#I hope this doesn’t flop because THAT would be embarrassing

[tractorbeamofwoe]

Gabriel Michael headcanons

(AKA lore I just made up) Hi I’m a little bit obsessed with sorry!will actually and especially his character from We Saved a Kingdom and this is also the first thing I’ve written and posted for this fandom so enjoy I guess ok bye <33

***

Gabriel loves animals, literally spends hours outside in the castle gardens scattering seeds and nuts in the grass in the hopes it would attract birds and squirrels.

Sometimes animals will even come up and eat straight from his hand, which makes him lowkey emotional.

A bird once landed on his shoulder and it gave him such a confidence boost.

Rescues injured animals as well of course. He's nursed a number of rabbits, squirrels, foxes and deer back to health.

I like to imagine Helen reincarnated as a deer that came to eat nuts and berries from his hand once and kept nudging him for attention.

She sort of stuck around and became the resident deer in the castle.

No one really realised it was her until she was down by the river one day and she was sniffing at one specific spot. The exact spot where she left Gabriel as a toddler and the exact spot where he was found again by Thomas.

She even finds a basket in a patch of reeds and carries it in her mouth to her son before dropping it at his feet, as if amazed that the 6’6 prince in front of her was once the tiny 3 year old who fit in her arms.

And Gabriel’s so worried he's not the man she imagined he'd be or that he's not making her proud :((

But she quickly shuts down all those assumptions with various head nudges and face licks

He's so used to his father putting pressure on him to be a certain way that he'd never expect it of other people. In fact he'd actively encourage you to be yourself around him and let you know he's a safe space for you to talk about your passions and fears.

I mean you saw how he befriended Dark Dave with zero hesitation and, even knowing he killed his mother, he accepted him as his adoptive dad

Literally the biggest supporter of his gay dads that man is an ally

Helen HATES Thomas and as she should. When she gets let into the castle she recognises his stuff like his crown and she probably gags

Tries to play matchmaker for her son cause there's no way she's gonna be reunited with him after so long just to watch him be a sad loser.

Basically he just loves all creatures big and small

That being said though I feel like he doesn't want to end up with the richest princess in the land as his father encouraged, because that feels in-genuine and more like a business transaction. I can see him settling down with someone more magical like a witch or a shapeshifter instead (reminds him of Dark Dave)

He'd grab all the ingredients they need for their potions even if he has to go to the furthest swamp or forest to get them.

In return they use their powers or potions to heal any injured animals he brings in.

It's canon confirmed he became a dark wizard after the events of the episode as well so they're a perfect match.

I'd like to think he only uses his newly acquired powers for good, though a villain arc would be something interesting to explore at a later date.

He’s more of a healer than a fighter. The thought of battle terrifies him, no matter how much Thomas tries to beat it into him.

Anxious boy

And yeah Thomas was really rough on him growing up so it doesn’t surprise me he’d have a villain arc.

I don't think he'd be a very good villain though sorry.

Haha 'sorry'

Also goes through an angsty “it’s not a phase dad UGH!” phase

Lord knows where he got his love of theatre from but I think it would be silly if his American accent was the product of a curse placed on him as an infant by Dark Dave as a way to get back at Thomas (aside from, you know, killing his wife)

[persicipen]

ꕤ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . jiaoqiu . gn reader — 0.5k ノ flirting . bantering . teasing ノ either early in the relationship or dating phase ノ lighthearted fluff with little annoyances :3

He’s so mean when flirting with you. You’re sure of it — that it must be flirting. Because what else for would he cling to your shadow, following step after step like a lost puppy, not an adult foxian with great responsibilities?

Pulling by your hair a mere inch whilst he could’ve simply tapped your shoulder or call your name. Fanning you on a hot day, but suddenly the air gets even hotter as he lets the red feathers blaze little sparks of fire into your face. He giggles at your complaints and curses thrown at him as you wipe the sweat off your forehead. Him giving you a special dish, your favourite, but as soon as the familiar taste melts on your tongue, you’re struck with a pang of spiciness beyond what you could endure.

But these mischievous games are far from how it would look if he were but an annoying little boy picking on you at the playground. Never crossing that invisible boundary where you would get frustrated beyond repair with saccharine compliments and kisses blown in the air, and, sometimes, a glass of milk to soothe the burn on your palate. You don’t think about cutting off that complicated relationship. In that, you must agree, however hesitantly, he’s respectful.

To a degree. You just think he needs a gentle reminder every now and then. A firm talk, with careful words.

So, when you find him slacking off, alone, in the shadows of a bamboo grove by the alchemical quarters, you waste no time dragging him by the sleeve to a more private place. A storage room, which isn’t empty of wooden boxes, but is certainly unused by other people who do not want to be forced to clean the space once found near the doors. The foxian seems completely unbothered by the change of location, only smirking at you and wondering if you’re that eager to dally with someone who’s supposedly making your blood boil.

You can always convince him with a real kiss, the one that later will sizzle on your lips because he had that damned chili sauce for lunch earlier that day.

“You’re insufferable…” You sigh after a defeated whine of feeling the glints of spice dancing on the tip of your tongue.

“Hah, but you wouldn’t want it if I was any different, or am I wrong?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, unable to answer. That doesn’t mean you dislike how he behaves, though, as exasperating as it might be. But that’s simply how he is expressing what he can’t do openly. Yet. You really hope it’s only ‘yet’ and not his definite way of displaying affection.

Another kiss forced upon his lips, so that the brat in him wouldn’t laugh at your flustered expression. He is only slightly taken aback by this gesture.

“Be honest with me…” You run your hands down his back and the pleasant purr rising in his throat reassures you to continue. “Will this teasing ever end?”

“Hmm… I’m afraid not.” He pouts, his ears flopping gently in an act. “Not when the outcome is getting to hold you like that in secret because you’re too embarrassed to admit that me pulling on your nerves is working.”

Your heart skips a beat and it takes all your willpower to avoid smiling like an idiot in love. In fact, you pretend to be angry. Angry at the heat rising to your cheeks. “Shameless…”

[freedomfireflies]

Teach Me*

Summary: Harry needs a little practice in the art of Eating Pussy, and who better to ask for help than his best friend?

You.

Word Count: 5.4k

“...I’m sorry, you need to what?”

“I need…” Harry repeats, “...to eat you out.”

You blink at the man standing alarmingly still in the hallway outside of your door. “Is it crack? Is that what you smoke? Do you smoke crack?”

He smirks at the familiar joke before he’s brushing past you and striding into your apartment. “All right, fine. I just thought I’d ask.”

“Ask what?” you huff as you shut the door and face him. “I still don’t understand what it is you want.”

“I want to eat you out,” he says yet again as your expression falls flat. “Look I need…the practice.”

“Practice…”

“Practice.” He nods before flopping down onto the sofa. “You remember Tina, right?”

“Tall, hot, and out of your league?” you recall as you walk over to him. “Yes, I remember.”

He fights a smile. “Yeah, well…she agreed to let me take her out and I just…I want to make sure I’m prepared.”

“...prepared.”

“Prepared.” His eyes follow you as you take a seat beside him. “Come on, you know I don’t have a lot of experience with that shit, and I want to make sure I’m…you know, at least capable of making her come. And I have no other way to get…better.”

“Oh, so, naturally I’m your second-best option,” you snort playfully as you pull your knees to your chest. “But how would eating me out help you make her come? Not all girls like the same stuff, you know. Lesson number one.”

“Because I need someone to help me make my technique a little…smoother, I guess. Tell me what feels good and what doesn’t so I know,” he explains, without a hint of embarrassment, and truthfully, you’re a little impressed.

Harry has always been…bold, you would say. Assertive, confident, borderline egotistical. He’s never had a problem making friends or getting a girlfriend, so learning that his sexual experience didn’t expand as far as you thought it did was kind of a surprise.

You do admire him for wanting to be good for her. In fact, the thought is almost sweet, although you have no idea where he got the idea to ask you.

Sure, you’re his best friend, but…that’s kind of fucking…weird. Right? You guys don’t do that. You don’t even like to hug.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip and look for the deception within his expression. He could be messing with you. It wouldn’t be the first time and you certainly wouldn’t put it past him.

But there’s something…earnest in the way he speaks. In the way his eyes hold onto yours as he awaits your response, hopeful and desperate.

“So…wait, hold on.” You clear your throat and straighten up. “You…you honestly want…to eat me out…just to see if I like it?”

“Kind of, yeah,” he agrees as one shoulder bobs up in a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve got a few ideas on what to do, I just…I need someone—I need you—to tell me if it feels good or not. So I can practice and make sure she’ll like it.”

Your teeth begin to absentmindedly knaw on the inside of your cheek. Truthfully, you have no idea how to feel about this. The request is outrageous and weird and it goes way past the duties of friendship.

But you’ve known him forever and you trust him and honestly? You feel a little bad for the guy.

Sure, the best way for him to get the practice he needs would be with her, but you know him. He doesn’t like to admit he doesn’t know something and he absolutely despises feeling unprepared. 

He’s a perfectionist.

And you are a little flattered that he feels safe enough with you to showcase his inexperience and that thought alone begins to wash your reservations away.

“So…all I’d have to do is just…sit here? And tell you yes or no?” you clarify, and he nods.

“Yeah. I won’t make you come, don’t worry. I know that’s…going a little farther than we need,” he says. “I just…wanna play with you a little.”

You smirk. “Wouldn’t not making me come defeat the purpose?”

He exhales a laugh as he leans back. “I just want to make sure I can. Besides, doesn’t it open up a bunch of emotions and shit? It attaches you to the person? I mean, do you really wanna live with the knowledge that you came because of me?”

“...no,” you admit. “Okay, that’s fair. So…if I agree…you’re not gonna drag this out, right? Just to annoy me?”

He chuckles again. “Well, I wanna make sure I’m doing it right…but no, I won’t drag it past that. I’ll stop whenever you want.”

Your fingers pull at a loose strand on your jeans. You aren’t seriously considering this, are you? “And if I say yes…how would we…I mean, what would we do?”

He thinks about this for only a moment, suggesting that he already came with a plan. Typical. “I guess we go somewhere you feel comfortable…we start slow. You tell me what you’re okay with, what you’re not okay with…and then I’ll just…get started.”

You look at him. Really look at him. He’s relaxed. Almost too relaxed considering the line he’s suggesting you both cross. A line you can never uncross.

And as you stare at those familiar features you’ve known for years…you feel your body exhale a deep breath. You’re doubtful, sure…but he’s always been rather exceptional at providing you comfort, just through a look alone.

Exactly like he is now.

His mouth quirks up in a smirk as he bumps his knuckles against your knee teasingly. “We don’t have to, Bee. I just…thought I’d ask.”

You roll your lips into your mouth as you hesitate, the familiar nickname calming you ever-so-slightly. “I didn’t…I’m not saying no, I just…I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“I know,” he agrees with a nod. “Look, just…forget I said anything. I’ll Google it, it’s fine. Let’s just watch Schitt’s Creek or something, yeah?”

With that, he turns toward the TV, grabs the remote, and begins to flip through the channels, leaving the conversation behind.

But you aren’t as quick to let the idea go. After all, he planted the seed, and now you’re starting to wonder. You’re starting to…accept.

Maybe things will be weird. And maybe you won’t be able to go back to how you used to be. But at least you’ll have helped him…? And that’s…something that friends do.

…right?

“I have never heard someone say so many wrong things…one after the other…consecutively…in a row,” David says to your right as Harry smiles and glances over to see if you’re listening.

But you’re not.

At least, not to David.

“Okay,” you murmur, quiet enough that it becomes lost beneath the next line on the show.

Harry, confused, raises a brow and begins to lower the volume. “Sorry, what?”

“Okay,” you repeat, a little more confidently than you had before. “Okay, I agree to your proposal. Just this once.”

He blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously.” You nod. “What? Don’t look at me like that, I’m charitable. And cool, and a really good friend. So…don’t forget that the next time I ask you to buy the popcorn at the movie.”

His eyes roll but he laughs as he tosses the remote aside. “All right, that’s fair. Deal.”

You both go quiet.

Funny…for some reason, you thought agreeing would be all there was to it.

His eyes soften as he looks you over. “So…you’re in charge, okay? You just…tell me where you wanna go, what you’re comfortable with…whatever you want, yeah?”

You nod faintly before glancing toward your room. “Um…I guess we can do it on the bed. There’s probably more room, so it would be a little easier…I guess.”

He nods, too, before slowly moving for the edge of the couch. But he doesn’t stand until you do, eyeing you closely as if gauging your reaction.

You aren’t sure why you feel so…timid. You’re not exactly nervous, maybe just…apprehensive. But, it’s Harry, and he will always be the boy that got a blueberry stuck up his nose and snorted purple snot to you.

And it can’t get more embarrassing than that. 

He follows you into the bedroom. The same bedroom he’s seen a million times, although now, it’s like a completely different space.

With an awkward clear of your throat, you take a seat on the corner of the mattress, head tilting back as you look up at him expectantly. “Uh…now what?”

“You tell me,” he says softly, hands finding refuge in his pockets. “Where do you wanna be? Against the pillows? Might be more comfortable.”

You glance over your shoulder at the headboard. “Yeah, I guess that’s…a good idea.”

He smiles again, stepping back to allow you the room to crawl back. 

Once you’re in position and settled, he takes your spot on the edge of the bed. “Still good?”

You nod, arms resting atop your stomach, almost as if to hide yourself. “Yup.”

“Do you wanna pick a safeword?”

Your brows raise. “I mean…I think ‘stop’ will do just fine.”

He snorts his amusement. “Fair.”

Again, you both grow quiet, and you wish you could find your nerve. In the many years you two have known each other, not once have you ever been this shy. Or quiet. In fact, you don’t believe there’s ever been a second of silence between you, and you have no idea what to do with it.

He straightens up, taking the reins when he notices you don’t plan to. “Do you have your phone?”

Confused, you reach into your pocket and wiggle the cell phone free.

He nods. “Okay, I want you to pull up your favorite porn.”

Your lips part as you blink. “...I’m sorry, what now?”

"Well, I’m willing to bet you’re not exactly turned on right now, right?” he explains, nodding his chin at you with a teasing glint in his eye. “And I’m just thinking that might be a little harder to work with. For both of us.”

Unfortunately, he’s right. You’re about as dry as the Sahara desert, so you admit defeat and swipe up on your screen.

Now, while you and him have both exchanged some of your favorite videos before, pulling up one now…in front of him…feels like a whole new ballgame.

You quickly readjust the volume before looking for the ones you know normally do the trick, refusing to sneak a glance at the man now scooting a bit closer to you. 

But you do hear him smile. “Find it?”

Your eyes land on the familiar thumbnail you’ve seen a hundred times before as you whisper, “Yeah.”

“Good,” he hums, hands coming to rest near your outstretched legs. “Can I take your jeans off? Just your jeans.”

You peek out from around the screen of your phone, catching the curious but hopeful look on his face. “...sure.”

He nods his understanding before shifting closer so he can reach for your zipper to guide it down.

You debate watching him but choose instead to click play on the video and force your attention elsewhere. Maybe this will go smoother if you just…don’t look at him. 

Ever.

You feel the air hit your legs as his fingers curl around the fabric at your hips to pull it down. He’s deliberate, making sure he doesn’t accidentally graze something he’s not supposed to (ironically enough), but you appreciate the gesture. 

He gently tugs the material down to your ankles before effortlessly tossing it aside, and you feel yourself swallow.

This isn’t your first time, so you thought you’d know what to expect. But you don’t know what to expect from him. He seems to have a plan (thank God), and you catch the way he eyes your underwear before he glances up at you.

“Ready?” he murmurs, the cadence of his voice rather reassuring. “I’ll just play with you a bit for now, yeah?”

Again, you swallow thickly, forcing the nerves aside. “Yeah, go.”

And from that point on, you decide to proceed with a more clinical mindset. This is practice, exactly like he said. It doesn’t mean anything to either of you, and once it’s over, you doubt you’ll ever mention it again.

It’s just practice.

