#ask game prompt ficlet

[ailendolin]

for the prompts list: the captain/havers, dance, mistletoe 💖🥰

Here's your prompt fic! I hope you enjoy this bittersweet interpretation of your prompt!

List of prompts is here. Filled prompts are here, here, here, here and here on AO3.

Prompts are closed.

————

Sound of Silence [AO3]

“What a party, sir.”

The Captain nearly jumped when he heard the familiar voice behind him. He’d thought Havers had left like everyone else. Most of his staff, including his faithful lieutenant, had an early morning train to catch that would take them home for Christmas which was why the Captain had volunteered to clean up after the party tonight. He would hold down the fort over the holidays as well – the Germans would not rest so neither would he. It wasn’t like he had anyone to go home to anyway. His whole life was here within these walls, and he liked it that way; even if he sometimes wondered what the walls would say if they could talk – about him, and about the secrets he so carefully kept.

Clearing his, throat he turned around to face his second-in-command. “Havers. I thought you’d be in bed already.”

“And leave you to deal with this on your own?” Havers asked, gesturing at the leftovers on the tables. The soft candle light made the smile on his face even more charming than it usually was. “Never, sir.”

The Captain fought the urge to duck his head and hide from those warm and gentle eyes. “I wouldn’t want you to miss the train tomorrow – well today, I suppose.”

Havers glanced at the clock behind him and laughed – a rare reaction the Captain knew he would think back on over the coming cold and lonely days. “My old alarm clock hasn’t failed me yet, sir. I can always catch up on some sleep on the train later. There’s really no need to worry.”

He said that as if it were so simple – not worrying. If Havers only knew how much the Captain sometimes worried about him, be it when he stumbled during a cricket match or wasn’t back at HQ on time after a practice manoeuvre. The Captain worried about all his men and women, of course, but Havers was his second-in-command and well, he wasn’t ashamed to admit they’d all be quite lost without him.

“In that case – you’ll get the decorations, I’ll clear up the plates?” he suggested.

Havers saluted with a smile. “Yes, sir.”

They worked side by side in comfortable silence for a while. It was one of the Captain’s favourite things about working with Havers – that they could enjoy silences together just as much as intense discussions about military strategy. He’d never had that with anyone before. Usually, conversations tended to peter out into awkwardness for him, especially with subordinates, but Havers had a way of filling those graceless moments with soft smiles and kind words that made the stretching silence not only bearable but even something to look forward to.

“The music choice was quite excellent tonight, sir,” Havers remarked quietly after a while.

The Captain looked up from the half-empty bowl of mushy peas he had just picked up.

“Corporal Norriss has an excellent record selection,” he agreed. He paused when he saw the look on Havers’s face. “How come I did not see you on the dancefloor? Are you not much of a dancer, Lieutenant?”

Havers huffed out a soft chuckle that echoed sadly in the silence. “On the contrary, sir. I love dancing.”

Surprised, the Captain put down the bowl and gave him his full attention. “Then why didn’t you accept Nurse Bernadette’s offer when she asked you earlier? She’s a fine young woman, as you’ve surely noticed, and seemed quite interested in you.”

Was it just the candlelight or was Havers blushing? “Let me rephrase that: I love dancing, but not with strangers.”

The Captain wasn’t sure if Nurse Bernadette could be counted as a stranger. She had been stationed at Button House for as long as Havers had, and he’d seen them share a meal or two together over the last few weeks. Not wanting to argue with Havers, though, he said, only half-jokingly, “Well, I dearly hope you don’t consider us to be strangers.”

Havers blinked at him, looking not only genuinely taken aback but almost distressed at the thought that they could be anything less than friends. “No, sir, I – I would have gladly danced with you tonight.”

That … was not quite the response the Captain had expected. He was glad he was no longer holding the bowl of mushy peas because he was fairly certain he would have let it slip from his shaking fingers at this point.

“Good lord,” he breathed and wished he hadn’t when Havers’s face fell and he turned away from him.

“Apologies, sir,” his lieutenant muttered before he busied himself with plucking more tinsel off the windows. “I think I may have drunk a little more than I should have.”

The Captain, dimly aware of how painfully fast his heart was beating in his chest, knew he had two options now. He could either take the olive branch Havers had offered him and laugh the whole thing off with a, “I think we’ve all drunk a little more than we should have tonight.” Or he could be brave for once in his life and seize this opportunity instead of letting it pass him by like he’d had so many others before.

Seeing the way Havers’s fingers trembled around the tinsel made up his mind. The Captain cleared his throat and said, so softly the words were barely more than a whisper, “We don’t have any music.”

Across the room from him, Havers froze. For the first time since they’d known each other, the silence between them stretched into something tense and nerve-wrecking. The Captain suddenly felt dread pool in his stomach, and he silently berated himself for giving in to temptation like this. Nothing good ever came from being brave, not for people like him, not in situations like this. Not when it meant risking everything.

He was about to apologise and offer Havers a transfer in the hopes he would not report him when Havers took a deep breath and finally turned around to face him. There was a guarded but hopeful look in his eyes. “I believe we can manage without music.”

There was no sir attached to the ending of the sentence like the Captain was used to. This moment, whatever it was going to end up being, would not happen between a captain and his lieutenant. It would happen between them, and the dread the Captain had felt only moments ago slowly turned into something soft and warm that fluttered against his rib cage with surprising and most welcome gentleness.

It felt like a dream when he held out a shaky hand to Havers. Tinsel and leftovers forgotten, Havers crossed the room without hesitation and stepped into his arms. He looked at him expectantly, and with a jolt the Captain realised that Havers was waiting for him to take the first step and lead, just like he always did. Even though they had never held each other like this before, the Captain felt his nervousness fade away as a familiar feeling began to set in. They’ve danced this dance before. Not literally, perhaps, but they knew the steps because they each other; knew when to push and when to give, and their feet followed that tenderly honed instinct without missing a beat.

“I didn’t know you could dance so well,” Havers said after a while, his voice soft and close to the Captain’s ear; intimate.  

“I don’t do it often,” the Captain admitted. “My knee, you see? But I do occasionally enjoy it.”

He heard Havers swallow before his voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you enjoying it now?”

More than I should, the Captain thought and resisted the urge to lean back just a little to look at Havers’s face. He hummed in confirmation and closed his eyes, willing this moment to last forever. He was painfully aware that this, right here, right now, was probably the closest he would ever get to happiness, and he knew he had to make the most of it. War was unpredictable. Tomorrow, one of them could be reassigned; a bomb could fall on the house; a training accident could happen. There were so many unknowns in their future that even just thinking of all the things that could tear them apart felt overwhelming sometimes.

