#prompts and drabbles and other things

[ofmermaidstories]

Katsuki’s been dreaming about you.

At first, it’s in fragments. Stuff he doesn’t remember after waking up, or can otherwise shrug off as a product of his brain, cartwheeling around with the day’s information. It’s your face, frowning in concentration, or you saying something disjointed from the rest of the conversation (No, you tell him, faintly annoyed. Of course I bought it.). It’s you squinting into the sun, the broad daylight. It’s your leg, hot and wet and sparkling with pool water, as Katsuki palms your calf. A dozen tiny moments of you, slipped between Izuku grinning with All Might’s face, his eyes glowing green, or Iida clopping through the landscape, half horse.

It’s—whatever, Katsuki thinks. Maybe he just saw your dumbass face somewhere—wide-eyed, moony, watching him warily—and his brain latched on to it, desperate for some normalcy among Best Jeanist with long golden hair like a cape, or Katsuki’s mother, crying over him, his heart in a box.

But most of the shitty extras in his dreams don’t repeat. Not like you. Katsuki wakes up in the coolness of the twilight world before dawn, breathing hard as his heart thumps in fear, the last thing he can remember from his dream being you, whispering his name and prickling his skin like he can feel your breath on his shoulder and—

It’s just him, in his wide bed. Him in the blue world before his alarm.

Katsuki shudders, eyes squeezed tight, and has to admit to himself: maybe shit was weirder than he thought.

For a while, things don’t change. The heat of his nightmares (the smoke, the ground underneath his feet tilting as UA poises precariously in the air, over the country) stays the same. His stupider dreams stay the same. The ones that feed his guilt (Izuku, four years old, chubby hand held out; Edgeshot, his eyes crinkling above his mask as he balanced his tea against his leg, the group being debriefed before battle) stay the same. You slip in like a comma, a pause, the back of your head haloed by the latelight as you’re passing by a civilian begging for Dynamight to save them. You, your lips parted around the words you can’t say before Kirishima is there, throwing his arm around Katsuki’s shoulder and talking about how they’ll be late for a school dance that never happened.

Maybe it’s a fucking Quirk, Katsuki thinks, gritting his teeth at the idea of some bastard getting a hit in, unchecked. But when the doctor shrugs at him, Katsuki slouching in the stiff chair, and says, “you’re all clear, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, sir. There’s nothing in your system—”

Well, the blond thinks, mouth tightening. Then there was a fucking problem.

Maybe he’s been givin’ it too much damn attention. Katsuki resolves to ignore it, throwing himself into the investigation at hand—some bastard, turning people into living mannequins—and for a while, it works. His dreams are filled with nonsense from work, from patrol, from the insecurities he left behind at seventeen—and then you return, the breath between words, the hyphen between thoughts.

You’re walking ahead of him, Katsuki too aware of his hands balled into his pockets, your jacket long and bright against the city night, the glitter of Tokyo Tower ahead of you both. You’re laughing at something Denki is saying, ugly and breathless and on the verge of tears, Katsuki’s chest tight with it. You’re hesitating, your legs curling against his sheets as you stare up at him, his heart thumping with the pulse he sees jump in your throat.

It’s making him more vicious. He spars with Denki and nearly burns a idiot-shaped hole into the concrete floor of the training room. Out on the scene with Deku, Katsuki jumps into the fight first, causing the nerd to shout after him, startled at the deviation of the plan.

“You’re scaring everyone,” Shouto tells him, breaking the silence as they strip from their Hero gear. Katsuki stills, coiled and deadly but Shouto is unperturbed, buttoning his shirt. “Izuku’s worried. Denki’s been threatening to make a formal request to Support for a panic button. What’s happened?”

“Nothin’s fucking happened, Icyhot,” Katsuki says, scowling. But his hand tightens on his hoodie as he says it, and for all the moron’s obliviousness, Shouto is eagle-eyed when it comes to the tremor in his friends.

“What’s happened?” He repeats, the faint steel of insistence in his voice and Katsuki tsks, before conceding.

“Been having shit dreams is all,” he says, frowning unhappily.

Shouto frowns in answer, pulling a sweatshirt over his head. “Nightmares?” He asks, reasonably.

Nightmares. Katsuki’s jaw tightens, thinking of the latest dream—you, damp and flushed underneath him, gasping against his mouth as you share the same hot breath, his hand curling against your neck, so, so afraid.

“Yeah,” he says, quieter. “Something like that.”

#prompts and drabbles and other things #i just wanna—i just wanna know #if you’re gonna—if you’re gonna stay #i just gotta—i just gotta know #i can’t have it—i can’t have it any other way

[piived]

I am such a slut for Danny having supernatural strength and being able to kill someone with a single slap because he’s used to fighting ghosts who are built Sturdy (and literally can’t die, that is very helpful in a sparing partner) so he has to learn such meticulous control when he moves to Gotham where he starts regularly getting into scuffles with humans who think he’s an easy target (he looks like he has the sturdiness of a wet newspaper) and the whole time he’s more stressed about not drawing the Bats attention by being too good or accidentally killing someone so he has to walk that fine line of acting like a scrawny loser and dipping out at his first chance without being clocked as a meta.

Danny, laying on the ground and getting kicked repeatedly by a thug: *tries to angle himself so the guy can kick out a knot in his back*

Danny: *deadpan* oh, ow, stop that hurts, oof

Robin, watching from the rooftop and recognizing the dramatics from the Supers: father there is a meta

Batman, also watching and having flashbacks to Clark’s earlier days: *so so tired and already mentally getting the adoption paperwork ready*

#danny 🤝 peter parker 🤝 the supers #having such carefully maintained control at all times #sure danny is used to doing mundane things with his powers now but fights… his years of Ghost Brawls are really biting him in the ass here #the others learned how to fight (mostly) humans first and foremost so it’s now more natural for them to manage their power levels #danny is so worried about accidentally killing someone after every brawl with a ghost because the power level difference is so insane #he has to relearn how much force is acceptable after each all-out fight with a ghost #dpxdc #dpxdc drabble #dpxdc prompt #vee’s writing #vee’s prompts

[sprout-fics]

❝  you don’t have to pretend to be fine,  if you need me to stay i will.  ❞ (fix saying this to ghost?)

I fucking love Fix and Ghost and how they deal with hurt/comfort with the other. Fuck it's so good.

“He’s smoking.” Soap says as you walk past him after your shower. The Scot is still inventorying his kit under the faulty light of the safe house, steady hands appraising the contents beside his vest. He pauses to throw you the barest glance over his shoulder, brow scrunched with something akin to worry before he goes back to his task. 

“On the fire escape.” He adds, and there’s meaning in the scarce words he offers you, meaning that has you quietly slip away in the direction he’s offered you. 

Soap doesn’t question the thing between you and his lieutenant, if it can be called that. You’re not sure if he knows the full scope of your relationship with Simon and is strangely quiet on it, or if you both have managed to keep him as carefully in the dark as you intended. Either way, Soap knows Ghost well enough to recognize his mannerisms just as you do, and you both know that Simon slinking off for a cig means something is weighing heavy on his mind. 