A cunt is a cunt, a tongue is a tongue, a hand is a hand. Doesn’t matter who they belong to. Pleasure is pleasure, and that’s all there is to it.

You return your attention to your phone as the bed dips, signaling that he’s getting himself into position. You wonder what he means when he says he wants to play with you, and you also wonder if he’ll actually be any good.

But before you can worry that you’ll have to tell him that he’s terrible…he touches you.

You feel his palm, gently smoothing up your right leg, slowly but with purpose. Your breath hitches as you blink at the images flashing across the screen in front of you. You have no idea if you’ll be able to get out of your own head long enough to feel turned on, but you don’t worry about it quite yet.

Then…you feel his thumb.

Your entire body goes still as the pad of his finger brushes down the front of your underwear, right over your clit. There’s just enough pressure to capture your attention but not so much that it feels uncomfortable.

Your chest deflates with a deep breath as you begin to move your focus from the porn to him.

He does it again, a little harder this time around. It’s teasing, almost. Exactly like he said it would be. He’s simply playing with your body and seeing how it reacts. And every time you twitch or your legs begin to tense, you hear him smile, as if making a mental note of it.

For a few minutes, this is all he does. He runs his fingers up and down the fabric in slow but teasing patterns, pressing and sometimes circling as you feel an ache begin to form.

The sounds coming from your phone are successful in urging your body to bend to such salacious intentions. You can feel your muscles unwind as your mind begins to release those doubtful premonitions.

With a flutter of your lashes, you move your phone to the side so you can get a glimpse of the boy between your legs.

He doesn’t seem to notice. Either that or he pretends not to. And for a moment, you aren’t sure what to make of the sight before you. Harry, your best friend, in a staring contest with your cunt and you want to be put off…but you’re not. 

“How’s that?” he murmurs after a moment, his other hand softly stroking the skin of your thigh as he pulls your legs further apart.

Your voice betrays you as you breathe, “Good.”

He looks up. Smiles. “Noted.”

He does it some more, thumbing over your clit before pressing into it and guiding it in a circle. You squirm each time, the faintest of whimpers getting stuck in the back of your throat. 

He seems proud, and you almost want to be annoyed, but you just don’t have the mental capacity to be in this moment.

Maybe when it’s over.

And then, he does something you hadn’t expected.

He dips down…and presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh. Not too close but not too far, and as he does, his eyes find yours.

Shit. “Okay, I’m ready,” you whisper quickly, hips subtly bucking up. “I’m…I think I’m good now.”

His brow raises as he drops his hand and you have to fight the urge to whine. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You chew on your bottom lip. “I mean, if you are.”

“I am,” he says, glancing back down at your waist. “Yeah, I am.”

So you nod, and anxiously await his next move.

He reaches again for your body, and you want to sigh with relief as he slips his fingers under the band of your underwear to peel it down. 

The cool air is rather chilling and it’s then that you’re made aware of the mess already forming between your thighs. You knew you’d begun to enjoy yourself but you’re surprised by just how much. 

Whether that was because of him or because of the video…you don’t exactly know.

Once the lace has been flicked to the side, he readjusts onto his knees and formulates a plan.

He makes you wait. Watch. Watch as he once again takes your legs in his hands to guide them apart and settle between them.

Watch as he outstretches his palm so he can run it along your hip before moving lower.

Watch as he takes his thumb and brings it back to your clit which is now exposed to his skin.

And the contact is sinful. You’re worked up enough that the immediate connection makes your head drop back, and while you’d like to be embarrassed…you just don’t care.

He drags it down. Down. Presses, rubs, and dips into the wetness that waits for him.

He’s concentrated, and the look on his face is rather adorable. He’s learning. Studying. Observing each and every reaction you offer him as he continues to tease you.

Once in a while, he’ll venture a glance up, perhaps for approval, and you’ll nod quickly. Then, he’ll return to the task at hand as he looks for new ways to make you gasp.

He slides the tip of his finger in without warning and when you whimper, he stills and raises his brow.

You can tell he was aiming for the element of surprise, choosing not to warn you in order to receive this very response, but he’s not sure if that was a sound of approval or unease, so you rush to clarify.

“No, it’s fine,” you mumble. “It’s fine, it’s good.”

“Are you su—”

“Yes, it’s good. Go.”

Encouraged, he pushes in. He’s still wary of your enjoyment but he seems to focus more on the movement of his hand than your expressions. And that’s all right with you. You’re happy to simply sit and…judge. Which is what he’s asked you to do, and you plan to uphold your end of the deal.

He stops when he’s reached his knuckle, finger curling slightly before he’s gently pulling back. He repeats the action a time or two more and the fullness that accompanies the stretch is quite enjoyable.

Your eyes move to the ceiling as you fight the urge to watch him. You’re not that comfortable yet and perhaps watching him would ruin the fun. So, for now, you stare at the white paint above you as he begins to pump his hand a bit faster.

When he adds a second finger, you gasp, and he uses this as leverage to expand his search.

And you know exactly what he’s looking for, the crease between his brows indicative of his captivation.

But just when you’re getting ready to offer some help, he drives in and curls up until the tips of his fingers brush against that particular point of ecstasy.

You inhale a sharp breath and writhe away, faintly panting, “Shit…that.”

Intrigued, he perks up, although he doesn’t relax his pace. “That?”

He does it again and your eyes squeeze shut. “Yeah…yeah, it’s…mhm.”

A smile dances across his lips as he scoots a little closer to watch his own hand as he repeats the action.

You begin to slump down the mattress, limbs turning to jello as he guides your body up toward that familiar ledge, and you hear him hum his approval.

“Good,” he murmurs, you assume in an attempt to soothe you. “Very good, m’proud of you. Seem to be doing really well.”

You stumble over a scoff. “Yeah, well…so are you.”

The grin grows. “Still doing okay?”

“Yes,” you whisper when his thumb ghosts over your clit. “Yeah, I…fuck. I’m…is this all you’re gonna do…then? I thought…I thought you wanted…to…with…the other…”

Nothing that comes out of your mouth is coherent but he seems to understand. “Yeah, I just wasn’t sure if you were ready.”

“I am,” you correct quickly. “I’m…yeah, I’m fine. You can…you’re good. Just do it.”

He dips his head down but doesn’t quite connect as he continues to watch you carefully. “Bee?”

“...wha—shit—what?”

“Thank you.”

Your eyes roll playfully, although perhaps that’s just from the pleasure. “Yeah, yeah, I’m…I’m a fucking saint. Just…fucking do it, okay?”

So…he does.

Those lips you used to stare at move down to your clit and he brushes his mouth over your body for just a moment before you see his tongue.

He takes a moment to decide exactly what he wants to do before he’s pressing that tongue into you and dragging it up from his hand.

You’re so wound up that it doesn’t take much more for you to arch off the bed in search of that feeling. He’s hardly done anything but your head is rolling back across the pillow as your fingers dig into the blanket beneath you.

He nips at you gently, continuing to pump your arousal in and out as it coats his hand, and your mind instantly falls completely blank.

The sounds…god, the sounds. The sound of you, the sound of him, the sound of your body falling apart beneath him.

He’s good. He’s very good, and you almost wonder if he was lying about his inexperience. There’s no way he learned this from porn…at least, you can’t see how. But, he is a perfectionist. Maybe it just comes naturally to him.

“Awfully quiet up there,” you hear him say, and the vibration of the deep tone of voice sparks a chill down your spine. “That bad?”

No! you want to scream but you simply shake your head. “It’s…it’s good. You’re…this is great. This is all…you know…standard…good…stuff.”

When he smiles, your cheeks grow hot. “Guess I have a good teacher.”

“Please,” you huff, pressing your palm to your forehead. “You always—god, always know what you’re doing. I had nothing to do with it.”

He shrugs as his eyes flick across the mess in front of him. “Had more to do with it than you think.”

He dives back in, licking a stripe up before driving his fingers in further. And there’s so much happening. So much that it makes you crazy. There’s him, and there’s you, and there’s that reminder of need that continues to grow. You can’t focus in on any one thing, and honestly...you’re okay with that. 

When he sucks you into his mouth, you have to fight the urge to grab onto him, twisting the duvet around your knuckles as you reel. 

“Don’t,” he mumbles, and you work to figure out what he’s referring to. Did you do something wrong? “Don’t grab the blanket. Grab me.”

You blink down at him. “I’m…no, it’s fine. I was just—”

“Bee, I’m not asking,” he interrupts, rather resolutely. “You wanna do it, so do it. Promise, I don’t mind.”

You certainly aren’t a stranger to this more…authoritative side of him. Although now, you might even…like it? At least, in this context.

“Come on,” he repeats, pulling back only to shoot you a stern look. “She will. And it’ll show me what you like. Don’t be a pussy, just do it. You won’t hurt me.”

And you almost want to fight him, but he’s right, and you can’t argue that. 

So, the moment he returns to his focused work, you reach for those chocolate brown curls and give them a nice tug.

He makes a noise of approval that nearly kills you, lapping at your folds like he’s depraved and you’re his only remedy.

Tina is gonna love it.

He finds a certain rhythm that you respond to well and zeros in. His cheeks hollow every time he sucks on you only to quickly pop off as he presses his tongue beside his fingers. 

Your nails scratch down his scalp and he seems to like it, his other hand grasping onto your thigh so hard you imagine it’ll bruise.

And for just a moment, you actually don’t mind. You concede to the satisfaction he’s offering and you indulge in it. You find gratification in the fact that you accepted and you even decide that maybe…this was a good idea.

“Are you close?” he asks once your whimpers scale up an octave.

You nod quickly. “Yes…yeah, I’m…yeah.”

“Good,” he muses proudly before he’s suddenly removing his hand from your body and pulling away.

You nearly disappear through the mattress as you choke on a dejected whine and look down at him. “What…what happened?”

He breathes out a laugh as he settles onto his knees. “Nothing, I’m just keeping my word.”

His word.

Right.

“You…oh,” you whisper, fighting your disappointment. “Yeah. Well…that was…you did good. That was all…you know, very well done. She’ll like it, you’ll be fine.”

He seems pleased with your approval before his eyes begin to narrow in thought. He watches you haphazardly reach for a throw blanket to cover yourself, but just as you’re getting ready to toss it over your legs, he snatches onto your wrist.

You both still as he studies you. “Bee?”

“...what?”

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “If there’s something you want to ask me…then ask me.”

You blink. “What…what do you mean?”

With his hold still on your arm, he leans closer. “Bee…we agreed, yeah? M’trying to be a good student, but I can’t be if you don’t tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitches the closer he gets. “Har, I don’t know what you’re—”

“Do you wanna come?”

Well…shit. “I…” You begin to shift nervously under his pointed stare. “I was just…”

His expression softens although there’s a hint of smugness swimming behind his smile. “Do you want me…to make you come?” he clarifies as your stomach twists into a knot.

Feigning exasperation, you huff a stray hair from your eye. “Well, what do you think? Obviously nobody likes being edged.”

He’s amused as he begins to lower back down, fingers still wrapped around your wrist. “Then what do you need to do?”

You huff again, shooting a quick glare his way as you watch him drop his gaze to your sensitive cunt. “Harry…come on.”

He clicks his tongue and cocks his head. “Nope, that’s not it.”

You open your mouth, a quippy remark locked and loaded, but right before you can use it…he puckers his lips and blows on your clit.

Your muscles recoil and your throat seems to close up as you pull against his hold. “You fucking asshole, you did that on purpose.”

“Obviously.” He tosses you a wink. “You wanna try again?”

No, I wanna kill you, you think but don’t say. “Harry…please.”

You briefly notice the way his eyelashes flutter at the sound of his name but he doesn’t comment on it. “Please what?”

“Harry—”

“Come on, Bee, you can do it.”

“I just…I…this isn’t…”

“Almost there, that’s it. Be a good girl and ask me.”

Oh, that sadistic fucker. You’d berate him for such a nickname if it didn’t turn you on so goddamn much, especially with the state you're in. You might even wanna hear it again and truth be told, the thought blows your mind.

You swallow a shaky breath. “Harry?”

“Yes?”

“...please make me come.”

A wide smile bursts across his face. “Attagirl.”

And with that…he continues.

You’re thrust back up the precipice of pleasure as he slips three fingers into your aching, dripping cunt. 

And it’s purposeful and practiced and he’s such a liar because he knows exactly what he’s doing, at least to you, and you want to smack him.

But you also want to grab onto his hair and his arm and every inch of his body and never let go because he’s so good for making you feel this way. The best friend you could ever have and why on Earth didn’t you guys try this earlier?

Each curl, each twist, each push in. You feel so full and he feels so good and it’s only his hand and then suddenly…it’s his mouth, too.

And the moment he presses his tongue against you, you lose it. You roll your hips against his face, and lift your back from the bed, and drop your mouth open as a desperate moan falls free.

And it goes, and goes, and goes. Stronger and longer than any other one you’ve ever had and this time, you think it really does kill you.

But he doesn’t stop, not even when you’ve begun to settle. He pushes against the sensitive nerves until tears spring to your eyes. He teases and he tortures and he demands a second orgasm out of you before you can even fight it.

This time, he grabs onto your hips, one hand on either side, to lift you and place you where he wants.

And he tastes you. Savors you on his tongue as if this is for his enjoyment, not yours.

And you look down at him, and you see the flush in his cheeks, and the messy way his hair falls into his eyes, and the veins in his arms as he holds you.

And you lose it. Completely and utterly and permanently.

You disappear into your own head for a moment until his ministrations relax and he slowly—very slowly—begins to let go.

As you fight to catch your breath, you watch him run his thumb across his lip. He’s going to wipe you away, you imagine, but then, to your surprise, he sucks his thumb into his mouth.

When he notices you watching, he raises a brow. “Want some?”

And you can only lay there and stare at him, dumbfounded and blissed-out

He laughs to himself when he notices the spacey expression on your face, moving to hover over your body until he’s only inches away. “Can I try something else?”

“What?” you ask breathlessly.

He smiles. “Kissing you.”

Your eyes widen. “...why?”

He shrugs. “I mean, it’s only polite after something like that, no? Like…a parting gift.”

Your eyes narrow. “How sweet. No, really, that was so romantic. Don’t stop, give me another compliment—”

He presses his lips to yours. And it’s rushed and it’s messy and it’s the perfect parting gift.

It’s him.

And you don’t mind that.

You both grin when he pulls back, chuckling to yourselves as he flops over onto the bed beside you.

He helps you toss the blanket over your legs before he’s turning onto his side, head in his hand as he studies you. “All right, Teach. What do you say?”

You pretend to think. “Well…your dirty talk could use some work.”

He smirks. “Okay.”

“And your incessant need to make me spell it out lost you a few points.”

“Sure, sure.”

“But, overall…that was really good,” you admit, and he beams. “Like…better than I expected, and I kind of think you lied about not knowing what to do.”

He shakes his head playfully as he glances off into your room. “Good to know you had so much faith in me.”

“Oh, I didn’t. Not even a little.”

He snorts. “Well, I meant what I said. I only knew what to do because of you.”

“Yeah right. I didn’t tell you any of that.”

“You did,” he argues, turning his attention back to you. “Not with words, no. But with the sounds you made. The way your breath would catch or the way you’d squirm. Or when your nose would crinkle up ’cause you were trying really hard not to like it.”

Shit…had he noticed that? “I…okay, in my defense…I like almost anything. And I wanted to make you work for it.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Yeah.”

He rolls over onto his back, grinning up at the ceiling. “All right, well…I still appreciate it.”

“Hey, don’t get all sappy on me now.”

“Fuck off,” he groans. “I mean it, Bee. I was honestly…okay, don’t fucking laugh, but…I was kind of nervous about it. About whether or not she’d like it. Whether or not you’d like it, and…I’m glad you said yes. I’m glad it was you because…you know. It’s you. And I always feel better around you.”

You work to restrain your smile as you look up at the fan spinning above you. “I feel better around you, too.”

He hums.

“Especially after that. I mean…that was good,” you add and he shakes his head again. “She’s gonna love it.”

