”

James shook his head in confusion. “How are those two even related.”

Mordred looked at him weirdly.” They're not.”

“Then why would you? ...nevermind.”

Q rolled his eyes. “Mordred is interning with my uncle Gaius whose a Apothecary. if He’s good enough when Gaius retires he could have a change at taking, over like I did.”

“last I checked you were running Q-branch...”

“-and before me uncle Boothroyd was Q.”

James turned to Q. “Boothroyd was your uncle? That explains... so much.”

Mordred sighed. “could you leave the flirting till I'm back in my room.”

Q sat up straight. “He wasn’t flirting.”

“I was.”

“Since when?”

“Since before I broke into your flat. But sadly you’re faithful and straight and all that crap.”

Mordred let his head fall into his hands. “Here we go...” he muttered under his breath.

“And who would I be faithful to, exactly?”

“Your wife?”

“My--?” Q sputtered.

“Mordred’s mother?”

“Wait, you thought I was

straight

?”

Mordred raised his hand. “You do know I’m not actually Q’s son, right?”

James turned to Mordred. “Wait, what?”

Q looked almost gleeful as he explained. “Mordred is my sibling’s... .” Q turned to Mordred. “What do they call you?”

“Mostly ‘a baby’”

“No, no there was something else...”

“Lovechild? Morgause-spawn? Heir to the throne?”

“They really call you that?”

“I don’t have a second name, so they had to improvise when they were angry.”

Q shrugged. “Well, point stands. Mordred isn’t my son. He lives with me because he’s kind of my siblings adopted son? But he can’t live with them and their husband and apparently I can’t take care of my self or something--” the last part was muttered. “--So he lives with me.”

Mordred was staring at James wide eyed. “Wait. You thought I was Q’s son? Honestly? Q? Your Gaydar is BLOODY SHITE. YURUSENAI!”

James flinched and faced Q, who was rolling his eyes at Mordred. “Translation please?”

Q smirked at him. “He says your ability to build context about inter person relations and read peoples attractions is rather bad and that he won’t forgive you for thinking he was blood related to me.” Q paused. “I would be rather offended by that last statement if it wasn’t for the blatant sarcasm.”

James smiled dreamily. “This is why I love you.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Mordred took a sip of his water. “He said he loved you.”

[gumnut-logic]

Test Flight (Part 2/2)

From here.

This one fought me tooth and nail. Three times I started this chapter and it shows.

But many thanks to @scribbles97​ for the poke in the right direction and for listening to my whinging.

This fic was for @tinglingsquidsense​ with the prompt ‘Scott and Butterflies’. I think I probably should have just settled for him lying in a field of flowers and watching the insects doing their pollination thing, but eh, muse does what it likes. Hope you enjoy it anyway ::hugs::

Timeline: Season 2

Spoilers and warnings: Very minor season 3, a little angst and brother butt kicking.

This bit 1699 words. Prompt list can be found here.

-o-o-o-

The wind came up that evening. Not strong, but blustery, enough to cover the ocean in whitecaps and to rattle the palm trees.

Scott emerged from his mandatory confinement just as the sun was making its way towards the horizon. Walking across the comms room to his father’s desk, his whole body creaked.

Being slammed into his harness as Thunderbird Two snatched the pod from its fall hadn’t been fun. He rolled first one shoulder and then the other.

Virgil had been beside himself.

As he reached the desk, Scott placed one palm flat on its smooth surface. Touching it felt like he was connecting with Dad. Like if he stayed in contact with the wood long enough, he could absorb his father’s wisdom through the laminate.

Dad, what do I do?

It was a question he had asked the empty desk so many times.

Two had grappled the pod from the sky before it could hit the ocean and immediately flown back to the Island, gently depositing the crippled flyer on the runway.

His brother then set his ‘bird to a hover and rappelled down to check on Scott.

Virgil had been inconsolable.

He saw the whole incident as a personal failure. He had signed off a test flight that, in his words, could have gotten his brother killed.

Scott just shrugged it off and said it had been fun while it lasted.

The silent aghast in those brown eyes had shut him up pretty quickly. His brother then proceeded to scan him within an inch of his life in the infirmary and on finding the harness bruises had sent him to his room for the afternoon under threat of Grandma.

Scott had been of the mind to ignore Virgil, after all he wasn’t hurt that bad, but there had been something in his brother’s eyes. So, he had complied.

The room was eerily quiet except for the stiff breeze outside. A tap on the desk and his brothers’ locations sprang onto a holographic map. Gordon and Alan were holed up in the theatre and Scott remembered that it was Buddy and Ellie day. A frown and he considered checking up to make sure Alan wasn’t tied to a chair or something.

Brains was in his lab, Grandma was with Kayo in Auckland - they wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. John’s icon sat beside the display with its usual gold flare indicating his presence on Five.

That left Virgil, but really, he didn’t need a map to find his brother. He was exactly where Scott knew he would be.

A sigh and swipe of his hand killed the locator hologram. Edging around the desk he sat down heavily, leant his elbows on the desk and let his head fall into his hands.

His shoulders yelled at him, but he ignored them.

Dad, how do you console a brother who cares too much?

Virgil had been so excited about this new pod design. Brains had put together several ideas, but it was Virgil who chose which one to go ahead with. Scott had found him hovering over the specs for it several times during development. At one point, he had had to drag a dirt coated, exhausted brother away from a discussion with Brains about that exact subject. The man had been dead on his feet after three nasty rescues in a row, but had still found the energy to spout engineering terms all over the room.

The fact that he had then protested by throwing more of those engineering terms at Scott just proved how much he needed sleep.

Scott sighed. His brother was passionate.

Okay, Dad, damage control. He pushed himself up and out of the chair with a godawful creak.

Ouch.

-o-o-o-

As expected, Virgil was down in the hangars. But unexpectedly, he wasn’t working.

Scott frowned as he approached his brother from behind. The engineer was sitting on the hard concrete floor, elbows on knees, head in his hands in front of the remains of the crumpled red-winged flyer.

“Virgil, you okay?”

His brother startled and a pair of strained brown eyes turned to stare at him.

“Fine.” A grubby hand was pushed through Virgil’s hair. An aggravated exhale. “The pod’s a bust.”

“Hey, don’t let one failed test flight get you down. Find the problem, fix it and we can give it another go.”

“Did. Can’t.” Virgil unfolded from the floor and pushed himself to his feet. “The problem is a terminal one. This design is not going to work. And I should have seen it coming.”

Scott blinked. “What?”

His brother began picking up tools and packing them away. “The cahelium thread in the wings develops a charge as it moves through atmosphere.”

“Yes, even I know that.”

“Yeah, well, it couldn’t be discharged safely. Today’s incident fried every computer component in the pod.”

“What?”

His brother glanced at him before returning to tidying up around the wreck. “It’s not going to work, Scott. We’re back to the drawing board.” A clatter as a spanner was dropped. His brother bent to retrieve it.

“Are you sure?”

Virgil straightened and glared. “What? Did you miss the fact I almost got you killed?”

Scott sighed, but then... “Uh, yes, I did. Because I wasn’t in any danger.”

Brown eyes continued to glare at him.

So, he pushed his point. “You think you wouldn’t have caught me?”

“Of course, I could have missed!”

Scott’s snort was pure scoff. “Sure. Say you did. Say there was a micro-chance that your experienced hands slipped and missed and I did fall into the ocean. Gordon would have caught me. That is why we have a team for testing.”

“You shouldn’t have fallen at all! It was an obvious error and I missed it!” Virgil took a step forward. “It was a pathetic mistake!”