You knock on the pane of the window that leads to the fire escape, making out Ghost’s looming figure just beside it, concealed carefully in the shadows. The only indication he’s there at all is the slant from the light inside catching across his boot, the glow of the cigarette in his hand as he lifts it to his lips.

When you knock you see him make room for you to climb out, and even though he doesn’t welcome you, it’s a clear indication that he at least tolerates your presence. You lean on the wall beside him, catching the light where he sidles further into darkness, boots scraping the metal mesh of the platform under you. The wisp of nicotine curls around you both, an acrid smell to fill the silence. 

You don’t press him. You know better than that. You learned long ago that saccharine sweet words to Simon will only throw his guard up just as it does yours, make him bristle and bare his fangs in a paradoxical effort to protect himself. 

❝ You don’t have to pretend to be fine, if you need me to stay I will.❞ You told him once, remembering how Simon’s head had snapped in your direction hard enough to make his neck crack. 

“I don’t need anything.” He told you flatly, scarcely hiding his hostility. It had startled you then, this whiplash of emotion from him. Yet when you looked at him, saw the look in his eyes, you understood.

You’re both feral, untamed creatures. There’s beauty in the wildness of you, an understanding of the untouchable spirit that resides in the other. You wander the wilderness in search of someone just the same as you, something more fit for savagery than gentleness. Like a beast howling at the sacrosanct moon, you hear the other's lonely call and dare to challenge it with your own. 

Yet wounded, injured, the proximity of others summons flashing fangs and snarling gazes even as you desperately want to be anything but alone.

So you only stand beside him, cross your arms and brace on the wall until you gesture at him for a cigarette, smiling to yourself when he simply offers his. His lighter flicks as he lights a new one for him, and the orange of the flame reveals the grim set of his jaw in the shadows. 

You try and think back on the day, try and discern the things that could have gone wrong to warrant this sudden heaviness and withdrawal of him. Ghost had been set up in a sniper nest all day, navigating you and Soap through the city in your plain clothes, tailing a contact. You’d been waiting for him to make an exchange, information hidden in his briefcase. Yet the person he had handed it off to was not another gangster.

Instead, it was a boy. 

Blonde. Brown eyes, looking up at his father and smiling as the man had cupped the child’s face when he spoke.

Ghost didn’t take the shot.

You take a long drag of your cigarette, wincing at the taste. You never had a penchant for smoking, picked it up only to find excuses to linger beside the man next to you. Simon is silent, ruminating, and you tumble the image of the boy in your mind, trying to find the tether that connected him to Simon’s heart. 

It hits you all at once. A kid, roughly the same age, blonde, brown eyed, rosy cheeked, looking up at his father with stars in his eyes. 

Joseph.

You close your eyes, pained realization rippling through your chest. Joseph, the smallest one lost to that deadly night that took Simon’s family. The one he had spoken of only once and then never again. A secret locked in the deepest parts of his heart, something he trusted scarcely few people with. 

Including you.

The gift and responsibility of Simon’s trust of you isn’t wasted in its meaning. You know how difficult it is for him to allow even the smallest sliver of someone that deep inside, and you tread carefully, knowing that there’s things that you haven’t told Simon either about your own family. 

You fight him tooth and nail for every meager scrap he gives you, and it’s enough. It’s always enough- because every single truth you unspool from him ties its threads into your own stitches atop your fractured heart.

You both stand in the long silence of the night air, letting the curl of smoke wind between your two forms before you deign to speak. 

“He looked nothing like him.” You lie.

Simon goes still beside you, coiling a telltale inch as you finally speak the truth of it into existence. You think maybe he’ll go back inside without another word, and will leave you out here in the aftermath of your feigned declaration.

“No.” He replies flatly, not moving from where he stands, voice firm in a way that tells of what he is trying to hide underneath- something you know you’ll see eventually when he comes to you with desperate touches and hushed words, trying to escape the weight of the world in the feral familiarity of you. 

“He didn’t.”

#simon ghost riley x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x oc #ghost x oc #simon riley x reader #oc: fix #stay the night writing prompts #drabbles #They're both so!!!! #They're the same person they're the mirror of each other they hate the things in each other that remind them of themselves #they're the only one who know what it's like to be them they're the only ones that can trust the other with their secrets #crying yelling screaming

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

Even with their growing collection of wounds that throb in various degrees of pain, Whumpee does their best to feign sleep. It's hard to keep a lax expression and limp muscles when every fiber in their being was experiencing some sort of discomfort. Still, they tried. They didn't clench their fists until their whole arms trembled, they didn't squeeze their eyes shut, they didn't quicken their breathing...

So why won't Whumper hurry up and go away!?

Whumpee didn't need to open their eyes to know Whumper was still standing over where they had curled up on the floor, their menacing presence making itself known. Giving up the ruse now would only invite some type of punishment for outright ignoring Whumper, or perhaps they would 'awaken' to a teasing smirk that showed Whumper knew they were faking the entire time. Poor Whumpee couldn't even shudder at the thought lest their captor assumed they were coming out of slumber, ready to start the torment anew.

No, instead they heard the shuffle of fabric as Whumper dropped down to crouch on their haunches, a little closer in height to Whumpee's fetal position. Were they examining for a closer look, trying to determine if this was genuine sleep or unconsciousness, plotting their devious idea of how to bring Whumpee's nightmare into reality? The gnawing anxiety in Whumpee's throat that begged to be released in a whimper was almost too much to bear. Perhaps they should drop the act, get whatever Whumper wanted over w-

A warm hand carded through Whumpee's hair. Not roughly, not ripped through the knots or gripping the base of their scalp to yank their neck to the side. The fingers merely glided through, tucking a few strands out of Whumpee's face and smoothing the frizzier sections down with a couple pets. The same hand moved further down to cup their cheek, Whumper's thumb rubbing against the skin to wipe away the remaining grime that hadn't been washed off by tears.

God, Whumpee was just about ready to combust. There was no way Whumper couldn't feel the tension in their jaw from how tightly they were biting down. As much as they were trying to school their facial muscles into neutrality, the unpleasantness of this entire interaction had to be plain as day on their face. It was tempting to snap their eyes open and give Whumper a good shove backwards just to get them the hell away.

What kind of sick game was this anyhow? Who did Whumper think they were fooling with these sweet gestures? Whumpee knew what those hands currently caressing them were capable of. They had experienced far more pain than gentleness, the latter being nonexistent during their captivity. It was unlikely Whumper had a sudden change of heart, yet whatever taunting they were trying to bait Whumpee with was going on for quite a while without a punchline. There was no sudden pinch or verbal admission they knew Whumpee was awake, no thumb digging into their eye socket, no fistful of their hair being yanked up and slammed back down on the floor.

In fact, just a moment of soft touching later, Whumper withdrew their hand and...left. Footsteps faded back and out of the room, punctuated by the sound of the door quietly being shut behind them and a couple locks clicking in place to ensure Whumpee remained inside. It took another full minute of stillness before Whumpee had the courage to open their eyes and confirm they were indeed alone, no more marred than they had been earlier prior to their attempted nap.

