#it was meant to be something else! and then it fit the prompt lol

[writing-whump]

Sol, consider this little scenario - pups training goes more or less like planned, but then Dylan puts himself (involuntarily even?) in some kind of *situation* with human locals (alcohol included?) - what causes an outburst of protectiveness in Rip.🔥 (remembering his background ...) And then, of course, brothers have to deal with all this mess. 🙃

I would love to see some Rip POV. 👀

🐾.

Holding the beast

Really cool prompt, thank you! :D Some Isaiah pov at the start, then Rip's.

"Stay loose until the moment of impact, Rip. The tension slows you down," Isaiah said.

Hector gave him an angry look. "Oh, he will get it when he loses. Shut up."

Isaiah rolled his eyes. At least arrogant remarks like that made Isaiah feel a bit better about giving someone advice against his own brother. "Break his rhythm. You are letting him decide the beat of the whole fight."

Rip was breathing hard, but he was still light on his feet. Hector didn't bother moving around that much, standing his ground instead. Perfect target.

Isaiah could tell it was confusing for Rip's shadow that someone would just invite him to be for an attack.

Matthew was panting behind them, though he seemed the least tired conditionally, the way his muscles were in constant tension were a big tell of how exhausting the focus was.

Matt wouldn't let loose at all. Isaiah was tempted to just make a separate fight between the two of them to get his best friend of that painful holding back clench up he was in.

At first, Isaiah was a little worried about his stamina on the vacation. Meds or not, he was still weaker than he was used to, and he couldn't exactly push himself very much with Matt and Seline behind his back like that.

True to their word, Dylan and Seline knew about a beach behind the seaport lined up with rocks that was too uncomfortable and far away for most visitors. It had just enough space for the four of them to spar in and they could also use the shallow waters there.

It was September, so the beaches were way emptier than they should have been and completely empty during the cold mornings at 7 a.m. Hector, Matthew, Isaiah, Rip and Dylan made their way there every day. It was usually to tire Rip out, push him to his limits.

Hector didn't let Isaiah spar with Rip at all, effectively side-lining him to only watching. Was it part of the silent agreement to keep Isaiah from lifting a finger after the whole heart attack scare? Maybe Hector just enjoyed barking orders that much. Especially when he could override Isaiah.

As it was, Hector and Matthew then switched around in fighting, with and without shadows. Dylan tagged along, curious, but it was clear even to a newbie like him that he could no compete with the shadow level at display.

"Could I spar with Matthew then?" Dylan suggested feebly. While the kid was enthusiastic about physical combat, he was mesmerised by Rip's movements. Isaiah doubted Dylan could muster up enough focus for his own fight.

Surprisingly, Hector was rather gracious about the whole thing. He let Matthew and Rip spare after taking the first rounds for himself and then entertained Dylan with close-ranged hand-to-hand combat.

Dylan was good at boxing and in a good shape. Rip was out of shape since his injury, but the muscle memory and experience, adding with the sheer speed and harmony with his shadow were quite the combo.

He made Hector sweat, and that was something to see.

Rip had no formal training, which meant his style was unpredictable, dirty and deadly. It wasn't meant to be a friendly sparring with no results. His shadow kept aiming for deadly blows, completely out of control about intents in the midst of a fight.

Isaiah flinched several times when it happened, watching Hector like a hawk, ready to intervene. But Hector could hold his own.

Still, Isaiah would rather not let Rip spare with anyone else if he could help it. Not even Dylan...though Rip's shadow seemed incapable of attacking Dylan at all.

Strange dynamic.

Even in packs, fights were a healthy necessity. Training, play, negotiation of strength in the hierarchy, updating roles. It served all kinds of purposes, helping packmates recognize their strengths and weaknesses, improve and know what to cover in everyone's defenses during outsider fights.

There was usually something not working if two wolves couldn't have a sparring fight like that.

Not that Isaiah was an ideal example. He and Hector had to yet have a proper 'fight' since their reconciliation. Rip's shadow was way too aggressive around Isaiah, he didn't dare train Dylan directly with his lack of experience with huge shadows...