But the future wasn’t here yet. There was only soft candlelight and the gentle hum of a long forgotten tune, so the Captain allowed himself to hold Havers just a little closer and savour the feeling of having him in his arms like he’d so often dreamt of before, in the darkest hours of the night.

But even dreams had to come to an end, just like songs and wars. Night had to turn to day, dusk to dawn and eventually, the Captain had to sway them to a stop and open his eyes. Neither he nor Havers moved for several heartbeats.

“Thank you,” Havers said at last, his voice rougher than it normally was. “This was a lovely dance.”

“A dance of a lifetime,” the Captain whispered before he cleared his throat and stepped back. His hands fell away from Havers, and he was mourning the loss of warmth even before he’d let go completely. With a rueful sigh, he looked up but for once, it wasn’t the small, sad smile on Havers’s face that caught his attention but a small, green plant hanging above him.

“You missed one of the decorations,” he said softly.

Havers followed his gaze – and yes, that was definitely a blush colouring his cheeks now. The sight was quite enamouring and endearing, and it made the Captain’s heart ache.

“Sorry, sir,” Havers said and got up on his tiptoes to pluck the mistletoe from its string. He looked at the small plant in his hands for a moment, turned it this way and that before he glanced up again. Determination shone in his eyes, desperate and fierce, and the Captain found himself so captivated by it he nearly missed the apologetic, “It’s tradition,” before Havers closed the gap between them and placed the most loving, gentle kiss the Captain had ever experienced to the corner of his mouth.

“Goodnight, sir,” Havers mumbled when he pulled back, and without looking at him he stepped around the Captain and practically ran for the door.

“Anthony, wait!” the Captain called out, almost too late.

Havers stopped so abruptly he nearly lost his balance. Slowly, warily, he turned around. Their eyes met across the room and the silence that began to stretch between them was heavy with resignation and regret; with knowing this was as far as this gentle moment could go, no matter how desperately they wished for more.

“James,” Havers said – a plea? A promise? And absolution?

The Captain smiled at him sadly. “Merry Christmas, Havers.”

Silent acceptance slowly replaced hope, and it was heart-breaking to see. Maybe, once the war was over …

No, the Captain thought firmly. It was best not to think about or dare to wish for impossible things. They had had this moment, and it had to be enough.

“Merry Christmas, sir,” Havers said at last, his voice quiet and steady, before he gave him one of those small smiles that had drawn the Captain in in the first place. “I will see you in a few days.”

“Don’t forget to give Barry a scratch behind the ears from me,” the Captain said.

Havers’s smile softened into something more genuine and gentle. “Will do, sir. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” the Captain whispered and watched Havers go, mistletoe still in hand, with a heavy heart. When Havers’s steps had faded into the night, he turned back to the bowl of mushy peas and picked it up with trembling fingers, trying not to think about how Havers’s hand had felt against his – warm and rough compared to the cold and smooth surface of the bowl. He knew he should not dwell on it. That touch – that kiss – was more than he’d ever thought he’d get, and he tried to be grateful for it.

But as he went around the room to blow out the candles, the Captain couldn’t shake the feeling that this night would haunt them both for the rest of their lives.

[theminecraftbee]

zombie joe?

Cleo buries her head in her hands and screams.

"There there," Joe says, incredibly awkwardly. "While I, personally, have never failed to shuffle off this mortal coil like this before, I've seen a lot of movies, and I'm lead to believe this is the kind of thing zombies do on accident all the time. It's like, the thing zombies are known for!"

"They're going to kick me out," Cleo says, half-miserable and half-furious. "I just got here and they're going to kick me out."

"They're not going to kick you out," Joe says, looking even more awkward. "Er, I mean. Not that I'd know how you got here in such a way that I know the other hermits won't kick you out or nothing, you'll find I have no way of knowing, since we're supposed to be doing things by consensus, but I also do know, because they aren't going to kick you out."

"I panicked and bit you!" Cleo says. "I got crowded, panicked, and bit you."

"Um," Joe says. "Yes, well, that did happen."

"And I turned you into a zombie."

"And it's really quite bracing!" Joe says. The awkward tone to his voice has gotten higher-pitched. There's a certain level of forced cheer to it. Cleo doesn't know if she appreciates it or if it makes her want to scream even more. "I mean, typically I have a heartrate, but I don't, right now! And even though my heart would normally be racing when I panic, it isn't! Also, I bet I could cut off my finger with next-to-no consequences, which makes it suddenly really tempting to--"

"Joe!" Cleo says.

"Cleo!" Joe says back.

Cleo sighs. She looks over Joe. She's not sure whether it's very in-character or out-of-character that he barely looks any different, but if it weren't for a certain grey pallor to his skin, the very visible bite mark on his arm, and the fact he is somehow already missing an eye, she might be able to pass him off as not-a-zombie. Unfortunately...

She runs a hand through her hair.

"It's fine. It's fine!" she says. "To tell the truth, I don't know if I'm meant for--"

"I should practice my moaning!" Joe says brightly.

"What," Cleo says flatly.

"You know like. Auuurgh. Grrrrr. Rawr."

"Did you just--rawr?"

"Is that one best?"

"No!"

"How about... rawr~<3!" Joe says, and then immediately starts coughing. "No, no, that was bad, even I know that was bad--"

Cleo can't help it. She starts laughing. Joe appears startled, staring at her like she's a large bear that has suddenly started doing a dance. His expression somehow looks even more wild-eyed with the missing eyeball and the dried blood on his arm from the bite.

"Did that... work?" Joe says.

"I am going to be kicked off of your safe haven server for being a threat to the integrity of the place because I'm infectious and you're rawring at me," Cleo says.

"...I will take that as a win," Joe says. "The laughing! The laughing! Not the getting kicked off, you aren't getting kicked off, I told you what I did to Biffa when I was first invited right--why are you laughing more I'm not even trying to be funny anymore--"

Cleo doesn't have a heart to slow or speed, but just then, she feels like she has a heart to warm. Yeah, sure. She might be in massive trouble, but at least this thing she's built with Joe--that's alright.

[figthefruitfaeth]

108 "is that my shirt?" with the pairing of your choice please zoey <3

my dear beloved lou—i love this prompt so much, thank you <3 please know i listened to moon river by frank ocean for the entirety of its creation. I hope you like it

steddie | pre-slash/confession (kinda) | 868 words

Eddie takes a deep breath. 

Blue. That's what it feels like. Spring fresh cornflowers in his lungs, the edges of an inky indigo sky staining his fingertips. Blue is the breath he takes, the old ceramic bowl of cereal he's got clutched to his chest, the veins under his skin. 

It's the color of Steve's shirt.