How the fuck were they doing to get any rest after that?

#whump #whump fic #whump tropes #whump prompts #whump community #whumpblr #whump writing #whump drabble #whumpee #whumper #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #yandere #whumper turned caretaker #carewhumper #idk just rly into the vibe right now of whumper doing soft mundane things #and whumpee having no idea how to react to that because?? its gotta be a trick right???? #like what other purpose could they have done that if not for an ulterior motive???

[player1064]

kate for someone reason thinking jamie is homophobic not sure why or how but she does (sara has me obsessed with the idea that they can’t stand each other now lol) and then him introducing her to gary and she’s like 🤯 ft. micah in the corner like you didn’t know he never shuts up about him???

god Kate and Jamie literally CANNOT STAND EACH OTHER!!! I'm OBSESSED with that dynamic tbh!!!!!!! As always. this one is much longer than intended...

Also, don't need to have read it but this is technically intended to tie in to my fic Happy wife, happy life (but tldr Jamie regularly calls Gary his wife partly to keep their relationship under wraps but mostly bc. he finds it funny to call Gary his wife.)

---

“Obviously we’re done for the season right before pride month kicks off,” one of the CBS producers is saying, eyes darting over something on an iPad. “And since you four have been pretty popular we were thinking of including you in some of those ad campaigns, so if I could just get some dates off of all of you –”

“No,” Jamie says immediately.

All three of his colleagues snap their heads up to him, but only Kate looks at him coolly and says “no?”

Micah, because he’s Micah, chuckles and slaps Jamie in the shoulder, trying to diffuse some of the new tension in the air. “Not like you to turn down extra cash, Carra.”

Jamie rolls his eyes, pretends not to notice the way Kate’s eyes are burning into him. “Check my contract. Wish I could, honest,” he says to the producer, feeling very very glad that he had a clause added to his contract specifically so that he doesn’t have to take part in things like this, “But it just wouldn’t be do-able. You lot ‘ave fun, though, with yer rainbows and yer glitter.”

Kate just looks at him incredulously. “This is one thing you decide to take a stand on, mister ‘I don’t care about politics’?”

Rainbows just don’t really suit Jamie, is the thing. Nor does the extra scrutiny that comes from wearing rainbows.

Doesn’t really matter to him what Kate thinks of him, though, so he just shrugs and continues packing up his stuff for the day.

*

“Jamie – Jamie, I finally got onto Raya, can you have a look at my profile?”

Jamie looks up at Micah with a frown. “What the fuck is a Raya?”

“It’s a dating app,” Kate says from her end of the desk, in that unimpressed tone of hers that makes Jamie wonder why she’s bothering to insert herself into the conversation at all.

“An exclusive dating app,” Micah corrects, wiggling his phone in front of Jamie.

“Weren’t you already seeing someone?” asks Jamie, but he accepts the phone with a sigh and puts his glasses on. “I don’t – I’ve never used one of these things, what am I meant to be lookin’ at?”

Micah shrugs. “Didn’t work out,” he says breezily. “How have you never used a dating app, you’ve not been married that long. And look at yourself, you can’t tell me you weren’t a player before Mrs Carra came along.”

Jamie had got around a bit, in his playing days. Not much, mind, because he’d had to be careful, but he’d done alright. Unfortunately – and this is not something he’ll ever admit to anyone, even under duress – any thoughts of that had gone out the window the moment he’d walked onto the Sky campus after retiring.

“You’re right,” he says with a wink, “look at me. As if I’d need an app to find myself a bird. Why’d you want me to look at this, I’m not exactly your target audience. ‘less there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ us,” he adds, elbowing Micah and waggling his eyebrows.

Kate looks on unimpressed as the two of them double over in laughter. “Not that any of us would have a problem if you were, right Jamie?” she says haughtily.

Jamie catches Micah’s eye and has to fight back another bout of laughter. “Dunno,” he says, “I can think of one or two problems I’d ‘ave if Big Meeks here suddenly tried hittin’ on me.”

Micah bursts out laughing again, his hand clapping to Jamie’s forearm, and Jamie can’t help but join in – it’s infectious, okay?

“God,” Micah says, wiping a tear from his eye, “can you imagine how your missus would react. I’d never be able to work in television again.”

“Nah, she’d prob’ly send you a fruit basket, thank you for taking me off ‘er hands.”

Kate clears her throat and the two of them sober immediately at the sight of her raised eyebrow. “Maybe cool it with the outdated banter,” she says, “or do I need to remind you boys that you’re not in a dressing room anymore?”

She storms off, he heels click-clicking away as Jamie and Micah look at each other and try (and fail) not to start laughing again.  

*

“You didn’t want to bring your wife to the end of season party, then?” Kate asks politely, looking slowly around the room.

“Huh?” Jamie says eloquently, because he’s had a couple of glasses of prosecco and he’s not thinking as quickly as he usually might. “Oh, the missus. Yeah, she’s here but  – I dunno, she’s a bit shy, like. You didn’t invite Malik?”

Kate rolls her eyes, the way she always does when Jamie mentions her boyfriend. “Well, he lives in America. So.”

“Carra,” an annoying voice calls from just behind him, “Carra, come over ‘n meet Schmeichel? I’ve not seen ‘im in years, d’you know, I think I’d forgot how tall he was.”

Jamie puts a hand on the small of Gary’s back to keep him from bouncing around too much (the man is such a lightweight, it’s embarrassing), and says “I’ve already met Peter, you dolt. I work with ‘im, remember?”

Gary squints at him for a second. “You drag me all the way down to London, and then y’can’t even be bothered to –” he finally seems to realise that Jamie had been talking to someone, because he quickly shakes his head around a bit and holds a hand out to Kate with a smile. “You’re Kate, right? I love what you do on the show, honest, I’m always sayin’ people need to be meaner to James here.”

Jamie thinks he sees Kate blush a bit, like she hadn’t realised anyone else had noticed her dislike of Jamie, but she takes Gary’s offered hand anyway. “And of course you’re the famous Gary Neville, I’ve heard a lot about you,” she greets. “But aren't you still with Sky? What brings you to our little operation here?”

“Scopin’ out the competition,” he says with a wink, then turns back to Jamie. “Carra – Peter?”

“I said no! I’ll talk to him later, stop badgerin’ me.”

“Did you two travel down from Manchester together?” asks Kate, “You know, Jamie seems so invested in my relationship but none of us have ever met his wife, do you know where she’s got to?”

“Ah, his fuckin’ wife,” Gary mutters, smirking up at Jamie. Jamie winks in reply and slips his hand down a bit to pinch him on the arse.

Micah comes over, his tuxedo strained against his biceps, and he pulls Gary away from Jamie to throw an arm around his shoulder in a half-hug.

(Gary squirms a bit at the unexpected contact, but he still gives Micah a friendly pat on the chest.)