He turns to you. “Honestly?”

“Honestly.” You meet his eye. “Really, Har, you have nothing to worry about. She’ll show you what she likes just like I did. You know what to do, you just have to listen. And then…you can call me and tell me all about it.”

“Deal,” he agrees eagerly, sticking his pinky between you.

You take it and squeeze. “And I already know what next week's lesson is gonna be.”

Amused, he says, “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

You grin.

“How To Eat Ass 101.”

Next part:

~ Show Me* (Pt. 2)

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist (with all the other parts plus extras!)

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

[bruisedboys]

hi!!! i luv your writing, congrats on 6k 🤍 for the celebration can I request the prompt:

❛ was that your first kiss? ❜

w/ steve harrington? 

hi angel thank u so much for your request!

steve harrington x fem!reader

Steve is looking at you like he might kiss you. You desperately want him to.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. His lips move around the words seamlessly. You shouldn’t be watching his mouth so closely, but you are, and you can’t seem to pull your eyes away.

Steve must notice this because he brings a hand to your chin to tilt you up ever so gently. You’re pressed very close to each other, sitting with your legs dangling off the hood of his car. There’s plenty of room up here but Steve’s chosen to sit with his thigh pressed to yours. He looks down at you, something in his eyes that you can’t quite make sense of. The gold from his porch light reflects in his deep brown eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly. “Please?”

You blink up at him. Is he kidding? Maybe you’re dreaming. Your mouth struggles to form sound, your tongue in knots.

“Yeah,” you finally get out, more of a breath than a real word.

Steve looks back at you. His gaze is so intense you feel as though it could set you on fire. “Yeah?” He asks, unwaveringly kind as always. The corner of his mouth twitches with the whisper of a smile. “Are you sure?”

You swallow hard. You really, really want him to kiss you.

“Yes,” you manage to nod and hope you don’t sound too desperate.

Steve smiles, wide and pretty. He’s got such a lovely smile. It’s the last thing you see before your eyelids flutter shut. Half a second later Steve’s mouth is on yours.

It’s wildly different to anything you’ve ever imagined. It’s eons lovelier. Steve’s lips are soft and gentle, his hand at your chin carefully angling you up towards him. Your stomach explodes with butterflies, fluttering madly in your ribcage. Steve tastes like spearmint and raspberry slurpee. His other hand wanders to your hip, fingers brushing a strip of your skin where your shirt tides up. His palm cups your hipbone, a warm, heavy weight.

Being kissed is like touching starlight, you decide. It warms you from the outside in. Burns your fingertips and makes your chest buzz with white hot electricity.

When Steve pulls away, he’s stolen all the air from your lungs. You’re embarrassingly breathless. Steve doesn’t seem to care. His hands stay on you as he tilts his head to one side.

“Was that your first kiss?” He asks quietly.

You know he’s not trying to embarrass you, he never would, but you flush anyway.

“Yeah,” you admit, shy. “Was I bad?”

Steve shakes his head vehemently. His hair flops sideways. “No. No, of course not, sweetheart.” He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, his touch so tender it aches. “You were perfectly fine, honey.”

“Oh,” you say lamely.

Steve smiles at you lopsidedly. He’s so pretty, you think. You hope he wants to kiss you again.

He curls his fingers over your cheek to carefully tuck some of your hair behind your ear. His other hand slides up your side to rest in the dip in your waist. You feel something in your chest that you’ve never felt before. This lovely explosion of brilliant colours at the realisation that Steve really, really likes you. That you’re liked by someone as kind and as pretty as Steve Harrington. That in itself almost feels like a kiss.

Though, Steve must read your mind, because he angles you up again in line with his mouth.

“Since that was your first kiss …” he says slowly. “Would you like me to give you your second?”

All you can do is nod. Steve gives you your second kiss, and many more after that.

[loveinhawkins]

for the one word ficlet prompt thing!!

I'd love to see something steddie with the word "sun". not picky about how you use it and im good with whatever season you'd like! 💕🌻💘☀️

pre season 3 crossing paths in high school, my beloved ☀️💕 ao3

There’s a blind spot just on the outskirts of the school grounds, before you get to the woods: a little hill that if you sit at just the right angle, back pressed up against the grass, no-one can see you. Eddie goes there whenever he needs some peace—like now, reading alone during lunch. He can still hear the distant laughter of students floating along on the breeze, but it’s far enough away that it doesn’t intrude as he reads.

The air smells like summer’s approaching. His fingers skim through drying blades of grass; they feel almost as delicate as pressed flowers.

Despite the calm solitude, the words aren’t going in—and he knows that with the right teacher, he kinda gets Tennessee Williams, but Mr Hauser’s gone, and he was the only one who allowed Eddie free reign to go wild when reading aloud in class, every other sub since then would say he was being disruptive and… okay, that was true some of the time, but most of the time it was because it helped, damn it, gave him at least some hope of scraping a pass—

A shadow falls across Eddie’s page—it doesn’t loom in the way a teacher’s stance would, but he still jumps at the suddenness of it.

“Jesus!”

Eddie tips his head back against the hill, cranes his neck to look upside down. Squints against the sun.

It’s Steve Harrington, and he must have gym straight after lunch because he’s already changed into a T-shirt and shorts, which is an odd decision in Eddie’s opinion as a perpetual gym-ditcher, but whatever, it’s a free country… and it’s not exactly like the guy’s an eyesore.

”You trying to give me a heart attack, Harrington?”

“No,” Steve says shortly; he looks a mixture of embarrassed and… annoyed? Which would be a new personal best for Eddie, considering he’s done nothing to piss him off save for just sitting on the ground. “I didn’t know you were here, dude.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the idea,” Eddie waves his hands in explanation, “welcome to my hiding spot.”

Steve scoffs. “Not much of a hiding spot if I found it.”

It comes out a little petty, sure, but nothing major, Eddie thinks; it’s not like Steve’s picking a fight.

“What’s up with you, man?” he asks lightly.

It’s something he’s pondered more than once over the last couple of years, in between the stress of failed tests and the same platitudes in school reports: Eddie must apply himself next year; Eddie must try harder; Eddie must…

In the background of it all was the enigma that was Steve Harrington. Eddie had found that you couldn’t not look at him, his eyes drawn to even the most fleeting impressions: walking past the lockers or driving in and out of the school parking lot. Seasons changed—whole damn years changed—and still the question remained: just what on earth is up with Steve Harrington these days?

At least now, asking the question is profoundly less upsetting than it had been last fall, when Eddie silently tracked the progression of bruises healing across Steve’s face—along with Billy Hargrove’s intimidating stare.

“Nothing, I’m just…” Steve sighs. “Didn’t wanna spend forever in the cafeteria when it’s so nice out, but… Honestly?”

“Nah, I’d prefer you lie to me,” Eddie says deadpan, and Steve snorts before sighing again; Eddie almost asks him to read some Tennessee Williams out loud, ‘cause he’s surprisingly got the dramatics for it.

Steve flops down onto the grass, lies right on his back with no concern for his precious hair. “I’m so damn bored, Munson.”

“Gosh, my heart bleeds,” Eddie says. “Puh-lease tell me how hard it is to have passed everything and literally not have a care in the world?”

Steve blinks up at him, frowning. “Shit, are you repeating again?”

He sounds earnest, and there’s something in his phrasing that means Eddie isn’t nearly as defensive as normal—maybe because it’s about repeating again rather than failing.

Eddie lifts up the script in demonstration. “Not exactly reading this for fun, dude.”

“God, I’d take that over gym right now.”

“Okay, you’re bullshitting me. You love gym, Harrington. You, like,” Eddie gestures at Steve’s get-up, “actually make an effort and everything.”

“Not when the semester’s almost over, man. We don’t even have a cover right now, so we’re just left to, like, do whatever, who gives a shit. I’m bored outta my mind.”

“Tragic,” Eddie says—gym without a teacher sounds like a dream; he’d literally just leave. “I’m weeping for you.”

Steve rolls his eyes. But it doesn’t feel like a dismissal, even when he doesn’t reply and just lies back in the grass with another sigh.

So… Eddie mulls it over. What the hell, Steve’s graduating; it’s not like they’ll cross paths after that.

“Bet you can’t run to the woods and back before the bell rings.”

Steve sits up, a gleam of interest in his eyes. He checks his watch. “The bell’s gonna ring in, like, two minutes, Munson.”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you were so bored. Well, if you’re not up to the challenge—”

“No, no,” Steve says, standing up. “I didn’t say that.” He actually gets into position like he’s on the running track, looks at Eddie expectantly.

Eddie covers his bemusement with theatrics; he mimes firing a starting pistol.

And… shit, Steve Harrington can run.

Objectively, it’s not like it’s a surprise; he wasn’t exactly bringing up the rear in the swim and basketball teams. Still, it’s one thing knowing it, another to see it up close like this.

Eddie puts his book back in his bag, watching as Steve disappears from view. Reluctantly, he edges away from the hill—if he doesn’t, he’ll risk being late for class again by the time he walks over, and… He thinks of ‘86, what has to be his third time lucky. Start as you mean to go on, and all that.

Eddie turns back to look. Sure enough, Steve comes sprinting out of the woods, racing up to the hill right as the bell rings.

“Still counts, Munson!” he calls, a little breathless.

And Eddie knows that he’s not really solved the mystery of what’s going on with Steve Harrington.

What he does know is that Steve is smiling as he raises a fist in victory, the sun turning his hair golden for just a moment; he looks utterly free—as he should be, graduation’s right around the corner.

And Eddie can’t begrudge him that.

”Inspirational,” he shouts, cupping a hand around his mouth as he walks backwards. “I’ll get John Hughes on the phone, stat.”

The bell stops. Eddie turns around before he can trip on his own feet.

He’s getting closer to the school building now, can feel the change in the air, cliques unwillingly disbanding as teachers move them on.

But as he heads to class, Eddie faintly hears evidence that the moment hasn’t been broken entirely: Steve Harrington’s laughter, drifting across on the wind.

[yuellii]

could i request neuvillette with gn reader who is afraid of drowning and can't swim, so he provides swimming lessons?

sunshine poured naturally dazzling today, not a single cloud in the sky. perhaps that was your sign that darling neuvillette was having a good day today.

well, on the contrary, you were not. you almost wished he was not having so-jolly of a day just to dim the sun with rain clouds, for the sunlight intensity was only worsening your headache. a headache which was caused by the lack of oxygen in your lungs—from swimming all day.

“when you go into a bug-position underwater, hold your breath for ten seconds, and blow out bubbles,” he instructed firmly, holding your waist as you both stood hip-deep into the water. “this will teach you how to float.

you gave him the slightest of pouts. “you’ll bring me back up if i drown, right?”

“i would never let you drown.” you couldn’t tell from his facial expressions if he meant it in an endearing way or a purely offended one. “just hold your legs to your chest, and blow out bubbles—trust the water, okay?”

you took a deep breath. he looked radiant in the sunlight, you realized. sure, maybe it was the banging headache that was making your vision hazy; but somehow, the chief justice looked a little livelier in the water like this. him, with his full-body diving suit as an attire you’d never expect to see him in before.

perhaps this was a fun little treat to your eyes, but all at the price of the sinking feeling of drowning in fontaine’s waters. but how could he refuse you, when you admitted you had no idea how to swim?

“aaand go.”

okay, you may need to teach him a few more pointers on how to read human expressions, because you were pretty sure that your face made no indication that you were ready to be let go and pushed down. he was very knowledgeable on how to swim, sure, but he was definitely not educated on how to be a teacher.

and so, you immediately panicked, flopping around to bring your knees to your chest as your head filled with the sudden fear of drowning once more. and once you got into the fetal position he told you to, you lost control of your body and found yourself wading up to the surface.

you broke out in short-breathed coughs as neuvillette attempted to stabilize your body atop the water, offering his own chest for you to lean on as you caught your breath. oh, this was so embarrassing. you thanked the heavens he was so nice.

“i couldn’t do it,” you coughed out water. “you saw me try it exactly as you told me to.”

he frowns just the slightest bit. “but it works when i do it…”

you deadpan just a little bit. of course it doesn’t make him panic when he was already used to the water. but you suppose he can’t quite discern your very-humanly emotion of fear for an ocean. “i think that’s enough for me today,” you sighed onto his chest, cold from the fabric of the diving suit. his arms still had a protective hold around you, tho you were barely in the water at all. “i already gained a massive headache.”

he hummed shortly in response. you couldn’t tell if it was a yes or a no, but you think you’ve come to learn it was just his way of saying he was thinking.

and only a minute later, he was guiding you by the shoulders to the shore, holding them so protectively as if these shallow waves could drown you in seconds.

( but, who could blame him, when you were panicking over water only a meter high just a moment ago? )

“i’ve already brought lots of water for you to drink to ease that headache of yours,” he said once he helped dry you off with a towel. his hands were gentle as he circled the cloth against your hair. “and probably take you out to get some pastries, too.”

ah, you loved such a gentleman. you only hoped he could be a better swimming instructor, too.

[avatarkv]

A passage from Tuk-Tuk’s diary.

now playing: fourth of july, sufjan stevens. (for the feels!)

It has been 972 days since Neteyam died— or so I think. I’m not that good in counting, so I carve sticks on the walls of our house so I can remember. Sa’nok isn’t really fond of it. She says I’m dirtying the hut and forbids me to do it again. I don’t know how to tell her that it’s a way for me to remember without saying my brother’s name because if I do, sa’nok cries.

I don’t like when mama cries. and she cries all the time.

In the dead of night, when everyone is asleep and snoring, she cries. I hear her call for Eywa— but most of the time, she calls for Neteyam and I don’t know how to remind her that he isn’t here anymore. So I let her.

She cries when she makes meals and she thinks she’s alone. Ma forgets that I don’t have that many friends here at the reef yet, so I always stay close to home. I hug her tight. Sometimes, she wraps her arms around me too, but most of the time, she stares at nothing and I’m left to dry her tears myself. I think she gets embarrassed when I see her, so I lie and say I’m off to play with Kiri by the shore— but in truth, I stay behind, just in case she needs someone.

Sa’nok always makes Neteyam’s favorite and everyone always makes room for him at the table. I don’t know how to remind them that he’s not here to eat anymore, so I leave the empty plate alone.

Lo’ak cries too. He thinks he’s being sneaky when he takes too long to look for his things, but really, he just looks down because he doesn’t want anyone to see. Lo’ak doesn’t play with me anymore; he trains a lot more and he’s tougher— he’s like you now. I wonder if he’d swim with me in our Ilus again, but he always drifts off to see payakan, so I don’t think he will.

He’s more easily frustrated. Hurts himself when he misses the fish while hunting or when his Ilu is being difficult. I think he’s being too hard on himself, so I try to keep an eye on him. I don’t want to lose another brother— I promise I’ll look over him this time, great mother, just don’t take him away like you did with Neteyam.

Besides, he also has Tsireya. I think he’s in good hands.

I don’t mind that everyone cries. I cry all the time!

I hurt myself once when I was looking for shells. I scraped my elbow from the nearby rocks and it bled a little— it stung, but then I remember how Neteyam would pick me up and tell me that I was the strongest; that wounds like these wouldn’t last. He said he’d protect me as long as he’s near. Now that he’s gone, I think I have to look over myself now.

I rubbed the bleeding scratch until it became a red patch. As long as it hurt, I would hear him. As long as it hurt, I could feel my brother’s tight embrace.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who doesn’t see him. Everyone seems to carry on with their life with hints of him; Lo’ak would carry two bows (his and neteyam’s) Mama has his necklace and Kiri uses his hair beads. I wish I had something of him— but then I look around, and I see him everywhere.

His empty hammock, his favorite wooden bowl, and his songcord.

I look for you everywhere, brother, and I see you. I miss you so bad and I can’t talk about it, because if I do, everyone gets sad. Everyone misses Neteyam.

I think it will never get better. I think everyone will cry from now on.

