#prompt: letters/time

[justaz]

arthur hearing merlin say he will not follow arthur to camlann and while he is upset, he still can’t bear the thought of just leaving merlin behind. arthur writing a letter and leaving it for merlin to read if he never returns. arthur falling in battle and merlin holding him as he passes. merlin not returning to camelot and remaining in ealdor for years before he is able to return and see his friends. he plans to stay but the moment he sees the citadel, he knows he won’t be able to. merlin wandering the streets of camelot and the halls of the castle like a ghost. this is arthur’s kingdom. every stone, every wall, every blade of grass, every tree has his name etched into it. the entire city is arthur. merlin finds himself turning to speak to arthur but he’s not there.

finding gwen who is ecstatic to see him and plans to offer him the position as court sorcerer but merlin refuses. he explains how he sees arthur everywhere. gwen confesses she feels the same but derives a sense of comfort from it, its as if he’s still with her. merlin saying it feels haunting, like it’s taunting merlin with arthur’s presence but never giving it to him. merlin saying he has to return to ealdor and take care of his mother. gwen telling him to be safe and asking if he’ll return to visit. merlin only managing a weak smile before walking off and gwen mourning again knowing that’ll be the last time she sees her best friend.

leon carrying the letter arthur had written to merlin for years in the hopes that someday he’d see him again to give him the last thing arthur wrote. running into merlin in the halls and greeting him. offering him the letter and explaining that arthur wrote it for him. merlin shakily taking it but being unable to open it. he keeps it preserved in his bag but never reads it. he won’t be able to take it. he knows it. merlin carrying it with him for years, decades, centuries. by the time he finally works up the nerve to unfurl it and read it, the parchment is so old it crumbles, the ink has faded so its almost illegible, and the language has long since died so merlin can’t understand it anymore.

[kg-clark-inthedark]

My gift for @puddtoast for @dishonoredgiftexchange’s 2024 fugue feast. I went with the prompt of Aramis Stilton thinking about lost love in the wake of Luca’s downfall while listening to his last audiograph from Theodanis Abele, and then realizing he’ll be okay when a monarch butterfly lands on the audiograph player.

I’ve been head over heels for this emotional sucker punch of a prompt, so I hope I did it justice!! Also I’m delighted to have finally drawn Stilton for the first time. Thank you for providing such fun and detailed prompts to choose from! (Btw I didn’t know what symbolism you were hoping for - if any - when requesting a monarch, so I ran with what I grew up with, in terms of the whole “carrying souls of the dead” thing. Hope that works for you!)

[iron-sparrow]

鬼 【 guǐ 】 SHADE /SHād/ noun

a disembodied spirit : ghost

The host approaches to encircle me, uninvited but always welcomed into my open arms. I close my fingers and look up to see shards of my image embedded in their little eyes; suddenly countless more are staring back. My shape forms in this mosaic, and I can hear frantic wings whispering in my own familiar voice; shades sending their love across the boundless universe.

We are far away but cast from each other ropes of shadow making the distance less; we hold on tight for the promise of a kindred soul. When one speaks, these tethers become taut and sing to deliver the precious message: I love you.

FFXIV 30 DAY WRITING CHALLENGE

[miraidashinomia]

I think spn fic writers are sleeping on writing time travel fics to the 40s-50s when American Men of Letters were still alive, and exploring Sam and Dean's relationship with Henry, and even meeting Henry's father, and MOL being shocked by the future and by the boys' behavior like Henry was when he traveled to the future, and Sam and Dean hating MOL because of their strict hierarchy and like restricted access to the knowledge depending on your rank, which will INFURIATE Sam... So many unexplored possibilities... Someone write a fic I'm beggin'

[kayakin064]

Hello :] C3 Knuckles please?

if the drawing prompt means open request otherwise ignore

Knuckles in casual clothing? More likely than you think.

[hustlebonezzz]

Elden Girl Tober | Day 19 - Irina ✉️

Prev | Next

[enjoythesilentworld]

I can’t believe I almost missed the chance to ask you to write smth. That’s what I get for having a busy tumblr dash. Anyway. “Join me” as a prompt pls? 💜

hello my darling Lia. you know i'd write anything you asked me to. for today, here's a (not) little ficlet in which Simon neglects to read the fine print and somehow it actually turns out really well for him.