“Big Nev! It’s been ages, man – Jamie told us you were coming, but he’s promised that before and not delivered.”

“Been pretty busy, up in Manchester,” Gary says with a shrug, carefully extracting himself from under Micah’s arm and returning to Jamie’s side. “But I’m obliged to do the plus one thing at least two –” (“Three,” Jamie corrects,) “—fine, three times a year, and I figure there’re worse places to be.”

“Aw, you love it really,” Micah says. “I’ve always kind of wondered what it’s like to be a WAG.”

Gary rolls his eyes. “It’s a thankless job, to be fair.” He pokes Jamie in the bicep and adds “I’m going back to talk t' Peter, you miserable old twat. Honest, I’m always talkin' to Scousers fer you.”

“I already know –” Jamie starts to protest, but Gary’s already wandered off. “Ugh. Sorry about ‘im. You can’t take Mancs anywhere, can ya?”

The two Mancs he’s talking to look at him, unimpressed.

“He seemed nice,” Kate says carefully.

“He’s not,” Jamie replies.

*

“Good summer?” Micah asks, their first show back after the break.

“Brilliant,” Jamie replies with a grin. “It were my turn to choose the destination, so –”

“Ibiza?”

He nods. “Ibiza. The house was done just in time, too.”

“You know, I can’t really imagine Gary in Ibiza.”

“Oh, he hates it. Complained the whole time, but he does that wherever we go.”

He becomes aware that Kate is watching them from across the desk, not trying to hide that she’s listening to their conversation with curiosity. Jamie nods to her, all polite like. “Hows about you, Kate, good summer?”

“It was fine, I –” she shakes her head. “Sorry, you’re saying you go on holiday with Gary Neville?”

Micah scoffs. “Who else would he go with?” he asks, and Jamie points to him in agreement.

“I dunno, his wife?”

Jamie blinks.

He thought he’d got all this out the way, dragging Gary along to the party a couple of months ago. Apparently not.

“Gary is my wife,” he says, then suddenly feels very stupid saying that to someone who’s not already in on the joke, so he corrects to “my husband, I mean. Obviously he’s not – he’s a man. Obviously.”

Kate’s eyes are wide, unblinking. She looks between Jamie and Micah, lips pressed together while her brain seems to be buffering.

“You’re married to a man?” she says eventually. “But you’re not gay, I mean – you’re –”

Jamie, who last time he checked definitely was gay, raises an eyebrow, amused. “I’m what?”

“You’re a footballer,” she attempts, and oh, this is far too easy.

“Bit ‘omophobic, that, sayin’ footballers can’t be gay,” he replies, holding back a smirk.

“Oh shut up, you know what I – you’re a lad! You’re always with the banter, and the…”

Thierry wanders over, freshly brewed cup of tea in hand. “What have you two done this time?” he asks, looking pointedly at Jamie and Micah.

Jamie raises his hands to protest his innocence.

“Thierry,” Kate asks, reaching a hand out towards him, “did you know Jamie’s married to a man?”

Thierry rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fucking Neville,” he replies, and goes to sit down.

#thank you for the prompt I LOVED this and also. I've been waiting for an excuse to write more for that fic so heheeee here we are #carraville #drabbles #also in this universe since i never got into it in the main fic or in this drabble. jamie and gary got together after valencia #except it was more like a weird situationship/fwb thing for years and then they spent lockdown together and when things opened up were like #'hey why dont we get married lol'. and now are very happy together (always insulting each other) #wife gary saga

[good-beanswrites]

Ahh ive been reading some of your writings and they're just so warm and fluffy to read (if that makes sense??) Though i cant really express it in the tags ;; also if its alright, may i please request blanket with mikoto or tears with fuuta? - @erimnar

Omg thank you -- I've been so grateful for your tags! :)) And thanks for the requests, I had a lot of fun with these woo! I went with a real fun one for Mikoto/Blanket (once again, picture T1 minigram vibes) and I'll post a slightly angstier one for Fuuta/Tears soon 👍

“Mikotoooo, just share with Muu,” the girl pouted. “I mean it!”

He scooted out of her reach. “What are you gonna do, stab me about it?”

Muu’s jaw dropped, but there was no real horror behind it. “Maybe!” She lunged for him again. 

After a strange rattling from the walls had woken some in the middle of the night, all the heat in the prison had seeped away. Es had left to fix it immediately, and no one had seen them for hours. In Mikoto’s opinion, they seemed better versed in law than plumbing and mechanical fixes. He had no idea how long they’d all be shivering like this in the winter chill.

The prisoners walked around all morning in a mismatch of spare layers. Mahiru giggled inside one of Shidou’s extra doctor coats, far too big on her. Mikoto hadn’t stopped laughing that Shidou owned extra doctor coats in the first place. Yuno’s stylish hats could be spotted on several of the prisoners, Mikoto included. (He’d given his own beanie to Kazui, earlier.) Fuuta had handed out a concerning amount of sweatshirts, and Muu had some fashionable scarves that gave enough warmth to be useful.

In addition to the ridiculous getups, they each carried their bed sheets around their shoulders. Mikoto was surprised to find himself the envy of the group.

A while back he’d requested a weighted blanket; he remembered finding one helpful when work got too overwhelming. Milgram had provided a fairly large one, though he felt it hadn’t worked as well here. He didn't expect it to cause a stir until Shidou pointed out that its weight would make it even warmer than his own. Following that, it didn’t take long to attract the small army of murderous children that were after him. 

As he stepped away from Muu, Yuno leapt at his other side, ready to snatch the blanket off of him. Although Haruka and Amane were too nervous to make a grab at him, they stood anxiously nearby rooting for his loss. Mahiru had jumped in as well. Her quick movements forced Mikoto to spin around and draw it even closer around his shoulders. Caring less about the blanket, but always ready to tackle someone, Fuuta joined the scuffle.

It wasn't like Mikoto cared about the blanket, either. He had no issue sharing it with the others. He knew the attitude in the prison had been dropping recently. Despite the brief camaraderie from sharing articles of clothing, everyone’s mood had been especially bitter today. As physical discomfort added to their mental strain, things could go south quickly. The place needed to liven up a bit.

He stepped back from the blanket thieves, flicking the corner of it from Fuuta’s hands. 

“Not so fast!”

Fuuta fumed. “You asshole…”

Yuno, meanwhile, seemed up for the challenge. “You’re quick!”

“I’ve had a bit of experience…” He flashed a wicked grin. Mikoto didn’t talk about his family much, but a few of the others knew he grew up on fairly good terms with a younger sister. His big brother instincts had developed just fine.

He darted this way and that. He faked and sidestepped and spun. As his opponents grew bolder, he ended up sweeping the blanket off his back. He swung it around the room with less effort than expected. He was stronger than he looked, and easily kept the girls at bay while wrestling Fuuta for the blanket. He let out a laugh as he fought back against all the grabbing hands. Taking advantage of the height difference, he lifted it directly over his head.