Scott stared at his brother. The man was furious, obviously with himself. “What about Brains?”

That made Virgil take a step back.

“You weren’t the only one on this project. What did Brains have to say about it?”

Virgil fell silent and his head dropped to star at his boots. “This isn’t about Brains. This is about me and my screw up.”

“You’re allowed to make mistakes! Dad-“

“Dad didn’t!” Virgil rounded on him. “Dad and Brains worked together on this project and look at all they achieved!” He flung out a hand to encompass the entire hangar. “I’m the only factor in this equation that has changed, Scott. I guess I’m not the chip off the old block I need to be!”

Scott stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

Virgil returned the stare. “What? You think you’re the only one who wants to follow in Dad’s footsteps? I may not be the pilot you are, but he was still my father. I just...wish...” But his shoulders dropped. “You know what, forget it. Forget the whole thing.” Virgil spun around and began to stalk away.

He honestly could not believe this. Scott straightened, projecting his voice. “You’re wrong, Virgil.” Every word reflected his absolute certainty. “You don’t take after Dad.” A swallow. “You’re stronger than that.”

That stopped his brother in his tracks. Virgil turned around to stare at him.

And Scott followed it through. “You take after Mom.”

-o-o-o-

His eldest brother never looked more like his father than he did in that moment. He resembled Jeff Tracy in look, stance and determination. Part of Virgil couldn’t help but react with defeat because he knew it wasn’t in him. He wasn’t Scott. He had at least thought he had his engineering, but apparently, he couldn’t make the grade there either.

But his mother?

He continued to stare at Scott.

His brother clenched and unclenched his fists. “Do you have any idea how much you look and act like Mom?”

Well, yeah, it was obvious...and part of the reason why he was so desperately looking for a piece of his father in him. He held up his hands. “Yeah, so?”

“Do you have any idea how I wish I had a trace of her in me? You look like her, you have her artistic talents...for goodness sake, Virgil, she was an engineer! I look to Dad because he is what I understand, what I’m made for. You? You are Mom.” An exhaled breath and Scott’s tone softened. “Have you ever considered why Dad achieved so much? He didn’t do it by himself. Mom wasn’t one for celebrity, she had her preferences and mostly kept herself behind the scenes...sound like someone we both know?” Scott looked down at his hands before looking back at Virgil, his voice quiet. “I will admit that I follow Dad and I have encouraged all of you to do the same. But Virg, don’t discount Mom’s strength. It’s the same as yours.”

Virgil was still staring. Scott had always been all about Dad. He rarely mentioned their mother. Virgil had assumed it was a symptom of grief and maybe it was, but...something glinted in the blue of Scott’s eyes. His brother managed to straighten even more.

“So, we still need a Mars pod.” He raised an eyebrow. “What does my Field Engineer want to do?”

Virgil couldn’t help but straighten in response. He had always been so proud of his older brother. Had always looked up to him, followed him around like a lost puppy at school. Where Dad was Scott’s hero, Scott had become Virgil’s.

And if Dad was Scott’s hero, then Virgil must be more like Dad.

But he was more like Mom. He remembered soft words, long dark hair and eyes like his own. Her piano which was now his and the help she gave him with his math homework.

Something small bloomed in his chest. He was a Tracy, but he was also a Taylor.

And Taylors were traditionally a stubborn bunch.

He caught his brother’s eyes. “We need a new design.”

“Well, if a butterfly didn’t work, pick another insect.” Scott shrugged. “How about something with a little more speed? Like a wasp or a bee?”

Typical. Virgil felt his shoulders relax just a little and an idea came to mind. Okay. “How about a dragonfly?”

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[fmdxyoungjoo]

hi, so this is an offering for all four of my muses for the event post for any potential threads (especially the ones with prompts!) please press the like or directly message me if you’d like to plot for the event be it on discord or on joo’s tumblr right here.

youngjoo:

silhouette will be performing sixth sense, and joo’s voice isn’t exactly in the best condition for the high note in sixth sense ( potential thread for 3rd prompt) [dec 25th]

joo draws the red card and is part of the decorations team but everyone has forgotten how much of a two left feet + accident prone she is ( potential thread for 1st prompt) [dec 25th]

joo @ the holiday ball probably in a bath robe lmfao because there’s too many people for a swimsuit show [ dec 25th ;7pm to 11pm ]

dec 27th: she’s probably tired enough to just spend the entire day on the cruise ship so she’s free the entire day in her rooms here

dec 28th: joo is with the red team again and is working in the kitchens and thank god she’s not that bad at cooking in fact she’s actually good at it lmao the rest of the day she will be preparing for the concert with silhouette and being on stage before returning, probably exhausted by the end of things

dec 29th: she’s free the entire day, find her at the pool dipping her feet in the water because its hot, or in her rooms, probably catching up with sleep or working on her music because she plans to put out an album once more

dec 30th: this time she’s lucky to get the blue card and she’s going to get that free massage (pls her body is probably aching at this point lmfao) & pampering herself with that french fine dining

dec 31st : early in the day she’s with silhouette girls, preparing for the concert. the new year eve’s party she’s probably going to let loose a little so a tipsy joo might make an appearance....yeah...i’ll think on that again a drunk joo is a really...sigh. if anyone wants to find her, she will be there probably alone and drinking by herself slowly while admiring the night sky.

jan 1st : she will be at the fansign at the theatre with the rest of silhouette, waiting for her turn after 7rophy, and probably brushing shoulders with BEE since they’re up next for the fansign. the rest of the day is shopping in busan, probably going round to find little joys in eating (yeah yeah yeah she’s craving street food whatcha gonna do about it 😤

artemisia / sia :

lipstick is going to be performing news, wild and lil’ touch and knowing sia she would probably either be late / lost somewhere in the ship / sleeping  in the most unexpected places. the loud sounds of the rehearsals are also going to or probably might get to her, and some might find her hiding away hands over her ears trying to re-balance her disorientation and sensory overload. she might run / brisk walk off the stage mid-practice because of it as well. 

the same night she’s performing with lipstick, but the rest of the whole time for the concert she’s going to be having a good pair of earplugs in her ears--misunderstandings could occur because she’s not very good at reading lips. 

dec 26: she gets lucky and draws a blue card. fits her perfectly, probably spends the rest of the day lying dazedly on the benches next to the swimming pool, or just lazy enough to get into the water, and just lie down and float. actually. she might even fall asleep while floating, based on what i know of her personality. in that case someone pls..wake her.

the swimming pool thing might also cause some fun in threads because sia could have walked out of the swimming pool without caring if her hair was all over her face (its probably grown to mid chest by now), and coming across her with wet hair across her face trudging round the corner can be quite horrifying

the same night she’s going to grab food, drinks for the holiday ball and spend her time trying to find a spot where no one comes round. maybe you come across her because you’re trying to hide too

dec 27: free day on ship. great. she’s going to sleep. or blast music and work on her stuff. or play games. come hit her up and find out.

dec 28: she gets a yellow card and probably spends her time trying to sneak off and away from actually doing the mission because no, she doesn’t like animals, and yes, its because they’re too noisy. her ears hurt and her eyes hurt please spare her for a moment, or don’t and drag her back to do the mission. she rehearses with the rest of lipstick girls in the evening--good luck, someone from lipstick hear her rant about the animals in the afternoon and calm her frazzled soul 

dec 29: free day again. again, sleep, eat, blast music, work stuff, play games...come hit her up.

dec 30: she gets a yellow card again and is attempting to sneak and mingle with the blue team. maybe you are perceptive enough to catch the usually presentless her, or you don’t and she smoothly integrates herself into the team. if she succeeds, she’s going to the bar to celebrate which is rare in all honesty, we might get a drunk or tipsy sia who knows. or just plain sober sia. who knows.