💜enjoy xx

Alone in a foreign country, Simon must find a stranger to join him on the romantic couples food tour he’s accidentally booked. (a 2.3k strangers to lovers, fake dating, speed-run of an AU) if you see this again for day 2 of simon's month dont worry bout it

Simon curses under his breath as the confirmation email comes in.

So, he’d booked the food tour a little quickly, possibly without reading all the fine print. He can’t even blame a language barrier because he’s in Spain and, thanks to his mamá, his Spanish is really better than his English.

The solo-travel thing had been a bit of a last-minute decision. Spurred by the post university graduation crisis of, ‘Oh Fuck What Am I Doing With My Life?’ whichled twenty-somethings around the globe to grab a backpack and buy a one-way plane ticket. Simon’s decision was also encouraged by the fact that he’d woken up one day and realized he was in a toxic relationship, quickly packing his bags and saying Hejdå to a two-year relationship. He’s only about three weeks into the whole self-discovery shtick, but it seems to be going well so far. He enjoys the independence of it all. Not that he’s not independent at home — in fact, he’s been a little bit too much of an adult since he was 10 — but more so that he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else. Simon goes to museums when he wants to, stays for as little or as much time as he wants. He eats when he wants, goes to shows he likes, and doesn’t spend every second of every day worrying about everyone else. (Of course, he’s called his mama and sister nearly every day since he left, but he’s working on it.) He also, apparently, incorrectly books guided food tours that are actually romantic couples excursions. 

Glancing around the nearly empty breakfast room at his hostel, he chews on his options. One is to show up to this tour alone and look like a dumb tourist. Two is to find someone willing to go on it with him.

There’s a pair of British girls in the corner, giggling over their plates of breakfast. Simon recognizes them from the stand-up comedy show the hostel had organized the night before; they’d been attached at the hip the whole night. Slim chance of separating them. Crowding around the cereal bar is a group of American guys who all look like fraternity brothers. If Simon remembers correctly, he’d overheard some vile words from them in the bar last night, and so he’s is not too keen on participating in any sort of tour with any of them, romantic or not.

The only other person in the room is sitting a few seats down at the communal table: a very good-looking man with light auburn hair and high cheek bones. His long fingers, nails painted a deep purple, hold up a book with one hand and gingerly lift a coffee cup to his lips with the other. He’s dressed quite casually, in an un-done button up over a tank-top and baggy trousers, but somehow makes it look refined. Simon noticed him yesterday afternoon in the hostel café, noticed the way the man’s eyes tracked Simon from across the room.

His pretty brown eyes are no longer locked on the pages of the book, but have found Simon again and caught him staring. Simon forces himself to hold his ground and smiles, glancing down at the book title. It’s by a Swedish author, he realizes, and a gay Swedish author at that.

Gesturing with his head, Simon asks, “Is it good?”

The pretty man places his coffee cup down clumsily. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorites.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“I’ve read it a million times,” he says, closing the book. “I’m Wille.” 

The light blush on his cheeks is endearing.

“Simon.”

Wille smiles softly and nods, “Trevligt.”

He’s polite and looks suspiciously rich to be in this hostel, but his eyes are kind and has a rainbow pin on his tote bag so, before Wille can say anything else, Simon slides one chair closer.

“Are you doing anything today, Wille?”

Wille moves to the chair across from Simon. “Nope.”

Simon props his head on both his hands and gazes at this beautiful stranger, wondering why he didn’t speak to him the day before. “Would you like to join me on a romantic food tour around Barcelona?”

Wille quirks an eyebrow, then mirrors Simon’s position. “I would love to.”

The tour doesn’t begin for a few hours, so they sit and chat while the breakfast room fills up around them. Wille laughs when Simon explains how he’s gotten himself into this situation, and the sound sets little sparks bursting in Simon’s chest. What luck he’s had this morning.

Simon learns that Wille is also at the beginning of a self-discovery trip, running away from a family legacy and a desk job he desperately did not want. He also learns that Wille is incredibly funny and quite flirty, though whenever Simon starts flirting back he becomes incredibly flustered. His stare, though, is the thing that gets Simon the most. Wille looks at him so intently, gaze flitting between Simon’s eyes and his mouth, listening to every word and seemingly staring directly into Simon’s soul. It would be troubling if he wasn’t so goddamn beautiful.