☆ mauve here! posting something light before eventually carrying on with my series and stuff. just something to gather everyone's attention again! i fear i am flopping </3 anyway, hope everyone enjoys this mini series of tuk! i love her so much.

tags: @aonungsmate

[gingerlee-holds]

I feel bad for popping a request in ☠ anyway

If you're feeling up to it, perhaps ler Todoroki x lee Reader (bc me and reader insert are inseparable /j) from MHA? Length, perhaps 900+ words if possible? But I'll be grateful for anything haha, I also don't want to force you to write more if you're not feeling inspired i'm gonna be honest here I haven't watched MHA in a long time ☠ and I have no idea what scenarios would be realistic because he's,, Todoroki,,

Personally i'm a sucker for evil/more intense tickles because I wish I was ticklish but if that makes you uncomfy do feel free to ignore :)

oh hush, you!!! i love requests, so thank you so so much!! i just hope this is somewhat what you wanted heehee- enjoy!!! i have a huge crush on this dork so that creeps in- also the reader's quirk is whatever you want it to be, cuz its not mentioned- also also!! im really really sorry if i fuck the names up cuz from what i know of the show, Todoroki is the family name, so Shoto is the given name but i could be totally wrong

i just wanna say that i really really like writing the rambly bits from Shoto about the book-

the reader is sorta a brat lol

Like Poetry

Words: 2,334 Pairing: Ler!Shoto, Lee!Reader Warnings: lotta fluff!!! not proofread!!!

You groaned as you entered the common room. Mr. Aizawa’s personal training was brutal today, and you were not looking forward to feeling how sore your muscles would be tomorrow morning. Sighing, you grabbed one of Sato’s cupcakes from the counter and flopped onto the sofa, confident it would be unoccupied. It was about seven in the evening on a Friday, which meant everyone was either in their rooms or somewhere around town. 

You huffed into the mattress before gasping at the sound of a page being turned. Looking up, you saw you were about a foot away from, in your mind, the strongest student in your class. He was sitting with perfect posture, reading a book with yellowed pages. On the coffee table sat a mug filled with tea.

Shoto Todoroki didn’t look up from his book at you. If he knew you were there, he didn’t show it. He silently read, seemingly fully absorbed. You sat upright, shaking off the embarrassment of almost landing on him, of all people. 

You cleared your throat and gobbled up your cupcake in one bite, setting the wrapper down next to his tea. Still, he didn’t move. Raising an eyebrow, you poked him in the side to get his attention, and the surprised gasp he gave made you giggle. Shoto looked at you, brow furrowed in annoyance, but his face soon softened when you smiled and waved.

“Hi!” you said chipperly. 

He nodded politely in return. “Hello, Y/N. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.”

With a chuckle, you shoved his shoulder. “No worries! Whatcha reading, bookworm?”

Shoto tilted his head. “I’m not a worm.”

You sighed and repeated your question without the tease. You loved that your classmate was so adorably literal. 

“I’m reading this book of old poetry. I don’t remember where I got it - it feels like my family’s always had it lying around. I decided to read it today since everyone’s out.” His voice was calm as he spoke.

You were somewhat interested in the subject but mostly just wanted to hear him talk some more. It was so rare that he spoke. “Anything good in there?”

“I found this one that I liked,” Shoto said before flipping back a few pages. “Rain on lemongrass. / Ash trees weep o’er their lost sun: / Their light and love, gone.”

The poem made you hum in thought. “What’s it about?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” he asked. Taken on its face, it was an insulting question, but you knew Shoto was genuinely unsure whether to explain it. You shook your head in reply. “The poem is about heartbreak. A woman falls in love with someone, and suddenly, that person has to leave. The woman feels like she has nothing left as she cries into a world that has bigger concerns than her. Soon, perhaps, her love shall return, the sun re-emerging from the clouds, but there’s also the possibility that she doesn’t last until then, and the wind blows her over. Ash trees symbolize grief, so perhaps they may never meet again. The lemongrass, evoking a cheerful memory, is smothered under the rains that hide her beloved.” Suddenly, he looked up from the page. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was rambling.”

You scratched your head. “How did you get all that from just three lines?” You didn’t mind, of course. He was cute when he rambled. To your great surprise, he let out a soft and sheepish smile. 

“Well, I suppose I have too much time on my hands,” he said, looking away. You smirked and poked his side again, giggling at his surprised reaction. Shoto let out a muffled yelp and jumped, glaring at you suspiciously and rubbing his side. “Quit that.” 

“Sorry, Icy-hot! Can’t be helped!” You held up both your hands in mock surrender.

“Hm,” Shoto mumbled, looking back to the book. “This book was written entirely by hand. See? This character is slightly different here, here, and here,” he continued, pointing at different parts of the page. “And from what I can tell, its publication predates quirks, hence why they are not mentioned. If they had quirks, you would think there’d be a suggestion of their existence, no? Yet there’s nothing. For all intents and purposes, it seems like this book is a remnant of a simpler world.” His expression looked distant as if his mind were a hundred miles and years away. 

You leaned back, folding your arms behind your head. “Sounds dorky. Maybe you should tell Deku! I’m sure he’d be all too interested,” you chuckled, then looked over. If he heard your comment, he gave no sign. He must still be lost in thought. Looking down at his side, you saw it was perfectly exposed. You were pushing your luck. Then again, what is a hero if not someone who tries their luck? You pursed your lips together and quickly extended your hand to poke Shoto’s side again. 

But he was faster. As if expecting your reckless act, he set his book down and grabbed your hand before it made contact in one fluid movement. “You don’t listen, do you?”

“I do my utmost to avoid doing that, yes,” you said, giggling nervously. His grip was firm, giving you no delusions of escape. His hand was chilly, as if Shoto was threatening to encase your whole arm in ice at any moment. You tugged slightly.

He didn’t let go. “No, you need to learn this lesson.” Somehow, that was among the scariest things you’ve ever heard, right alongside the speech of the hero killer and Mr. Aizawa announcing an extra homework assignment before the summer break. Shoto pushed your legs toward the end of the couch, pinning you to his chest with both hands held behind you. You shuddered as Shoto said, “Now, learn well.”

Since both your hands were stuck behind you against his torso, you couldn’t defend yourself whatsoever when he descended both hands onto your stomach. You erupted into bright, bubbly laughter and kicked your feet like that would do anything to help. All that went through your head was repeated, ‘Oh, fuck, that tickles!’ 

You heard Shoto’s hum of approval from behind you as he clawed his fingers over the thin fabric of your shirt. “Interesting,” he mumbled to himself. 

“ShIhihihihIt! ShohOhOHohotoHoHoho!” You shook your head and thrashed all you could, but it didn’t matter. Shoto was stronger, and he would make sure you knew it. 

“Yes, Y/N?” he asked casually.

“STohohoHOAhaap!!” It didn’t have a chance of working, but it didn’t hurt to try.

“No.” Shoto’s clawed hands squeezed around your stomach in circles, taking a moment to dwell on your extra-ticklish lower stomach, which he took delight in exploiting. If you didn’t know any better, you would even say he enjoyed it as much as you were. 

“NohOHoHOhoHT TheheHEherre!” you pleaded helplessly, throwing your head back to give your torturer the best puppy eyes you could… although they were far less effective than you had hoped since they were quickly squeezed shut in uproarious laughter. 

“Here? Right here, yes?” Shoto released a flurry of pokes on your lower stomach as if he wanted confirmation.

You nodded and hiccupped, doing all you could to contain the blush that bloomed on your face at the sound of his cooing hum. Mercifully, he gave you a break, and you panted for breath against him. “Shihihitt…” you giggled, squirming in his grasp to get the ghost tickles off your tummy. 

“Here,” Shoto said, and you turned to see he was holding up his mug for you. Gratefully, you took a big sip of the refreshing tea, smiling a little at the warmth of it. It was strangely sweet; you had expected Shoto to only like the bitter teas, but surprisingly, the flavor was somewhat sugary. As if reading your mind, Shoto said, “It’s chamomile. It helps me relax.” He took the mug from your mouth and set it back on the table. 

Shoto cleared his throat. “Now,” he began, “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Is my release dependent on how I answer that?”

“Yes.”

“Then… Never!” You madly giggled as you attempted to escape his grasp before quickly regretting it. He had you suitably pinned, and to further reinforce his lesson, you realized with terror that he was rolling up your shirt to your ribs. “Wait, Shoto-!”

Your tormentor didn’t give you time to finish. Without fanfare, his hands descended onto your exposed tummy. Instead of clawing around, as he had done before, he was using quick scribbles, which, coupled with his cold fingers on your bare skin, was maddening. 

“SHohOhoHOTO!” You had no idea you were so ticklish! By the looks of things, it seemed like he had been in tickle fights before, and from how badly he was wrecking you, he was used to winning them. 

He hummed in thought as your thrashing weakened. “Your belly button is incredibly ticklish,” he observed. It was, to your dismay, very accurate. It didn’t help that his cold finger was heightening the feeling!

“PLehEHehEHHEase! MeheHEheheercyy!” you squealed out, kicking and bucking like a horse.

“Goodness, you’re dramatic. It’s only tickling, Y/N. If anything, this should build your endurance. What if the League captured you? I doubt you’d last a minute before you spill everything you know if they knew this weakness of yours.”

Why did he have to be so monotone with his teasing? He sounded so casual as if he were still explaining the history of that old book - only he was speaking over your hysterical cackling. He was a fast learner, too: he was pretty adept at locating the spots that got an especially wild reaction out of you and cruel in punishing them.

Shoto’s fingers increased in pace while always keeping one wiggling about in your navel. “I know,” he said, “I get it; you’re very, very ticklish. Now calm down.” You could hear the smile in his voice. He was having fun! “I wonder… you’ve inspired me to write my own poetry! Let’s see…” He paused to think, unfortunately not slowing down the tickles, making you yelp and shriek. “Ticklish cutie / Squealing on the couch with glee / With a cute tummy,” he slowly said as if writing it down. With a gasp, you felt him do just that, writing down the poem on your belly with the tip of his fingernail. 

You turned beet-red as you threw your head back, your laughter turning silent. You had long since begun crying with delight, and tears rolled down your cheeks in rivers, but he didn’t stop until you started coughing. With a chuckle, he released you, and you panted for breath. You didn’t move from his lap, and Shoto didn’t seem to mind. He gently placed a hand on your forehead, tilting it toward him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked gently. You nodded with a smile, which he returned. His smile was inviting, like a sunbeam on a winter’s day. He slowly helped you sit back up and handed you his mug again. You eagerly gulped it down. The tea was warm and sweet, and when you finished it and set it back on the table, you realized that Shoto wasn’t too different. 

“Thank you, Shoto,” you said softly.

“For the tea?”

“Yes,” you replied, “and… for the tickles. It… helped me unwind.” You looked away and rubbed your neck shyly. 

“You’re welcome, Y/N. It was fun for me, too. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh like that.” He smiled again, a small treat like candy. “It’s nice to see you so carefree. You’re usually a ball of nerves,” Shoto admitted bluntly, making you sigh and nod in agreement. 

You basked in the silence for a bit before both of you suddenly looked up. That was the unmistakable sound of… And right on cue, the word ‘mumble’ began to figuratively float across your field of view. At its origin, you and Shoto saw Izuku madly scribbling in his notebook and mumbling about something. You swore you caught the words “ticklish,” “stomach,” and “squeals.” 

Behind Izuku, standing in the hallway, were Ochaco, Denki, Tsuyu, Mina, Eijiro, and Kyoka. The first two desperately attempted to quiet Izuku, to no avail. You sat bolt upright, glaring at the unwelcome audience. 

Eijiro broke the silence with a playful swat to the back of Izuku’s head. “You got us caught with your nerd shit, Deku,” he joked, making the green-haired hero look away backfully. 

“That was adorable!” Mina grinned, pointing at you. “You made a bunch of noise, so we wanted to check it out!” 

“You’d better erase what you wrote, Deku.” You spoke calmly but in a way that gave no misapprehensions about your seriousness. 

Ochaco looked over Izuku’s shoulder. “Doesn’t look like he’s gonna do that.”

“Midoriya,” Shoto spoke up. “Be sure to write that they couldn’t use their quirk while being tickled.”

You gasped at the betrayal. “Don’t you fucking dare write that, Deku!”

With a glance, Denki, Kyoka, and Tsuyu replied simultaneously, “Oh, he’s already writing it.”

With a growl, you shot from the couch. “You’re fucking dead, Deku!” Your classmates yelped with shock and ran down the hall from you, stifling their giggles. 

Eijiro, egging you on, tossed back over his shoulder a snide, “Now you’re sounding like Katsuki!”

“Oh, I’ll make Katsuki look like a fucking bag of pop rocks when I’m done with you idiots!” Your threat carried no heat since it was filled with giggles. You couldn’t help but laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation, smiling fondly at how much you loved your friends.

And behind you, on the couch, Shoto grinned with pride as he picked up his book to continue reading. He was glad he had been allowed to be so affectionate with someone for a chance. Absent-mindedly, he picked up his mug of tea for a sip but sighed disappointingly at the lack of tea inside. Maybe he needed bigger mugs. 

[cordeliawhohung]

Hi! Happy Simon and chip thoughts!!!! (Sorry I said I was going to send these hours ago):

On rainy days in……..

Chip will convince Simon to watch twilight or Harry Potter…I firmly believe she would love these movies. Simon will act like he has no interest, insisting that they are stupid movies for teenagers, but when chip glances up at Simon from her place on his chest, he’s FULLY immersed in it. She will smile and giggle to herself and when Simon notices he’s just giving her the stink eye.

Speaking of you being at the movies…..

When Simon convinces Chip to see a horror movie, he literally has to beg and plead. Don’t get me wrong—I feel like chip loves a good horror movie. But Simon’s picking the dumbest ones to see in theaters. Also….chip insists on bringing her own snacks because the food at movie theaters are so overpriced. To compensate for chips lack of purses to their snacks in….they tape a bowl to her belly and put all the snacks in it, giving her a little belly bump. Simon goes wild. He paws at her belly all the way there. He will rub it while they wait in for the tickets and chip will smack his hand away in embarrassment. He tells her she looks hot pregnant and she tells him they can tape it to his stomach next time. When they finally sit down and chip starts peeling off the tape Simon’s grabbing her hands and giving her fake belly a little kiss before letting her take it off.

I think chip will be one of the first people to show Simon how to make a proper snow angel, even if it’s in the grass like when she was a child. She will take a picture of him while he closes his eyes and moves his arms the way she showed him too. She makes it her Lock Screen.

Simon, on the other hand, helps her properly carve pumpkins. I feel like they go to do it and the second Simon sees the way chip is handling the sharpest knife in her kitchen (she almost slices all her fingers off which nearly gave him a heart attack) he’s snatching it from her hands and giving her a tutorial. Hers turned out better his and he gets a little butt hurt.