Honestly, the only one Isaiah sparred with regularly and enjoyed it with was Matthew. They have been able to do it since way back when. Isaiah couldn't remember their first friendly fight and didn't count them either. Another sign of how much he trusted him.

Maybe he should remind his second of that fact.

Matthew seemed…off. His red hair, plastered with sweat, curled in ways it usually didn’t, and the sunrise deepened the shadows under his eyes. Instead of challenging Hector, Matt followed his lead, letting him decide when to step in and when to stop.

Isaiah wondered if Matt wanted to be helpful that much that he had given up on any strategies of his own. If Hector was that overwhelming for him. Or if this was all done in the name of temporary truce to keep Isaiah from doing anything.

Hector's insistence with the training was puzzling. Isaiah couldn't find any signs that his brother was personally interested in the boy, even if he respected his skill.

Training with Hector was a special thing—as a branch leader he didn't gift that time and expertise to just anybody. Whoever Hector choose to spend attention on would count as his apprentice, as first in line for him to command, to trust, to give power to.

Doing this outside the pack? For a stray pup nonetheless? Impossible.

It was personally irritating to Isaiah that he couldn't quite tell what Hector was thinking. His ignorance and the years apart were painfully obvious in moments like these. He would have to swallow his pride and just ask Arnie about it.

If there was one comforting and not headache-inducing person in their little group, it was his girlfriend. Seline and her love for the sea.

"You can't tell me this isn't the true kind of magic. Witches and shadows are nothing compared to this," she told him on their walks.

She woke up early even though she liked to sleep in just to walk by the shore the wet sand and look over the tender waves of the morning stillness. Seaport was her second favourite place where she regularly showed him jellyfish and hundreds little fish swimming by the surface.

For a crowded sweaty sand beach, Isaiah had to admit the connection to nature was something very present. The sea creatures were everywhere, not shy around their human intruders. Somehow they accepted them as part of the world here, where the surface and the underwater collided. It was a welcome feeling for wolves.

When Seline wasn't swimming—her technique, polished from years as a competitive swimmer—she was walking along the shore or standing ankle-deep in the water, gazing at the horizon with a wistful smile.

Early mornings and evenings, when the beaches were still empty, she sang.

Witch magic resonating with something as vast as the sea was extremely difficult. Isaiah thought it was more sentimental than actually magical.

Except as the days went, he could see the waves responding to her. Speeding up and slowing at her command, with whatever rhythm she chose. The wind would pick up or still. The flow of the water would change, diving under, the colour darkening in strangely symmetrical shapes like triangles.

Thanks to her Isaiah didn't mind being sidelined that much. Walking hand in hand, enjoying lunch on the beach restaurants, exploring all the different beaches one after another while talking and talking...she didn't let him dwell on the training for too long. They discussed it, but their topics tended to get more abstract.

It was also a great way to get privacy since Hector only snarled and complained of useless nonsense whenever he tried to overhear.

Arnie didn't find the sea that fascinating. Actually, he spend most of the first week sulking. He woke up around noon, had lunch with them, trailed after Hector if he had nothing better to do or explored the town hotels. The historical little city of Nessebar had nice views and streets to offer. Arnie came with bags of souvenirs and clothes, cashmere scarfs and pelt coats.

Or he dragged Isaiah and Seline onto boat trips to all the nearest destinations. It was the three of them or Arnie at home with Hector binging some kind of show or two.

Isaiah wasn’t sure if Arnie avoided Dylan and Rip because they were younger or if it was something else. Back in the pack, Arnie would’ve been bullied without Hector’s protection. His sharp mouth developed to provoke reactions from people who otherwise ignored him. Isaiah used to worry about Arnie making friends. Seeing him grown and still isolated made it all too real.

"Ehmm...can I ask, how is this helping?" Dylan said, leaning towards Isaiah like it was a secret. "He was impressive before, so you making him better...is...eh?"