dec 31st: again she’s with the lipstick girls in the morning, and at the new years’ eve party in the night. again, she’s trying to sneak food and drinks out so as not to mingle in the party. she will be attempting to ninja her way to the observation lounge. 

jan 1st: she will be at the fansign at the theatre, brushing shoulders with fuse girls and gal.actic girls at their fansigns. her fans usually bring her rather embarrassing little hats for her to wear that’s too big for her so you might come across her wearing those and shuffling out of the theatre or something. 

she’s going to honestly just walk around. mainly if there’s anything of musical interest that catches her attention, she will go for it. 

alyssia:

dec 25th: she’s going to be playfully getting ready with the rest of the bee girls for her performance, being the mood maker and the cheeky one she might purposely do some fun little antics to tease those around her and be playful with them

dec 26th: she get the red card and probably might cause more harm than good with decorations, though she’s pretty eager to help. who knows you might chance upon her getting caught in tinsel or entangled in the lights with no way to get out. the same night she’s going to be at the ball, probably eating and drinking and mingling with friendly people whilst being in the pool as well

dec 27th: free day out in taipei!! join her for street food!! she wants to eat all of the street food and shop at all the street markets she can find!! she especially wants to try the stinky tofu, so...good luck to anyone bringing her out she will insist on trying it lmfao

dec 28th: she gets the red card again :’) this time someone please make sure she doesn’t end up eating all the food she’s supposed to prepare. aly with cooking is always 85% eating and 15% cooking, she’s also not good at it at all so bear with her pls

dec 29th: she’s going to the card and game room, and the library, and the theatre and then the fitness centre she just wants to visit every place in the ship even though she doesn’t stay long in one place.

dec 30th: she gets the yellow card  and will try to mingle with the blue team. except..that she’s just generally bad at hiding her excitement ;;

dec 31st:  she’s probably eating at the ball, and then making a beeline for her room. by then she’s exhausted herself on the running energy for the past few days. she might fall asleep while eating, or doze while talking with someone

jan 1st: she’s going to brush shoulders with silhouette and lucid girls for the fansign at the theatre, and aly is known to be a bit wild when doing fansigns lmao so you might hear her hyping up the fans even while behind or waiting for your turn. aly energy at the beginning of the fanmeet: 150% , after the fanmeet: 150% and getting louder with bunny hats and flower crowns and just chattering non-stop (i’m sorry bee girls :’) she’s excited)

dojun:

dec 26: yeah, he’d rather be anywhere but rehearsing for alien. he’ll be distracted half the time or disappeared because he’s snuck away to watch over his gf. or he will aim to finish his rehearsal quickly and then go. 

he gets the yellow card and helps with the choreography of dance since its his niche. he’ll probably suggest some really cheer / hyped up songs that makes people feel like dancing upon hearing the song--that’s half the recipe of success he says.

holiday ball: do not disturb, thank you. he’s probably hovering somewhere close to his gf, watching over her and half heartedly talking to others. who knows you might see the warmer or actual side of him and not the dumb narcissistic side since he tends to be softer and more leaning towards his original personality when around his gf

dec 27: he’ll be at the fitness centre or the indoor pool, or you might not find him at all.

dec 28:. ...he gets a yellow card and will probably go around asking to exchange cards with others pls he’s kind terrified of the idea being around wild animals LOL animals remind him of his gf’s pets who detest him lmfao

dec 29: you won’t find him anywhere akjdgk this devoted person is off and away with his gf as secretly as he can

dec 30: he draws the red card. he hasn’t cleaned in a long ass time, but he’s willing to put in the effort as long as others do, and surprisingly you won’t see him complain but just diligently do his part.

dec 31: god he’s rehearsing with alien again. he’d honestly rather have time speed up in this part because his mind is preoccupied elsewhere. the new year’s eve party is going to be fun and blissful one, but he’s finally had the chance to fully relax and just be himself. maybe you’ll catch the flamboyant, loud ass prat version of him, or maybe the sentimental one. anyway, he’s staying up and finding his gf so that he can give her a new year’s kiss secretly because he’s romantic like that.

jan 1st: he will brush shoulders with origin members and decipher members, then appear at the theatre later on to watch from a distance and silently support silhouette. 

[soulflamesketches]

How about a Spider Noir fic with prompt #42? Him being unusually clingy, wanting cuddles and a bunch of kisses, of course the reader complies to his wishes, they have make out session, cuddle and end up falling asleep together.

Monochrome Teddy Bear (Spiderman Noir x Reader)

Author’s Notes: I think I made it a little angsty…. Apologies for taking so, so, so long to finish another request, there’s been a lot going on, I’ve complained and celebrated on this blog so I believe most of you know XD

Prompt: #42 “Stop being so cute.”

You wiped your hands, finally finished with washing the dishes after your solo dinner.

Those weren’t uncommon for you, but they still weren’t fun. All they did was make you worry for your partner. It filled your head with questions, such as;

‘Where was he?’

‘Is he okay?’

‘Is he hurt?’

You did your best to stay calm because you understood why he was doing what he was doing, it never stopped you from worrying for him. It always scared you that one day he wouldn’t come home. That you’d lose him like you did your parents. Tossing the tea towel on the counter, you sighed, scolding yourself for overthinking again.

Resting your forehead against the cold counter of your kitchen, you started to take slow breaths in and out, as your mother taught you to do when you were younger. It always worked when you were younger. Your heart rate started to settle down when you felt a hand place itself on your waist, causing you to jump and yelp, ready to punch your intruder.

“Woah! Woah! Doll! It’s just me!” Peter caught your wrist easily, but he still chuckled nervously. “Peter…” You growled, using your other hand to punch him in the shoulder. Peter rubbed his shoulder with one hand while the other was held up in mock surrender “Mercy, mercy. I can’t take anymore.” Peter gave a lazy smile as he feigned his pain. “If you think you’re funny, you’ve got another thing coming, bud,” You growled again, shaking your fist at him jokingly.

Peter rolled his eyes while he wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close, nuzzling his face into your neck. You returned the embrace without question, soaking up the warmth that he offered. Now, normally a hug wouldn’t last long between you two, but Peter wasn’t loosening his grip in the slightest. Trust me, you were not complaining! It was just unusual for him.

As much as Peter tried to be otherwise; he was a product of your time. This cold world did affect him, how couldn’t it? You knew he desired the love of family and you, but he was scared you would be gone. Just like Uncle Ben.

“Are you okay, Peter?” you whispered in his ear while running your fingers through his hair. He nods into your shoulder, his hold on you tightening slightly “I just missed you, doll,” He spoke into your shoulder, then pressing his lips to your neck. His lips then trailed up the skin of your neck, to your jawline, your cheeks and then the edge of your lips. A soft giggle escaped your lips as he did this and you could feel him smile against your skin in response.

“Stop being so cute” He murmured, his grey eyes boring into your own. His little warning caused you to raise an eyebrow with your mischievous smirk. “Me? Cute? Pfft! I’m not doing anything of the sort!” You feigned ignorance whilst you tilted your head away from him, but the movement was halted by Peter grabbing your face, resuming eye contact.

The swirling emotions that his eyes contained silenced you. A gentle smile etched its way onto your face as you reached up to hold his face in your hands, Peter immediately seeming to melt in their hold, his eyes closing in the process. Leaning forward, your hands moved to run through his dark hair as you pressed your lips to his. He let out a small moan as he tightened his arms around you and hauled you up onto the kitchen counter.

