#ty again for the prompt!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

caswellseyes · 1 year

Note

Ooooo 12 for Willex? Have a good day, and good luck on the work, my dino bones bestie!!!

i was hoping someone would ask for this one!! tysm, dino bone bestie! i am indeed making good progress on the work - deadline one (big exam) was completed and deadline two (ba thesis proposal) is coming along pretty well. but first, it's willex time!

12. "How come you always end up in my bed?"

Alex sighs and turns over for the seventh time in two minutes. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. He’s counting.

Look, he likes being on tour just as much as his band members. He loves being on stage and sharing their music with the fans. The meet and greets were scary, at first, but he’s gotten used to them by now and it is always cool to meet fans, though he’ll never be a little worried about disappointing them. It’s wonderful to go to so many places, to do some sightseeing between the work. All in all, he loves touring.

He does not love hotel rooms.

Hotels in general are pretty cool. They have the little soaps you can take, and free pens, and hotel breakfasts are the best. It’s really fun to be just down the hall from his friends, and occasionally, to share rooms with them.

No, the problem isn’t hotels. It’s just hotel beds specifically. And, even more specifically, the blankets.

Alex runs cold. This is not news to anyone who’s ever met him. His hands are cold and his feet are cold and yes, he wears hoodies no matter what time of year. It’s just a thing, okay? And these stupid thin hotel blankets do not accommodate for that. At all.

He actually has an extra blanket on the bus that he brings to the hotels with him. It’s huge and soft, pink on one side and white on the other. It’s fluffy and warm and absolutely perfect.

And he forgot it on the bus this morning. It’s just him and his cold feet and hands and nose, somehow, against the world.

The shitty thin blanket the hotel provided doesn’t count. Alex doesn’t think that one’s on his side. No, it’s just him.

Well.

Not entirely.

Alex glances to the side, at the undisturbed lump lying next to him. Willie is snoring softly, the only thing visible the very top of his head and the start of the braid he put his hair in earlier.

Yeah, that’s one more thing Alex loves about being on tour. Sharing a room, a bed, with his boyfriend every night. And waking up next to them in the morning, and going through their routines together, and everything else that comes with it. It’s domestic and fun and absolutely perfect.

And, perhaps most importantly right now, it comes with cuddles.

Carefully, so he doesn’t wake Willie up, Alex shifts closer. He lifts up the end of Willie’s blanket – for some reason, they have separate ones in this bed – and slides under it. He tosses his own blanket on top of it for good measure. Then, Alex shuffles around until he can wrap his arms around Willie and pull their back against his chest. Then, once he’s comfortable, and already starting to feel less cold, he tucks his nose in the crook of Willie’s neck.

The snoring stops. Alex freezes.

“How come you always end up under my blanket?” A sleepy voice mumbles.

Alex feels a hand pat along his arm until it reaches his own hand, linking their fingers together. He squeezes softly.

“Sorry,” he whispers. Willie still sounds half-asleep, and the last thing Alex wants to do is wake them up completely by talking loudly. “I was just cold.”

“I could tell.” Willie chuckles. It’s followed immediately by a yawn. “We should get you a nose warmer. Like the ones for your ears, but then your nose. Or, like, a nose glove.”

Alex pulls his head back. “Sorry,” he repeats. “I tried not to wake you up.”

Willie turns in his hold so that he’s face to face with Alex. They wrap their arms around him.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, yawning once more. “It got me cuddles. I like cuddles.”

“I know you do.” Alex presses his lips to Willie’s forehead in a soft kiss. Thankfully, his lips don’t seem to be as cold as his nose. “Now go back to sleep.”

Willie snuggles closer into Alex’s chest. Soon enough, the snores start up again.

This time, when Alex tucks his nose into Willie’s hair, Willie sleeps on.

#alex mercer #willie jatp #willex #jatp #julie and the phantoms #i just think that they <3 #this post was brought to you by my hatred of thin hotel blankets lmao #ty again for the prompt!!#michelle answers #michelle does things #legolas tag #oh lol i put the read more link in and saw that i have polls apparently?#idk what i'll be using that for but that's neat i guess

33 notes · View notes

ghost-bxrd · 6 days

Text

Prompt:

Jason (maybe on a dare, maybe because he’s loopy etc.) calls Bruce (or any of the Bats, really) to tell him he loves him.

Bruce is convinced Jason is either dying or about to.

#another one tying into the “ouch prompt #prompts #prompt #Bruce absolutely loses it #I’m sorry but that man cannot take his son dying again and being too late to prevent it #meanwhile Jason: had one beer too many #jason todd #batfamily #dick grayson #batfam #bruce wayne #tim drake #red hood #batman #Damian wayne

2K notes · View notes

reegis · 4 months

Text

“When are you coming back?”

“Probably won’t.”

(commission for @deadcaptainn!)

#ty again for trusting me w vague prompts & my poorly done sketches ilyy #the mechanisms #nastya rasputina #the aurora #the mechanisms out #my art #commissions

2K notes · View notes

bringmemyqueen · 7 months

Text

soumako prompts for college, pt, roommates, wedding 💖

#soumako #soumako week 2023 #soumako week #weeee i finished 4 other prompts :>#not sure if ill draw smko again anytime soon #but im so glad there was a smko week this year #it gave me the chance to rekindle my love for them ;v;#also ty for still giving them some love after all these years!!!#bmmqart

200 notes · View notes

bechloesupercorp · 1 year

Text

She doesn't know how she got up here. Alone, in the operating room theatre, watching Beatrice, chest splayed open on the table. A deep sea of endless red against the muted blue of the scrubs and hospital gowns.

For such a beautiful heart Beatrice has, no one ever told Ava that in reality, hearts are fugly looking things, nothing like the cartoons.

She can see the bright blue shards, Halo searing in her back. She's the reason Bea's fighting for her life on a cold operating table. It's her fault. This wretched thing that pulses with every heartbeat. Keeping her alive the same way that it's killing Beatrice right now, divinium shard moving closer to the arteries with each and every pulse.

It's her fault. Stuck with a glowing ring that can heal everything but that. She can still see it, the blur that was Beatrice leaping in front of her, divinium scattering, collapsing to a heap on the floor. Blood already pooling on Ava's shoes. She was struck by a wave of shock and fear, staring into Bea's kind eyes as she whispered, "In the next."