The position wasn’t the most secure, though. His taunts were quickly replaced by feigned cries as the others dragged him to the ground. As they pinned him down, a cheer erupted from Haruka before he covered his mouth. The others joined in the celebration as they claimed their prize.

Mikoto lamented, “you’re so cruel… you’re all so cruel…” It was good, he thought, hearing them all laugh.

The loss of his blanket wasn’t his only punishment. Heaving an exhausted breath, Yuno flopped down directly on top of him. She tucked herself and Muu into the blanket. Then Mahiru wiggled in, beckoning to Amane and Haruka. By the time they all nestled in, there was just barely enough room for Fuuta to squeeze in with everyone. 

Mikoto wheezed from under the pile of prisoners.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “You win. Fuck -- let me breathe...”

Mahiru just made herself more comfortable. “But you’re so warm!” The others muttered their agreement. Not one showed any sign of moving. The prison was far too cold to give up heat like this, after all.

“That’s because you all made me work so hard!” He huffed. “Come on.”

“What are you gonna do?” Muu giggled, doing a poor impression of his voice, “murd--”

“-- Aw, shaddup…”

#milgram #mikoto kayano #muu kusunoki #and others #it was silly but i was still able to wiggle some of my serious headcanons in! #mikoto being able to read a room and know when and how to pick things up with a bit of charisma #him having great big brother/roughhousing/antagonizing for no reason instincts sdfdsfds #and having a lot of stress relief habits that he swears by - and then cant understand why they arent working #(because orekoto usually does all the stress relief with physical exertion) #oh and also the fact that hes really chill about joking about their situation in milgram sfdsdfgfd 💀 #thank you sm for the requests! #and i mean it -- i was so happy seeing your tags ;-; ty for the kind words! #also ive been on this site for a while and its the first time ive seen that 'tagging a sideblog on an anon ask' trick so you get notified #thats so smart omg #ill tag you whenever i post the fuuta one #i know i dont have to do both prompts but theres no way im missing an opportunity to make my fave cry hehehe >:3 #drabbles

[grey-sides]

Oh man, the "I didn't steal your boyfriend, he came with me willingly" has to be Billy to Nancy!

You're so right, anon! I hope you enjoy :)

Nancy’s drunk and Jonathan is high as shit and Steve doesn’t know when he became the responsible one. He hasn’t shotgunned a beer in almost two years at this point! It’s ridiculous. It’s because he’s trying to show support for Billy who will never drink again on account of his liver being shish-kebabed. 

Nancy is just…a brutally honest drunk, which Steve has learned. She likes to say what’s on her mind in a way she might ordinarily shut her mouth. So it’s not really surprising when she stalks up to Billy with a finger outstretched. 

She’s just so tiny, it’s almost funny when she pushes her finger into Billy’s chest, gritting her jaw as she looks up at him. “You stole Steve!” she accuses, slurring her words a little. 

Steve needs to cut her off, but he wants to hear this. Wants to know exactly how Nancy thinks Billy stole him. Because last Steve checked, she broke up with him and they did a will-they, won’t-they thing for half a year.

“Princess, I didn’t do anything. Go sit down, let me get you some water,” Billy soothes, putting his hands on her upper arms. He’s better at that now, calmer, more level headed when he talks to her. He still uses nicknames, but they’re said with fondness, not derision. 

“You stole Steve,” Nancy repeats, leaning hard into Billy’s hands. “You stole my boyfriend!”

Steve blinks in surprise at that, glancing over at Jonathan who is just watching her with a dopey smile. Oh he’s high as fuck. 

Billy sighs and pivots them around to make Nancy sit on one of the chairs before she follows over. “Let me get one thing clear for you, okay? I didn’t steal your boyfriend, he came with me willingly. And more importantly- your actual boyfriend is right over there!” 

He points at Jonathan who waves and nods. “Hey, Nance,” he greets, voice slow and lazy while he looks up at the sky. 

Nancy blinks slowly between Billy and Jonathan and Steve has considered just blending into the shadows. A smile starts to spread across her face and she teeters to her feet again to stumble over to Jonathan, throwing herself into his arms. 

Steve just shakes his head and picks up the cooler with the beer, taking it inside. Nancy’s cut off, Robin passed out in a chair awhile ago and Eddie is playing guitar by the fire like a douchebag. The party is winding down anyway. 

Billy follows and runs his fingers through his hair, chuckling a little under his breath. “She’s something else,” he mutters.

Steve turns to him, setting the cooler down on the counter with a sigh. “Yeah, I don’t know where she gets her ideas.”

Billy just shrugs, pulling Steve in by a belt-loop so they’re pressed chest to chest. “I think she just likes having control. S’why Byers is good for her.” He wiggles his eyebrows and growls, snapping his teeth together.

Steve snorts and shoves at Billy, but he’s still weak to every little thing he does. So he ends up melting into a kiss anyway, cooler slowly melting on the counter behind them. 

#harringrove #drabble #anon #greye writes #stranger things #i have 2 other prompts but i'm not tryna flood the tags

[fortune-maiden]

I have done it! I have written ficlets for all 30 days of Sicktember! (only posted 7 of them but I wrote all 30! :D)

Over the course of the month, I've written:

25,343 words (8053 words in posted fic)

23 Complete ficlets

Ficlets in12 fandoms

Longest fic was Day 2's Four Hours at 1850 words

Shortest fic was at 508 words, tied between Days 12 & 27 (neither posted)

#fortune's fanfics #sicktember stats #I AM FINALLY DONE! I'M FREEEEE #this was a lot of fun but holy hell i am never doing this again! #or if i am i am making much easier rules for myself xD #100 word drabbles or something #i did like this a lot though. the idea was not to plan anything in advance and just write 500 words on the day of #it's a bit like NaNo in that sense #it was a nice writing challenge even if i was really scraping for ideas on some days #other days (like today) i wrote 3 prompts over a total of an hour #it was weird xD #out of all the ficlets i wrote i think i liked Day 2 the best haha #it was different from my usual type of fic and i liked that #i also liked the days where i chose to explore random aus i wouldn't otherwise write #but also i really stretched the prompt definition on some of these xD #also also i got bored writing actual sickfic which is why so many of the things i posted were comedies ^^''

[allylikethecat]

I feel like causing myself pain. Gatty #28 a kiss as a lie

Hi! I want to apologize, first because this took me so long to finish, and second, because I don't think this is as pain causing as you were probably expecting. 😂 I hope you still enjoy it though and thank you so much for sending in this ask! I think this is one of my favorites that I've written so far!

❤️Ally

28. Kiss…as a lie

“Phoebe and Bo want us to meet them for a drink,” said Matty, not looking up from his phone. He was sitting on the arm of the couch in the studio, trying and failing to keep himself entertained while George worked on their new track. He was playing a new racing game, and he was exceptionally bad at it. He had finished his part ages ago, but through some kind of loyalty had decided to stay and keep George company instead of leaving with Ross and Hann. George wished he had left with them. He loved Matty, but he was an unnecessary distraction, especially when he was bored. George would have finished up an hour ago if he didn’t have to keep stopping to entertain Matty, he was like a toddler or a puppy, dangerous and destructive when he was bored.  