Eddie shifts—presses his back fully against the window frame, the cold seeping through the thin cotton a welcome relief from the heat of the day. He keeps his head titled out towards the street, but his eyes are focused in.

Steve is on the opposite end of the window, head resting against the glass, his own bowl of cereal balanced carefully on both knees. Eddie watches the last of the day curling into his collarbone, the tips of his bangs. His chest moving in slow and easy breaths, eyes just slivers of hazel in the light. A sleepy cat, perfectly content.

Yet despite the quiet peace of the moment, Eddie feels it. Has felt it all day. Something sticking, unsettled in himself. Sleep in the corner of his eyes, the dry coarse grind of sand in his back molars. He's blamed it on the weed, paranoia lurking in the silence between the hum and ding of the microwaved nachos they'd made earlier—his mind trying to makeup for a body that had, for once, slowed down. 

But that didn't stop himself from feeling it, from knowing something is off—no, Eddie shakes his head—different.

Something is different about Steve.

Steve, very carefully, spoons a mouthful of mushy multi-grain into his mouth. Grimaces, then does it again. A drop of milk lands on his shirt, seeping into fabric quicker than it landed. A spot of midnight in a sea of navy.

His shirt is blue. Which, all things considered, isn't different at all. Though he tends to favor the warmer side of the wheel chart, Steve's wardrobe is a rainbow of colors. From steel blue jackets to violet sweaters, Eddie's seen him in it all.

Mouth closed, his tongue runs along his teeth, twists against the edges of the back. Can't quite reach the end. 

A dark blue t-shirt. A little big, not swallowed in fabric but less form fitting than most of his clothes. Old, maybe  second or even third hand if the edges of the sleeves are anything to go by. Or the image splashed on the chest, which is really only a memory of a design—speckled silver to grey in uneven patches. There's still one letter legible, a sharp 't' dead in the middle. 

It looks a bit like a band t-shirt, reminds Eddie of the shirts Wayne gave him when he first moved in, before they could go the Salvation Army together. Smoke and oil clinging to the threads, a reference to a song he'd only heard once on the radio, but stuck. Settled the buzz in his head, let his body move and mean something more than disappointment. Staring in the mirror, hair barely more than a buzzcut, navy stark against his pale skin—

”Is that my shirt?”

His voice is too loud, accidentally overshot by both the shock and last half hour of silence. Steve doesn't seem to be as affected, turning his head against the glass to face Eddie with a smooth nonchalance.

“Yeah,“ he says. Eddie looks at him, brows raised. Steve looks back, bloodshot eyes blinking slowly, seemingly feeling a one word explanation is all he needs.

Eddie searches for something, anything to say, ends up with a choked cough, and then, “Why?” Which—stupid, stupid, stupid.

Glacial blue, Steve looks down at his (his or his? theirs?) shirt, then back up at Eddie.

“Must've gotten it mixed up.”

Must've gotten it mixed up.

What.

Eddie blinks. Feels a bit like a dog as he shakes his head, mouth opening and then closing up tight in quick succession. There's no way Steve Harrington mixed up his clothes. The man spends 30 minutes a night picking out his outfit for the next day. He missed a group movie cause he couldn't find the right jacket. He almost had a conniption when Dustin tried to wash his colors with his whites. 

Steve always wears the gold and red striped socks when he needs a bit of luck and never just throws something on. Steve doesn't ‘mix up’ clothes, not unless he's dying, not unless it means something—

Oh.

“Oh,” he says out loud, dumbly.

Steve smiles like their afternoon—a hazy, sticky sweet honey in his hands.

“Yeah.”

And then Steve winks, and turns back to the window.

Eddie bites his lip, feels his mouth tearing away into a smile anyway. Turns back to the outside before he does something crazy, shovels in another spoonful of nearly disintegrated cereal, watches night settle in. Lights from other, distant homes click on, warm yellow windows bobbing along in the pitch black darkness. 

In the morning, when the sky lives up to its infamous hue, and the weed has left them their usual jittery, overthinking selves—Eddie will ask him other questions, will need more replies filled with complex, compound sentences.

Eddie takes a deep breath.

Navy.

And for now, that's enough.

writing prompts!

[mmmichyyy]

hi hi! for the writing prompts, #89 <3

#89: "you're not interested, are you?"

"you wanna get out of here?"

"...huh?"

"come on, you've been staring at me all night. i can take a hint."

"look man, i think you've got the wrong idea. i'm waiting for my husband."

"i don't see a ring on your finger."

"it's right here–oh shit, mick's going to kill me."

"dude if you're not down to hook up, just tell me."

"who the hell is this, gallagher?"

"oh, uh..."

"i'm scott, and i just want to let you know your husband has been eyeing me all night."

"hm. has he now."

"mick..."

"you want to fuck this guy, gallagher?"

"no, of course not! i was waiting for you and he just came onto me out of nowhere!"

"i told you to wear your glasses tonight, you dork. now you gave steven blue balls."

"my name is sco–"

"well if you weren't half an hour late, i wouldn't be looking around for you!"

"well sor-ry, i was getting the fancy lube you liked before the drugstore closed."

"i told you, i'm fine with whatever–"

"so just to confirm, you're both not interested, right?"

"you're still here?"

"bye sam."

"damn gallagher you need to stop being so hot, you're a married man now."

"i'm only hot for you, mick."

"wait, where's your ring?!"

"...ah fuck."

[thissortofsorcery]

16 for the soft prompts? Harringrove, my one and only❤️💖❤️

Thank you ☀️

I, um. I did it again. So you get almost 2k. Yay?

---

16. laughing while kissing

It was the kid's idea.

They were spread around the living room at Steve's house after a long afternoon of swimming, with full bellies and painted with different shades of sunburn. Dustin had put a movie on for them to watch, but nobody was really paying attention to it. Billy himself was dozing on the couch, head on Steve's chest, letting the feeling of his fingers in Billy's hair and the sound of the tv and of the kids' whispered bickering lull him to sleep.

"NO WAY you can keep a straight face for longer than two minutes, Dustin!" Max yelled into the silence, jerking Billy awake. His groan joined the voices of the other kids' complaints, all of them yanked from their own silent daydreaming.

"Yes, I can!" Dustin yelled back. Lucas, in the middle of them on the floor, rolled his eyes. "Last week I lasted three minutes while my mom stared me down before I broke."

"What'd you burn this time?" Steve asked, and Billy felt the vibrations of his chest.

"I singed a curtain slightly, but that's irrelevant–"

"It's irrelevant because there's no way you can keep a straight face for two minutes if I stare you down," Max challenged, a smug expression on her face.

"Unbelievable," Dustin said, shaking his head. "Lucas, back me up."