The conversation flows so easily between them that Simon, so wrapped up in Wille’s laugh and crooked teeth, almost forgets they have somewhere to be.

They walk quickly through the streets of Barcelona together, heading towards the café at which they’re meant to meet the rest of their tour group. Wille’s fingers brush against Simon’s a few times, though his voice never falters, so Simon isn’t sure if it’s just him that feels the jolt of electricity each time.

“You said this is a romantic food tour?” Wille asks, reaching out to pull Simon out of the way of a passing cart.

The city is bustling with life around them, the sun shining hot between the buildings, people hanging off balconies, chatting with neighbors or stringing up laundry to dry. It’s absolutely beautiful, and somehow it seems a bit more colorful than it had the day before.

“Yes.”

“Is it going to be obvious that you and I just met?” he says, letting Simon go ahead of him to squeeze through the crowd, staying close, with a hand hovering over Simon’s lower back.

“Well,” Simon muses, “we could make it a bit of a game. If you’re down.”

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Wille’s eyes light up with mischief. “I’m down. What kind of game?”

Simon chuckles and shrugs, checking his phone to make sure they’re still headed in the right direction. “We could pretend to be a couple. You know, really put on a show.”

“That sounds very, very fun, Simon.”

For the last ten or so minutes of their walk, they establish some basic rules. They’ll hold hands and gaze lovingly in each other’s eyes and ramble to anyone who asks about their beautiful love story. The goal is to one-up every other couple there by acting sickeningly in love. By the time they make it to the café, only a few minutes late, they’re holding onto each other and cackling at the increasingly ridiculous ‘meet-cute’ ideas they’ve come up with.

There are three other couples in the tour: one looks like a very young newly-wed couple, another is a pair of middle-aged ladies, and the third is a pretentious-looking, older couple who already look fed up with everyone else. As the tour-guide starts on their spiel, Wille wraps a tender arm around Simon, pulling him close and whispering jokes into his ear, somehow making them look more like a couple than even the newly-weds.

They sit down to start, and Wille lets Simon order for them off the selected menu. They feed each other bites of tomato toast and gently wipe crumbs from each other’s cheeks, all the while giggling to each other and only half-listening to the explanations of the food. It also seems they’ve unintentionally started a competition with the other young couple of who-can-look-more-in-love. When Wille hands Simon a napkin before he can even ask to wipe up his splashed juice, the man of the other couple tries to lovingly whisper something in his wife’s ear but gets brushed off as she’s too busy listening intently to the tour guide. When Simon holds out a forkful of potato omelette for Wille, the man tries to do the same, but his wife shakes her head, smiling, and fondly pats his cheek then turns back to her own plate.

As they move through the next few stops — a restaurant, a food cart, and an open-air market — he and Wille fall even further into their ‘game’. There’s plenty of very intentional touches and exchanged loving glances, but Wille also asks Simon about himself. About his family and his dreams and where he’s going next. Simon learns even more about Wille’s obsession with frogs and his love for lakes and his passion for writing. The rest of the tour group fades away, and things between them start to feel a little less like a game and a little more real. The prolonged eye contact becomes less playful and more loaded. The lingering touches become less out of competition and more out of some deep urge. Simon’s eyes flick more often down to Wille’s lips, watching him lick cream off his fingers or clean gazpacho off his spoon.

Maybe it’s the wine, but as they head to their last stop of the day, hand in hand, trailing behind the group, Simon finds himself hoping Wille isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He’d made a few friends over the past few weeks, but it always seemed to work out that when he was having a great time, the person would be leaving the very next day, heading off to some new country or heading back home.

Wille grins over at him and points out a pretty sculpture, mumbling something smart about the artist and looking absolutely ethereal in the light of the early evening with his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. Maybe it isn’t just the wine.

Their final destination is small tapas place on the beach. Simon and Wille have given up any pretense of listening to the tour guide or of playing their little game. Instead, they sit close at their table and chat about their favorite memories growing up and tell embarrassing stories. Simon, as he’s done at every place, translates every bit of Spanish on the menu and giggles helplessly as he corrects Wille’s pronunciation. They share a plate of pulpo and split a liter of sangria and it’s one of the most perfect days Simon’s ever experienced.

“I’m really glad I misread that website,” Simon says, fiddling with his fingers. When he glances up, he finds Wille grinning at him. He takes Simon’s hand.

“Me too.”