Beatrice may have saved her heart from that knife, but another knife drove deeper at her sacrifice. Beatrice offered herself so Ava can live, like a lamb to the slaughter.

Ava doesn't know if she can survive without her.

#heh #once again i am falling asleep #but have a little treat #*crushes my heart*#also the whole lamb to the slaughter thing #ava might be new-era!jesus but we love some good parallels #sister beatrice #ava silva #warrior nun #avatrice #boink scribbles #hcs #nun on the run #ty for the prompt >:)

155 notes · View notes

miamierre · 7 months

Note

Model and Designer for piarles 😘🙏

20. model and designer

Pierre can't sleep.

It's becoming a habit, which is not boding well for his stomach lining considering how much more coffee he's been drinking because of that fact. Pierre just...can't sleep. There's not much he can really attribute it to, except for maybe the fact that he's a few months out from the big debut of his whole new fashion line--the latest Louis offshoot he'd been fortunate enough to helm. This is years of his life at stake: all that school and groundwork, all the bleeding and pricking and crying he'd done to find himself here, surrounded by fabric swatches laid out haphazardly at the desk kitty-cornered in his bedroom. There are stacks of photos and torn-up magazines out on his kitchen counter. His whole apartment is now a perfect parallel to his workplace: covered in ideas, wall-to-wall.

Hm. Maybe that's why he's becoming an insomniac.

Instead of paying the thought any more attention, though, Pierre slips out of bed and pads over to his desk chair, grabs the nearest sketchbook of his and flips to a blank page. It's not quite dawn, but there's more light than there was a few hours ago--enough to see what he'd left behind.

Charles is out cold. Completely asleep, drool and all. He looks innocent in ways that no photographer would ever be able to capture: forehead smoothed out with sleep, body curled in on itself slightly in the absence of someone next to him. Pierre gazes at him, sketchbook heavy in his hands, and feels the guilt in his stomach like a knife. He'd only invited his lead model over tonight for a review of their plans for the first walk-through with the clothes. (They have to move right, after all: Pierre needs to see his work from all angles in motion before he can be comfortable putting it on stage, even for a dress rehearsal.)

He hadn't planned for two bottles of wine. He certainly hadn't planned for Charles in his lap, warm and pliant and so, so easy as Pierre had given him direction: take this off and open your mouth and hands and knees. The memory of it makes Pierre's throat tight. So good for me, he'd mumbled after, mouth pressing just under Charles' ear, and the yes sir he'd gotten back had thrown him right out of his own mind.

He grips the sketchbook tighter. There's no way this can ever happen again, he knows--once is a mistake and he'll keep it that way.

From the bed, Charles snores lightly. It's a soft sound: sweet, almost. Pierre's chest is so tight he swears he must've forgotten how to breathe.

"Oh, Charlie," he whispers to the quiet of the room, "what have I done?" Nothing good, he's certain. Pencil in hand, Pierre tries to redirect his thoughts to the work laid out on the desk behind him--dresses with angular cuts, wide-arm sleeves, the jagged lines of a belt that's been nagging at the back of his mind since he'd axed the last round of the designs from his main book.

What he ends up with is this: Charles, in charcoal, curled up in his expensive sheets. The most damning evidence of his lapse in judgment, and he can't even bring himself to rip the sketch to shreds because it feels like a waste--a waste of beauty, even if it's a beauty he can't have.

#TY BB i cant wait to answer ur other ideas hee hee <3 #btw i have no idea WHAT this is please excuse me yet again #piarles #10 x 16 #fic #romance prompt meme #ask reply #teamnick

56 notes · View notes

birgittesilverbae · 7 months

Note

21. "This isn't what it looks like." for beloved disaster Lilith Warriornun and whoever would make her feel the most guilty about her latest crimes? 👀

fic: dads

Lilith busies herself with her shirt as the shed door clicks shut behind Mary. She focuses on the rhythm of aligning the buttons, slotting them through the buttonholes, tries desperately not to think about the ache of bruising at her throat, her shoulder. She'd lost the familiarity of it somewhere in the past few months, the pattern of Beatrice's mouth across her skin, and she longs to press her fingertips to the marks, to press firmly into them as she'd only just pressed firmly into–

"You'll go speak to her." It's nowhere in the realm of question, Beatrice's voice hard in her chest. "You'll explain that this isn't what it looks like."

Lilith secures the last button, tucks her shirt tails into her jeans and moves to rebutton them as well. "What would you like me to say, you were helping me with a stain and something slipped, one thing led to another, oh no? She's not stupid."

"I don't know!" A hitch, now, a slide, a crack in the foundation she's been trying to build for herself with Lilith's back turned. "I don't– We shouldn't have done this. It was a–"

"Don't."

"Lilith, we–"

She turns on her heel to find Beatrice leaning back against the workbench. Her shirt's still rucked up above her breasts, but Lilith can't seem to drag her gaze away from the smear of lipstick sitting just above the waistband of Beatrice's khakis. She addresses it, too cowardly to lift her head to meet Beatrice's gaze. "We shouldn't have done this, but don't you dare say it was a mistake. I have never been anything but intentional about this. About you." She jerks her head towards the door, her throat tight with rising sorrow. "I'll tell her it was my fault, if that's–"

Beatrice sniffs once, loud, hands rising from her sides to scrub at her face. Lilith's gaze rises with them. Beatrice's lower lip trembles as their eyes meet. "If there's blame to assign here," she mumbles, rubbing again at her tear-streaked cheeks, "it should be mine."

"No, it's…" Lilith bites back a curse. "We're going to keep going in circles if we carry on like this, Beatrice. The blame is equal, the fault is equal, we shouldn't have done this. All of that is true. Agreed?"

Beatrice nods, the heave of her chest slowing. "Agreed." She touches a hand to her breastbone, startles at the bare skin, and drags her shirt back down, her cheeks burning. "I'm sorry," she begins.

Lilith just smiles at her, crooked and tired. "Nothing I haven't seen before, darling." She winces at the pet name, but Beatrice interrupts her before she can work her way up to an apology.

"No," she sighs, tugging at the collar of her shirt as though starved for air, "I suppose it's not. Could you go talk to Mary, please?"

Lilith nods and turns to the door, the near-rote response of anything for you, Beatrice turning to ashes in her mouth.