"I'm staying out of this," Lucas said, sounding like the argument had already taken years off his life.

"You started this conversation!"

"No, I said the movie was so boring my face didn't move for fifteen minutes, you said that was impossible," Lucas argued. "Then Max said it was impossible for you, and you went off. This is between you."

"Fine, Steve! Back me up!"

"You can't ask Steve, he's my brother in law!" Max yelled.

"Well, he's my brother!" Dustin yelled back.

"They're not gonna let me sleep, are they?" Billy mumbled into Steve's chest, hearing it rumble when Steve chuckled.

"No, babe, they're not," He said.

"Fucking kids," Billy groaned, pushing himself up from the couch with a sullen look on his face. 

He got a Coke from the fridge as the yelling went on in the living room. The patio door muffled it much better, and he managed to enjoy a nice, rousing cigarette before he went back in to deal with the madness that was the dweebs when they were being stubborn about something.

Especially when it was Max leading the pack.

When Billy went inside, Dustin and Max were sitting across from each other on the living room rug, faces blank, two one dollar notes piled between them. Lucas, Mike, Will and El were watching them intently, spread around the couch and the loveseat. Lucas kept looking between them and his watch.

Billy headed for Steve, still in the same spot on the end of the couch.

"What's going on, now?"

"They bet on who can last longer," Steve said, rolling his eyes, but Billy could tell he thought the kids were hilarious.

Billy sipped his Coke and settled down on the arm of the couch to watch Max stare Dustin down, leaning her elbows on her knees, face carefully clear of any emotion. He could only see the back of Dustin's head, but he'd bet he was at least twitching.

"One minute, fifty seconds," Lucas called, on the edge of his seat. "Fifty one, fifty two…"

As he counted, the kids were leaning in closer to Dustin and Max, watching their faces avidly. El seemed fascinated by the game, with her chin on her hands, eyes bouncing between the two quickly, like she didn't want to miss a single twitch.

"Two minutes!" Lucas called, and Will and Mike started cheering. Under the noise, Lucas said, "Dustin can hold out that long."

Billy snickered when he saw one of Max's eyebrows twitch and her chin lift a little, fighting a reaction. He'd never admit it, but this was more entertaining than he thought.

Max leaned forward on her elbows, eyes fixed on Dustin's. Billy knew she would take being wrong personally. That meant she was going to make sure she wouldn't lose again.

She started twitching her ears.

Her hair was pulled back in a low braid, so they were visible, but the other kids probably wouldn't notice. Dustin, though, was staring straight at her. He wouldn't be able to miss it.

He didn't last long after that. He burst out into little giggles, and a second later Max let herself join him.

"Two minutes and thirty-four seconds," Lucas said. "Max wins!"

The living room erupted into chaos, the kids talking over each other and trying to decide who would challenge who next. 

Mike lost to Will who lost to Dustin, then Dustin lost to Lucas. Lucas beat Mike, but lost to Will, because Will apparently looked like a sad puppy. Max beat everyone but Lucas and El. And El, somehow, beat everyone but Mike.

Billy watched everything from the sidelines, relaxing his body into Steve, with one arm around his shoulders and Steve's arm around his waist. He thought it would take no effort at all to just tip his body to the side and slip on Steve's lap.

"But Billy's the one who's really good at this," Billy heard Max say. "He can go really long without like, twitching or anything."

"No way," Dustin says. "He would start rolling his eyes and calling us dweebs like two minutes in."

"Oh no, there's no way you're roping me into this," Billy said, putting his foot down. "No way in hell."

So now he's sitting on the floor, legs crossed, with the dweebs in a circle around him, staring at his face like a tiny Millennium Falcon is about to come flying out of his nose or something.

"You're all so fucking creepy," He grumbles.

"Ready…" Lucas says, eyes on his watch. "Go!"

He lets his face relax, jaw set, staring straight ahead. He counts his breaths in his head, focuses on his lungs expanding, and does not look at the kids' wide eyes looking at him. He fixes his eyes on a blank spot on the wall behind them until his vision blurs, and he lets himself get lost in his own head.

The silence grows. The kids watch him quietly at first, but they soon start fidgeting.

"How long has it been?" Dustin asks.

"Five minutes, eight seconds," Lucas says.

"Told you," Max says, and she sounds smug.

The living room is filled with tiny sounds from there, fingers tapping, people moving, someone leaving and coming back with a can that they crack open. Billy doesn't flinch.

"Oh my god, he's not moving!" Dustin says, sounding frustrated. "How long did you say he could last?"

"I've seen him go forty minutes," Max says. She doesn't say why Billy went so long without moving a single facial muscle.

"Forty minutes?!" Dustin screeches. "What are we supposed to do until then?"

"We can put on a movie," Will suggests. 

"We have to watch him," El says.

Billy counts his breaths. Feels his diaphragm move. He has to focus not to react. He didn't anticipate hearing the kids complain about being bored of something they nagged him into doing to be so fucking funny.

The noises of the living room get louder as they all get more restless, and every now and again someone will sigh like they're grounded with no TV, and Billy has to count his breaths again so he doesn't start laughing. It's worth it, though.

He hears Steve get up and go to the kitchen, picks up the sounds of him cleaning up the mess the kids left in there.

Every few minutes Lucas calls out the time, and the kids are less awed and more frustrated. Except for El, who's fascinated, still watching him like a hawk. Max is just smug.

"Fifteen minutes," Lucas says, like he's at the end of a marathon. "Let's call this."

"Okay, Billy wins," Dustin says, like he'd rather have his fingernails pulled out than admit it. "You can stop now."

But Billy doesn't. He just keeps staring ahead like he didn't hear them.

"Uh… Billy?" Dustin calls, crawling closer to his face. "You in there, bud?"

"Oh my god, he's not gonna move," Max says. "He's doing it to piss us off."

Dustin shoves his hand in front of Billy's face, waving it back and forth. Billy doesn't blink. 

"Hello?"

"This is so creepy," Lucas says, throwing himself down on the loveseat. "It's eighteen minutes, by the way."

"We have to make him stop," In the corner of his vision, Max throws her head back.

"Steve!" Dustin screams, "Steve, we need your assistance!"

Billy can hear Steve yelling back from the kitchen, "Oh, no way! You wound him up, you deal with it."

"El, can't you do something?" Max asks.

"No."

"We're going to die," Dustin says.

"Really?" Footsteps come from the kitchen, stopping by the couch behind Billy. Steve continues, "Demodogs are fine, but Billy's blank stare is where you call it quits?"

"I can't live like this, Steve!" Dustin's voice rises in pitch and volume.

"It's been twenty minutes," Lucas groans.