At some point, chip will get back to her apartment and start mindlessly rummaging through her fridge after a long day of work and find that it’s fully stocked….compared to its usual emptiness. She knows it was Simon, he told her he was stoping by to drop off her clothes she left at his flat. She gets to pissed that he’s spending his money on HER groceries. Calls him and is probably all snappy, telling him she doesn’t need him to spend his money on her like that, but he just plays dumb and says he doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

When they are lying in bed chip will be trying to get and sleep and just hear sirens coming from Simon’s phone. She will flop over, and see that he’s watching a live high speed chase. “Look at this!” And he’s holding the too bright phone in her face. After two mins they are snuggled up watching the driver speed through the streets. Simon starts rooting for him and chip smacks his chest.

sorry this took ages to get to lmao.

also this is going to be a jumbled mess because i am in pain (tm)

but damn now you've got me wanting to watch harry potter ): (FUCK JK ROWLING hope that bitch gets jailed <3) i always start that shit on the third movie tho lmao. i feel like it's def a comfort movie for her. she read the books in school. everyone gave her weird looks for lugging around order of the phoenix. "you're really reading a book that thick?"

don't get me started on chip with a baby belly. i wrote a drabble about that in the past (it's really bad please don't go looking for it) and i just. i'm sorry. simon and a pregnant partner make me go feral. i just know he is so soft with her ):

and the SNOW ANGELS UGHHHH i just see them going out for something totally unrelated and Chip is just throwing herself onto the grass and is like "look!!" and Simon is just enthralled. hates when she takes the picture of him but likes the way she smiles now every time she opens her phone.

i'm now imagining simon standing behind Chip and holding the knife with her and showing her how to carve it.... yeah. just that. that's all. (also it needs to be halloween in real life already)

and LMAO simon just playing dumb about the groceries is so in character. "dunno what you're talkin' about sweetheart." okay yeah, sure thing, idiot.

and them laying in bed together ): my partner and i actually do shit like this irl where it's like "look at this cat video. look at this guy trolling scammers. look at this cat again. this dress is pretty do you want it." chip def falls asleep on his chest while he's watching the video. who knew live reports of crimes could make for good white noise?

i love them your honor i love them i love them ):

[guppybibi]

hii !! can you do akito (shinonome) with a gf who’s OBSESSED with another group? i just thought of this and found it funny

he’s always like “why don’t we go to your place” and reader is like oh no it’s ok haha!! because it’s kind of embarrassing but there’s so much merch it’s impossible to take down

and one day he convinces you to let him stay over and boom. posters everywhere. cds everywhere. binders full of photocards. a whole shelf of albums just sitting there. don’t forget the dvds and polaroids! bonus points if you forgot to turn off your cd player when you answered the door so it’s blasting said group’s music as well 💀

( ++ doesn’t have to be any group in particular but i’m heavy in my enhypen phase right now, so maybe them? that’d make it even more nerdy but 😭 )

𖦹 pairing: Akito Shinonome x fem!reader

𖦹 content: Confused Akito, fluff, kpop stuff, idk..

𖦹 notes: aaaa i love this idea, tysm! for the group i chose enhypen as well but also stray kids because you can never stan too many groups ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ (i had the biggest stray kids phase lollzz, plus idk much abt enhypen:c sorrie) also wrote half of this at school wowie

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ

-Just..so confused?? He doesn't get the thing about collecting photo cards and the terms fans use so you have to explain it to him.

-Once he gets it though he's just mildly concerned, for your sanity and wallet. He does commend your dedication and loyalty to these groups though (silently hopes you do the same with him.) 

-Occasionally asks you if VBS had merch would you buy some, his reaction would vary on your answer. -

-If you say no he’ll just say ‘uh huh’ and walk away. (pancakes are the solution, TRUST.) + he's just playing around, he isn't mad. 

-If you say yes he’ll just smirk smugly and try to talk everyone into making merch. (he fails)

He’s so confused right now, he just doesn't get what's the big deal about it. The ginger knew you absolutely loved these so called K-POP groups and he didn't mind at all, not a tiny bit. To be fair, he was somewhat an idol as well. A street musician to be exact but that was close enough. 

And today was another added episode to the collection of you not letting him go to your home, what exactly were you hiding from him? He stood before you, in all his glory, a skeptical look on his face. “C'mon doll..is yer room messy or somethin’? I’m sure it can't be that bad, trust me–I’ve seen worse.” He said in an attempt to reassure you, intently watching how your lips pressed into a thin line and your eyes darted across the park you two were at. “L..-look! A bunch of people are doing cool skating tricks!” You exclaim, pointing to a bunch of randos doing flips or whatever. Distracting him was worth the shot, no guarantees it’ll work though. 

He almost facepalms himself when he hears your shitty attempt at diverting his attention elsewhere. “Doll I’m not the smartest but I'm not that dumb..” It was honestly offensive that you thought that would work..You couldn't keep hiding forever, you two wouldn't progress if you didn't allow him to do something so simple as coming into your home. And as he said, he's somewhat of an ‘idol’ as well so he probably wouldn't find it too weird. Yeah, think positive! He won't think you're some kind of koreaboo or anything!

“Right..I guess you could come over to my place. But on one condition..” She starts. “Don't find it weird..?” He chuckles in response, shaking his head. “No promises.” 

And that's how he ended up in this rather strange position, sitting on your cozy bed as the posters on your walls stared down at him. “Wow..this is um..a lot.” His mouth formed a crooked smile, glancing at the shelf filled with albums. Where you got the money for all of this was a mystery to him. “So..who are they?” He asks, flopping back onto your bed, full of a bunch of stuffed animals. Your eyes start to sparkle, this was your time to shine, well rather to rant about your unhealthy obsession with these KPOP groups but let's not talk about that right now. 

After your rather lengthy explanation about every basic thing he needs to know, the expression on his gruff face seems unreadable. Was he angry or somehow jealous about it? Or was he simply just not interested in it? That might've been the case, but not right now at least. “Mmh..alright.” He sounded way too casual about it for comfort if you’re being honest. But if he was held captive and needed to be honest, extra–I know, he found this..mildly concerning addiction of yours quite endearing. It’s not like it would cause problems along the way, unless you spent all of your money on merchandise and went broke but he has enough trust in you not to do that..don’t break that by buying some lightstick that costs more than your kidney. 

[possibilistfanfiction]

for surgeons AU could we get some early days, maybe first date or something? obsessed with your work as always

[s/o to everyone who asked for their first date, love u, crossposting this au to ao3 now too i guess lol!]

//

‘don’t laugh.’

‘i’m not.’ 

you glare. 

‘i swear, i’m not,’ she lies.

‘cam, you’re actively laughing. physically. audibly. at me.’

camila takes a deep breath and forces herself to frown. ‘okay. sorry. continue.’

‘bea is just — hot.’

you can tell that camila fights a grimace, which is fair, maybe, because she’s known beatrice for years through medical school. ‘she’s also very kind and understanding, if you wanted to, like, do something that would actually be fun for the both of you.’

‘hiking sounds fun.’

‘ava.’

it’s not all that often you feel the tightness in your chest that you remember from childhood: things are far less limited to you now. you have care you need, and your physical therapy and surgeries and medications are usually effective at letting you do whatever you want day-to-day. ‘just — don’t.’

camila sighs. ‘okay. but i promise bea wouldn’t think any less of you.’

you flop back on her sofa. ‘i know that, i really do. but it’s just so not sexy. and you know what is sexy? beatrice without a shirt on hiking ten miles, all sweaty and —‘

‘— it’s november, i’m pretty sure she’ll be wearing a shirt and a jacket —‘

‘— that’s not the point.’

camila loses her battle and does outright laugh at you now. ‘okay. well, to answer your question, you can borrow whatever of my gear you need, and i won’t tell bea.’

‘you’re a saint.’

/

to be fair, beatrice picks you up in her extremely clean subaru — you refrain from saying anything; it’s way too easy for it to actually be fun anyway — and offers you a breakfast sandwich and a coffee from, apparently, her favorite place near her house. it’s a cool, cloudy morning, typical november fair, and it’s still dark out, but you’re used to being up early or really at any time of day or night at this point. you’d done every spine decompression stretch you’ve ever learned in physical therapy, taken some ibuprofen, and truly have no plan other than hoping camila’s trekking poles — a very serious name for very fancy walking sticks — are enough to see you through.

beatrice, for her part, is clearly nervous, and it’s charming: she spends at least twenty minutes talking to you about all of the features of the hike and why it’s an ideal one for the two of you — ‘it’s moderate elevation gain up to the crest, about 2.5 miles, and, since it has southern exposure, we won’t get too much wind today.’ and, ‘if you want to keep going, it’s beautiful along the ridge, and there’s two mild peaks we could summit.’ and, ‘i’ve packed enough food and water for essentially however long we want to go; you can carry some if you’d like, if you didn’t pack much yourself.’ and, ‘anyway, the entire thing is wonderful and, in my experience, fairly empty, especially as it grows colder. but, just our luck: not much rain forecast for today.’ — and then asks, almost painfully awkward, about your last shift.

‘it was fine,’ you say, finishing your sandwich and making sure your trash is neatly packed up in the bag, with hers too. ‘but enough shop talk. i want to know about you.’

she blushes and you see, not for the first time but maybe in a way that’s more obvious than you have before, that beatrice is just a person after all, even if she’s unflappable at work. 

‘it’s okay,’ you say, so she doesn’t shut down or feel embarrassed. ‘i don’t mind shop talk, but i’m just — i’m glad to spend the time with you, away from work. plus you’re like a total enigma. very mysterious. it’s kind of hot.’

you haven’t said explicitly this is a first date, but you’ve been on lots of first dates and you’re fairly certain this is one. you’re definitely certain when she laughs, her shoulders loosening down her spine, away from her ears, and says, ‘only kind of?’

‘well, i wasn’t sure if we were just colleagues or just friends or whatever.’ 

‘or whatever?’

you groan. ‘you’re extremely hot, are you kidding? i think it’s affecting my residency, actually. i get distracted by your hands and then i lose the plot.’

she takes that in, maybe more than you had meant to say but who cares at this point; you’d gotten up at 5 am for her on your day off, so it’s fairly clear how you feel. ‘you’re quite distracting yourself, dr. silva.’

‘in a good or bad way? like, sexy or annoying?’

she rolls her eyes; you can tell, even if she’s still watching the road. ‘it depends. often both.’

you grin, lean back in the seat. ‘i contain multitudes, what can i say. triple threat.’

‘sexy, annoying, and… ?’

‘brilliant, obviously.’

‘oh yes, obviously.’ you pull into a deserted parking lot amidst a lush green forest and a heavy early morning fog; it’s beautiful, and you don’t ever regret that you ended up here, but you feel particularly grateful for it now. ‘you are brilliant, ava.’ it’s serious, the way she says it and the way she squeezes your hand, just once, before she gets out of the car with a soft smile. 

you watch her as subtly as you can as she puts on her gear, following suit as closely as you can without being too obvious about it. you know this is, objectively, really stupid and unnecessary, and jillian is probably spidey-senses yelling at you from somewhere in the world, but you have never wanted to impress someone so badly in your entire life. once beatrice is all ready to go, in her warm fleece quarterzip underneath a waterproof shell, a similar setup for her pants, her boots tied securely and her pack neatly zipped, poles ready at the correct height — so your elbows are at 90 degrees, camila had explained yesterday — and a beanie pulled down securely over her buzzed hair and ears.

‘the most important part for me,’ she says.

it takes you a second, but then you laugh. ‘you’re being funny.’

she makes sure her car is locked, zips the keys in a pocket inside her jacket, and then takes off down the trail. ‘i’ve been known to have a sense of humor from time to time.’

she’s not even walking that fast but it’s cold and jillian is mad at you all the time for how much you have to stand just for work, definitely without the however-many-long mile hike you’re about to go on. ‘the other interns are terrified of you, you know.’

beatrice turns toward you with a smirk. ‘and you’re not?’

‘well, i’ve seen you cry, once not even about a patient but about the fact that the coffee cart was out of earl grey tea.’

‘i hadn’t slept in thirty hours.’

you shrug — that’s probably true, but still — and bump her in the shoulder. ‘i like you,’ you tell her, honest, finally, amongst the moss and the ferns, the sun barely up, no one around to hear you. there’s a different kind of fear you feel when it comes to beatrice: not as dr. choi, indomitably talented and ruthlessly efficient resident, but as someone whose cologne you recognize, as someone who you want to make your grandma’s vatapáfor. ‘you’re kind to me.’

beatrice slows down for a moment — thank fucking god — and takes you in. you feel out of place often, and especially here, but the best thing about her is that, even if she senses it, she never faults you. ’that’s what you deserve.’ and then, ‘i hope i am. i want to be.’

you don’t know much about her, really: you know that she went to boarding school at 14 and had been at the top of her class at the best schools and programs in the world ever since; that she loves to be in nature and has known lilith for forever; that her accent loosens, just slightly, when she’s especially excited or especially exhausted. she likes otters, you’ve gathered, from a little pin on her coat, and she wants to go into cardio because it’s endlessly fascinating to her, and impossible, and miraculous. she runs so much admin for the free gender affirming surgery clinic even though it’s not her speciality and she certainly doesn’t have to; she learned asl last year, in addition to a host of other languages she speaks, to better communicate with patients and colleagues. you think, of anyone in your program, maybe of anyone at the hospital entirely, she’s chief superion’s favorite.

there are so many things you want to learn about her: what makes her scared and who she let take care of her after she had top surgery and what her favorite song is and what book made her cry as a child and if she likes comedies or is more of a drama kind of girl. you want, you can admit to yourself, to know everything about her in a way you’ve never quite wanted anything before.

‘you’re the best person i know.’ you’re worried it’s too much before she smiles — not at you, too shy, but you catch it anyway before she looks away.

‘that’s generous.’ 

‘still, true.’

she worries her lip before saying, ‘i am, technically, your boss.’

‘barely.’

‘ava.’

‘hmm. not dr. silva? doesn’t sound very position of power to me.’

‘i — i like you too.’ you watch her push her poles into the soft ground a little harder, like her whole body is fighting — to say what she means, or to not say it, you’re not sure. 

you’ve had crossroads in your life before, most of them really fucking horrible — until they weren’t, until the world stretched out before you and opened up before you. you’ve talked over and over about this with jillian and the therapist she made sure you went to before you consented to any truly dangerous and experimental procedures or injections: disability was limiting, sure, but the real harm was done by the lack of care afforded you, not your lack of movement. you work so, so hard to believe it on good days; it’s nearly impossible on the worst.

but this is the best day, you decide. camila is right: beatrice is kind and caring and brave in ways you know; in ways you have yet to find out. 

you’ve made it maybe half a mile into the hike but your back is aching, left foot going numb already, your right hand clenched too tight around the handle of the pole, so much so that even the soft cork of it hurts. so, instead of moving and moving and moving like you always do, like you have since the moment you could close your hands into fists so tight you swore you’d never let the world go: you stop.

bea takes a few more steps and then notices; she turns around and looks at you curiously.

‘sorry,’ you say, impulse and fear and habit, then shake your head. ‘actually, uh. i’m not? yeah, i’m not.’

she stands steady, unfazed by that. ‘okay.’

‘uh, well. i like you too. i already said that, but i really like you. i don’t — god, this sounds so stupid. but i don’t want to be your intern.’

the small, amused smile on beatrice’s face makes you feel better. ‘am i not a good teacher?’

‘i think there are lots of other things i would enjoy you teaching me.’ you close your eyes for a moment as she laughs, trying to regroup. ‘okay, i am sorry for that one.’

‘don’t be. i quite enjoyed it.’

‘before — before we tell chief superion anything, if you wanted to try, just — you should know that i shouldn’t have said yes to going on this hike.’

beatrice’s brow knits together, so immediately concerned you reach for her hand. 

‘not because — it’s beautiful,’ you say. ‘you’re beautiful, and i’m so happy you asked me.’

she doesn’t look any less worried, which is fair.

‘i have a spinal cord injury,’ you say, and her face softens into something you’re terrified of for a moment, until you realize it’s only patience, only an opening for understanding — not pity, and certainly not anything close to contempt.

‘okay,’ she says, calmly and as kind as ever.

stupid, annoying tears burn at your eyes. ‘i just — you love hiking, and you asked and planned so nicely, and you wanted to share this special thing with me, and —‘

‘ava,’ she says, then brings her thumbs to wipe your cheeks with a gentle smile. ‘i just wanted to spend time with you. you’re right, i enjoy hiking, but i also enjoy lots of other things. things that i would also want to share with you.’

‘i should be using a cane at work,’ you admit, in the middle of this beautiful forest where no one but her can hear you. ‘i haven’t been because i didn’t, i don’t —‘

‘— while i think it’s wise you’re moved off my service,’ she says, ‘i will burn down that entire hospital if anyone looks down on you for that.’

‘that seems counterintuitive to do no harm.’ the way you say it is wobbly and your nose is full of snot and it’s kind of all so terrible, but then you catch up: ‘you don’t want me on your service?’

beatrice steadies herself. ‘i want to kiss you.’

‘even after —‘

‘ava, listen. i want to kiss you.’

‘yeah,’ you say, and lean forward.

it feels like your entire body lights up, even though it aches in the damp cold — golden light everywhere. 

/

you laugh a little afterward, then beatrice smiles and takes off back toward her car without any complaints. 