#ask #frozenabattoir #ty for the prompt I'm v normal about it #myfic #mywn #beatrice x lilith #fic: dads #need to find my characterization for this again who are you

44 notes · View notes

the-penguinspy · 1 year

Note

28. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” ava x lilith

ty for the prompt, em!! hope i do these two justice :)

Ava makes her way up the driveway while juggling the groceries in both arms, swearing as the bulky combo of winter coat, gloves, and heavy grocery bags lead to keys slipping from her grasp and colliding with a dull clink against the welcome mat. She does eventually manage to get in without further incident (zero grocery casualties this time!) and does a big internal fist-pump to celebrate.

It’s dark inside, and she toes her shoes off and lines them up by the shoe rack as neatly as she can before heading into the kitchen. “Hello? Anyone home?” The bags are deposited on the countertop, Ava letting out a groan of relief as she shakes out her arms.

“Lil?” She flicks the lights on and the living room is washed in a warm glow, illuminating the empty couch and neatly stacked pile of reports left on the coffee table. Beatrice must have already left to drop off Libby for hockey practice.

The door to the den is shut almost all the way but not firmly closed, and she sees how the light from inside makes its way out. Ah – still working then. The devil works hard, but Lilith on a mission works harder and is way scarier. Way hotter, too.

Ava knocks on the door softly. A clearing of the throat and a raspy “come in” and she makes her way into the room at the invitation. Lilith’s focused on her laptop screen, papers askew on the desk and occupying every available space, and Ava spies the empty #1 Dad mug precariously close to the edge. Ava’s socks muffle her footsteps on the hardwood floor and she collects the mug before it gets swept off.

“Hey, babe.” She bends and kisses Lilith on her cheek, Lilith turning her head for a brief peck before focusing once more on the screen in front of her.

Ava squints at the page count on the screen. “How’s work going?” Lilith lets out a groan immediately, her immaculate posture collapsing as she slouches down in the seat and brings a hand up to rub at her eyes.

“I think I’m done. Goddamned clients keep changing the scope of the project on the fly, leaving me to pick up the pieces on an already-tight deadline.” Lilith’s free hand automatically reaches for her coffee – eyes still trained on the document in front of her – hand grasping at the air a few times before finally looking over and noticing that it’s gone. Her head jerks as she scans the desk for the mug and does a double-take once she notices its relocation to Ava’s hand.

It’s not often that Lilith is caught so off-kilter, and Ava is worried. Sure, Lilith’s used to a hectic work schedule, constant travel, and delicate meetings with clients and colleagues both, and yes she can handle herself well, has been handling it well for years, and Ava knows that Lilith knows her own limits. But Ava also knows that Lilith caught a red-eye the night before and came in early this morning, just barely greeting Ava and Beatrice with a kiss hello and a kiss on Libby’s cheek, one hand already loosening the knot of the tie at her neck before shutting herself into the den for work.

“–final check before sending it off.” Ava blinks, coming back to the present and seeing Lilith straighten her back to start typing up a new email. Ava’s alarm bells ring all the louder when she witnesses the amount of words underlined in red, the computer’s auto-correct working overtime to bring the page back into grayscale.

She rests a hand on Lilith’s shoulder and squeezes gently, grimacing as her thumb presses into an obvious knot at the junction where neck meets shoulder, and she mentally notes to give Lilith a back massage later. “Hey, Lil? When’s the last time you slept?”

“Thirty-five hours ago,” Lilith replies without missing a beat, fingers flying over the keyboard as fast as the mistakes are popping up. Ava feels her eyes widen at that and – what the fuck. Yeah, this isn’t going to fly. She opens her mouth to say something but is beaten to the punch. “Don’t worry,” Lilith reassures, badly, “I took a one-hour nap on the flight home.”

Ava places the mug down on the floor near the wall and brings both hands to Lilith’s shoulders, kneading gently at the tight muscle there. Lilith continues working but eventually her typing slows, shoulders sagging and head hanging low as she sighs and mumbles, “Ava.”

“Yes?” Ava continues with the pressure, and a hiss escapes Lilith as Ava’s thumb presses into a particularly stubborn knot. “I have to get this out by tonight, Ava,” Lilith insists, but her voice sounds strained. The exhaustion finally seeps through her words, carried on the gentle wind of an exhale.

Ava hums. “What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” Lilith takes a moment to think, head still bowed. “Not much. Final once-over of my notes for my Monday meetings–” a quiet groan – “and then quality time with the family. But this has to go out by tonight so that the clients can look it over and give me the feedback in case they want to fucking change anything again–”

“Woah, hey, Lil! Let’s slow down for a sec.” Ava drops to a kneel, spins the chair around so that Lilith’s gaze is focused on her and away from the computer. “Your clients probably got off work–” Ava glances at the clock on the desk, winces– “two hours ago. It’s Friday night! They’re probably spending time with their family, or chillin’ by the TV, or going out getting wasted.” She smiles, reaches a hand for Lilith’s and swipes her thumb over Lilith’s knuckles. Lilith’s brows furrow, lips downturned, frown making its presence known.

“Point is, it’s the weekend. Your colleagues and clients are most likely taking the weekend off to de-stress and focus on themselves. Their work is important and they’ll go back to work on Monday, check their emails and attend their meetings like the good little worker bees that they are–” Lilith chuckles weakly at this– “but until then, you’ve got time to relax.” The bags under Lilith’s eyes are prominent and Ava swallows hard past the lump in her throat. “Please, Lil,” she whispers. Maintains eye contact, brings Lilith’s hands to her lips, kisses the back of each. “For me?”

A slow exhale from Lilith, but the corner of her lips turn up the slightest bit. Ava smiles in response. Score. “You make a compelling argument, Silva,” Lilith says, an unscheduled yawn butting its way in between their conversation. Her hand comes up half a second too late to cover her mouth, exhaustion overriding even muscle memory. Cute, Ava thinks, as she stands and retrieves the mug for washing, placing a lingering kiss on the crown of Lilith’s head. “Go wash up, I’ll have dinner ready in a bit,” she says.

Ava makes to leave but feels Lilith’s arms wrap loosely around her thighs, feels Lilith’s forehead rest against her stomach, and she brings a hand up to the back of Lilith’s head as they hold each other. The pause only lasts a few seconds, but in that amount of time volcanoes could have erupted, tectonic plates could have shifted, galaxies could have collided, but all Ava would have noticed was the feel of Lilith’s soft breaths on her thin cotton t-shirt, the way the fabric fluttered against every shaky draw of breath, against every stuttered exhale. Fingers interlock behind Ava’s thighs to complete the circuit and send across the silent request for company. Difficult for Lilith to voice out loud, to let the words scrape their way out of her throat, but – this type of honesty is alright, too.