Holding the back of your knees, he pulled you closer, pressing his chest to yours while you continued to play with his hair. He held you like you would disappear if he released you for even a second. Tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his hands migrated from your legs to your waist, gently caressing the skin showing from your shirt riding up, earning him a small moan from you, causing him to part his lips to lick your bottom lip.

‘Always the gentlemen’ You mused to yourself, silently marvelling at this man that you have the honour to call your partner. But you were a little minx, so your lips were sealed. But you didn’t you have the chance to laugh at your mischievousness before you felt a small pinch at your love handles as well as hearing the growl of Peter as he did so. His tongue dove into your mouth as your lips parted, immediately rushing to claim the cavern for his own, wrapping the wet muscle around yours.

Your gasp turned into a high pitched moan at the sudden attack. Did you dare to tease the Spiderman? The P.I. knew how to tackle a cheeky minx like you any day. You felt warm, but not an overwhelming heat that came with lust, but a comfortable and soothing warmth that his arms and his heart offered you. You could stay in his embrace for eternity.

Pulling your legs to lock around his waist, he gently picked you up while making sure not to break apart your lips as he trudged towards your shared bedroom. His spidey sense guiding his blind path perfectly along with the memorised map of your home.

Sitting down on the mattress, Peter finally pulled away from your lips, much to his dismay. Cupping his stubbled face, your noses bumped with one another as your foreheads met and you panted like you ran a marathon. Lifting your gaze to him, your lips were tugged upwards as you took in his tired, dishevelled appearance.

His hair brushed in every direction, his eyes half-lidded with bags underneath them and the stable covering his jaw. Peter’s eyes locked with you as he took notice of your staring “What?” He asked through his panting, but your smile only grew “Nothing, Peter. I’m just looking at the man I love, and the one who I worry about” You muttered with knitted brows.

Peter’s brows also furrowed, he sighed, glancing away as he tried to formulate how to respond/ He knew how much you worried and he already knew he couldn’t make promises of brighter future even if he wanted to. You didn’t deserve to live in a world like this, you belong somewhere where you didn’t have to glance over your shoulder to make sure you were safe.

Unable to find an appropriate response, he remained silent as he moved the two of you onto the bed with you leaning upon his chest while his hand threaded through your hair, removing small tangles and knots. “P…Peter?” You stuttered, looking up at him, concerned over his silence.

Again, he didn’t respond. He just pulled you closer, nuzzling his face into your hair. Grabbing your hand, he threaded your fingers together, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

“I know I can’t promise you a better world, one without fear, doll. I hate that I can’t. You deserve so much better than this shit life. You deserve to have someone that is always safe, someone that will be there for you at your beck and call,” Peter mumbled into your hair, gently squeezing your hand.

“Peter. I don’t care what I deserve. I’m not a queen that needs everything she wants the moment she wants it. I’m just me, and I know what I want.” You stated, shifting your head to look up at him “And I want a man who loves me. The one that constantly proves how much he does despite the difficult situations that try to stop him. You know who I’m talking about, right?” Your eyebrows rose expectantly.

Peter blinked for a moment before smiling softly. Playing along, he said “No idea. Who?”

“You; Peter Parker.”

Angling your head back, you pinched the bridge of his glasses and removed them, placing on the far bedside table before returning to Peter, who was still staring at you, even as you locked your arms around his torso, settling into a comfortable position against his chest. “Get some sleep, Peter. You need it.” You advised him, softly murmuring into his chest. Your eyes closed as you listened to his heartbeat.

“Goodnight, (Y/n). I love you, so much” He whispered, closing his own eyes to join in peaceful slumber.

[impossible-rat-babies]

For the @dadrunkwriting monthly prompt “oh no we’re stuck here!” Funny enough most of this came from some very old writing I did back in 2016 that I’ve held onto for several years now. I changed a great deal of it around, but it’s still very interesting to compare between my writing skill then and now.

Pavellan | 2445 words | some character introspection really + pining

--

Elven ruins would be fun, he had said. On top of the searching for any references as to why Corphyeus was ransacking them all over Thedas, it would be fun to see a slice of history and ancient magic. Hopefully without any negative side effects, but luck was rarely if ever on their side. Dorian was kidding himself; luck was rarely on their sides, especially taking Darva anywhere. He was a magnet for anything and everything going wrong. It shouldn't have surprised him that much when they stepped into some little alcove--at his behest--that some magical switch or another would trigger and drop a rather large stone door over the entrance.

Sera had yelled, let out some ungodly sound with the cacophonous crash. Both Cassandra had tried to grab to lift it open, but it was a futile effort in the face of thousands of pounds of rock. He should have seen it coming, but hindsight was only kind in the pitch black dark and the sure feeling that they were completely and utterly stuck.

"This is the most excitement we've ever gotten out of these old ruins." Dorian grumbled, listening to Darva still fussing about the door, cursing under his breath. Dorian ran his hands down his face, a heavy sigh escaping him.

"Could be more exciting if you could make some light to see how much fun my face is having." Darva mumbled, abandoning the door to yank his helmet off. He shook his head, pulling down the wrap around his hair.

"Oh I'm sure it is utterly delightful." Dorian replied and Darva squinted at the sudden spot of flame in Dorian’s hand. It casted shadows across the whole of the small enclosed room and onto Darva’s scrunched up face.

"You look more like you're going to sneeze. And your hair is a mess." He noted and Darva huffed, tucking his helmet under his arm to ruffle his hair. It only served to make the curls poofier, which looked not unlike a strange bird nest on top of Darva’s head.

"You're impossible..." He muttered under his breath, turning back to the door. “At least Sera and Cass saw it happen, so hopefully they'll figure something out." He heaved and sigh and ran his fingers down his face.

"It was the magic that affected it, I’d wager...do we still have that bet going? On how your extraordinary bad luck is magical?" Dorian asked, a hint of cheekiness in his tone.

"My bad luck isn’t magical; it’s as you put once: you're simply a complete and utter fool a great deal of the time." Darva replied with a wave of his hand and Dorian rolled his eyes.

“You’re far too charming with your ability to make friends and be...friendly with everyone to be that much of a fool.” Dorian spoke and Darva chuckled, glancing over at him with his green eyes reflecting in the dim light.

“Do I have you all fooled then? Because it rather feels like the blind leading the blind.” Darva mocked him and Dorian scoffed.

They'd been traveling all across Thedas for months now, following threads of rumors on who was planning to kill the Empress and what was going on with the Wardens. Only slivers of leads, but a small lead was better than nothing, even if it took them to the strangest places. Deserts had left Sera with a terrible sunburn she whined about for weeks and sand still in the pockets and crevices of old gear. Many pairs of boots had been ruined by rain and mud seeping into the leather, others worn to the barest sole from sliding and skidding across rocky ground and putting one foot in front of the other. Countless whetstones and spare cloth had been used to sharpen daggers and swords alike; hundreds of broken bow strings had nearly costed Sera her eye, but each time it happened she laughed and got to work restringing her bow. There was little around but the four of them on the long treks, only the four of them to talk to, to keep entertained. There was only so much “sightseeing” one could do before it as mind numbing. Camps in the wilderness left little to entertain them beyond talking to each other or making a game to pass the time; none of them quite had Varric’s talent for stories, but Sera still tried and they were all plenty good enough at cards even with Darva cheating. Even more so after he had taught Sera how to cheat too.

It was a strange collection they had, the company that was presented as the Inquisition, but they were trying their best. It was all anyone could ask of them, all that could be asked of Darva.

“Best not let them hear you say that, or the facade of their great leader in shining armor would be ruined.” Dorian jested and Darva laughed.