After the tour concludes and their guide bids they all farewell, their group mostly scatters. But, Wille and Simon stay at their table, finishing off their pitcher and becoming increasingly rowdy with their jokes. After a few annoyed looks from their waiter, they collect their things and stumble down to the beach. Simon jumps onto Wille’s back, laughing loudly and savoring the feeling of Wille’s strong hands wrapped securely around his legs. Wille wades out into the shallow water of the beach, and Simon yelps when he pretends to nearly drop them both into the cool water.

Eventually, Wille lets him down but takes his hand instead, and they walk down the sand, talking about the food tour and realizing that they maybe didn’t pay attention at all.

There’s a warm buzz in Simon’s body, making him giddy and calm all at once. When they make it to a small concrete pier, Wille pulls him out to the edge of it and they stand, arms wrapped around each other, staring out at the Mediterranean.

Simon sigh happily. “Beautiful.”

“Yeah. Very,” Wille says breathlessly, and Simon looks up to see Wille staring down at him. He smacks Wille’s chest playfully.

“You’re an idiot, Wille.”

Wille laughs, “I’m being serious!”

“Sure,” Simon hums, turning back to the water, biting back a smile.

“Hey.” He turns back again and Wille’s face has sobered, and he’s now gazing down at Simon with that same intense stare. “You are beautiful, Simon. You’re also funny and kind and— I had a really, really great time today.”

He squirms slightly at the force of the words, the conviction in Wille’s tone, but can’t help but let his eyes flicker down to Wille’s lips. He’s so close and looks so pretty in the cool lighting of the twilight evening and Simon’s never thought it could be possible to fall for someone like this, this hard, in one day.

“Me, too,” Simon whispers. Then, “Wille?”

“Yes?”

“Can I—”

Wille nods, gasping, “Yes,” before Simon can even finish his sentence and then they’re both rushing forward.

Finally, after thinking about it nearly all day, Wille’s lips connect with his. He tastes like fruity wine and olives and something so Wille, and Simon melts into his arms, coming up onto his tiptoes to press further into him. Wille’s hair is soft under his fingertips and though they’ve basically been touching all day, this is different and overwhelming and everything.

When they break apart, giggling into each other, the lights have come on along the paved pathway by the beach.

“Maybe we should head back?” Wille suggests, looking just as much like he doesn’t want to head back as Simon feels. But, it’s getting late and he’s also starting to feel tired from all the wine and walking, so Simon nods and takes Wille’s hand again.

They trail slowly back through the streets, pausing occasionally to exchange a quick kiss, or to slip into an alcove and exchange a slightly longer one. By the time they make it back to their building, Simon’s limbs feel syrupy with sleep and his chest feels warm with the events of the day.

Two steps up the stairs to the front door of the hostel, Simon stops and turns.

“Where will you be tomorrow?” he asks, looking down at Wille.

Wille smiles. “Wherever you are.”

[yakny]

IT'S ONLY MY ECHO

[winniemaywebber]

"Stay with me tonight. Please?"

tumblr glitched and I lost this request from my inbox ): it's from this prompt list and my inbox is still open for these!

prompt begins under the cut. thanks for reading!

It’s already dusk by the time Olive and Dougie exit the Officer’s Mess after dinner. Olive knew it was a great privilege to be invited in. There was not a hair out of place, her make up absolutely immaculate and she had, of course, picked the Meatball hair-free clothing, pressed to perfection. James definitely seems to appreciate it, looking at her with those soft blue eyes every chance he gets, even drifting from other conversations to gaze at her lovingly. 

“Any plans tonight, my beloved?” he says, wrapping his jacket around her.

“Well, seeing as our other halves have gone to spend a night alone and Helen is off somewhere with Nash, I’d say I’m free. What did you have in mind?” “Thought we could sneak a Jeep; watch the stars.” “You and stargazing,” she sighs. “I don’t know why you like it so much.” “Well,” he pauses. “I get to look at you as you tell me all their fancy names.” “You need a refresh?” She asks, pulling him closer by the tie, their noses touching.

“Always.”

***

There are but a few stars out this cold evening, a thick fog covering the September sky. Olive shivers as she adjusts in her seat, her head resting on Dougie’s chest. “Well then,” he sighs, his hand raking through her dark curls. “This was a bust.” “I wouldn’t say that,” Olive murmurs, feeling her eyes grow heavy at the gentle touch of his fingers tickling her scalp. “This is nice.”