Ava strokes her hand over Lilith's hair and kisses the top of her head once more for good measure. She’s just going to the kitchen, but a parting kiss for her departure nonetheless. For luck, for love, for everything in between.

They’ll part eventually; two earphones finally untangled through patient fingers. Ava will leave to make the shepherd’s pie that Lilith so loves, and Lilith will come out of the shower, towel wrapped around herself with hair still dripping wet over the floor to kiss Ava in the kitchen, and Ava will laugh and pretend to be annoyed, these potatoes won’t mash themselves, Lil, but she’ll wrap her arms around Lilith’s neck and they’ll kiss for a fair bit before Lilith’s stomach grumbles as a reminder.

But for now, they stay in the moment, leaning against each other. A question and a reassurance in one.

#penguin writes #fic: dads #birgittesilverbae #ava x lilith #warrior nun #warrior nun fic #ty to davey and smo for lookin this over!! :')#love u guys #love u em!!#ty once again for the prompt...u brought me outta my writing funk. this was such a fun piece to write

148 notes · View notes

daisychainsandbowties · 11 months

Note

bea - eviscerate + stitch

this dark is everywhere, we said (and called it light)

a percy jackson au

///

Lilith wakes to the latent heat of volcanic glass seeping up through the palms of her hands, lacing along the blade of her cheekbone, drinking down the tears that scatter out of her lashes as she lurches awake, gasping.

She’s lying spreadeagled on hard, garish black rock, glittering with the reflection of enormous stalactites – a ceiling of sharp ends diving down out of the gloom. Her hair, distinguishable only as a more greyish shade of black, is stuck in clumpy patches to the ground and it peels away as Lilith forces her leaden arms to move, pushing away from the ground that always seems like it wants to eat her.

A tremor of white pain travels from her breastbone to the hook of her floating ribs, and she groans as she glances down at blood-sticky rock. It is shiny, glassy like a dead black eye – and Lilith sees her sword lying in the manner of a crooked smile underneath her upraised body. The hilt is shaped like a fishhook, the blade concave near the hilt and pitching out into a broad convex near the tip.

There’s a chain of soft gold running from the hook of the handle to the blade, and it shines strangely in the wet reflective surface of the volcanic stone that runs up to the high walls of hell itself.

Lilith knows, without looking, that there is a very specifically-shaped bruise running from just underneath one of her breasts down the rungs of her ribs, terminating just above her hip. Others too, splashed across her jaw and the socket of her right eye. There is dried blood crusted in her hairline and on her lips, cuts beneath her clothes that have bled into the fabric.

The last thing she remembers is fighting, knee-deep in snow somewhere in the Himalayas. Red spotted in the drifts and an old oil lantern trying vainly to scoop the darkness up off the snow, throwing reflections onto white-capped stone. She was following a fresh trail of blood and gore up a switchback that couldn’t really be described as a path when a great shape came crashing out of the night.

She recalls being swept aside by a massive paw, or maybe a hand, and landing dazed in the snow. Rolling aside just in time to avoid a sharp-seeming downstroke. Might have been claws, or a blade, or a set of enormous teeth. Her lantern rolled away, and Lilith heard the ringing in her ears that announced death. She scrambled to her feet and saw where her light had been tossed away, where it came to rest by a shape lying limp in the snow, surrounded by a halo of blood.

Lilith didn’t need to roll the corpse over – didn’t have time, as snow swirled and a shape stalked her. There, with snow and ice muddling the feeling of stone beneath her feet, she felt powerless. She couldn’t reach out and rend the earth, couldn’t call fire up from the mantle of the planet. Too much interference, too much fear.

There was a crumpled polaroid in the back pocket of her jeans, showing a smiling woman in a puffy green jacket, pretending to blow on her hands for warmth, though she stood next to a bonfire and underneath a clear, starry sky.

There was no need to roll the corpse over because the jacket lay in pieces around the body, rent by claw or blade or teeth, and Lilith felt anger surge up inside her as she tore her sword out of its sheathe and turned in a wary circle, trying to pierce the blizzard with the tip.

But then she heard a flurry of movement behind her and something rammed into her back, tossing her forward and face-first into snow. A phantom voice in her head whispered through the wind as Lilith reached vainly, dizzily, for invisibility, for her god-given power over not being. Coming up, as usual, against the wall of her own scattered focus.

A voice in her head saying, shut the fuck up and fucking Travel, or so help me I’ll come back to life and murder you.

And so she Traveled. Reaching out to gather up the shadows into a soft blanket, into a blade she pressed willingly through her own body, carrying it away from the blood in the snow and the monster in the dark. And there was nothing and no one and nowhere to think of but home, wretched though it is.

Hades.

Lilith stands, dragging the sword with her so that it dangles with the tip almost touching the ground, resting the blade flush against the curve of her boot. It has a soft black glow, down here in such proximity to the waters where Lilith stood, stripped to the waist and running with cold sweat. Where she dipped the fresh-forged blade into the polluted waters of the Styx.

She’s wearing her black aviator jacket, sunglasses sticking out of the pocket, over a somewhat threadbare t-shirt with a weird, shadowy creature on the front. She keeps meaning to Google what it is, but a giant snake ate her phone last month.

And, anyway, there’s no one left to call.

As ever, a pall of ghoulish green light sits over the gateway to the underworld, seeping along the riverbank in both directions. It’s a little like dry ice, but this isn’t a stage or a theatre. It’s just where she lives.

Lilith frowns down at herself, at the spots where her jacket has frayed, where the black leather has cracked or been scraped away by claws, the chill sitting barely above her bones from weeks of sleeping rough up on the surface. The golden chain on her sword settles against her knuckles – a faint, weird warmth – and Lilith lets a small sigh escape from inside her mouth as the greenish mist rolls past her.

There’s something about the mist that feels animate, today. It almost seems to cup her cheek, to flow over her cheekbone like a cold thumb, taking a little heat out of the bruises. Though, there’s a pressure to it – almost a reprimand.

Lilith stares towards the gates and the looming canine shape that sits squarely inside, worrying the inside of her lip. Is it her imagination, the slightly-chiding care that runs through the green light, the cool river mist?