‘it’s still rather early,’ she says as you go on your way, ‘and we’re only about twenty minutes from the car.’

you grimace. ‘yeah, sorry.’

she shakes her head. ‘there are undoubtedly so many things you need to apologize for daily, ava —‘

‘— hey —‘

‘— but this is not one of them.’

‘fine,’ you huff.

she’s unfazed. ‘i was going to ask if perhaps you wanted to come over to my place. among other things i like in addition to hiking, i do like to catch up on rest as well. and then perhaps lunch? there’s a spot near me that has wonderful oysters.’

‘a nap? in your sexy house? lunch? with your sexy face?’

she ignores most of it: ‘it’s a rather normal house.’

‘i bet it’s sexy. lilith told me you were rich.’

beatrice grimaces.

‘it’s okay. like, really. i just bet you’re, like, the kind of person who has bespoke everything, aren’t you?’

‘no,’ she says, but she’s blushing and looking away from you.

‘you know, you’ve got a terrible poker face.’

‘only when it comes to you, i’m afraid.’

‘ah, what a terrible fate.’

‘the worst,’ she agrees, shaking her head with a smile. ‘it’s got a good view, i will say.’

‘well, lead the way then.’

‘ava, we’re just walking back to the car.’

you roll your eyes. ‘you know what i mean.’

/

beatrice’s house is beautiful, perched on a hill with giant windows overlooking the sound and the olympics. she laughs — not unkindly — when you admit that all of your hiking gear is actually camila’s, says, ‘i thought that pack looked familiar,’ and then lends you a hoodie and some comfortable running shorts to change into. you don’t ask her so many things brimming inside of you; she doesn’t ask you either, although you’re sure she — as bea and as dr. choi — has a billion questions. you’ll ask and answer everything in due time. 

for today, you bully her — with far too little bullying involved to make her argument of i’ve never seen it before and i don’t waste my time on shows like this — to start binging season 4 of real housewives of salt lake city; even less convincing when she knows all about jen’s escapades last season and then clamps her mouth shut when you laugh into her shoulder.

‘it’s compelling, fine,’ she says with a very dramatic pout, and you’re kissing it off her face before you can think twice.

she smiles into it, your nerves dissipating, and it’s good, and right, and safe. you eventually kiss her cheek and run a hand over the soft bristles of her hair — which you’ve been dying to do — while she smiles and then settle into her side. 

‘thank you.’

she lets out a big breath, peaceful under the blanket, thick socks on your feet, cold rain outside but only warmth in this house with you in it. ‘no, ava. thank you.’

[snaillock]

hi!! it's me again 😭😭 I was going to ask for one of my favs, my boy Barou ☹️ I love this trope and even more with his personality 😓. So yk he's like so strong characted and it's like 🤨😠 well what about a small drable(? (I think it's called that way, like a little fic? bcs rules say u don't write much of that and I don't want to press 😿) when he's like that even with m reader (when they're in public) but in an affectionate way? like angry love, and when they're alone he's a complete cutie pay 🤭 I love him so much please 😭😭

anyways if you can do that please it would be great! take care!!

i’m sorry this took a while to finish😭 for some reason, i was having so much trouble writing this so i hope it’s to your satisfaction. also bc of this request, the rules have since been updated cause there were worded very very poorly (my bad) but it should be all good. hopefully there will be no more confusion from now on

tags: male reader, barou’s loving insults w.c: 0.3k

“barou!” you yelled out before running towards him and wrapping your arms around him, “great job at practice today!”

“god, don’t do this around here, you idiot,” barou complained while glancing back at his teammates but still hugged you back.

“oh please, me being here doesn’t take away from your king status.”

he rolled his eyes and released you, “shut up and let’s head home already, dumbass.”

you giggled and grabbed his hand, “alrighty you asshole.”

“ugh,” he groaned and averted his eyes away from you but didn’t pull his hand away, “don’t embarrass me in front of the team”

“why do you care about what they think?” you raised an eyebrow in amusement, “you once told me that ‘they’re a bunch of lowlife servants that only exist to live under your rule’”

“whatever let’s just go already, you damn loser”

once you got to barou’s house, you immediately dropped your backpack on his bedroom floor and flopped onto his bed.

“nope! bag at the door and no uniform on the bed.”

“come on… you’re really going to make me sit on the floor, baby?” you whined, already relaxing in his bed.

“don’t think you can sweet talk me of all people just because you’re my boyfriend.” he crossed his arms.

“yes i can. now get over here.” you patted the spot right next to you.

barou glared at you in disbelief before sighing and giving in, sitting right next to you. you grinned and threw your arms around him, leaning on his shoulder. “see you can’t resist me because you love me!”

he rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around you. “yeah unfortunately you’re right. i do really love you,” he said, unable to hold back an adoring smile. he then kissed your forehead. “you damn idiot.”

taglist(if you want to be added let me know!): @userwithlotsoftime (ty for asking to be in a taglist btw!)

[captcoups]

[⛵️] if only you knew (maybe you already do) w/ svt_pt.1

✤ pairing: hyung!line x reader / idol!svt / non.idol!you / friends-to-lovers(ish) / lowkey mutual pining  ✤ disclaimer: curse words (none with ill intention!) / inspired by this prompt list! ✤ mini-fics with each member for the same situation / less than 400 words per member / altogether: 2,028 words ✤ in which these are the little things you notice that he does (whether he wants you to or not...) [masterlist ⛵️] / other members are below the cut!

[🍒] seungcheol seungcheol is an absolute fool for trying to think that he would be able to mask the way his smile creeps onto his face the second you stepped into his arms. the warmth he feels rushing through his veins, straight to his cheeks when he feels you putting your arms around him to reciprocate the bear hug he engulfs you in, head pressed to the side of yours with a giddy grin. he has his fingers crossed, hoping that you don’t feel the way his heart is pounding in his chest; threatening to fly out. maybe you do notice it. maybe you don’t. maybe you’re just saving him from the embarrassment but regardless... he’s grateful (and not-so-grateful) when you pull back with a small smile on your face. maybe next time... he’ll be brave enough to admit his feelings for you in close proximity but today... today he’ll just–”you look good, y/n.” he’s wholeheartedly thankful that you’re not pressed chest-to-chest to him because his heart just flew out of his rib cage when you smile widely and point at–”right back at you, handsome.” seungcheol almost forgot to breathe.

[👼] jeonghan “hey,” jeonghan feels a nudge to his side with an elbow. he looks up from being seated on the sofa, nonchalantly scrolling on his phone and finds himself being attacked with the way your presence effortlessly tugs his lips upwards before he can control himself. it’s like he’s being lit up; suddenly feeling the surge of energy that makes him sit up a little as you flop onto the sofa next to him. hell, he won’t even question how he didn’t hear you come in. “hey,” he greets back, playfully bumping you with his shoulder in return. you sink into the sofa and partially lean against him, sneaking a peek at his instagram feed before you ask: “wanna hang out? there’s a new cafe down the block and–”you can barely finish your invitation when he–”sure!” the two of you are slightly surprised at his outburst of an answer but it doesn’t deter you too far from your excitement. you chuckle and lean away, so you can pat his shoulder with a smile, about to tell him to get ready to go but he–”i mean... yeah, it would be nice.” he tries to cover up, even if he failed miserably. with the way you’re beaming at him and egging him to let’s go, then! reassures him that maybe you don’t mind it at all. (you don’t, but that’s a conversation for another time)

[🐰] joshua the night had started out in good fun... when a bit of alcohol too much later grants you and joshua to be sprawled out by the living room with a few of the other guys scattered in the background. joshua doesn’t know how the topic of love came up but it did after another shot of soju is exchanged and the only thing keeping you two barricaded from each other is the coffee table. “you’ve... been a bit more affectionate lately, shua. maybe a bit too obvious, too.” your words mutter into the air, aiming straight for his chest as his cheeks continue to redden; not from the alcohol. “...what?” he tries to laugh it off, even though he knows it’s not looking too good on his side when you can tell he’s nervous past the alcohol swimming in your system. “really?” you raise a brow, sitting up a little as you hold yourself up with elbows on the table, squinting at him, “you drove two hours to get me when my car broke down.” joshua’s quiet for a moment before he tries to squeak out: “i’m a nice guy?” it does nothing to defend his case when you chuckle, folding your arms on the table as you shake your head, “two hours, shua.” he swallows, watching as you lean your head down to rest, eyes fluttering shut. “h-how long have you known?” the curiosity got the best of him and maybe he shouldn’t have asked but–he can see the way you’re smiling, giggling as you coo, “goodnight, shua.” joshua lowers his head with a smile etched to his face, goodnight, y/n.

[🐱] junhui jun finds himself being seated next to you or opposite you almost every single time the two of you are at the same outing. he wonders if it’s his natural gravitation to want to be close to you or of it’s some sort of fate tying you two together. there are times–moments–sparingly, fleeting in his conscious when you’re a bit too close that it makes him malfunction. jihoon and minghao already has a mental note of how jun seems a tiny bit more giggly whenever you’re around or how it brings him out of his shell to want to talk more to capture your attention. it’s hilarious to them, however, that they get front row seats of being seated opposite you and jun, who’s sharing a menu to see what you’d like to order. the slight motion of you looking to your side and jun looking up at the same time hitches the breath in jun’s throat as his eyes grow wide at the realisation to being in such close proximity to you. “oops, sorry,” your sheepish smile appears as you shift away. “no, no, don’t worry,” he chalks up quickly, already shifting back towards you and nudging the menu in your direction. with a chuckle, you nod and lean towards him, eyes scanning the page. (minghao slyly nudges the menu towards jun, only for the latter to motion it away so he can share one with you. jihoon shakes his head and laughs, accommodated by jun’s shy smile as he takes the opportunity to lean closer towards you.)

[🐯] soonyoung “w-what?” soonyoung’s voice is soft, a little shy but barely audible when the ruckus of their dressing room is always on heightened hype merely an hour before their stage performance. you chuckle and dip down a bit more, and soonyoung loves hates the way he’s able to see how your eyes are sparkling at him under the fluorescent lights. “i said you look incredible! love the hairstyle, too!” you watch as soonyoung digests your words. the mere appearance of hoshi has disappeared; the confident, self-proclaimed tiger has exited the building. leaving you with just kwon soonyoung (who you’ve come to adore just as much). “oh,” he nods in acknowledgement, “t-thanks. you too!” he doesn’t realise that you’re laughing when he’s focused on the way you’re smiling. it’s not until your laugh dies down that you motion to your own attire. it’s a simple hoodie with the strings chewed out and a pair of sweats. “i do? i thought i looked like a bum,” you have your hands on your hips, looking at down at your clothes that you miss the soft you still look pretty. when you look up to meet with his gaze once more, he’s awkwardly laughing to ease the tension and you take it as a cue to disturb the other guys. “i’ll see you later, okay? good luck out there!” he tries his best to reply, only managing a garbled up thanks! see you soon! he doesn’t realise since you left him to poke fun at chan’s hair that a pout has appeared on his face as he sinks deeper into the sofa. (”what did y/n say to you that made you all choked up?” seungkwan snort, joining soonyoung on the sofa. “they said i looked incredible, that they liked my hair...” seungkwan can’t even make fun of the guy when he starts to bend forward and bury his face in his hands, probably the embarrassment has hit him already with the way he reacted.)

[🍚] jihoon it was a camping trip with a couple of the boys and invited friends. it wasn’t a wonder that jihoon’s plus-one was you but what was a wonder was how you two had been seated by the lake, alone, for the past hour with no intentions of regrouping with the rest. the sun had just set and you found yourself being immersed in the conversation just as much as jihoon was. sharing a blanket, seated on a couple of flat stone surfaces. it wasn’t until the crack of a twig snatches your attention from jihoon that has him looking like a grumpy cat at–”picture time!” seokmin grins, holding his camera up, “augh, it took me so long to find you two. might as well go on a honeymoon, yeah?” from over your shoulder, seokmin catches jihoon’s expression and words of quit it! when you turn the cheek and meet his gaze, jihoon’s face softens and offers you a small smile, nodding when you ask him if he wants a picture. you scoot closer to him and jihoon lifts his arm up–does he put it around you? just a hand on your shoulder? can he lean his head against yours? how wide should he smile? too much and it might be obvious. too little and he looks like he might hate you and–abort, abort! jihoon tries not to malfunction when you casually lean into him, the side of your head pressed to his and a smile emerges. he doesn’t even process that you’re gone until a minute or two later, now seeing you and seokmin in front of him as you two go through the pictures and initial pictures. “he looks like a grumpy kitten! that’s so cute!” you exclaim, glancing at jihoon and back to seokmin’s camera. he tries to laugh it off when he sees how happy you look, but makes a mental note to have a nice, long chat with seokmin when everyone regroups later. seokmin counts his blessings and vows to stay by your side for his safety.

[🦊] wonwoo in wonwoo’s defense, he had no idea that it was blatantly obvious that he had been staring for the past ten minutes. all he knew was the music of the party was bumping to the max that he found himself secluded in a corner with a drink and his eyes naturally landed on you as you chatted with chan, a cup in your hands. the two of you were trying to outdo one another in weird dance moves–of course you were. at least wonwoo’s able to hold back his laughter when you do the robot and mockingly flick chan’s fringe in the process but apparently, it’s not enough to mask his poker face when–”you know, hyung,” mingyu clears his throat, using his head to point at the direction wonwoo’s been staring at for a while, “you can actually go there and talk to them.” when wonwoo processes the words coming out of mingyu’s mouth, he straightens his back and shakes his head, “n-nah, it’s fine. i’m good here.” mingyu smirks, squinting his eyes a little, “you hesitated. so you’ve thought about it.” wonwoo’s mouth opens to retort, but he finds that his eyes are widening when–”hey! there you are,” a familiar voice makes the shit-eating-grin on mingyu’s face grow wider when he processes who it is. “ah! y/n! a pleasant surprise!” mingyu chuckles when you lightly punch his shoulder, now diverting your attention to–”mr. jeon. would you be my partner?” wonwoo’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull, breath stuck in his throat until you finish your sentence with: “in beer pong? chan said he wants two on two and i refuse to be grouped with that idiot.” not even the way chan yells from a distance i heard that! could steer wonwoo away from his stunned expression. he only reacts when you tell him it’s fine if he’s not up for it, and that you could pair up with mingyu–”n-no!” wonwoo stands, clearing his throat, “i’d love to.” at his surge of enthusiasm, you don’t hesitate to reach for his wrist and grin at him, “perfect! let’s kick chan’s ass!” (mingyu gives wonwoo a small wave when they meet eyes just before you drag him away and mingyu decides to be a spectator; front row seats to seeing how you effortlessly bring wonwoo to his knees with every little thing you do.)

[bluewasthecolor]

OOOO FROM THE PROMPT LIST, NUMBER 1, "Come here and make me" mutual pining, completely done teammates, 'just hurry up and date already' vibes. With.. uhh.. I haven't thought this far, Lotte Wubben-Moy. Maybe they meet at UNC

Prompt 1 x Lotte Wubben-Moy

Word Count: 1378

Warnings: None!

A/N: Ugh, I love Lotte so very much. I hope this lives up to what you wanted! Also, oops this isn't really a ficlet anymore because I got a little carried away but whatever.

“Ugh! This day has been so long, tell me something to make me feel better Y/N.” Lotte flops down next to you in the training room, making puppy dog eyes as she sits. You roll your eyes at her silliness, but oblige.

“Let’s see…” You pretend to think, although you already know exactly what to say. “How about that we have tomorrow off and we’re going out with the girls tonight?”

As you expected, this brightens Lotte’s mood. She was right, it had been a long day, and everyone was ready for some much needed downtime with the team. 

“I forgot about that! Come to my place before so we can pregame?”

“If by ‘your place’ you mean walk out of my room and into yours, then yes, sounds good.” You poke her, teasing your roommate for her choice of words. 