“You’re right,” he replies. “It is. I love spending time with you, whatever it is.” “Ditto.” “In fact, it’s all I wanna do.” “Sweet boy,” she whispers, coming up to kiss him. Her hand cups his face as his mouth opens to capture hers, firmly holding her close to him. 

“Stay with me tonight,” he asks, his hands gripping at hers. “Please?” A sweet laugh leaves Olive’s mouth as she kisses him again, thumb stroking over his hand. “I can’t. You’ll get in trouble!” “I don’t care,” he replies, his voice suddenly raised. “I just wanna hold you.” “James…” she responds, voice soft and low. “Okay. I can rush back and get my pajamas and–” “You can wear mine.”

***

Grasping at Dougie’s hand, he leads her through the door of the Officer’s Hut as quietly as he can, gesturing for her to close the door behind her softly. He holds a finger to his lips, causing her to start giggling uncontrollably. “Ollie,” he urges, his voice a low whisper. “You gotta be–” he starts laughing quietly himself, hand covering his nose and mouth to muffle it. “Shh,” he says, voice shaking. “We’re sneaking.” “Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop,” she replies, exhaling through pursed lips to calm down. “Okay, ready.”

He winks at her as he leads her through the long hall, bunks on each side of it. “Watch your step,” he tells her, her eyes still struggling to adjust to the dark, the only light coming from a lamp at the other end of the room. “What do you mean watch my–woah!” she yelps, feet catching on an object that was obviously thrown toward the end of a bunk in the darkness of a previous night.

“That. I meant that.” “Who’s there?” a voice calls, coming from the same direction as the soft lamplight. “Doug?” “Yeah, Croz, it’s me.” “And me,” Olive squeaks, knowing the jig was up from the moment she tripped over those boots. “Hi.” “Jesus, English,” Crosby sighs, toothbrush still in his hand. “What’re you doing in here?” “She’s spending the night,” Dougie says casually, pulling back the blanket of his bunk. “This is against regulations,” he urges, his teeth gritted as his voice falls into a whisper. “You could get in trouble. What if Harding catches you?” “He won’t,” Olive says, pulling Dougie’s jacket off and placing it on the bed.

“I gotta say,” Harry begins, eyes suddenly darting across the room to the floor. “I don’t feel comfortable hearing you both–y’know.” “Croz, come on, pal,” another voice drawls from behind them. Rosie Rosenthal greets Olive with a friendly squeeze on the shoulder and a smile before skirting around her. “I don’t think they’ll be doing all that. They’re respectful.” “Yeah, Croz,” Dougie sighs, looking at Olive as she sits on the bunk. “I just wanna fall asleep with her.” “Doug–” “Harry, you mean to tell me that you wouldn’t break the rules for Jean if she were here?” Rosie questions, his arms crossed. “Well–” he stutters, shaking then nodding his head. “I’d do it for Jo. So, let’s leave em be, huh? Olive is dead on her feet as it is, keeping us all in check. All they’re gonna do is sleep.”

“Fine,” he huffs, but smiles nonetheless. “No funny business.” “Ugh, yes, Dad,” Dougie jokes, peeling off his shirt and clambering into the bunk with Olive who had hidden in the dark  to change. “Goodnight.” “Night. Hey, Doug?” “Yeah?” “Didn’t know you were a softie.” “Just like you, Croz. For my girl, of course I am.”

[tiny-poems]

Imagine Your OTP #4

Character A is in a dead end relationship with Character B for a reason of your choosing, slowing falling in love with their penpal, Character C.

[butchlifeguard]

some @yuriolympics proper ganda 🙂‍↕️👍 we want YOU to ship these shonen women and create things about it 🫵

[ID: digital art parodying a one piece wanted poster. it says "wanted: nami x vivi fans" for 100 million berries. the art on the wanted poster has been replaced with a colored sketch of vivi and nami embracing in alabasta. rather than "marine," the bottom of the wanted poster says "aren." end ID.]

[healerqueen]

A Letter

I decided to join in the Chesterton Challenge, answering the prompt "Letter." It gave me the motivation to write a letter I'd been meaning to write for years, from one of my original characters to another, at a certain point in their book series. It was fun to explore their daily life between books and to see how they'd express (or hide) what they felt about each other at that point in the story.