She doesn’t speak to her father – not more than a handful of times in her life. He didn’t save her mother from the bombs or her sister from starvation, and he tucked her away in a dreamless sleep until he had a use for her. So what does she owe him?

Nothing.

Certainly not conversation, or whatever paltry imitation of love he can scrimmage out of his rotten heart. Fuck you, she thinks. There’s no benefit in saying it aloud, but Lilith lifts her middle finger, pointing it towards the mammoth walls, toward Cerberus and the stupid, banal bureaucracy of death.

The ghost in her head chuckles, low, and Lilith feels the golden chain brush her fingers again though there is no wind here to move it.

A wave of dizziness wash over her – a wild urge to lift the hilt of the sword up to her mouth and kiss the chain, but all she does is stand there in the shadow of her father’s kingdom, aching down to the marrow of her bones.

Then, from behind, from down in the direction of the ferry, she hears the scrape of wood over stone. Here, on the parallel shore of the Styx where nothing moves or walks or breathes but Lilith.

She whirls, sweeping her sword around so that she stands – unsteadily – with her body held sidelong in a narrow target, blade parallel with her raised arm, tip pointed towards whatever foul thing has crawled up out of the river.

Then she freezes, blinks, feels all the moisture in her mouth turn coppery and sour, because it’s not a monster.

It’s a girl.

Shorter than Lilith, with a pair of dark eyes pooled above a grim little mouth. Lilith realises – with a sense of disquiet – that she is beautiful. There’s a dust of freckles sitting like an afterthought on her nose, her cheeks, drawing out the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her mouth is pulled tight, grimacing, but it hardly upsets the softness of her jaw.

She’s wearing a dark blue shirt over what looks like a thermal base layer. It’s cold down here, though it has never truly bothered Lilith. She’s built for it, or just used to it. Despite the extra protection, there is still a faint tremor sweeping through the girl as she stands, black rock glittering underneath her.

It’s easy to see why.

She is drenched in blood, leaning heavily on a spear made of bronze, decorated with tiny winged shapes. Lilith can’t make out what flying creature it is, but she makes a guess. There is, indeed, an owlishness to the girl as she stands, blinking through the gloom at Lilith, making no move to defend herself as blood spills out from where her palm is pressed into her stomach. Lilith can see the pink glisten of unearthed viscera beneath it, can see that her fingers are pressed inside to the knuckles.

A half-blood, then.

Lilith’s fingers tighten around the hilt of her sword. It’s Stygian iron – a substance that can only be forged in the waters of the Styx, capable of absorbing the essence of monsters, ripping them even out of Tartarus. Monsters and mortals and gods fear it, but the girl only blinks down the curve of the sword as Lilith holds it aloft.

Her voice, when it drifts out of her mouth, rolling into the mist, is clipped and precise and soft. All by itself it makes a crack in Lilith’s resolve.

‘You’re the daughter of Hades?’

It is, Lilith thinks, mostly a statement. In her bruises and her battered black clothes, with the life-eating pall of a Stygian sword in her hand, Lilith looks like the bastard child of death.

The stranger is a hazy shadow, cut to the quick by the perpetual drain of this place; the sewer of the Styx washing by with a sound like a hundred thousand muttering voices.

Blood patters softly onto the stone at her feet, but it scarcely has a chance to pool before the stone swallows it. The girl, hair half-unbound around her shoulders, strands falling down around her face to complicate it with shadows, stares at her own boots for an instant, wobbling. Lilith understands what she is feeling; it took weeks for the rock of this place to feel solid, to stop warbling underneath her with the threat of turning to liquid, to blood, to ink.

Lilith has dreamed of the bottom of hell, and this is not it. This is only the threshold.

‘Who’s asking?’ she growls, taking a careful half-step forward. It’s more of a shuffle, really – a habit born from fencing lessons held deep inside the walls of the Underworld, in a garden full of soft fruits and the promise of spring. The place she learned to fight.

The girl straightens, stiffening under Lilith’s scrutiny. There’s a sort of raw-boned intensity to her, like she’s holding herself very precisely in check. Her fingers, too, have tightened around the haft of her spear.

She’s shaking, blood now flowing down to drip from the tip of her elbow where it’s clamped tight against her body. Lilith wonders what it took for Charon to ferry a dying girl across the river.

The tip of her sword is only a foot from the girl’s throat as it bobs, as she raises her chin to expose the bumpy layers of cartilage sitting in a line; the very slight bulge above her windpipe.

There’s no point in asking who sent her. If she’s a half-blood, there’s only one place she could have crawled from.

Softly, again, the girl speaks. Backlit as she is by the green glow on the shore, she carries the countenance of a ghost. Lilith might mistake her for one, if she didn’t know better.

‘My name is Beatrice,’ she says, in a voice like cold water and warm milk, ‘I am a daughter of Athena.’

There’s blood on her lips, Lilith realises, as they pull into a grimace. They shiver as Beatrice pulls her fingers out of the slit in her stomach, holding them out in wry invitation.

It’s utterly bizarre, but Lilith finds herself lowering her sword, leaving it to sit against the leg of her jeans. Beatrice has proffered her right hand, so Lilith is forced to juggle the sword into her left so that she can reach out, tentative, to wrap her fingers into the sticky, blood-stained cup of Beatrice’s hand.

‘Lilith,’ she says. Somehow, it feels like an admission, like giving something away.

The daughter of Athena smiles. Pink-tinted saliva dribbles down her chin. It’s ghastly, but Lilith finds that she is somewhere on the opposite end of disgusted, wherever that might be.

There are, after all, no destinations along the river Styx but one. Death.

Beatrice squeezes her hand. She takes a ragged breath, her dark eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, boring into Lilith’s. ‘Pleasure,’ she says, a little giddily. ‘I thought I would have to go deeper into hell to find you.’

‘Well, here I am.’

A tightening around her hand, not quite a squeeze. ‘Here you are,’ Beatrice says. She lists forward, catches herself, ‘I’m here-‘

She coughs, and the redness of it floats weirdly in the mist. Beatrice stares, shakes her head like she’s trying to banish a ghost.

Her voice is very faint. ‘We need your help… daughter of Hades.’

Then the daughter of Athena, her skin like dark gold even in the bad light of the Underworld, falls forward. It happens slowly, at first, like she’s just taking a step, but then Lilith sees her knees buckle, watches the spear slip through her fingers.

And without thinking she steps forward, capturing Beatrice’s warm body in her arms.