Matty had woken up in a mood that morning, a restless edge to his actions that implied that if he was left unsupervised, he would burn the world down. George sighed. Maybe it was a good thing Matty had stayed at the studio with him, George could keep an eye on him there, who knew what state he would have found their home in upon his return if Matty had left without him. 

Last time he had gotten like this, Matty had impulsively repainted half their kitchen before he got bored, then taken absolutely everything out of their closet, then lost interest in his reorganization plans. He had left George to put everything away three days later when he couldn’t take it anymore. They had to hire someone to finish repainting the kitchen, and to fix the section Matty had done. Turns out acrylic paint, and interior paint were not the same thing.  

“I thought we were going to watch the new season of Bake Off,” George said, spinning around in his chair so that he no longer had his back to Matty. That had been the plan, they were going to order takeaway, put on their pajamas and watch The Great British Bake Off. Matty loved criticizing the contestants as if he was capable of more than boiling water, and George loved watching how passionate he got about it, googling recipes that he would never actually attempt. George knew it was silly, but he had been looking forward to the quiet night in. 

“We still can,” said Matty, still fiddling with his phone. “We meet them for a pint, then get back home by eight at the latest, and have the rest of the night to watch Bake Off.” 

George knew it was intentional, that Matty was changing tactics, they were no longer meeting for a drink, but a pint. Matty didn’t drink beer unless it was an absolute last resort, he hated the taste and hated the way the carbonation and yeast made him feel heavy and bloated. George on the other hand, loved beer, it was his drink of choice and Matty knew that. 

“I don’t know,” George said, trailing off, he really didn’t want to go. He loved spending time with their friends, but it was never just one drink out when it came to Matty. He got caught up in the atmosphere, in the excitement of socializing, one always turned into two, into three and suddenly Matty was behind the bar harassing the bartender into letting him “help” or having commandeered a guitar and put on an impromptu performance and George was left to drag both their drunk asses home, then listen to Matty complain that he was dying the next morning. They were in their thirties now, they couldn’t just puke and rally like they used to.   

“It will be fun!” Matty said, “just one pint for you and a single glass of wine for me.” George wanted to argue that they had wine at home, probably better wine than Matty would find at whatever divey pub they ended up at.

“I’m tired,” George tried, “I was kind of looking forward to a quiet night,” he said trailing off. He had a feeling that he was going to lose this argument. 

“Just one, I swear,” said Matty, standing up to cross the distance between them, plopping himself down in George’s lap, straddling him. 

George knew he was lying, even if he didn’t realize it himself. He had that glint in his eye that in their youth meant George would be waking up in a bin. 

“Please?” He asked, batting his eyelashes at George, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout that he clearly thought made him look seductive but really just made him look ridiculous. George sighed, hating how far gone he was for the man that he always found himself bending to his whims. 

“One drink,” George said, holding up his pointer finger to drive his point home. “One drink then we’re going home.” 

Matty let out a little squeal of happiness that made him sound ridiculous and leaned in to kiss George, a sweet and quick press of the lips. 

“One drink!” He parroted, and George sighed. At least they both knew he was lying.

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #fanfiction #the 1975 rpf #matty healy rpf #matty healy fanfiction #fanfic #drabble #prompt fill #kiss prompt #kiss prompts #prompt fills #prompt fill request things #questions #answers #i know you probably wanted pain #i wanted to write pain #but alas i ended up writing soft #i figured matty and george deserved some soft after some of the other fills #gatty #matty x george

[ofmermaidstories]

i like the phrase in another life because i always imagine it like this: it’s the afternoon. the sun is glowing through your bedroom curtains, and katsuki’s breath is hot on your neck as his teeth graze your ear, the pair of you moving, slow and wet. afterwards you sleep—a light, lazy nap, waking up just before dusk, where you stumble out of the apartment, laughing at the way katsuki grimaces, shoving his shoes on, the pair of you walking out into the busy city streets. you’re going to go get dinner; you hold hands the entire way there, only letting go to scratch a stray cat under the chin.

at dinner, katsuki complains about work. you vent about a comic you’ve been reading (you think your favourite character is about to die and people are already making memes about it). on the table between you, katsuki’s phone buzzes, but he ignores it, relaxed. when you walk home (the both of you holding soft-serve cones) it’s through a city that is thrumming with life—people starting their nights, dressed up and trailing cologne. awed tourists taking photos of giant glowing screens, katsuki scowling down from them before replaced by izuku, shining brightly and then shouto, perfectly handsome. on the train katsuki stands close to you, a threat to everyone else and despite that you lean into him, content, as he pulls you in closer, into his jacket, rubbing his chin into your hair like you’re a scratching post.

(your reflections in the window are faint; giving way to the city lights that streak past and hold as the train stops, like the two of you contain a universe of stars.)

#prompts and drabbles and other things

[lavenoon]

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?,

🌿how does creating make you feel?,

🎀give yourself a compliment about your own writing

and 💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

After a nap (or, well, many naps in a trenchcoat) here I am!

💫 what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

I think, maybe the very specific feral ones? Mentions of particular lines or scenes and actions surrounded by screaming tell me exactly which bits hit good, and I just melt when it's in the context of a live reading and there's so many of these "sub" comments! Honestly the most encouraging comments to get, they push away the imposter syndrome like no other!

🌿 how does creating make you feel?

Mhh, a whole mixed bag of things, I think! There's definitely the elation - I daydream a bunch, but it's different to have those lines on paper to reread again and again and again. It's fun, and it makes me giddy! Unfortunately, sometimes the imposter syndrome creeps up, and I hold my own writing to unreasonably high standards where I just feel like deleting everything and never looking at it again. And that's silly, because I know, and tell myself "this is literally only to have it on paper." It's to get it out, to have it there, not trapped inside my head where I'll forget them. It's so the details don't get lost! And I do that! So I try to focus on just the happy things, the fun it is, and try not to force myself to create on bad days that have unfortunately outweighed the good days for a while now. Wish it was only the fun, but alas, everything has a downside!

🎀 give yourself a compliment about your own writing

Ah, compliments. Shot myself in the foot again. Thinking about the dynamic swap though (uh, might or might not make it too tumblr, feeling still eehh about writing so had to keep it contained for now, sorry) I think I'm just, really open for a lot. Like, I don't hesitate to embrace new ideas and make them fit - that was what the swap was initially! I thought "there's no way Sun would be rude to his civilian landlord, as a civilian," and then it turned into a thought experiment how to make it work without getting out of character! It's a lot of fun so I see it as a good thing, and it also means I love seeing everyone else's sonas and interactions! I don't need to stick to one storyline, I love all of them! And I love those storylines whether they came from me or others! Which makes having a variable AU like this a lot more fun, hehe <3

💞 what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language -

Got this one thrice, so I'm gonna split it a lil and ramble about a different factor for each because yeah like I could ever settle for just one fghdjs

For one, it's the characters. I tend to write character driven stuff first and foremost - even my one fic (the tloz one, currently on hiatus, again disclaimer no one needs to read that it's a very different style, anyways) that has a very nice defined plot is so character driven that it's now at 110+K and I'm in the middle of Arc 2. Of five. It's too important for me that the characters get along, and communicate, and have fun together and time to breathe, That's why so many AU drabbles are just that! The entire "plot" of the AU (except for the Glamrock teases) is just them getting closer! That's the point! So the characters are definitely something I pay very close attention to, and do my best to get right!