"Oh my god, you're so dramatic," Steve must be rolling his eyes into the sun behind Billy's back. He hears some shuffling, and then Steve is kneeling in front of him, directly in his line of sight. Steve has a fond smile on his face, and it's almost enough to make Billy's mouth twitch. "Hi. Sorry about this, I can't listen to them whine anymore."

Steve crawls slowly to him, until his knees are brushing Billy's legs. It's enough to make his breath hitch, and he knows Steve heard it, because his smile widens, pleased. Holding his face blank is taking all of Billy's concentration right now.

Steve's face is close, and it looms even closer, his bambi eyes half-lidded and sultry, the very image Billy's been dreaming about since he moved to Hawkins. He hears El gasp, and Max's murmured oh my god, and Billy balls his shaking hands into fists with the effort to not move. 

Steve's eyelashes flutter, so close to his. He can feel Steve's breath, warm on his face. His lips–

They touch Billy's, and he's gone, mouth spreading into a smile, and his hands come up to frame Steve's face so he can kiss him back once, twice, little smacks of kisses that Steve meets with a smile of his own. 

"You fucking cheater," Billy's kisses dissolve into laughter, and Billy tries to stifle it by catching Steve's mouth again, sucking on his lip, but it comes bubbling up his throat, dumb little giggles that infect Steve until he's laughing just as much.

They don't stop kissing, though, meeting halfway in between fits of laughter. Steve's already climbed onto Billy's lap, wrapped his arms around him, and they're willfully ignoring the kids' yelling.

"I had to put a stop to it before they started throwing things at you," Steve presses another kiss on Billy's smiling lips, pulling another giggle out of him.

"Thank you for saving me," Billy says against Steve's mouth, eyes closed, soaking up the warmth of Steve's body plastered to his front.

"I got your back," Steve says.

"Yeah," Billy breathes, takes in the smell of Steve. Billy's face is flushed pink from laughter. "I know."

------

Thank you for asking baby!!! I had fun with this one!

[sauron-kraut]

Sauwitchking …because they’re running out of time

Heheehehehheheeee, I'm rubbing my greedy little hands as we speak; thank you so much for this one.

Here you go!

Prompt list here

38. ...because they're running out of time

Mairon wakes up to a trembling body beside him. The Witch-King is shivering violently under the thick wolf pelt they are sharing, the parts of him that are exposed to the moonlight pale and sheening with cold sweat. 

Mairon cups his cheek, making eye contact, his face wearing a look of concern. “Are you cold, dearest?”

The king can only muster frantic nodding. 

“Come here; I will warm you,” Mairon says, and draws him close with ease. He has become frail. Mairon tucks the wolf pelt in around them and cradles the king in a tight embrace. He presses their bodies together, still naked from earlier that night. The king’s dwindling strength had been apparent.

The once proud Witch-King buries his head in the crook of Mairon’s neck. When he speaks, it is no more than a whisper against the Maia’s skin, but it is calm.

“What is happening to me?” 

The ring, dearest, the ring. Where comes power comes sacrifice. A smile forms on Mairon’s lips against the Witch-Kings dark hair. You shall be mine, more than ever.

“Shhhh, it’s alright, it’s going to be alright. I am here.” Mairon is gently rocking him in his arms now.

“Am I dying, lord?”

“Fear not, for eternity awaits,” Mairon says and lifts the king’s head to press a kiss on his parted lips, tips of their tongues touching weakly.

Soon, the body in his arms will be no more, the lips and the warm mouth and the clammy skin. A thing to discard. 

Mairon will take his hand and raise him from the ashes of mortality. Necessary, and a favour.

No, he will be better for Mairon, he will be stronger, and he will be forever. At last, he will be entirely his.

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

Prompt: 6 + 11 --> "you look good like this."

I'm crying, somebody sent me this ask but it got lost in the ether 😭 It is neither in my drafts nor in my inbox anymore, and I did not even get to see who it was from so I cannot tag them.

To the sender, it has been a while, but I am going through the x + x fic prompts again. In case you remember asking for 6 + 11, this one is for you! 😭

(Rating: PG)

“You look good like this,” says Glorfindel, a smile teasing at his lips.

Erestor, far from pleased by this, only scowls up at him. “What, disarmed and defeated?”

Those things, yes, Glorfindel supposes, looking down at Erestor on his knees, sitting on his heels, red-faced and still catching his breath. Off to the side, the counsellor's sword lies haphazardly where it fell from when Glorfindel finally was able to twist it out of Erestor's grasp.

He also supposes that such an occasion is cause for celebration, for it is not everyday that Erestor would admit to being bested by anyone. Then again, the results of a duel are often self-evident—Glorfindel still has his sword, for one.

But truth be told, Glorfindel is thinking along the lines of Erestor being on his knees; flushed, yes; panting, also yes; but in a context infinitely more preferable than on a public training field.

A part of Glorfindel once again mourns that Erestor is so difficult, and so dense, that he doesn't see how Glorfindel looks at him beyond the disagreements and the teasing. What a shame, because it truly is a good look on him: Erestor's hair is always so pristine, it begs to be messed with; the colour on his skin, when it comes, crawls so high on his cheeks, it softens all his edges. And oh, his lips, when they draw breath the way they do, the thoughts they are inspire in Glorfindel are just so...

Glorfindel tilts his head, and the smile he throws at Erestor is—yes, smug, but also, just this side of bemused. He does not know how many more hints it needs to take. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Erestor's scowl is fierce as he moves to rise, already turning to make for the sword he lost. Glorfindel sighs and looks away the moment his opponent bends down, because of course to stare would be rude, but also, he can only endure so much himself in a day.

“You’re smug now,” Erestor calls to him from across the field, “but I'll have you on your back in no time.”

Glorfindel looks up at the skies and bites his tongue, because surely he must know what he's doing. But all Erestor does is turn around and make his way down the path that leads to the main house, with nary a backward glance.

Glorfindel watches him go, and the words escape under his breath before he can stop them. “All this trouble when you need but only ask.”

If Erestor heard, he makes no sign of it, his steps sure and steady as he marches down the dirt path.

Glorfindel can only smile, shake his head, before he sets about clearing the field.

[kinnbig]

*crashes thru ur door* i heard 👀 kenbig 33 would get a chance here!!! (obviously!!! No pressure!!!! ILY!!!!!!)

Somewhere with Snow

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: M Relationships: Ken/Big Summary: “Everything’s going to shit, isn’t it?” Ken says when they part. Big sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” “Do you ever think about leaving?”

✨read on ao3✨

[varpusvaras]

Thiyo - 3. A kiss on the forehead

Here are the babys!

Being a rebel was dangerous. 