...

Ten minutes later Lilith crouches next to a limp figure she has propped up against the pitted, high stone wall, feeling like a thief as she unbuttons Beatrice’s blue shirt and peels her black base-layer away from the slice in her lower abdomen.

Her sword is on the ground next to her, at a right angle to her body, the hilt in easy reach. Beatrice’s spear is propped up against the wall. It is, indeed, covered in tiny filigreed owls.

Beatrice does not stir as Lilith raises her hand, ignoring the unhappy shiver of the mist against her back as she draws on the power in her blood, summoning up a sliver of bone from a tiny vial of bone dust she keeps tucked inside her boot. It forms in the air, turning from powder to liquid to solid bone in the span of a moment, before settling down into Lilith’s red-painted palm.

It’s not ideal, but she can hardly wash her hands in the river. It’s full of plastic and rot and blood. Instead, she makes do with the little wadge of bandage and thread she keeps in the pocket of her jacket.

Beatrice continues to breathe as Lilith carefully threads her bone needle. There’s a voice in the back of her head spouting stupid facts about the history of needles and sutures, but Lilith hisses at it to shut up before dipping the sharp end of the bone through Beatrice’s flesh. The thread turns red as it passes in and out, but it’s proper surgical suture, so it also tugs the flesh back towards itself. It makes whole.

Distracted by her work, it takes Lilith too long to notice the change in Beatrice’s breathing. She finishes her row of stitches – they’re thick and lumpy and as elegant as she can make them, but there is no ringing in Lilith’s ears to ordain death, so it must be enough.

At a loss for any other implement, Lilith picks up her sword and carefully cuts the thread, leaving a little curl of it to sit against the taut muscle of Beatrice’s stomach. She has, of course, attempted not to notice the ripple of honed, hard muscle that runs the whole length of what necessity has forced Lilith to unearth; the evidence of a life spent fighting.

She has attempted to ignore it.

When Lilith looks up, sword resting on her knees where she’s crouched, balancing effortlessly on her heels, she finds that Beatrice’s eyes are open. Hazy with pain, but alert underneath it all.

A tentative smile flutters across her lips, ‘You saved my life.’

She dumps the sentence at Lilith’s feet like it means something.

Lilith shrugs, ‘I’m a freak, not a monster.’

The freckled skin on Beatrice’s cheeks wrinkles in tandem with her frown, ‘Wh-‘

‘You said you needed my help?’ Lilith interrupts before the question can come out and make everything awkward.

Beatrice’s stomach is still laid bare, covered in fingerprint marks where Lilith has touched her – in every single place Lilith has touched her.

Mercifully, the daughter of Athena lets her question fall away. Her bronze spear shines off of some strange reflection in the volcanic rock.

‘Yes,’ Beatrice says. There’s some depth to the word that Lilith doesn’t look down into, in the same way she doesn’t peer into the waters of the Styx as the ferry glides over it. Some mysteries are not fit for consumption.

‘Alright.’ Lilith nods, ignoring the way that the gold chain on her sword tightens against her hand, like a warm tongue, ‘Tell me what you need.’

#warrior nun #wn pjo au #sister beatrice #sister lilith #warrior nun fanfic #i'm reading these books again & now it's everyone's problem #gonna call this part 1 #it'll eventually be avatrice & camilith i think but in the meantime have the usual homoerotic bs between bea and lil #ty for the prompt!#casper writes #i'll put this up on ao3 when it's not 2:30am

98 notes · View notes

httpseiki · 1 year

Note

Hi ! Can I ask for a prompt request with numbers 37 and 117 ?(both from the comfort list :3)

I've thought of a chan x reader where they're still in the friendship phase but really into each other like taking care of the other and stuff (really in love hehe)

We know how chan loves swimming but what happen when reader has some ptsd with water (let's just say she's really afraid of it) reader could be willing to try to overcome because she trusts chan and maybe it could lead to them really dating somehow :)

Thank you in advance and don't worry if you think you take too much time ! We dont need to rush ♡

𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚊

- bang chan x reader

note: hello yes ofc!! ty for detailing this way, it helps me get a better vision of the story. also, you're not mad I included two more prompts... aren't you?? hope you enjoy it!! 😻

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ the prompts!!

“The water is sooo warm.”

37. "just come here. let me hold you."

117. “i don’t mean to bother you.” - “you’re not.”

❛ don’t worry, i’m staying right here. ❜

tw: afab!readerx chan, ftl, fear of water, mentions of drowning, overcoming phobia, uses of pet names, cussing(sorry couldn't help myself), slight anxiety.

song choice: glued - melanie martinez

contrary to how much you loved the sea, how much time you spent on the beach, having sand in nearly every pocket, you couldn't stand water. nor swimming, hell, you didn't even know how to do that.

you've spent all of your evenings on the beach. you would place your light blue towel down, take out your romance novel from your backpack and read to the sound of waves hitting the shore.

near the end of the summer season, you started to notice someone doing the opposite. chan - that's his name - would drop his backpack directly onto the sand, leave out a wrinkled towel and sprint into the sea.

you found his behavior immature, what if someone stole his stuff? and his clothes are gonna get full of sand. was he even wearing sunscreen?

putting your book aside, you walk up to his place, you spread the towel down and lay his clothes out, placing his backpack on them.

"thanks," he mutters when he comes back, droplets falling down from his skin.

you offer him some sunscreen and a little bit of scolding, before the both of you jump into a conversation.

two months later, and here you are. after the first month of college, you and chan decided to hang out at your spot,

“The water is sooo warm, " chan sits next to you, placing a towel over his showers.

despite being the start of fall, the temperatures were pretty much summer coded. you smile at his remark,

"boo, why are you reading all the time?" he pushes your book down and puts his tongue out.

"'cause it's for school?" you reach for it.

"nerd," he closes it and puts it in your bag. "why don't you come swim with me?"

you felt your heart freeze in that moment. something round got stuck in your throat, making you unable to speak. memories flood back of your younger self almost drowning,

"I... uhm-"

"you have your swimsuit, right?" he questions.

"yah, yeah, it's just that... "

silence occurs while you try to find the right terms. how could you tell chan you're deadly frightened by going in the water, especially the sea? he's so good at swimming, how could he understand that you're scared of waves pushing you?

"is it because you're on that part of the month..?" his voice is quieter than earlier and full of worry.