#answer let luce #clxckwork sun n moon #ask game #the way you told me I always have “that line” that makes you feel things hasn't left my brain since then #like i really just keep going back to replay the words from vc n always just end up goofy smiling like C: #including right now #that one also ranks up there in fave comments even tho I *did* by now forget which drabble it was about #so idk the that line that prompted it. but it is there in my brain #onto the others! thank you for asking!! <3 #edit for mutuals tag #we're holding hands

[jon-withnoh]

“There.” I glanced over her shoulder at our reflections in the mirror. I had pinned up her hair in a crown of dark braids. “You look so different.”

“Are you sure?” Danny asked doubtfully.

“I am. You might as well be a different person.”

“If only it were that easy.”

“Hush.” I wrapped my arms around her, bringing my head close to hers. “I love you.”

Danny’s expression softened. “I love you.”

Disentangling herself, Danny rose from the bed and picked up her bag.

“Ready for another journey?”

I cast a look around our empty room. “Ready when you are.”

— Prompt 33: I love you

#rebecca das musical #my fic #soft prompts #tumblr oneshots #this one really is soft #I am enjoying these so much #It is possible that I ought to be working on other things #but these drabbles are just so fun

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

The ringing in Sidekick’s ears was steadily subsiding into something less deafening, though their brain still throbbed from the blast. Their fear of long term tinnitus was going to have to wait as Sidekick uncurled themself from where they had taken refuge moments before, shaking the dust and debris off their battered body. A quick look around the surrounding area confirmed the explosion had been massive, destructive, but thankfully contained by Hero’s quick thinking just as planned. To think Sidekick had doubted their ability!

Most impressive of all was the fact that Villain’s body lay amongst the rubble on the opposite side of the blast zone, claimed as collateral damage in their own failed attack when Hero used their powers to redirect much of the energy. Sidekick couldn’t believe it. Not only had Hero saved the day by preventing the city from being leveled in an atomic explosion, but they had at last taken out their greatest nemesis in the process as the only casualty. How amazing it was to have a mentor so gallant, so brave, so heroic.

“We…did it…?” Sidekick asked the burning air, coughing to clear out a bit of ash out of their throat. This was usually the moment when Villain would jump back up, reveal themself to be perfectly fine, and disappear into the night until they were ready for their next plan to be foiled by the dynamic duo.

But Villain did not get up. They couldn’t. As Sidekick took a few tentative steps to where their long hated enemy lay, it was clear to see they suffered from injuries no mortal could survive. Hell, even other heroes with the gift of super healing may not have been able to self repair quick enough to undo the bodily damage done by the blast. Good thing Hero had stuffed Sidekick into that tight alcove just seconds before they reverse detonated the bomb or they’d be toast.

“We did it,” Sidekick repeated, more confident in their observation. They were hurt, bleeding, aching, tired, but they were alive. Everyone was still alive. No one else had to fall victim to Villain’s dastardly ways, no more innocent lives needed to be claimed in the name of world domination. “We…we did it!”

‘We’ was quite the strong word seeing as Hero did most of the work eight out of ten times, with tonight's brilliant act being no exception. Yet Hero always told Sidekick they couldn’t have done any of their great feats without the help of their beloved assistant, so they were happy to take any scrap of credit they could for taking down one of the biggest baddies around. Sidekick would make up their usefulness when the two of them returned to their base to patch up. If Sidekick thought they were pretty banged up with the bruising to their chest and the blood in their teeth, then Hero had to be in an absolute state being on the other end of the blast.

“We did it! Hero, we did it!” They continued to cheer. It felt a little morally sour to celebrate the death of Villain, an individual nonetheless, but Sidekick found it hard to justify a reason to mourn them. Besides, they just saved hundreds of thousands of lives, they had every right to be giddy.

Their right leg throbbed as they hobbled over to where Hero had been flung in the explosion, swept off their feet just as Villain was. Sidekick hoped they hadn’t broken anything when they collided with the crumbling surroundings; trying to carry Hero home with a twisted ankle wasn’t going to end well for either of them. They coughed again, a metallic taste coating their throat, unsure if it was coming from their nose or their teeth or their lungs. Again, whatever Sidekick was suffering with, Hero had to be nursing something twice as bad.

“Hero? Hero, are you over here?” Sidekick asked. There was no response initially, but a couple pained steps closer and they were able to see the familiar colorful boots of Hero. Relief washed over them to see them still intact, not that they expected anything less.

“Hero! Did you see? We…we did it,” it still felt so surreal to say. Sidekick wasn’t sure they’d ever get over the shock of success. “Villain’s gone. Really gone. You stopped the bomb, you saved everyone!”

Sidekick gave a breathy laugh, a crooked smile on their face when they still received no reply to their childish excitement. “Hey. Hero. Can you hear me? Ears still deaf?”

No response. No acknowledgement.

“C’mon, Hero, don’t leave me hanging like this! We did it!”

Hero didn’t lift their head from where it was dropped to their chest for a grin. Their fingers didn’t twitch to give Sidekick a thumbs up. Their legs didn’t kick the cape tangled around them to stand up.

“Ah, man, Hero, you know I don’t have super strength, there’s no way I’m going to be able to carry you all the way back to base,” Sidekick fake groused. They nudged Hero’s boot with their own. “We gotta scram before the cops get here, Hero. You know how they feel about us.”

Sidekick looked down to where their boots touched, finally taking notice of the puddle of red that was steadily inching outwards from where Hero had been propped against the shattered wall.

“...Hero…?”

#whump #whump ideas #whump scenario #whump stuff #whumpee #whumper #whump community #whump prompt #whump inspiration #whump drabble #hero whumpee #sidekick Whumpee #major character death #angst #whump writing #my writing #I don’t know what other tags to use #hurt no comfort #tumblr formats things weird when you copy/paste so I hope it looks okay

[terrainofheartfelt]

DB + Touch

Dair + Touch

Blair doesn’t remember falling asleep. One minute, she and Dan are deep in the weeds in a debate over the cultural value of Michael Craig-Martin (or lack thereof), and the next, her eyes are opening, sunlight peeking through her curtains. 

Dan is still fast asleep, on his side facing her, just as they’d been before they talked themselves to sleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning. She strokes a finger down the slope of his nose, but he does nothing more than wrinkle it, making her smile. 

She should get up, brush her teeth, get her hair and her eyebrows in order, but she’s way too comfortable, and getting up would mean having to move Dan’s arm from around her waist, and she certainly doesn’t want that, so. 