“Yes, the wicked skill and integrity of a dalish elf with zero leadership experiences. They should all be disappointed.” Darva remarked, his tone skirting the line between jest and genuine self deprecation. A narrow line.

“You’re selling yourself awful short. I’ve never quite met a man so set on exploring ruins, even if they might kill you. A wondrous shame to die alongside you in a horrid ruin." Dorian spoke, letting the flame go. It rose up to the ceiling, casting a pale orange light all across the small alcove.

“At least dying would be for a good cause. You could be a martyr, Dorian! Even if your magic is the one to blame.” Darva joked, plopping down among the dirt and grime, examining and picking his nails.

"Hardly my fault if the ruins decide that magic isn’t their forte." He resigned himself and grimaced at the ground. He would rather sit than stand, even if the ground was rather...ghastly. He sat himself down beside Darva, almost close enough to touch--to reach out and brush fingers against skin.

“Oh? Where is all that pride in your great and wondrous skill in magic?” Darva smirked and Dorian rolled his eyes, tucking his staff against his neck, resting his hands on the haft.

"Now you're just making fun of me." He huffed.

"I am not." Darva insisted and Dorian’s face curled, mustache raising in indignation. "Well, only half making fun of you, but I’m being honest." Darva patted Dorian's thigh, his hand drifting away before the shock of the simple touch wore off. Dorian cursed his reaction, how it felt like electricity on his skin with just the simplest touch; it was a simple reassurance, nothing more. A touch from...a friend to a friend, nothing more. Not all it took to break the thought from his head, but enough for his reaction to quiet.

"You flatter with reckless abandon, I’ll have you know.” Dorian replied quickly and Darva snorted.

“It only means something if you’re honest about it.” Darva pointed out. “Which I was in this case. And I do learn from the best.”

"You know you do have a tone for that and it’s a sickeningly sweet flattering tone. Perfect for the ladies who flirt with you with reckless abandon." Dorian remarked and Darva laughed, bright and warm, like sunlight in the depths of summer. It never failed to color Dorian’s cheeks, light up the little places in his chest.

"Never going to get anything past you, hm?” Darva raised a brow and his lips curved to a grin just so. Dorian casted his eyes away, ears burning. Always and forever foolish notions bubbling in his head.

“Maybe, if we ever get out of here.” Dorian leaned his head back against the stone, neither warm nor cool to the touch, almost tingling against his skin. Old elvish places were full of magic, just crackling below the surface.

"You think they forgot?" Darva wondered, lips quirking. He had no clue how long they had been sitting in the dark, alcove room. His butt was numb and Dorian fussed with his mustache, tweaking the ends over and over in a nervous tick.

"I would hope not.” Dorian sighed, drumming his fingers against his staff haft. The flame bobbed steadily above them, carried by the air still flowing into the chamber. It hardly seemed designed to choke them, but dying in other ways was much less enjoyable.

"You don't have to keep the light on, you know. I can imagine it gets exhausting..." Darva told him and he put his hands on his knees, willing his legs to stand. He shook out his ankles, gingerly rubbing the numb out of his butt.

"It makes it feel less like the temple is going to trap us here forever and kill us." Dorian droned and Darva sighed, rocking from one foot to the other, hip to hip.

"Cheery thought..." He brushed himself off and looked back at the imposing block of stone that had blocked their way.

"Maybe it's a puzzle or something." He added, looking at the stones. "Not like any of the temples give you their secrets readily, but the ancient elves were fond of puzzles." He mused, biting his finger as he scanned the patterns of the stone. A nervous habit of his own.

"Might as well give it a try." Dorian blew a sigh out of his nose, watching as Darva’s foot tapped on the ground, fingers fidgeting.

How he was going to figure it out was beyond Dorian; he didn’t necessarily doubt Darva's abilities, but skepticism wasn't unwarranted. Darva could be foolish, but many would be fools to think he was stupid. He had a head on his shoulders, one capable of frightening amounts of determination. Dorian had witnessed it when he took the burden of leading the Inquisition, taking the struggles of it in stride with a half grin on his face, saying it was another adventure along the way. Or even back when Haven was destroyed when Cassandra and Cullen carried him half frozen into the camp, lips and ears a deep blue, shivering all over, but eyes still open. Struggling to stay open, but still open.

"Indulge me, will you Darva?" Dorian questioned and Darva took a moment, foot still tapping on the floor.

"What'cha got?" He replied, eyes still on the stonework.

"You didn’t want to be Inquisitor, but you took it up anyway. You didn’t go running, or leave when you could have. You kept going. Why?" Dorian asked, watching as Darva looked all around the stonework. The silence stretched on and on between them until Darva finally spoke up.

"Combination: conscience, and making it up along the way. No one else was going to do it, so I decided I was going to do it. I don’t want to be a savior. I’m just helping people." He spoke surprisingly sincerely, his focus still on the stones as he mouthed numbers and pressed against them.

Dorian chuckled in disbelief. "Just like that then? You make choices that influence the whole world and the future of it by making it up along the way and doing it because no one else will?" He pressed and Darva shrugged, putting his hands on his hips.

"I may be oversimplifying it. There are people around whom I rely on to help make choices. Informed ones hopefully. Leliana gives me reports, plus Josephine does a lot of the heavy lifting. Plus you. You do read to me in fact.”

"Giving me as much credit as them? What will people think?” Dorian snickered and Darva laughed quietly.

"Right? Mother Giselle would have a heart attack." Darva shook his head, his grin lopsided--his big tell on his genuine enjoyment.

"But, still," Darva cleared his throat, "you are a mage, which I am not, and you have insight and abilities the other Mages in the Inquisition do not have. You are also from Tevinter, and there is a rather large lack of such opinions in the Inquisition.” Darva explained.

“An opinion many would not want.” Dorian reminded him and Darva gave a casual shrug as if the weight of the statement ran right off of him.

“You are Tevene, but not all Tevene people are you.” Darva reminded him, giving him a pointed look. “You hardly meet the expectation of the horrifying legend the south has built up. You want to do good and to help the people you care about. You have faith in them--in how they can be better. You haven’t sat idly by. You’ve risked everything to help people who don’t even like you, Dorian.” Darva spoke quietly, keen eyes watching Dorian the whole time.

“I value your opinion highly.” He concluded, looking back at the stones. Quiet filed the space between them and Dorian sat in it, unsure of what to say next. Genuine praise from a man who was rarely genuine, who hid much of that behind a mask of niceties, of strained happy looks. He bore the burdens as well, but underneath Dorian saw the cracks--the strain. 

It was easy to see, seeing how they shared that much between them.

“You are selling yourself awfully short as well, Darva.”

Darva turned back, brow raising with a question on his lips.

“Playing the paying a compliment back game?” Darva asked, something in his tone, something in his eyes: skepticism, frustration.

“No.” Dorian spoke plainly, meeting Darva’s eyes. He pushed himself up, only a few short steps to reach him. “I am being honest and genuine. Not many could do what you are doing, and you are doing it well. You’ve been trusted to this position and you’ve worn it well. It’s...brave.” Dorian spoke plainly--plainer than Darva had ever heard him speak before. No gimmicks hiding behind his teeth, or testing the boundaries of it in his eyes.

Darva managed a half chuckle, looking away from Dorian. “I keep expecting a joke. Genuine honesty in hard to come by, I’ll have you know.” Darva half grinned and Dorian snickered.

“It’s strange to say, I’ll have you know.” A faint smile twisted Dorian’s face and Darva chuckled.