Riyo had accepted that a long time ago. She had accepted it all the way back, at the moment she had stepped on Orto Plutonia and reached out her hand to do what was right. In that moment, she had realised that there was no way back for her, no way to ever just watch as things were happening around her, and hope for the best. 

No, she had accepted that the only way it was going to work for her, was for her to be there. 

Still, sometimes things were…a bit much. 

Like right now, with her hands grasping onto a cold and sharp metal railing, which was the last thing keeping her upright on the shaking platform. 

Her ears were ringing with a high-pitched, white wailing, and her eyes were stinging from the smoke that was rising to the air all around her. 

Through all of that, she could still see Thire, as he ran to the foot of the platform, and hear him, as he looked up at her. 

“Jump!” He shouted, extending his arms towards her. He was in his armor, now stripped from any identifying colors. Sometimes Riyo missed it, the bright and bold red. 

Riyo looked at him. He was very far down. It wouldn’t be an easy catch, or even a harmless one, even if he did manage to catch her. Her stomach definitely lurched a bit from just looking. 

The platform shook more, almost making her knees buckle. Riyo grasped the railing harder and pulled herself straight. She would have to let go of the railing in order to jump. She would have to let go, put her legs over it, and then- 

There was another explosion somewhere behind her. She felt it before she heard it, as it made the platform tremble, and now the railing was no good in keeping her upright. She barely avoided hitting her chin on it as she went down, her knees painfully hitting the hard metal surface. She should really invest in some protective gear. 

A gust of air from the explosion hit her back, and brought more smoke with it. 

“Riyo!” Thire’s voice sounded muffled. Riyo peered back down through the smoke. It was making her eyes really water, so seeing was even more difficult. 

She could still make Thire out, though. His arms were still extended, waiting for her. 

It was still so, so far down. 

The platform shook again, and tilted forwards. Riyo quickly grabbed ahold of the railing again, to prevent herself from sliding off the edge. The whole thing made a very concerning sound, the metal wailing and groaning. 

She looked down. The platform groaned and tilted some more. 

It was to either jump or fall off. 

Riyo chose to jump. 

She braced herself against the edge, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. 

The platform groaned and tilted. She pushed herself off. 

If she screamed, it was covered up by the ringing in her ears and the loud groans and bangs the platform was making as she fell. Her insides were simultaneously plummeting down with her, but also trying their hardest to escape through her mouth, and for a split second, she was more worried about throwing up while falling than about falling down. 

Then she collided with something, and her eyes shot open just in time to see Thire’s helmet coming towards her face with very high speed. She pressed her eyes back shut a split second before her forehead collided with Thire’s. 

There was a bang of pain, making her whole head tremble and her eyes ring and her eyes sting even more. Then they were stumbling more down, and her back and legs definitely hit more of Thire’s armor. 

Then there was a couple of seconds of stillness, before she could hear a crack even through all the other noises, and then Thire was wrapping his arm around her and pushing himself up, and the next thing Riyo knew, she was being thrown over his shoulder as he ran. 

She took a little peek. The platform was falling down and towards them very fast. 

She closed her eyes again. 

There was another lurch when Thire jumped, and then she was being tucked against him as the world became a cacophony of horrible screeches and cracks and bangs. It sounded awfully like the world was falling on top of them. 

Then it all stopped. The ringing in her ears gradually softened. 

Riyo opened her eyes. 

She didn’t see much at first, only some more metal and Thire’s shoulder. Then Thire pulled her gently off of him. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. His voice was steady, but Riyo could feel the slight tremble of his hands that were holding onto her. 

She nodded. Thire let out a shaking breath, letting his head drop for a moment as he calmed down. 

“Thank the Manda”, he murmured, and then looked back up. “Oh, that doesn’t look good.” 

Riyo blinked at him, and was just about to ask what didn’t, when her head decided to remind her of the splitting pain she had felt just moments before. 

“Ow”, she grimaced. Thire let go of her in order to pull his helmet off. 

“Did you hit your head?” He asked, now reaching for her face. His other hand cradled her jaw gently, while the other reached to brush her hair away from her forehead. 

“I hit it on you”, Riyo answered. “When you caught me.” 

Now Thire grimaced. 

“I’m sorry”, he said. “I should’ve been more careful.” 

“Don’t be.” Riyo held back another grimace of her own as his fingers brushed her skin. “You were being as careful as you could, while catching me jumping off of a falling platform. While there were explosions.” 

Thire let out another shaking breath. 

“Yeah”, he said. “That happened.” 

Riyo reached up and pressed her hand on top of his, where he was still gently holding her face. 

“That happened”, she repeated after him. “We’re okay.” 

Thire nodded. 

“We’re okay”, he echoed, and then leaned forward. His lips brushed against the bruising on her forehead, light as air. “There. To make it better.” 

All the tension was definitely coming off of her, because Riyo could do nothing else than to burst into a fit of giggles. Thire followed suit only a second later.

[ailendolin]

800 Followers Prompt Celebration

Happy first advent, everyone! Since I have recently reached 800 followers (welcome!) I've decided to accept asks for prompts again. So welcome to round #5 of prompt ficlets!

Rules

Send an ask with whatever combination you want me to write from the lists above

You can combine several prompts from the prompt lists (e.g. fluff and snow) and also characters and ships (e.g. Vex/Ho-Tan & the Youngers).

Please combine at least one option from the characters & ships list and one from the general and winter prompts lists

When sending in a prompt, please write out the character name, ship and prompt(s) in your ask

Ships can also be written as platonic - please indicate by using character&character instead of character/character in this case

I will not write for characters or ships not listed above

Please take a look at my previous prompt fics to see if I've already written something along the lines of what you're looking for. They can be found here, here, here and here.

You can send in more than one prompt but please send a separate ask for each

Seeing as I'm busy writing a couple of Christmas fics at the moment, I can't promise I will be able to post the prompt ficlets this month (though I will try). I'll accept 10 prompts for this round and will update this post with the prompts I'll receive.

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to leave a comment on this post or message me. I’m looking forward to your prompts! :)

List of prompt that were sent in:

Ho-Tan, Vex/Ho-Tan - Touch, Candle

Thomas/The Captain - Fluff, Fireplace

Robin/Julian - Shooting Star, Tradition

Ian/Gabriel - Gentle, Fireplace

Thomas - Fluff, Gentle, Angst, Comfort, Quality Time

The Captain/Havers - Dance, Mistletoe

Mat's Page - Kiss, Cookies

Voltari - Gentle, Cold, Fireplace

Mike Peabody/D.I. Bones - Snow, Tradition

Thomas/The Captain - Angst, Kiss

[theminecraftbee]

fae zedaph, avian tango, and/or butterfly impulse?