His hand is warm on the skin of her back, slipped underneath the silk tunic she’d worn to bed. Like kids at a sleepover, they’d worn themselves out talking before they could make time to wear themselves out doing anything else, but this touch is still warming, comforting. 

Blair trails her fingertips up his arm, over his skin, the sleeve of his t-shirt, resting her hand on his shoulder, perfect form, as if they’re about to dance. 

This isn’t the first time she’s woken up in bed with a boyfriend, it’s not even the first she’s woken up with Dan, but it still feels new somehow, the ease of it. 

Everything with Nate had been charged with expectation, she’d grabbed onto him needing to make it more than it was. Chuck only ever held her like this as the means to an end, to getting whatever it was he wanted from her in that moment. With Louis, every embrace was like an exercise in possession, a reminder, less holding and more hanging on. She’d thought it was romantic, until it wasn’t. 

Her hand drifts up from Dan’s shoulder to his face. She strokes over the hard line of his jaw, his morning stubble prickling her palm. Sharp edges, yet still so soft.

Dan feels different from the rest of them, not just because of the calluses on his hands or his five o’clock shadow, but it’s something in the way he holds her, close and intimate without the weight or urgency of expectation. It’s simple, a reassurance. A silent I’m here.

She lays her palm flat on his cheek, tries to communicate the same to him, wondering if he can feel her even when he’s dead asleep. She tries to move closer, narrowing the space between, until she’s close enough to tilt her chin up to press a kiss to his forehead.

She settles her head back on the pillow next to him, lets her hand drift down to his chest, where she can feel the slow rise and fall of his breath.

He stirs, and the hand on her back moves, sparking a shiver up and down her spine. 

“Blair?” he mumbles, voice gravelly, eyes still closed. Rough edges, yet still so soft. 

She thinks of what he told her last night, and how she thinks she could fit an entire universe into the way he’s touching her now, that the world outside her bedroom door could end and she wouldn’t notice. 

She rubs her thumb back and forth over his chest, right above where his heart is beating. A silent I’m here.

One word prompts

#dair #a little post 5x20 drabble for ya <3 #@ this anon and the anon(s) who sent a whole batch of new prompts today: i love you #I decided I'll keep accepting through september 1st! #after that I'll cut off and write whatever is still pending #and maybe move on to other things :) #these prompts are a perfect opportunity for ~missing moments~ #when i'm able to think of them that is #*prompts

[companionwolf]

pride month drabble challenge fill #1

prompts: 15. Transmasc + 9. Moonlight + 7. "Do you ever get afraid?" (prompts)

fandom: XCOM 2 (gen verse)

TWs/CWs: none

---

They're standing on the flight deck with Central, the cold moonlight turning them both silver black blue. Beside them, their XO stares out over the railing toward the distant glittering night shine of a city center.

His breath fogs in the air, and the Commander wishes they had those stupid sweaters still. They itched but they were warm, and the wind that rushes over the deck is frigid enough that they'd be willing to wear the damn thing again.

The Commander studies Central's face. He looks like they've always wished, no longer the clean and proper young man he was, more rugged and just--

Their stomach twists.

Masculine. Almost stereotypically so. He has it so effortlessly. They never will-- they don't know the state of gender affirming health care now and frankly? They'd rather not; it'd make them cry more than everything already does.

But they look at Central and they're envious. They look at him and they want to wear his skin. They look at him and mourn what they can't be.

Their capture did nothing to help. They guess it's nice that they didn't age, but... that's time they've lost. They'll never get it back. Time they could have--

Could have what? No time for transitioning when the world's on fire, they think bitterly.

Central looks over at them.

"You're looking awfully pensive," he says. "Something eating you, Commander?"

"Do you ever get afraid?" they ask.

Their central officer's mouth drops a bit in a frown. "Not sure I'm following," he says. "Of the aliens? The war? The Chosen? What's next? You're gonna need to be--"

"Of -- of not getting --"

Their voice trails off. What does their dysphoria matter, in this time? So meaningless admist the horrors. They shove their hands in their pockets and look at their feet.

Central's eyes are on them. "Ohhh," he says as they try not to meet his gaze. "Ohh, you think you don't deserve to talk about whatever it is, I see."

He scoffs. "Well, I think you do," he says, looking back out at the city center. "Even if it seems small to you, it still means something. You should get to talk about it."

"Thanks, Central," they say.

"So what is it?"

They take a long breath of the crisp cold air, feel it burn in their chest. "I'm not who I'm supposed to be," they say, hesitantly. "And I probably won't ever get to be."

Central's looking at them again.

Their stomach churns under his soft gaze. "Stop," they say. "Stop, you're pitying me."

"I am not," he retorts. "I still don't even really get it but maybe I don't have to. This is a trans thing, right?"

They nod.

"I won't ever know what that's like," Central continues. "I won't claim that I would or will, but..." He pauses. "I don't know, if I can help somehow, I'd like to."

The Commander shifts weight from foot to foot, is still avoiding eye contact. "I don't know what you could even do," they say. "I mean, besides what you do already, with pronouns and..."

"Yeah, but that's just being a decent human," Central says.

"Maybe that's all I can really ask, all you can really do," the Commander says. "Not like you can just manifest a surgeon or HRT or whatever."

"If I could I would," he says. "I could... someone has to be helping folks in the resistance transition. I'll look around."

The Commander smiles a little, shuffles a little closer to Central.

"You're right," they say. "There has to be somebody, something." They hesitate. "I just...sometimes I feel like I'm alone, and that it'll never happen, and that I have to settle. That's what I mean."

"You shouldn't ever have to settle," Central says. "Not on something like this-- when it's about yourself and your life and..." He struggles a second. "You should get to be happy."

The Commander wants to reach for his hand. They don't. Instead they say, "You should too."

He looks away, back toward the cityscape and its neon lights. "I've got mine," he says. "Your turn now, Commander."

The Commander closes the distance between them, leans on him. "What if we both got ours? Got to be happy?" they say. "What about that, Central?"

Central stiffens under their weight, and then relaxes a bit. "I'd like that," he says, his voice quiet, slow. The Commander can feel his body rising and falling with each breath under their ear.

"Me too," they say. "Me too."

#wolf barking #tailstrokes #hello commander #pride month drabble challenge #hey you can add readmore on mobile wo doing the :readmore: thing now????? #anyway * strikes a pose * have this #also sorry jax all i have to offer is x2 brainrot so thats what youre getting #i added the dialouge prompt from my own list bc i needed. more inspo ^^; #and i do these challenges very haphazardly (ie i roll 3d10 on each prompt list and do that instead of day by day) so i hope thats alright. #everyone: can we see something else other than c/c shipping / me: sorry brainrot! #'ITS BEEN 6 YEARS WOLF' IM IN HELL!

[bmodiwrites]

uh, i just got a twitter (@bobwritesstuff) go follow me over there plz!!!

#bobbie things #steddie #writing #bobbie writes #twitter stuff #twitter #do the thing my friends #i'll probably write drabbles #and ask for prompts #and do other twitter shit