“Y/N! Lotte! Stop your flirting and get over here, we’re planning for tonight.” Katie’s voice interrupts the two of you, and you both immediately blush at her comment. Leah, standing next to Katie, shoves her and whispers something you can’t quite make out. As you make your way to join your friends, Lotte hangs back a minute. You give her a strange look, but can’t quite tell what’s wrong. She looks upset, confused, and maybe a little embarrassed. Oh well, you think, if it’s something major she’ll tell you. You’ve been best friends (and roommates and teammates) since your UNC days, after all. She knows she can come to you with anything. At least, you think she does. Truth be told, you’re not too sure these days. She’s been pulling away a little, acting a little more distant. You’ve tried not to read into it but you can’t help wondering if she’s started seeing someone. Not that it would matter if she was–she’s your friend not your girlfriend. You don’t get to feel jealous.

That Night

“Okay, you know the deal. We do two shots each, drink one glass of wine, and then wait until right before we leave to do one more shot.” You instruct, passing a shot glass to your best friend. She nods, clinking her glass with yours before taking a lick of the salt on her hand and tossing the tequila back. You both grimace at the burning sensation, bringing your lime slices to your mouths to quell the remaining taste. You pour two more shots and repeat the process together, dancing to the music blasting throughout your apartment as you do so. Lotte then goes to the fridge, opening a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. She passes one to you and laughs when you down it quickly.

“We’re not leaving for at least an hour, now you’re just gonna have to wait!” She scolds. “No I won’t. Not when my sweet best friend is so willing to share!” You grab her wine glass out of her hand and twirl away.

“Hey! Give that back!” “Come over here and make me!” You sing-song, leaning against the doorframe to her room. 

Lotte lunges after you and you squeal, dashing back into the kitchen and around the island. She eventually catches you, her arms bracketing you, your back pressed against the counter. You look up bashfully. You were used to being in close proximity with her, but that doesn't mean your heart doesn’t still skip a beat when she’s that close. Especially recently. Especially when you’ve been drinking. Her eyes meet yours and that’s when you see it: she wants you. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, and she’s been staring at your lips. You think she’s about to kiss you, could swear that’s what’s about to happen, but then: “I need to finish getting ready.” Her voice is flat as she turns away from you, leaving you more confused than ever before. You decide to put it out of your mind, for now, instead focusing on pouring yourself more wine.

By the time Lotte is ready, you’ve had another two glasses of wine and are feeling pleasantly drunk. She, on the other hand, is tipsy at best. 

“Let me have your shot for you. You don’t need it.” She still isn’t meeting your eyes, but her voice is full of concern.

“No, no, no. I want it. Mine.” You insist, waving her hand away from your glass. She gives up easily, not wanting to pick a fight over something so small–besides, she can just make sure you don’t drink much more when you’re out.

Once out, both of you had put the kitchen incident out of your minds (or that’s what you were pretending at least–in reality it was all the two of you could think about). While Lotte was attempting to curb your drinking, you kept finding ways to get more alcohol. You would ‘share’ a drink with Viv (this really meant you were drinking them all) or get Katie and Leah to do shots with you (they never took much convincing). You got dancey when you were drunk, pulling your friends with you onto the dance floor. Lotte hung back, feeling like at least one of you should be somewhat coherent. She watches as you dance, your body moving fluidly with the beat of the music. It was graceful and, well, as much as she didn’t want to admit it to herself, it was unbelievably sexy. You were so in tune with your body when you danced, just like when you played football. Fuck. She’s falling for you. If she’s honest, she fell for you way back at UNC she just hadn’t realized it yet.

By the time the night is over, you’re swaying sideways as you walk and slurring your words. Lotte holds your waist as she helps you up the stairs to your shared apartment, helping you stumble to the bathroom. She holds your hair back as you lean over the toilet, washes your face gently when you’re done, and tucks you into bed, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead. Before she can leave your room, however, your voice floats through the darkness.

“Lotte? Will–please stay. Don’t wanna sleep alone.” You mumble, your voice thick with sleep. Lotte is unsure of what to do. On one hand, she doesn’t want to overstep and doesn't want you to be uncomfortable when you wake up. On the other hand, she knows it’ll likely be fine. It’s not as if you’ve never shared a bed before. She makes up her mind, sliding into your bed next to you. You roll over, burying your face in her chest, and fall asleep in a matter of minutes, but before you do Lotte swears she hears a whisper.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The Next Morning

You stumble groggily into the kitchen to see Lotte at the stove, cooking up a storm. She glances over her shoulder as you enter, a smile ghosting over her lips.

“Morning, Y/N”

You don’t respond, just groan, and she chuckles.

“Rough night?”

You groan again, leaning against the counter with your head in your hands. Lotte slides a plate in front of you, chock full of eggs, bacon, and toast. The smell wafts into your nose, breaking up the nausea you’re feeling. You dig in, slowly beginning to feel better with each bite. When you’re done, Lotte gestures to you from the couch, silently asking for you to come sit.

“What’s up?” You ask, sitting gingerly next to her.

“So…I might be off base here, but you said something last night I think we should talk about.” She begins, eyes searching yours to see if you remember (you don’t). “You told me you were falling in love with me. Is that true?” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. This is why you don’t normally drink like that. You can’t trust yourself not to embarrass yourself like that. Taking a deep breath, you decide it’s time to face the music. You’ve been in love with Lotte for years and you figure now is as good a time as any to confess.

“Um, yeah, it is.” You look down at your hands, afraid of what you’ll see if you look at her. “I think I’ve been falling in love with you for years.”

“I'm in love with you too, Y/N.”

[genshin-impact-writings]

Personally proud of myself for thinking of this combo, but to fulfill the lack of Kaveh (which is criminal T-T) how about him with prompts 6 and 9 + Hanahaki (hurt/comfort)?

Pssst, remember to take care of yourself JJ :) <3

Hello Val! <3 You're rightfully proud about this combo, it's amazing, and I swear I screeched when I saw your request. This has gotten way longer than I initially expected (almost 3k words, help), so I really hope you like it. Take care too! <3 Pls don't let this flop.

Prompts: hurt/comfort + hanahaki disease + 6. “Stop lying to me.” + 9. “Leave me alone.”

Warnings: mentions of dying, blood and pain in general; some swearing 

As I’m fading away – Kaveh x gn!reader

Kaveh stares up at the ceiling as he wonders if this is how he will die. With every day that passes, it’s getting harder to breathe, and every time he coughs up another tiny flower, its petals covered in blood, he knows that he’s getting closer to the end. He has stopped working on his projects because he just can’t focus on anything else but the nasty sensation in his chest that reminds him every day that he has made a terrible mistake.

With a quiet sigh, he rolls over and stares at the window. It has been weeks since he last left the house, since he last felt the warmth of the sun on his face. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, weak and sick and coughing up flowers. The people of Sumeru aren’t dumb. It would only take them a few moments to figure out what’s wrong with him, and Kaveh wants to spare himself the embarrassment. Hanahaki disease, they call it. The price people have to pay for falling in love with someone who doesn’t love them back. No one knows where it came from – the Akademiya doesn’t really waste time researching things like this. To most of them, love is an inconvenience, something that stops people from focusing on the things that really matter. Kaveh wouldn’t be surprised if that is why they came up with the surgery in the first place.

Because you see, Hanahaki disease doesn’t have to be terminal. There are, in fact, two cures: Either, the person you fell in love with returns your feelings, or you undergo a surgical procedure to remove the flower from your lungs. Easy, right? But in the process of eliminating the flower, they will also eliminate the love you felt. And some people firmly believe that after that, you can never experience these emotions ever again.

And Kaveh, being the hopeless romantic he is, is convinced that it’s better to love someone who doesn’t love him back instead of never loving at all. Even if it means that this love is going to be the end of him. (He knows it’s stupid. But forgetting that he has ever loved you seems even worse than death to him.)

* * * *

It feels like an eternity since you last saw your boss. Kaveh, you remind yourself because you know he hates it when you call him boss. “My name’s Kaveh,” he has told you at least a dozen times when you first started working together almost a year ago, “we’re working on this project together, there’s no need to act like I’m your superior.” (You never had the courage to tell him that you called him boss to remind you to keep a somewhat professional distance. After all, Kaveh is one of the most attractive people you have ever met – and, on top of that, he’s funny and kind and caring, too, and you’re definitely not in love with him.)

You shake your head, trying to think about something else because now is not the right time to think about Kaveh’s smile or the way his eyes light up when he’s excited about something. There’s a deadline you have to meet, and you can’t finish this project without your boss. 

So, you start looking for him. You check the café down the street, the bookstore, the shop where he sometimes buys his supplies, and even the library at the Akademiya. But no matter where you go, no matter how many people you ask, no one has seen Kaveh. And you slowly start to get angry. What the heck did you do to deserve being ditched like this? 

Before you even know what you’re doing, you’re standing in front of Alhaitham’s house. This is the last resort, and you’re sure he’ll not be happy to see that you know where he lives, but what else are you supposed to do? You reallyneed to talk to him. It’s simply unacceptable that he decided to let you deal with this project and the responsibilities that come with it completely on your own.

You raise your hand to knock on the door. When no one answers, you knock again, louder this time. On the other side, you hear something that sounds like a cough but still, the door doesn’t open, so you say, “You know I can hear you, right? Kaveh?”

No answer, just another quiet cough. 

“Kaveh, I swear to Lesser Lord Kusanali, if you don’t open the door right now-“

You interrupt yourself when the door cracks open, and you come face to face with Kaveh. He looks awful. There are deep, dark circles beneath his eyes, a sharp contrast to the pale and sallow color of his skin, and his hair and clothes are a mess. But what really gets to you is the expression in his usually so kind and compassionate eyes – he’s looking at you as if you were his personal nemesis. 

“What do you want?”

“Hello to you too, Kaveh,” you say. The shock about his appearance is not enough to let you forget your anger, especially not after these harsh words. “It’s good to see that you still know who I am after you left me alone with that project.”

Kaveh looks like he wants to reply something but instead, he presses his hand to his mouth when he falls into a fit of coughing. It’s so bad his entire body is shaking, and when the coughing finally stops after what seems like an eternity, his breathing is ragged and irregular. 

You reach out for him, your anger fading away into the distance when you realize that he hasn’t ditched you or your project. He is seriously ill, you can see that now. “Kaveh…”

“No,” he cuts you off, his hand still covering his mouth, and he quickly takes a step back to avoid your touch. “Leave me alone.”

Before you can say something, he has already slammed the door in your face.

* * * *

Kaveh’s heart sinks when he sees the delicate red flower on his palm. It’s the first time he has coughed up an entire flower, and he has read enough books about this disease to know that things will only continue to go downhill from now on. His chest aches, not only from the coughing but also from the devastating knowledge that he won’t survive this.

“Kaveh! Open the damn door or I promise I will kick it down!”

Your voice brings him back to reality, and he takes a deep breath to calm himself down. A part of him wishes he could just open the door and spend the little time he has left with you but then he’d have to explain the whole situation to you, and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to tell you that he has been stupid enough to not only fall in love but also to catch a disease like Hanahaki. 

“I told you to leave me alone,” he rasps, although he already knows that you will do the exact opposite. “Please, (Y/N), just leave. I’m fine.”

“Stop lying to me! You’re not fine,” you insist, “please, let me take care of you. I’ll make you some soup and a cup of tea, and you’ll feel better in no time.”

Kaveh can’t help but smile at your words. Even when you’re mad (and rightfully so), you still care about him, and it’s enough to make his foolish heart skipping a beat. What if… No. This is stupid and nothing but wishful thinking. You just offered to take care of him, that’s not exactly a love confession. But there’s still a tiny spark of hope, and he decides to cling to it as long as he can. 

Slowly, he opens the door. “Okay,” he says, quietly. “Come in.”

He doesn’t wait for your response before he makes his way towards the kitchen to wash the blood off his hand but the sound of footsteps is proof that you’re following him. 

“You could have told me that you’re sick,” you say when the silence between the two of you gets uncomfortable. “Instead of disappearing, I mean.”

Kaveh doesn’t know what to reply, so he decides to remain silent. In the end, everything he’d say would probably be a lie, and you don’t deserve dishonesty. It’s not like you’re wrong with your assumption anyways – he is sick. You just don’t have any idea how serious it is. 

He takes a deep breath (or at least, he tries because the subtle scent of your perfume seems to fill the entire room, and it makes him want to pull you close and kiss you). “Sorry,” he finally says, though he knows that his words sound shallow and not at all genuine, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Sorry my ass,” comes the angry remark, just as he has expected, and so, he tries again, “I’m serious, (Y/N). I didn’t plan on leaving you alone with a project like this but… well. Obviously, some illness got in the way.” There’s no point in denying his poor state of health, after all. Not when it’s crystal clear that something is wrong with him. And this time, your gaze softens. You take a step towards him, carefully placing your hand on his arm. “Kaveh...” Your voice is so soft that it would have made him melt on the spot, hadn’t he been so distracted by the fact that he can feel the warmth of your hand through the fabric of his shirt. He’s so stupid – and so, so in love with you. 

In that moment, a sharp pain shoots through his entire body. His lungs feel like they’re on fire, and before he even knows what’s going on, he’s on the floor, desperately gasping for air. Every time he tries to breathe, the pain gets worse, and there’s definitely something blocking his airways.

“Kaveh!” The soft, gentle tone is replaced with utter panic as you drop to your knees right beside him. “Kaveh, please, what can I do? Do you need medicine? A glass of water?” You’re rambling, you know it, but you just can’t think straight when Kaveh is so obviously in pain. “Please, I-“

“I can’t breathe,” he rasps out. There’s a lump in his throat, and then, he’s coughing up blood and countless ragged flower petals again, and he’s sure it’s over for him. 

* * * *

He feels like he’s floating. The pain has disappeared, and all that’s left is an oddly peaceful feeling that slowly lulls him to sleep. There’s a gentle touch too, like a feather brushing against his cheek but warmer, much warmer. The darkness surrounding him is comforting, and for a brief moment, Kaveh allows himself to give in to that feeling. It’s like nothing matters anymore. 

But then something reaches his ear. Someone is saying his name, in such a hushed and soft tone that he would have smiled if he had the energy to. “Kaveh,” the voice whispers again, and he feels someone brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Please, I beg you, wake up.”

So, he’s not dead. Not yet. 

And you’re still here with him.

It’s incredibly hard to fight back the darkness around him and to open his eyes but for you, Kaveh tries. His whole body aches, like he’s been trampled down by a herd of sumpter beasts, and he has a terrible headache. But – and he can hardly believe it – other than that, he feels fine. The ever-present tickle in his throat that has been his only companion for the past weeks is gone. 

Kaveh takes a deep breath, then another one and another one – and he doesn’t need to cough once. It’s like he has never suffered from Hanahaki. Which doesn’t make any sense because as far as he knows, there isn’t another cure. It’s either the surgery or the other person loving you back – or death. He’s clearly not dead, and he also didn’t have the surgery, so that can only mean that… 

Oh. 

Oh.  

You love him. 

Although every bone and every muscle in his body screams at him to lie down again, Kaveh grits his teeth and tries to sit up. Almost immediately, there’s a hand on his back and another one on his arm. “Careful,” he hears you say, “no need to rush.”

Kaveh looks back at you with wide eyes, only now realizing how close you are. If he had still been sick, the proximity would have killed him but now, all he feels is his heart skipping a beat in anticipation. “(Y/N)…”

He hasn’t expected you to slap him across the chest. “You damn idiot! Do you have any idea how worried I was about you? I thought you were dying!”

“(Y/N), please,” Kaveh says quietly because he knows he doesn’t deserve you or your concern. He feels so bad for making you cry like this – trying to calm you down and convince you that you don’t need to worry about him is the least he can do now, “I’m fine. Calm do-“

The words get stuck in his throat when you throw yourself at him, pulling him into your arms without a warning. “You’re so fucking stupid,” you sob, voice muffled because you have buried your face in the crook of his neck, as you cling to him like he’s going to disappear if you don’t hug him tight enough, “why did you have to scare me like that?”