Tango pinches the bridge of his nose. He breathes in. He breathes out. He looks at Zedaph.

"Okay. Why do you have a baby," Tango says.

"Well, it was an accident!" Zedaph says.

"How! How do you accidentally end up with a baby!" Tango says. He pauses. He considers what he has just said. He revises: "How do you or I accidentally end up with a baby! I am a robot and you are an immortal fairy creature. You can't babyificate. I know. You've checked."

"You don't have to sound so haunted," Zedaph says, vaguely hurt.

"I am very haunted by most of what you do, that's not the point. How did you end up with a baby! I can't take care of a baby, Zedaph! You definitely can't take care of a baby! What are we going to do with a baby?"

Zedaph shuffles his feet. When they'd first met, Tango had been reluctantly impressed with how human Zedaph's mannerisms were for a guy who, at that time, still hadn't been entirely certain you weren't supposed to eat people who were rude to you. He's come a long way since Tango had discovered he was just alive enough to be able to accidentally slip into the feywild, and Zedaph discovered he was actually much happier experimenting in the human world most of the time than dealing with other fair folk and their 'predictable rules' and 'annoying laws of hospitality'.

If Tango wasn't mostly made of steel and cold iron, he probably wouldn't have survived the early encounters with Zedaph. Nowadays, though, it's easy to mistake Zedaph for just an exceptionally weird human. Sure, he still looks at everyone a little bit like they're more of an experiment or strange animal than a person, but that's just Zedaph. Even if he were human, Tango's pretty sure he'd follow his own idiosyncratic laws.

None of this explains why he has a baby.

"Okay, look, it's not my fault this time, I swear," Zedaph says. "It's--look, I was in-town, and there was this guy, and he made a bargain with me! It was a very little bargain! I didn't think he'd break it. Honest! He just wanted gold--"

"Oh no," mutters Tango.

"--and I just told him that I wanted him to take care of a sheep for me without looking at it! I wanted to see what would happen if a sheep grew up without anyone looking at it. Would it want to look at other people more or less? You know my problems with sheep and looking at me."

"I hate that I know where this is going," Tango says.

"And he was all like, oh that's easy, I won't break that bargain. And I remembered what you said about how most people don't like having their babies swapped out with fey, which still doesn't really make sense honestly because I think a baby me is WAY more exciting than a baby human to take care of and also then I can experiment with the baby human but that's not the point. The point is that you said most people would avoid that! So I said, okay, if you break our bargain and look at the sheep, I'll come take your first baby. It's a traditional fey thing! I thought he wouldn't do it! I don't want a baby, I want a traumatized sheep!"

"Sometimes I wonder if my inventor knew my life would end up like this," Tango says.

"So imagine my shock when one day I just--poof--I have a baby!"

"I don't know how to take care of a baby," Tango says. "You absolutely shouldn't be trusted with a baby. What do we do with a baby."

The two of them look at the child.

"I mean, I cast a spell on it so it would sleep?" Zedaph says tentatively. "But to be totally honest with you, I don't actually know how long those last. You know how it is with my magic."

"I have decided this is Impulse's problem," Tango responds after a moment. "We give the baby to Impulse. He's a human. Humans know what to do with babies, right?"

Zedaph gives Tango an extremely skeptical look. "I got this one from a human."

"Impulse will suffer with us," Tango says.

"Sold," Zedaph says. "Let's go give Impulse a surprise baby."

"Please don't phrase it like that," Tango says, and they both start heading in the direction of where Tango thinks Impulse is currently living. Surely, he has the solution to this problem. Surely.

[darkkitty1208]

🛌💤

fanfic drabble emoji game

Have a ficlet instead 💖

Sleep never comes easily for Stephen. No matter how much he tires himself during the day, going to bed will only result in him staring at the ceiling for hours on end. Every night is almost always the same; laying in bed in an ungodly hour, praying his mind would finally stop shouting at him and his thoughts would stop tearing his sanity apart. It's frequent he finds himself surprised that the room around him is quiet–maybe that's because his mind is often too loud. 

Time always plays coy with him in this hour. Minutes hang in the air but never really pass by. Sometimes he wishes the sun would come up already and greet the world with a new day, to give him an excuse to escape the torture of being unable to sleep and, even if he can, escape the nightmares haunting him every night. Other times he savours the seconds and hopes the world would stop turning and the clock would freeze; just so he could lay in his bed, away from the hustle and bustle of the day and the burden of his responsibilities, bask in the deafening silence and the dim lighting around him, and just be. 

Nobody ever really expects anything of him in these hours. He is left to himself and his own devices, a solitary soul in a box, instead of the shell of a man he once was during the day. Sometimes, he finds he quite likes it. Most of the time, he loathes it. 

But with Tony, it's different. It's always been different with him. 

It's taken quite some time for him to adjust to the idea of sleeping with a living, breathing, warm body pressing against his side. It's taken longer for him to adjust to the idea of having to reveal himself in his most vulnerable state in front of another person. It's taken much longer for him to realise that Tony, as surprising as the fact may be, allows Stephen to view him in his most vulnerable state every night. This level of trust is what Stephen always struggles to reciprocate in a relationship. Apparently, Tony shares the same issue. That realisation struck him deep but silently one night, and he lets it sink from his head and into his chest deliberately. 

After that, sleep still never comes easily for Stephen, but he never feels alone in that matter. 

[mmmichyyy]

hey michelle, 19 or 91? have some fun :)

#91: "tell me you need me."

"say it."

"fuck you," mickey spits out. "i ain't sayin' shit."

"fine." ian shrugs. spins the knife between his fingers, the silver blade glistening under the moonlight. "your funeral."

the zipties around mickey's wrists and ankles dig deep into his skin, slowly cutting off his circulation. he's running out of time - the rest of the mafia will be back soon, and his only way to escape is the ginger motherfucker in front of him.

"three words, milkovich. three words and you're free."

the smug asshole. if he doesn't die tonight, he's going to kill his partner.

ian presses the tip of the knife under mickey's chin, forcing him to look up.

"tell me you need me," ian whispers.

the sound of footsteps grows louder.

fuck it. fuck it all.

"ineedyou," mickey mumbles.

ian cups his hand around his ear. "can't hear you."

"oh for fuck's sake–i need you, okay gallagher?" mickey yells. "now are you going to cut me free or not?!"

ian grins, and mickey knows his partner is never going to let him live this down.

[moonluringfrost]

8: Old Friend

This spotify ficlet is based in the scorpion grass universe. Point of View: One of Myosotis's 'friends'. Content warning for unreality/questioning one's memory, mentions of blood, and implied death. Requested by @superflytrap, I hope you enjoy~

It’s like he never existed. You know that can’t be right. He had to have existed. You were best friends for years. You can clearly remember him, and everything the two of you did together. 