[wouldnt-give-a-fig]

A consoling message from Lemony Snicket (an original poem)

Dear Reader, 

If this letter finds itself in your hands I am immensely hopeful that you are the Intended recipient. Correspondence has Been known to be inaccurate before, A word which here means “there are better ways  to deliver sensitive information than by carrier pigeon” (No matter who you are, however,  Please make sure to feed Wilbur some  Sorghum, millet, or even sunflower seeds  Upon receipt of this letter. Those are his favorite.)

As you know (at least if you are who I  Think you are), it is not easy to complete Baticeer training with a full course load, Ask the right questions in the wrong environment, Earn a living while you are spending it, And write essays on an empty stomach.

You might find yourself thinking  That you ought to have known better, That of course ill-fitting glasses come from ill-meaning optometrists, That leaking roofs require attention before monsoon season, That you can only order so many root beers before  The waiter tells you to leave the restaurant, Even if the person you have scheduled to meet three hours ago  Has not yet arrived.

But in a world that is wretched And makes a wretch out of you, There is no greater defiance than to Speak to it kindly. Collect your fearful doubts and doubtful fears Nothing is nobler in a face of tears  Than to keep going.

In all this noise May you find the corner of the library Where it is quiet.

— L.S.

[pridesobright]

HARRY’S HOUSE by Harry Styles · part i · part ii

please, do not repost · you can follow me on instagram and support me on etsy ·

[shivunin]

A letter in an unopened envelope propped on the kitchen counter in a cottage near Amaranthine. The surrounding countertop is covered in a light layer of dust.

Fenris, 

To begin with, don’t be angry with me. I know: that is not an auspicious way to begin a letter.

I’ll send a version of this to the address you left, but I can’t be certain that these letters are reaching you. I haven’t heard from you in months, and well I don’t it’s not that I don’t 

I trust that you can take care of yourself. I trust that you are safe and well, wherever in Tevinter you’ve gone. I hope you can extend me the same trust now. I’ve had a letter from Carver and I need to go. The man who recruited him, Stroud, has information regarding some issue in the ranks. I’ve sent Aveline after Carver to get him clear of it, but you know I won’t be able to stay here until things are resolved. 

I know I promised you I would stay put. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie. What you’re doing is important and I won’t interrupt; I can’t wait for you to come back and I won’t call you away. I’m afraid a letter is the best I can manage at the moment, and it’s a paltry thing to trust one’s heart to flimsy paper. 

You have the whole of my heart. My leaving does not change this. Please, take care of it as best you can until we find each other again.

I’ve sent Miser to stay with Merrill for a bit while I’m gone, as I am not certain I want to take him with me to the Deep Roads, in case that is where we’re headed. I’ve also asked the young lady with the sheep to mind the garden for me as best she can, but I’ve warned her about the enchantments on the house. If anyone is trapped in the yard, do please try to help them get free. 

I am certain I will be back before you can even find this letter. I hope it is so. If not—I will make it up to you, I swear it. 

Yours, 

Maria 

P.S. Nothing is going to happen, but you should know anyway: Varric knows where the will and other documents are. Nothing is going to happen. Please, take care of yourself.

(for the prompt "A letter from your OC to their love interest" from this list for @scribbledquillz)

[thedemises]

Y'all I think invented a new way of kissing without putting your face near your loved one's face- well, it's basically indirect kissing but idk what else to call it-: pressing your thumb on your lips to place a kiss and pressing that kissed thumb onto your loved one's lips/cheek.

i came up with this idea when I was reading some Obey Me! stuff and started daydreaming- I was basically in a scenario where I was tired and I wanted to get something from high up a tree but couldn't because I was out of reach, so I asked Diavolo to assist me by using his hands to launch me up (basically he raises his cupped hands up as I step foot on them and jump in the right time as he boosts me up in the tree) and I grabbed the branch of the tree then I straddled the tree branch as I tossed the object to Diavolo, but I accidentally fell off and thankfully- Barbatos, who was in his demon form for some reason, was there to catch me. as i thanked him and jokingly called him "My Hero,", I pressed a kiss onto my thumb and pressed my kissed thumb onto his lips- surprising him for a second before Barbs kept his composure (Dia laughed heartedly in the background).

not sure if this could be considered an original idea (potential writing prompt 👀) but whatever-