"no, chan, I'm not on my period, it's just that... " you sigh. "I can't swim."

he chuckles, taking your hand into his, your head raising up,

"honey, I work as a swim coach to pay my tuition fee. you think I can't help you?"

"no, chan, it's... I can't swim and... FUCK, I'M SCARED OF WATER!" you pull your hand from him.

he nods, a feeling of easiness fullfilling your chest. it was as if the black clouds that covered you whenever the sea was involved cleared away, the sun warming your soul again.

"it's cringe, I know and-"

"no, it isn't. many people deal with that, y'know... " he adds softly.

"I've been scared since I was a baby... " you scoff. "I wish I could overcome this..."

"let me help you, ___." his eyes lit up.

you beam, why was he always so kind?

“thanks, channie, but 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢, you probably have other-

“𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡.” he interrupts you. "hey, you said you want to overcome it? "

you nod, unsure of what would happen next. you swallow, hands shaking.

"okay, do you trust me?" chan asks you.

and you would be stupid to say no. you trust him more than anyone. if you had to hide as body, he'll be the one to call. he has helped you with so much. his kindness made your heart melt and take the form of his, you loved him.

"yeah, I trust you."

"come to the water with me?" your lack of answer made him frown. "look, we don't have to go further than you can, even just sticking our toes is go-"

"okay." you agree, heart beating so loudly.

you throw your shirt off, the boy giggles, shyly hiding his face in his palms, as if he wasn't the one who indulged authority in you just seconds ago.

chan gets up and leads you to the edge of the sea. as you get closer, the heavy clouds seem to return, fingers grabbing at your necklace to fidget.

you close your eyes and take in the salty breeze of soft air. drops of water splashes on your face whenever the waves broke.

"this isn't so bad after all, right? "

you manage to bring out a crooked yes, too drowned out by the beautiful scenery in front of you. the sun was setting behind the ocean, an orange reflecting in a deep blue water.

"shall we go further?" he suggests.

you do as told, the water level covering your knees by now. he was right, the water is warm. you gulp, hearing your one true love hum next to the sunset.

chan looked ethereal. he looked so calm, so relaxed. opposite of you who was buried in deep fear. the warm rays settled on his face like a work of art, like that's where they belong.

your legs went weak when a wave unexpectedly came towards you. but he was there to catch you. your glances met, he smiled softly, arms linked around your waist. he brings you back up.

chan moves forward, and you rush to do the same, not noticing how far the level was going. the water was covering your hips now.

another wave was sent your way, the soft foam touching your belly. suddenly, thunder erupted from the clouds around your head, fear settling on you,

"chan?... " you reach for him and grab his arm, "let's not go further."

"𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒. 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢."

he holds your waist again. the wind started blowing a bit tougher, the sea catching on the hint. you moved closer to his chest. this way, you felt protected. you knew he was always gonna take care of you.

"'s okay, I'm here, " he would whisper every time a wave approached you.

you were shaking a bit, not knowing if from the chilly splashes or fright. the boy noticed immediately and rubbed his hands on your back.

and with just a single touch, he made the clouds go away once more. you relaxed under his warmth, watching the horizon turn into a burning red. burning as hard as your love for him.

you wish he felt the same. you're scared to confess, you need him to guide you through that, too.

"what's so funny?" chan catches you giggling.

"nothing... just, " you cuddle closer to him, "don't leave me, okay?"

you look up at him, the corner of his mouth rising up as he moved the wet strand of hair from your face.

"𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦, 𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒."

you nod in agreement, and he mimics your acts, you laugh and he kisses the top of your head.

"good. because I wanna be with you forever, " you confess.

"perfect, cause I feel the same way." chan winks.

you burst out in laughs. you splash him with water, he yelps, doing the same to you. you covered your face,

congrats, you just read 1,2k words!!

"i love you, ___." chan pulls you in for a kiss, the sun rays warming your skin to the same temperature your heart felt.

111 notes · View notes

caswellseyes · 1 year

Note

“you said you wanted to talk?" “yeah…it can wait, though. enjoy your date.”

For more of my Boggie brain rot

i'm always happy to help further the boggie brain rot, thanks so much for sending this in! it got a bit long so i've posted it over on ao3, the link to the full fic will be in the reblogs!

the one who's waiting at home

Bobby is getting really tired of this.

It just keeps happening, is the issue. It keeps happening, and Reggie keeps trying, and Bobby is always left to pick up the pieces when it goes wrong.

Because every single time Reggie goes on a date with someone, he gets attached. And every single time, whoever it is that he’s seeing ends up not appreciating the wonder that is Reggie. Every single time, it ends in heartbreak.

And every single time, Reggie blames himself.

It’s stupid, really. Reggie is quick to love, and honestly, it’s one of Bobby’s favourite parts of him. His roommate has a big heart and doesn’t hesitate to let people in, which, especially considering the difficult life he’s had, is really admirable. Bobby himself could never be this open with his affection. There’s a reason Reggie is the one scoring dates left and right while Bobby doesn’t even remember the last date he’s been on. Which is fine – based on the way dating is going for Reggie, he’s not exactly eager to ‘get out there’ – and he’s the last to judge, he really is. If dating all these stupid people who aren’t good enough for Reggie is what makes Reggie happy, then by all means, Reggie should date more people.

It’s just that, you know, all these stupid people aren’t good enough for Reggie and inevitably end up breaking his heart.

Okay, maybe Bobby is getting a little more upset about this than he has any right to be. In his defence, he’s been crushing on Reggie since the second the other moved into the apartment and so far, he’s doing an admirable job of not letting anything on.

There’s no point in telling Reggie, of course. Reggie loves so easily, so openly, that surely, Bobby would know by now if his feelings were returned. They don’t seem to be, and thus, Bobby keeps his mouth shut.

What he will not keep his mouth shut about for any longer, though, is how much these dates are breaking Reggie’s heart. No, that he has to stop.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #boggie #bobby shaw #reggie peters #michelle does things #michelle answers #prompts #this one was so fun to write!#ty again for the prompt!!

20 notes · View notes

dungeons-and-dragon-age · 9 months

Note

Hello! ✨

For the poses prompts... I have to ask Ari and June in 2F... But Josie is the purple one, maybe?