“Well I do rather appreciate genuine Dorian honesty.” Darva gently reached out, lightly patting his hand against Dorian’s chest, fingers lingering longer than they needed to--longer than appropriate.

But it only took a second for Darva to pull his hand away, for the touch to end and the intimacy that came with it. The warmth snuffed out, as quick as flame with a cover pulled over it. Only smoke remained, the touch still felt.

“We’re going to get out of here.” Darva spoke to clear the smoke, the embers dying back to nothing once more. 

[firefeufuego]

Tag Meme Combo

Here is a combo of a few different memes, I was tagged by two of my absolute muses @canardroublard​ and @birdhapley​ (I’m including the last line meme in the ‘share some of your WIP’) 

Name: Rosemary 

Nickname: Rosie

Zodiac: Aries (on the cusp, like a boss)

Favourite musicians or bands: The Jezabels and The Killers are my all time faves. Also got a lot of time for Florence and the Machine and Lana del Rey. 

Favourite sports team: The Australian Olympic swimming team

Other blogs: firefeufuego - that’s where I post non-fandom things, usually fun jokes

Do I get asks: Sometimes, would always welcome more!

Lucky numbers: none

How many blogs do I follow: 76 - I like to be able to get through my whole feed everyday so I don’t miss anything.

What I’m wearing: Quarantine Chic (aka my pyjamas and a cardigan)

Dream vacation: A city that has many cool gardens with lots of crisp hedges. I hate looking like a tourist so somewhere I speak the language would also be ideal. Perfect companion would be someone I’m comfortable enough with to be able to tell them to go away every once in a while so I can wander while listening to music.

Dream car: A vehicle that someone else is driving

Favourite food: There is a spot inside of me that nothing but toast with vegemite and butter will ever be able to hit

Drink of choice: Milk for non-alcoholic drinks, I do love a good reposado tequila but I’ve become a bit of a G&T girl of late (I infuse the gin with this pear tea I have and it is very good)

Languages: English, French, some Spanish 

Celebrity crush: I have a bunch now that I think about it. Part of me will love Brandon Flowers as long as I live. Felicity Jones and Diego Luna (especially when he gets political) are obviously at the top of list at the moment. Special shout-out also to the Democrat’s lawyer from the impeachment inquiry, who proved that being very good at your job is sometimes the sexiest thing of all. 

Random fact: I finished my master’s degree a week ago and I am very afraid that I will not have a graduation ceremony which means I will never get to wear the hat (my uni doesn’t let undergrads wear them) so I guess now I have to go to law school.

AO3 Name: firefeufuego

Fandoms: Rogue One, my love for this movie and fandom still runs deep and true (although I just listened to the Anastasia Musical and there’s a plotbunny rattling around rather insistently there so...)

Fic you spent the most time on: I mean, technically I’ve been working on the sequel for por mas que crezca for like 2+ years but in terms of actual time spent writing, it’s easily encore

Fic you spent the least amount of time on: cake or death - my first published fic that I wrote in an evening based on a not even serious prompt by @lyresandlasers​ 

Longest fic: encore is 19,787

Shortest fic: cake or death is 977

Most hits: what a lovely way to burn at 3733 

Most kudos: same, 226

Most comment threads: encore, 61

Fave fic you wrote: Hmmm, this is a bit tough, I love all my children equally (though I don’t care for GOB). I will say that I’m quite proud of the prose in the little POV swapped version of encore’s second chapter.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: I’m not really a rewriter, once something’s finished it’s sort of set in stone for me (which makes me terrible at editing essays let me tell you). I am in the middle of expanding on encore at the moment and I do really want to finish the follow up to por mas que crezca. 

Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning: this is from the second chapter of ‘allegrezza’ (I swear that it’s not the setup of a fight! Marshmallow fluff is what I promised and marshmallow fluff is what you’ll get)

By this point, he thought he’d already catalogued every aspect of Jyn’s beauty, that he could no longer be truly surprised by her loveliness, but it turns out he was wrong. She’s gorgeous — with her hair loose and streaming in the wind, her smile bright and her body moving with the easy command that comes from being home — more than that, she looks like she belongs here.

Her love for this place rings clear in every word and he realizes with a pang of guilt that he’d never considered that her moving to New York might be a sacrifice. 

[warpedglass]

AMMUTSEBA

                        : relationship & plotter ad :

Things are going well on the queen of ghosts so I thought I’d write up a permanent plotter call to refer back to, set up some more long term relationships and give you lovely people some ideas of what they might entail. Liking this post means you’re down to interact and interested in setting up something a little more long standing. What you can expect from me:

IMs for setting up threads.

Unprompted starters .

Thinking about your muse or mentioning them to others.

Prompts on memeday.

Reaching out to you during events.

You can send me IMs any time, hit me up on twitter or send me a message and I’ll give you my discord.

The types of relationships formed could be:

FRIENDS: For a ghostly dragon that thinks incredibly highly of herself she is a very sociable creature. She likes seeing people and she likes being seen, she’s spent far too much time on her own unwillingly so she very much enjoys being around other people. Whether its at large gatherings with many or just hanging out one on one, she’s not particularly fond of being solitary unless she has a particular goal to achieve.

She’ll take you places, she’ll want to be taken places and she’ll often turn up just to hang around. Whether that’s knocking on your door or just letting herself in through one of your mirrors. It just saves time darling, we’re friends aren’t we?

Ammutseba will be friends with anyone as long as they’re not openly disrespectful or rude to her and provided they don’t view other sentient creatures as tools to be used. Those are basically the only criteria, regardless of other tendencies. 

MISCHIEF SQUAD: In essence this is an extension of the above, just a little more focused. Ammutseba is the self proclaimed queen of ghosts, the most powerful (she believes) of an entire type typically fond of using their gifts and abilities to have fun at the expense of others in mostly lighthearted ways.

Pulling pranks, scaring people; she gets endless fun out of these. She’s a spooky lady when she wants to be and being able to move through and use mirrors for shenanigans leads to almost endless opportunities. Anyone willing to join her in these activities is extremely worth her time.

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS: Look. This is exactly what it sounds like.

She’s here for a good time and she isn’t shy about it. She’s very open minded and as long as your muse is of the appropriate age, not in an exclusive relationship or hasn’t specifically rebuffed her then there’s a very real chance she’ll suggest becoming more physically acquainted. And she’ll suggest it very openly too.

While she can be quite forward she won’t press this if someone isn’t interested. She has no interest in making people uncomfortable (in that sense) and it’s their loss if they can’t appreciate divinity when they see it.

It goes without saying but I’ll say it anyway; both mun and muse are required to be 18+

PEOPLE WITH BENEFITS: Exactly the same as above, except now you don’t even have to pretend to care about each other at all. Purely physical hookups, casual one night stands, etc etc.

ROMANCE: Even though she finds it very easy to get along with people and is willing to get close (often very literally following the above section), it’s particularly difficult for things to move into romantic territory with this one. She has formed very tight bonds with her family and those similar in role and station to herself, her best friend is quite literally her soulmate but she has yet to ever develop romantic feelings for another, and isn’t even entirely sure she’s capable.

Probably because she loves herself so damn much.

That’s not to say it isn’t possible, just that it would be difficult. It would require time, compatibility, an ability to meet some unknown standards, a means to understand who and what she is and the capability for her to see similar things in any potential candidate. We’d be in this for the long haul.

ENEMIES: Despite her capacity to get along with many and an often suave and cool air, she can be incredibly vindictive, spiteful and absolutely superior. As touched on earlier she will refuse to give you the time of day if what she believes is not the proper respect is shown to her, and if the offences are repeated she will direct her energies to remind you just how much of a mistake you’ve made.