But… he left so suddenly. He was right there with you one second, gone the next. There’s no way he would have had time to take all of his stuff and move out. But his stuff is still gone. 

You practically tore your apartment upside down looking for a trace of him. Even if he had taken all of his stuff, he had to have missed something. A stray sock, the back of one of his earrings, something… 

Like blood. You blink and it’s gone. Blood? Why would there be blood? Nothing happened. There was never any blood. 

Your apartment feels uncomfortably empty without him. 

You try checking all the places you used to go together. The cd store, the arcade, that one rooftop that’s perfect for watching the city at night, and you never see him. No one you ask seems to remember him coming with you to these places, either. When you ask, they wonder if you’re talking about someone else. Someone who unfortunately died a while ago. But you know it’s not the same person. Your friend was obviously alive. 

Wasn’t he? 

Maybe you are going insane. 

No, that can’t be right. 

He was real, he was. You can’t touch a figment of your imagination and you know you didn’t imagine him reaching out to grab you during a horror movie so you’d jump. Didn’t imagine him playfully punching you in the shoulder when you made a bad joke. Didn’t imagine holding him while he shook and shook because something scared him. 

There’s no way. 

And maybe you’re fixating on this because of how abruptly he left. He never said anything, never showed any hint that he might not be happy with you. He just vanished. 

Was it something you did wrong? 

You’re pretty sure it was. Why else would he leave you so abruptly? Unless… unless something bad happened to him? 

It hurts to think about. Something pushing at the edge of your mind, a vision of him bloodlessly pale except for all the places he’s red with it. He was hurt. How did you not notice he was hurt? 

Some friend you are. You didn’t do anything to help him. 

Maybe that’s why he left. He was dying and you didn’t do anything to help him. 

Why didn’t you remember what happened? 

You should try harder to remember, it’s the least you could do. 

Yes, you’ll have to do your best to remember him. 

You won’t let yourself mourn, you don’t deserve it. But you’ll remember. You will. 

Maybe if you remember well enough, he’ll come home. 

[untamedeventuality]

for the writing prompt, how about any of the little nightmares kids having some down time to goof around

"And then you, and then you..." Mono mumbled as he folded the piece of paper they'd found in the makeshift bedroom in the school.

"And it'll fly?" Six asked.

Mono nodded, tongue sticking out in concentration.

"Like a bird?" Six was hugging her knees to her chest, watching him intently.

"No..."

"Oh."

"It'll fly," he promised, holding up the paper airplane to inspect it before takeoff.

Hand in hand, they walked back to the window they'd climbed in through. Mono tossed the paper airplane outside and together they watched it swoop and glide, eventually coming to rest on the ground in the playground below.

"Pretty," Six said, squeezing Mono's hand.

"Pretty," he agreed.

"Another?" Six turned pleading eyes on him.

They didn't find anymore paper to make into airplanes, but they did find blocks with fading letters and numbers, a ball, and a monkey with cymbals. It made noise when wound up, which Six despised.

It was therapeutic taking it apart. Calming. Once it was reduced to pieces, she noticed Mono had set up the blocks in a specific order.

"Six," he said, beckoning her over, "S-I-X."

"Es, eye, ex?" she cocked her head.

"S-I-X," Mono pointed to the three blocks he'd set aside together as he said it, "That's your name."

"My name?"

"Those are the letters in it," Mono said proudly.

"I don't know letters," Six admitted.

"I know," he grabbed a fourth block and held it up to her, "This is the number 6."

"My name." She traced the symbol.

Mono shrugged. "Easier to remember just one thing."

"I wanna know how to read," Six admitted, fidgeting with the number block.

"I can teach?" Mono suggested.

Six shook her head. "Don't need it now. When we're safe."

"Yeah. Safe."

[kinnbig]

50 for KinnBig

50 - a goodbye kiss that says ''I don't love you the way you love me, and I'm setting you free''

When Porsche’s voice travels in from the hallway outside, Big pretends to be asleep.

His door crashes open a moment later, and then two sets of footsteps are approaching his bed. One set is slightly hesitant, awkward; belonging, Big assumes, to Porsche.

The other footsteps, Big would know anywhere.

“Oh,” Porsche is saying, “the nurse outside said he’d been awake today.”

“He’s just had major surgery,” Kinn says gently, “he’s going to need a lot of rest.”

His voice is low and contemplative, almost soft, and Big has to fight to keep his face still, force himself not to throw open his eyes and look, not to drink in every expression that crosses Kinn’s face, not to gasp his presence into his lungs like a man drowning.

It’s embarrassment that keeps his eyes firmly shut.

He doesn’t think he could look Porsche in the eye, look Kinn in the eye. Not now, not after what he said. After what he did.

It’s quiet for so long that Big wonders if he didn’t actually fall asleep and miss them both leaving.

Porsche breaks the silence with uncharacteristic uncertainty. “Why do you think he did it?”

Big suppresses a flinch.

Khun Kinn loves you so much.

Kinn sighs. “He’s an excellent bodyguard.”

Usually Big would be delighted with the praise. Today it sinks into his stomach, aching with something akin to grief.

Porsche doesn’t say anything to that. Big hears him scuffing his foot against the ground.

“Maybe we should come back later,” he says eventually, “when he’s awake.”

“Of course,” Kinn says, “you go ahead. I need to double check with the nurses about security.”

Big hears Porsche hum his agreement and shuffle to his feet, and then the door is swinging shut behind him and Big is alone in the room with Kinn.

The air feels thick with it; with Kinn; settling heavy on Big’s rib cage and making it hard to breathe.

Kinn’s hand settles on his shoulder. It burns like a brand.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Kinn says softly, “for what you did for Porsche.”

Big’s chest aches.

He doesn’t open his eyes.

It wasn’t for Porsche, he wants to shout, you know it wasn’t for Porsche.

Kinn squeezes his shoulder.

“You were right - I love him. I love him more than is sensible, and I - thank you.”

Kinn moves closer, and Big senses what’s about to happen milliseconds before it does. Kinn’s lips brush his cheek; light, chaste, gentle; and Big’s eyes flutter open involuntarily as Kinn pulls away.

He doesn’t look surprised to meet Big’s clearly conscious gaze. He just nods, formal and final, and collects his jacket from the arm of his chair.

“Take care of yourself, Big.”

He doesn’t say goodbye.

He doesn’t need to.

It was for you, Big lets himself admit into the emptiness he leaves behind, it’s always been for you.

kiss prompt ficlets 💖