Kaveh doesn’t know what to do or what to say. For weeks, months even, he has longed for this, has wished to hold you at least once, and now that he has been granted that wish, he can’t move. He wants to wipe your tears away, pepper your face with kisses and just tell you how much he adores you and yet, for some stupid reason he can’t. 

“You love me,” he eventually says, and you pull away, staring at him in disbelief. “That’s what’s on your mind right now?  You almost died, right here in front of me, and all you think about is that I love you?”

Kaveh laughs, a shaky, insecure laughter than quickly can turn into tears if he’s not careful. “No, you don’t understand. You love me – that’s why I’m still alive.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that love saved you? Kaveh, that’s so fucking cheesy, even for you.”

“But that is exactly what happened,” he says and finally gathers the courage to reach out for your hand, interlacing your fingers, “I’m sure you’ve heard of Hanahaki disease before, haven’t you?” When you nod, he continues, “So you also know that it slowly kills those who fall in love with someone who doesn’t love them back. (Y/N), I have no idea why these things work the way they do – all I know is that it’s not a joke when I say that you saved my life.”

You stare down at your intertwined hands. “I’m sorry I made you think I don’t care about you in that way. I… I was trying to keep a professional distance because I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. None of this is your fault,” Kaveh says, softly. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I shut you out. If I had the guts to tell you the truth, none of this would have happened.”

With a sigh, you raise your free hand to cup his cheek. It’s oddly comforting to touch him, perhaps because it reassures you that he’s alive and well, that he’s not going to die from a disease no one really understands. “We can play this game forever, so how about this: We were both pretty stupid.”

“Okay,” Kaveh agrees, quietly. His pupils are blown wide as he looks back at you, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, a genuine smile flashes over his face. He leans in, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

It’s not at all what he had in mind when he has mused about the perfect scenario to confess his feelings – here, on the kitchen floor, his chest still aching from the Hanahaki – but you’re here with him, and now you close the gap between the two of you to press a soft kiss to his lips, and that alone is enough to make this moment perfect. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider liking, reblogging and/or leaving some feedback. I'd really appreciate the support! <3

Taglist: @genshinparty @ajaxstar @kaeyas-beloved @caesars-bubbles @the-gayest-sky-kid

[phillippadgettwrites]

Dropped Call

Rated X / 2873 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3

See AO3 for a note about the prompt for this story

It’s past 9:00 pm when Scully finally accepts that she’s sick. Allergies, overtiredness, and the sinus-drying impacts of air conditioning were all hopeful contenders, but when her muscles begin to ache she picks up the phone to tell Mulder that she won’t be in tomorrow. 

A sick day doesn’t sound completely terrible; at least she’ll get to catch up on sleep, but she can easily predict that Mulder will insist on coming by to bring her an endearing but inevitably odd care package consisting of chicken soup, hot tea, DayQuil, and a recent issue of National Enquirer, among other curiosities. She’ll feel embarrassed about looking terrible, and he’ll give her a thinly veiled compliment that draws unwanted attention to the undercurrent of sexual tension in their relationship, which she will then dwell on for the next 2-4 weeks. Splendid. 

She hits speed dial #1 and flops down on the couch while it rings, already dreaming of the lengthy bubble bath she plans to treat herself to in what would otherwise be the middle of her workday. Maybe she’ll even order in for lunch. 

“Hey, I was hoping you’d call back.”

She’s caught off guard, and briefly considers the possibility that she already called him but forgot about it in her congested haze. 

“You were?” she asks, surprised by how raspy her voice sounds. This cold seems to be progressing quickly.

“I figured the call dropped,” he says, and it sounds like he’s on the move. She can picture him walking around his apartment with the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder; he never stays still for long. 

She’s still rather confused, though, because she’s almost certain that she hasn’t spoken to him since they both left the office a few hours ago. 

“What were we talking about?” she asks, then holds the phone at arms-length while she clears her throat. “When the call dropped, I mean.”

“My partner,” he says.

His partner? Is he seeing someone? A little flush of something between embarrassment and jealousy warms her cheeks. 

“What about…them?” she asks, touching her forehead with the back of her hand. She doesn’t feel feverish, but this conversation is rather disorienting. 

Mulder chuckles a little, and now she feels stupid on top of everything else. 

“Come on, Electra, don’t be coy,” he says in an unfamiliar singsong voice. “I think you’ve probably paid off your mortgage with all the money you’ve made listening to me talk about her.”

Electra? Maybe she should get the thermometer. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she admits. 

Mulder laughs again, and the pitch of it makes her belly tumble. He’s being downright flirtatious. 

“I appreciate your effort to maintain the facade,” he says lightly. “You’re a true professional. That’s why I request you, you know. When you’re not available they always ask if I’d like to talk to another girl, but I never do.”

She realizes at this point that Mulder thinks she is someone else. Someone named Electra. Someone he pays to talk to. She opens her mouth to speak but her jaw just hangs there, stunned into silence. The fact that he thinks she’s his 1-900 girl is embarrassing enough—for both of them—but the fact that he’s in the habit of talking to his 1-900 girl about his partner—her—is both enthralling and horrifying. 

She should tell him it’s her. No—she should just hang up so he never has to know. That would be the kindest thing to do, really. 

“Electra?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” she sputters, sitting up on the couch. “I’m here.”

“You okay? You sound…different.”

She should hang up. She doesn’t. 

“I think I’m getting sick,” she says, which is true. 

“Ah,” he says knowingly. 

“So, um…” she tries, feeling simultaneously overwhelmed by guilt and curiosity. “What were you saying about your partner again?”

Mulder heaves a sigh. 

“I was asking whether you think it’s misogynistic that she’s always submissive in my fantasies,” he says casually. “I think that’s when the call dropped, so I didn’t get to hear your answer.”

Scully’s entire body flushes, and she quickly looks around her apartment as though someone might be overhearing their conversation. 

“Um…I guess it depends,” she answers, trying to think beyond the fact that Mulder has sexual fantasies about her so that she can actually engage in this conversation. “What’s the nature of the fantasy? Is it degrading?”

“No,” he says quickly. “Not at all. More like…” She hears the rustle of fabric, and she imagines him lying down on his recently acquired bed. “More like she wants to give up control.”

“Tell me about it,” she says, and as soon as the words leave her mouth her eyes widen. Surely she did not just ask him that. But apparently Electra did. “So I can tell you if it’s degrading,” she adds. 

Mulder hums wistfully and she feels a hearty throb between her legs. This is objectively wrong. She should stop. 

“There are several variations, but I’ll tell you my favorite one,” he begins. “She’s in a shitty mood, and she’s acting pretty bitchy.”

Scully scoffs reflexively, then cringes at her slip-up.

“I didn’t say she was being a bitch,” he corrects. “And you know it turns me on when she’s like that. I mean it in a complimentary way.”

“Right,” Scully says, feeling flustered between pretending to be Electra and gathering so much surprising information in such a short amount of time. He likes it when she’s a bitch to him?

“Anyway, she’s cranky and irritable, and we’re at the office,” he continues. 

She’s picturing it now in her head, the two of them in the basement office, and Scully in a bad mood. It’s easy enough to imagine as it’s a semi-frequent occurrence. 

“She says something to me, something derisive, and I snap at her and suggest that she needs an attitude adjustment.”

“Uh-huh,” Scully says, hanging onto his every word in eager anticipation of what comes next. 

“I think it’s pertinent that I’m already hard,” he says. 

“In the office?” she asks. 

“No, I mean right now, while I’m telling you this. I’m already hard and it’s not even to the juicy part yet.”

Scully squirms on her couch, ashamed, and uncomfortable, and decidedly aroused. Mulder’s erect penis is something she’s given more than a passing thought to, and knowing it’s right there on the other end of the line is certainly captivating. 

“...Wow,” she says, because she doesn’t know what else to say. 

“So I tell her she needs an attitude adjustment, and she says ‘then why don’t you give me one?’ a little bit haughty, like she’s daring me because she doesn’t think I’ll do it.”

“And then what?” Scully asks, perhaps a little too eagerly. 

Mulder groans softly, not at all attempting to hide it, and she starts to squeeze her thighs together rhythmically. 

“She’s wearing a skirt,” he says, his voice husky. “I walk over to her and I grab her by the waist and pick her up, put her on top of the desk.”

“Your desk?” Scully asks. She wants to be sure she’s picturing it just right. 

“Yeah. I put her on top of the desk and she’s looking at me like…like what the fuck are you doing ? But I can tell that she’s curious. She wants to see what I’m going to do.”

Scully is having the same experience as the version of herself in Mulder’s fantasy. She desperately wants to know where he’s going to take this. Where he wishes he could take it. 

“What are you going to do?” 

“I’m gonna eat her pussy,” he says without hesitation, and Scully sucks in a breath when her clit throbs violently at the idea. “But first I kiss her, ease her into it. She’s a little resistant at first—not like she tells me no or anything—but she’s worried we’ll get caught.”

Scully can no longer resist the urge to touch herself. She slips her free hand under her pajama pants and sighs with relief as her fingers glide over her slick lips. 

“Are you touching yourself?”

She snatches her hand back and sits up, then looks around, half expecting to see him standing in her kitchen. 

“What?” she stutters, embarrassed and confused.

“I know you aren’t actually doing it,” Mulder says, his voice momentarily returning to its normal cadence. “But I thought you might humor me.”

“Oh,” Scully says, sinking back into the cushions as her racing heart begins to slow. “...Are you?”

“Of course,” he says, and she knows that he is not pretending. 

“Then…yes, I am,” she says, sliding her hand back under her pants. “Please continue.”

“So we do this whole ‘we can’t do this here, it’s against policy’ bit, which I’m a huge fan of. Maybe that’s fucked up, but I like to imagine that she tries to resist the urge on principle, but she can’t because she wants me too much.”

Scully is reminded of an occasion on which she slipped one of Mulder’s well-worn tapes out of the bottom drawer of his desk and into her purse, curious to see what kind of porn he gravitates towards. In the privacy of her apartment, she’d been surprised and intrigued to find that the tape was a series of clips from different movies, all depicting covert trysts between people who expressed first that they should not be doing what they were about to do, and then what they were doing, and finally what they’d just done. 

“I don’t think that’s fucked up,” she tells him, sinking her middle finger into her cunt to the second knuckle. 

“I take off her jacket, and unbutton her blouse, and then I just pull her bra down to get at her tits. I don’t even bother taking it off.”

She never imagined that Mulder would be inclined to use the word “tits,” but she’s surprised to find that it doesn’t bother her one bit. She’s much more interested in what he plans to do with her tits than she is with what he calls them. 

“She has incredible tits,” he says, and she realizes that he’s speaking from an informed place because he’s seen her nude. Given, she was half dead, but it seems she still managed to make an impression, which is oddly gratifying. “I suck on her nipples and she’s fucking feral. She just…turns to putty. I know she’ll let me do anything to her. Anything I want.”

His voice has a staccato quality that leads her to believe that he’s stroking himself, and rather quickly at that. Scully swirls her slippery finger around her clit in time with the little hiccups in his words.

“But all I want is to taste her. Make her come in my mouth,” he says, and she knows she’s going to come right here on her couch if they keep this up. “So I tell her to lay back and I tear her pantyhose, then push her skirt up. She’s wearing these little white panties I’ve seen in her suitcase. Lace. I pull them to the side so I can see her.”

Later, she will recall his comment about her little white panties and wonder how many times he’s explored the contents of her suitcase or her underwear drawer. At the moment, though, she’s picturing him looking between her legs with a hungry expression on his face while she finger-fucks herself. 

“She’s so wet I can see it running out of her. And her lips are all swollen and—fuck. I can’t resist so I get on my knees and bury my face in her pussy. She tastes so good and I’m so turned on that I get my dick out and jerk off while I eat her.”

Scully is beyond the point of forming words. She’s hovering just before the edge, ready to tumble over at the slightest provocation. She can only hope that he keeps talking. 

“She grabs my head and digs her fingernails into my scalp, and I can hardly breathe but I don’t care. I can feel her quivering and pulsing on my lips and around my tongue, and then she moans and tells me she’s gonna come, and her whole cunt is just…throbbing against my face. She comes so hard she knocks half the shit off my desk. And then I come, right on the floor, because I can’t hold back. It’s too good.”

Scully is stonily silent as she comes around her own fingers, imagining that they are Mulder’s tongue and that the press of her own palm is his face tucked tightly between her legs. It’s powerful, rivaling anything she’s produced with her vibrator as of late, and she is only marginally aware of his soft grunts as he does the same on the other end of the line. 

As she slowly comes down and the haze of lust fades away, she realizes what she’s just done and acute shame washes over her. 

“Damn,” Mulder says, sounding satisfied. There is a long pause while they each collect their thoughts. “So, what do you think?”

Scully blinks stupidly, her hand still resting over her soaking wet cunt. 

“About what?”

“Is it misogynistic? The fantasy?”

“Oh,” she says, pulling her hand free and sitting up on the couch. “Um, no, I don’t think so. I think bringing a woman to orgasm with no expectation of reciprocation is about the least misogynist thing I can think of, actually.”

Mulder chuckles. 

“Well, that clears most of my other fantasies, then, because that is the running theme.”

“Really,” she says, more an expression of surprise than a question. 

“With her, yes,” he says. She wants to ask him so many questions, but he cuts her off. “I think I’m just about at my weekly minute cap before I risk being late on rent, so I better let you go. Thanks for calling back.”

“Right, of course,” Scully says awkwardly, remembering that she is currently playing the role of Electra, the phone sex operator. “Have a good night.”

“You, too, Electra. Bye.”

Scully hangs up and then sits there for several minutes, shell shocked. When the phone, which is still in her hand, begins to ring, she startles so violently she drops it on the floor, then scrambles to fish it out from under the couch. 

“Hello?” she says urgently, just before the machine picks up. 

“Hey, Scully, it’s me,” he says, and the sound of his voice is like an aphrodisiac, even though it’s been less than twenty minutes since her orgasm. 

“Hi,” she says, her voice unnaturally loud. 

“Are you okay? You sound weird.”

“I was actually just about to call you,” she says, glancing at the clock. “I’m not feeling well and I think I might take the day off tomorrow to rest.”

There is an unnaturally long pause on the other end of the line. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “Can I bring you anything?”

“No, Mulder, you don’t need to do that. It’s just a cold,” she insists. 

“I’ll bring you lunch,” he says. “You like that soup from the Thai place, right?”

She smiles despite the absurdity of this entire situation. 

“I do. Thank you, Mulder.”

“Happy to do it. Get some rest, G-Woman.”

“I will. Goodnight.” She’s pulling the phone away from her ear when she hears him speaking again. “Did you say something?”

“Yeah…um…Did you call me earlier?” 

“...What do you mean?”

“Like half an hour ago, did you call me?” He sounds nervous, and she’s not sure what he’s hoping to hear. 

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” he repeats.

“No…No, I don’t think that was me,” she says ambiguously. 

Another unnaturally long pause. 

“Okay, never mind. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

Now it is she who speaks again when she’s not sure if he’s already hung up. 

“Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

The speed of his answer tells her that he still had the phone to his ear. 

“What if I did call you?”

She can practically hear his thoughts racing through the phone.

“...Then I would wonder if I’m still welcome to come by and bring you lunch tomorrow,” he says, sounding markedly meek. 

“Of course you are,” she tells him, relieved that he isn’t angry. In fact, he sounds more concerned that she might be angry with him . “But to be clear, we’re having soup for lunch. Just soup. Because I’m sick.”

The overture, while thinly veiled, is so forward that she feels like she might vomit. 

“Just soup,” he repeats. “But only because you’re sick?”

Scully pulls in a deep breath. 

“I could see myself enjoying other meals when I’m feeling better,” she says on an exhale, then covers her own eyes with her hand.

“Well, then you should get some rest,” he says, and that gravelly, hungry quality from his phone call with Electra has suddenly found its way back into his voice. “We’ll want you back in action as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, I’ll do that,” she says, blushing and cringing and buzzing all at once. “Goodnight, Mulder.”

“Goodnight, Electra.”

He hangs up before she has a chance to respond.