So, for the most part you have to earn her ire. She’ll likely just brush you off unless you put energy into it. 

The exception to this is those that view and use other sentient entities as tools to be used for specific tasks or goals. Those that would see someone as a means to an end before who they are, disregarding their desires and needs to fuel your own.

MISC: AKA; do you have any other ideas? I’m open to all ideas and there’s many things that fall between these categories. More casual acquaintances, work associates if you go to or shop at Dressed to Kill, rivals, found family; don’t hesitate if you have something specific in mind that’s not really outlined above.

I thought about including a where to find her section, but honestly there’s few places in the city you wouldn’t find her. She considers herself to be quite high society but she’ll often pursue pleasure wherever she can find it. If there’s a reflective surface nearby she’s potentially only a moment away. 

Also she loves food a lot, like wow. She intends to eat everywhere in the city that sells food.

And that’s all she wrote. For now anyway. If you give this a like you will certainly hear from me at some point soon.

.

.

[homosociallyyours]

2018 Fic Year in Review

I know I’m ridiculously late with this, but here we go. I was tagged (weeks ago! yike!) by @horsegirlharry -- thank you, dear!! I appreciate it <3

1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3: 34! 11 of those are from the seasonal drabble fests, and 8 are short little ficlets under 1k, but that’s A LOT more than I’ve ever posted in a year before. 

2. Word count posted for the year: 118,598. I know this is nothing for a lot of folks, but this is easily double what I’ve written in the entire time I’ve had an AO3 account up til now. I have always said that it’s important to keep writing if you feel like it even if you only have a few readers, but this is change in stats is all down to people liking, commenting on, and sharing my works. It really makes a difference to have other writers rec your work and be excited about what you’re writing, so...support your fellow content creators, people! 

3. List of works published this year (in order of posting) I’m not gonna link drabbles, but they’re easy enough to find if you wanna! -Are You Gonna Be My Girl -In 36 Questions or Less -This Opening Monologue Studies Rainbows -4am -One of Those Days When You’ve Got Nothing On -I’ll Say It Everyday -Talk That Talk -I Love It When We Play 1950 -Mudpies -Just Swipe Right -Ready to Run Away -The World It Turns, No Matter What -These Days I Don’t Even Know Myself -Half of the Story -Just to See That Smile -In the Cards -Can’t Beat the Heat/Taste on Your Tongue/Cool Cool Cool -I Believe it This Time -Our Own Little French Club -I’m Half a Heart Without You, Baby -You Shine Like the Real Thing -On the Road Again With You -A Love So True You Don’t Have to Be Afraid -Our House (It’s A Very Fine House) -Are You Thorny, Baby? -When Everything is Perfect -Our Friends Keep Talkin’ About Us -The Christmas Lift -The Cold/Comfort/Christmas Cuddles -You Bring Us Together (Can’t Tear Us Apart)

4. Fandoms I wrote for: All the fic I published on AO3 was for One Direction, though I did publish a few ficlets for Sherlock (this is my favorite of those, a little parentlock featuring genderqueer Ro Watson)

5. Pairings: Harry/Louis, Liam/Zayn, Sherlock/John

6. Story with the most hits: Talk That Talk with 3531 hits

7. Story with the most kudos: The Christmas Lift with 264

8. Story with the most comments: The Christmas Lift with 22 comment threads

9. Work I’m most proud of (and why): Probably “You Bring Us Together (Can’t Tear Us Apart)” because it was ot5 and I really struggled with working out some of the plot points near the end. 

10. Work I’m least proud of (and why): None. Writing isn’t easy and I do the best that I can with everything I write :)

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing: UGHHH THIS WAS TOO HARD. So eventually I gave up and picked this little bit from “Our Own Little French Club” because I love Harry’s sweet gay fantasy moment. “Maybe next semester. I requested it, anyway,” Louis said, clicking to the red ink of Harry’s four color pen and doodling in the margins of the notebook in front of her. With anyone else, Harry would’ve requested they move to a new page. But Louis? She could leave her mark wherever she liked.That thought spurred on a fantasy of Louis drawing a line up from Harry’s bare knee and under the soft fabric of her skirt, the pen skidding over her skin until Louis held it taut with her free hand. A free hand that could slide up, too. Up and--“Hazza.” Louis’ voice interrupted Harry’s reverie and she closed her eyes to clear the images from her head. “Did you hear what I asked?”

12. Share or describe a favorite review you received: The reviews on “You Shine Like the Real Thing” are my absolute favorite because a lot of people have said that they’ve struggled with what Harry struggles with in the fic--figuring out their identity and expression as they come out as LGBTQ+  As someone who struggled to find the femme identity that feels like my home, I’m glad to be able to share some of that through fiction. 

13. A time when writing was really, really hard: Always, honestly! I’m struggling with fatigue and chronic illness, and some days I just don’t have the ability or energy to focus and get words out coherently. 

14. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: Writing as Louis in my 5 days of Louis series (incomplete, but the final fic is actually pretty much finished and just needs a little polish) was surprising for me, because I think it was one of the first times I wrote from Louis’ POV and I found it so comfortable.

15. How did you grow as a writer this year: I wrote longer fics than I ever had before--that’s probably the main thing. I also signed up for the big bang and am working on a fic that will end up being twice as long as the longest thing I’ve written so far, so that’s pretty big for me too! 

16. How do you hope to grow next year: I’d like to maybe set word goals for myself to meet every month and do my best to publish fic more regularly (in addition to doing challenges)

17. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): My beta, @statementlou, has been my number one cheerleader and inspiration, always giving me prompts when I need them and encouraging me to keep writing when I felt like walking away from something. @harryincamp has also been there for me and always supports my fics in the best ways. I’m glad we met on here!  Also, the community of writers in the 1d fandom has been such a positive influence!! I’m gonna tag a ton of people, though I’ll probably leave some people out. Basically I felt welcomed and included by so many people right from the start of joining this fandom. So. Massive thanks to: @lululawrence, @horsegirlharry, @gaycousinlarry, @fullonlarrie, @suddenclarityharry, @disgruntledkittenface, @crinkle-eyed-boo, @rosegoldhlfics, @allwaswell16, @a-brighter-yellow, and @helloamhere I KNOW I AM FORGETTING PEOPLE. FUCK!!!  

18. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: Yeah, basically writing girl direction has allowed me to bring a lot of my life to my writing. Lesbian not-dates? Femme identity issues? Definitely my life. Also my last fic of the year, the ot5 reunion fic, was set in the Bay Area, which let me use some of my experiences living here. I’ll probably do that more this year, tbh!

19. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: If you like something another writer has done, comment and subscribe to their work and don’t be afraid to message them. Most people want to talk about their work, and having people to message with when you’re struggling to feel inspired is immensely helpful. 

20. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: MY BIG BANG FIC OMG!!! It’s a girl direction AU set in a lesbian bookstore in 1970s NYC, and I’m loving writing it so far.  After that’s done, I’m thinking of tackling the Sherlock/1D crossover fic that I’ve been scheming over for a year now. It’s time!!  Beyond that...I’ve no idea! 

21. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read. OK, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this thing from a lot of people in the 1d fandom, so I’m just going to tag some writers in other fandoms and folks I don’t *think* have done it. If you haven’t done it yet and want to, please do!! Tag me in so I see your answers :) 

@aprillikesthings @velvetnoodle @zooeyscigar @perpetuallyvex @ennisgarlaend @pendragoff

This was a lot of fun! Thank you for giving me the chance to look back over the year <3 I hope some other folks will do the same!!