[prompts]

This was a fun one hehe ~

Ari's a little confused, but he's charmed, so it looks like it worked xD Though he has to hunch very awkwardly for her to even remotely reach him lmao

#Now that arfight's over my brain's finally letting me focus on these again xD #it's messier this time but was a v nice wind-down doodle though c:#josephine #oc: ari adaar #my ocs #my art #ty for the prompt! ^^#ari still worries a lot about what is appropriate and what not #and just generally about how exactly everything between the two of them works #but i imagined this at a point where they're alerady together and comfortable so it's fun and not stressful

42 notes · View notes

scionshtola · 11 days

Text

9. The Warrior of Light has been through quite a lot, but what is a moment, big or small, that bolstered and renewed their spirit? Was it a cup of hot cocoa or a lovingly crafted sandwich? Did someone give them a few words or a gesture at just the right time that meant the world to them? (Of course, this can be a canon event or headcanon!) (x)

Corisande struggled after Haurchefant's death and though she tried to hide it from her companions, Estinien easily saw through the facade. He mostly did left her alone in that regard, but would sometimes sit quietly with her so she was not completely alone in her grief. And even though they hardly spoke, Corisande knew he understood her pain and appreciated his presence at her side. It was enough to keep her going in one of the hardest times of her life, and was the beginning of the deep friendship and respect they have for each other in the present.

#oc: corisande ymir #i feel like i write all of these answers in the tone of a student taking a test lasdkfdsa #anyway. i think a lot about that scene right before going to azys la where shtola is like we should be proud of how far we've come #and says the wol is like the hope of mankind or smth and estinien comes up like no. we still have things to accomplish #and i think it was then that cori really understood just how much he understands what its like to be them...the champion of a nation that #ppl idealize and look to even when they're suffering...idk #also i do imagine cori was like ty i appreciate that. never talk to shtola like that again. <3 asldfjsd #endwalker spoilers #ffxiv #cori lore prompts #dont @ me about the armor okay i needed his face to be visible. altho it would be funny if he just sat in silence next to cori #with his helmet on #gpose

13 notes · View notes

turning-the-kaleidoscope · 1 year

Note

How about Terumob with an overjoyed hug?

(thank you for the prompt!! <3 I went with an airport reunion because Feelings <3) - terumob airport reunion, fluff, future fic (think like 6-7 years post canon, no spoilers)

~*~*~*~*~

Teruki's feet hurt from pacing. He must've walked the whole airport at least twice--grabbed a coffee from one shop, canned melon juice from another, a handful of snacks he thought Shigeo would enjoy, another coffee... reasonably he could be doing something more productive with his time, but he's not been known for rationality when it comes to Shigeo.

Shigeo profusely encouraged Teruki to go home when he realized his flight had been delayed, but Teruki's having none of that. It's only been a week but he's missed Shigeo, and he'd rather pace the airport for five extra hours than be five minutes late whenever his plane finally lands.

As far as he's concerned, it's not that unreasonable.

He stops by a vending machine near baggage claim to check his phone. 11:37pm. Either Shigeo's fallen asleep on the plane or he forgot that Teruki paid for him to have in-air service, because Teruki hasn't heard from him since he boarded. He checks Shigeo's plane on his flight tracking app. He's supposed to be landing in ten minutes. He buys Shigeo a coffee and goes back to waiting.

Seven minutes later:

[Shige <3] we just landed! are you still waiting? I hope you went home :( I'm sorry it took so long

[Teru <3] welcome home!! <3 I'm at baggage claim, I'll keep an eye out for you. I got you coffee :D

[Shige <3] :( you didn't go home

[Teru <3] your coffee's getting cold love seriously I wouldn't have done anything productive at home. I brought my ipad and graded a couple papers while I've been waiting

[Shige <3] :( I guess that's not so bad the row ahead of me just stood up. i'll see you in a few minutes! <3

[Teru <3] !!! <3

Teruki shoves his phone in his pocket and takes another lap around the baggage claim. The airport is startlingly busy this time of night, but that makes sense. A lot of flights were delayed at the same time as Shigeo's, and the godawful storm that's been rocking Seasoning City earlier today. Every time a group of people exits the hall Teruki's on them at once, combing through them for any sight of his husband. He isn't the only person waiting, either: he watches several people get their reunions, families and couples and friends. He's let down each time it isn't Shigeo.

"Teru!"

Teruki snaps around. Shigeo waves at him from the other side of the airport, beaming. He looks exhausted and he's standing a little lopsidedly, but it's absolutely Shigeo, wearing a scarf over one of Teruki's tye-dyed hoodies and washed denim jeans.

Teruki kind of forgets about not sloshing the coffee around. He guns it, heels slamming, and Shigeo half-runs, half-jogs to meet him there.

Teruki captures him in a hug so fierce his heart nearly flies out of his chest. He lets his aura take care of the coffee and squeezes Shigeo for all he's worth, and doesn't realize he's picked Shigeo's feet off the ground until Shigeo's laughter fills his senses and Shigeo's arms wrap around his head.

Shigeo's always swept him off his feet, and it's so gratifying to be able to do the same. Even if Shigeo is heavy and deadweight from exhaustion over a day of stressful travel. Shigeo's fingers curl into his hair and his forehead bonks the crown of Teruki's head. He smells like burnt plastic and he is so, so warm.

"I missed you," Teruki stresses. "I missed you, I missed you, I missed you--"

They probably look ridiculous, Shigeo wrapped around his head laughing while Teruki's knees tremble under the weight and a paper cup of coffee hovers on its own beside them. And yeah, Teruki's still got his vain streak about him--along with the rest of his reservations. God, he’s smitten.

Shigeo squirms and Teruki doesn’t want to set him down, but he can’t see Shigeo like this, either, so he obliges. Shigeo’s smile eradicates any clinging trace of anxious energy in the back of Teruki’s mind.

“I was only gone for a week,” Shigeo says, out of breath. He grabs his coffee out of the air and Teruki loosens his aura from around it. “Thank you for picking me up.”

“Of course!” Teruki squeezes his hand. “Come on, let’s grab your suitcase and get out of here before the storm kicks up again.”

Shigeo lets Teruki lead him forward, familiar hand in familiar hand.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #terumob #fanfic #answered ask #hug meme #TY FOR THE PROMPT <3 #it's pretty short but I might add more to it and post on ao3 down the line #I'm working on the other drabble prompts i got and uh #they are Not drabbles one of them's spawned 4k and it's not even halfway done yet I don't know what I'm gonna do with myself #these are always super fun though!!! they get my muse going #ty again!! <3

99 notes · View notes