[thong-in-the-twist]

It’s not a great story II

I am having too much fun writing this for my own good.

Part I Part II Part III

“Here you go,” you hear just as he puts your teapot on the table. All the pictures behind your eyes are promptly substituted by what you see in front of you. Namely, your handsome companion. You can’t help but notice that his hips are quite narrow, which allows him to very elegantly slide onto his seat. And that he is generally quite slender.

But you are not going to allow yourself to explore that thought.

“Thank you,” you say with, what you hope is an easy smile – one that would not tell him what you’ve been thinking about. You don’t want to seem eager or desperate, even though sad truth is you are probably both.

He smiles, his adorable dimple appearing anew. Is it wrong that you want to make him smile so you can see that dimple? To distract yourself you look down, curious what he bought for himself and you see a teapot just like yours.

“I can’t keep drinking coffee – I have enough strain on my heart as it is,” he says jokingly, but it sends your mind into overdrive mode. What’s wrong with his heart? Was it broken? Is he suffering for someone? Your lack of understanding clearly disturbs him, because he supplies with uncertain voice: “the delays are quite stressing, aren’t they?”

You huff out a laugh. Yeah, they are very stressing.

“Yeah. The retail workers suffer the most, though.” Both of you look at the counter and they do look exhausted. But clients have visibly calmed down. People settled into waiting mode, knowing that throwing fits won’t help and resignation took over as an overall mood. Thanks to that both coffee shop and the station itself shimmered down to bearable decibels level.

“That is true,” he agrees. A silence follows and you can feel your anxiousness rising. You don’t know what to say and you don’t want to lose the thread of connection you’ve just made. If you don’t think of something to say, and fast, he’ll go back his book and you’ll be unable to interrupt him. Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest and you hate how suffocating it is. His hand touches his book and your turmoil reaches a critical level. But your companion only fixes it. “Work or leisure?” he asks.

Soft oh escapes your lips because you weren’t expecting him to actively hold the conversation. It’s unexpectedly gratifying thing and although you try not to read too much into it – it’s relatively hard not to.

“I wish it was leisure,” you answer and shake your head. Your companion nods as if he understood and you smile at him because he is still smiling. It makes him look approachable and there is something about him that you can’t really place. An aura that puts you at ease.

Suddenly he lifts the lid of your teapot and peers inside, and you watch him lost for words as he pours you tea, before he fills his own cup with his beverage.

“So, business?” he prompts as if it was perfectly normal to pour tea for strangers. It’s so weird but it makes you feel pampered and you reach out across the table to introduce yourself. He shakes your outstretched hand and adds: “nice to meet you, I’m Zhang Yixing.”

“Nice to meet you, too. And yes, we can say that it was a business trip.”

You learn that he has the same destination as you do but his situation is much worse since he is supposed to meet his counterparty tomorrow in the morning. He laughed that he deliberately bought tickets for a day before in case something like that happened. Talking with him was easy and before you knew you were walking over to the counter to ask for a refill with two teacups in your hands.

*

“Should we try moving to the platform?” you ask, eyeing departures screen. The delay hasn’t changed since the last time, and it is still showing 280 minutes. Adding it to your original departure time tells you that your train should depart in less than half an hour.

He turns his head back and looks at the screens as well.

“It is supposed to arrive in fifteen minutes, so I guess we could slowly start moving,” he says looking back at you. You nod, feeling how uneasiness settles into your gut. His company made the wait bearable – fun even. He was a very good story-teller but even better listener, with pleasant laugh and intent stare. You stretch, hearing how your spine cracks. Apparently, it’s loud enough for Yixing to hear because he utters heartfelt nice and you just laugh.

Should you just give him your phone number? Is it too forward? Because you really want him to ask you out.

You drink the rest of your tea, stuff your phone into your bag and grab your jacket which you hung over the back of your chair. Yixing is also moving, but he starts with bringing your teapots and cups back to the counter.

It feels familiar. Waiting for him as he comes back and grabs his things feels familiar. It’s not familiar, because you clearly haven’t done it with him, but him showing you to go first is familiar, because it feels like a good relationship should. You had those. You’ve been in good relationships, you can say that even if they didn’t end well – they were good. The felt right.

And walking out of that coffee shop with Yixing feels good which doesn’t help you.

You are walking in silence until you see toilets sign. Immediately you feel those teas in your system and you think it’s a great idea to visit it before catching the train. It will also have an added perk of you being able to naturally distance yourself for Yixing. You don’t really want to, but for the sake of your sanity, you probably need to.

“Please, go ahead, I have to use the toilet,” you say quickly, “it was lovely meeting you,” you add as an afterthought and not giving Yixing chance to answer you disappear in the toilet. After relieving your bladder you stand a longer moment in front of the mirror. What are you doing? It is not a great story, you understand that? Yixing is a lovely stranger and you are not going to see him again, so calm down my heart, we are not going to get hurt by our imagination.

You wash your hands, you brush your hair and apply a new layer of tint. It helps up pretty nicely but you reapply it for therapeutic reasons.

Yixing is waiting for you in front of the toilet which immediately foils your plans not to get hurt by your imagination – because it goes wild. Especially when he sees you and smiles, straightening.

“Shall we go?” he asks with a smile. You start suspecting that he is never not smiling. As you are lost for words again, you can only nod but it seems enough. As you walk Yixing explains that your platform was changed and the train is going to arrive in less than five minutes, but they are not sure when it will be able to depart. You listen, feeling how your heart is thumping madly in your chest because this whole thing is unreal.  

The platform is very windy and mostly empty. The cold is biting at your cheeks and creeping down your collar as you tread carefully down the pavement, not to step into a puddle. It’s still raining and water is flowing down the platforms even if it’s not raining directly on you.

“It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop anytime soon,” muses Yixing and you nod, trying to keep yourself from shaking. The weather is definitely not sparing you, but before you can freeze your toes you hear the characteristic sound of an incoming train. A second later an announcement comes to confirm that it’s indeed your train finally coming after 280 minutes of delay.

You check your ticket to remind yourself where your seat is, just as Yixing does the same. You unconsciously compare your tickets and you hold your breath when you notice that both tickets show car number 16. Your eyes follow to the seat number and… it’s not even close. Your 43rd seat and his 96th.

You deflate a little but it clears your head. It is not a great story and it is not a story from your dreams – it would be too much of a coincidence if you were seated next to each other. And if it was a story, the author might have to work really hard to explain such a coincidence. But you are not close, and that hypothetical author is safe.

For now.

The train comes to a halt and it’s a welcomed sight because you are chilled to the bone by now. You walk together looking for your car as doors open and weary travellers leave the train. You can understand the weariness, you feel the same one, and you have yet to start your journey.

You board the right car and you are surprised to see that it’s a car with compartments. You were sure you bought tickets for the no-compartment car, but the number is right. You find your compartment and your seat and you stop in the doors. Yixing stops as well and he smiles just as you do the same.

“So…” you say slowly, “thank you for keeping me company.”

“It was my pleasure,” he says, a smile growing bigger. “I hope your journey is going to be just as pleasant.”

You wish him the same and close the doors to your compartment. You are alone so you drop your bag on the seat opposite of you and you sit down next to the window. You are still cold, so you don’t take off your jacket. You wish there was the coincidence. You wish you were seated next to each other.

But there wasn’t. In the end, it’s not a great story, and sure as hell, it won’t be. You are not going to feel the familiarity of being next to Yixing, you won’t feel his dimple when he smiles. And sure as fuck, he won’t fuck you in this compartment that you, so coincidentally, have just to yourself.  

So stop imagining that.