"I'm making him comfortable fighting with wolves with no stakes involved. Plus his shadow has a lot of pent up energy since the injury that needs an out."

Dylan grimaced at the word 'no stakes'. Of course, there were plenty of stakes for Dylan. None like the ones Rip was used to though.

Rip might have been improving through this, but he was also showing them how he worked. What he thought, fought and what he covered from. The best possible presentation of how to beat him.

But truly, Isaiah wanted to get to the core of the control problem. Safety, training, energy...what else was there? How much would it take for Rip not to feel threatened or to redirect that to the older wolves behind him than at the helpless people in front of him?

There was no logic to the fear and agression. That's what made it dangerous, tiptoeing on shadow madness.

Honestly, part of the training was also the vacation itself. Mundane situations. Eating food outside. Rediscovering the things Rip liked that had nothing to do with survival.

A decision had to be made.

Either Rip would trust them enough to stay, or he would leave. Both seemed equally likely.

Rip's human logical side wanted to please, heavy by debts and guilt. Yearning to succumb and to listen and be as little of a burden as possible.

The shadow side of him wanted to kill them.

It was convinced they were either going to hurt him or use him for something terrible as payment for the help. Every kind gesture felt like another trap.

Isaiah watched this and understood it more and more. That was the worst part for him: that his father could be kind and loving, that Isaiah had such great memories of him. He spent all his childhood wanting to be like him.

Moments of connection and conversations switching with the yelling, the pain and the humiliation. One face and then another, with no order, no way to tell what was coming next time.

Was it like that for you, too? Was your father a nice guy when he wasn't drunk? When he wasn't beating you up? Did he apologize afterwards? Was he a different person when the fit ended?

He couldn't ask something like that outright. But he caught himself wanting to. Hand outstretched, the question on his lips. Taking a breath and then shutting his mouth. It was so strange. Isaiah never talked about this with anyone. Never cared to. What good would it bring? If he wanted to cope, he could write a diary. Everyone else would be just hurt by what they heard.

Not Rip though. Watching him made Isaiah wonder if he could bring the kid any relief by simply understanding. Or maybe not. It wasn't like he could take the kid to therapy and his own studies didn't exactly specialise in wolves.

He would just have to wait and see.

...

By the time they walked from the beach to the apartments, Rip was exhausted. Physically, he felt good—his strength was returning, and every landed hit made him feel less helpless.

But there was also the other tiredness. The mental one, from decisions, from watching and being careful. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what these wolves wanted from him.

Was this all Dylan's doing? How could he believe that, when Dylan obviously had no power or influence over these wolves? Heck, he knew less about them than Rip did from the rumors.

Was this on Isaiah's orders? Doubtful. Hector Wolfson— who, by the way, didn't seem like a younger of anyone and anything, born strong and muscular and intimidating—was still figuring out too. His interest in Rip was superficial and conditioned by the Executioner's. Rip could tell as much.

Then what was he doing here? Was this an experiment? Charity? Who would have time and energy to spare for a nobody edging on craziness?

The idea they were, maybe possibly, unbelievably, good people doing him a favour made him feel bad. He had no way to pay this back.

The other option, that there was a secret intent behind this, made him feel worse.

His door wasn't guarded. His windows were open. He could run anyway he wanted. Bulgaria wasn't a bad place to start over. Corrupt little country that lived from tourism from the sea, filled with mafia families. He could disappear. The choas of the Balkan states, their disrespect for rules, the heated tempers of the people here—it made more sense than whatever this training was.

Rip found Dylan with his eyes, staring at his back. Dylan's little jumps as he walked couldn't be called walking at all. Always so much energy. So childish, so naive.

Rip grit his teeth. The third tiredness he felt was the rawness around his ribcage whenever he thought of Dylan. Of leaving him. Of staying with him. He was so innocent. But surely as he grew and gained the smartness to handle this world, he would come to understand who Rip was. Who he decided to save.

And then he would abandon Rip. Fair enough. The question was, should Rip wait around until that happened just to not feel any regrets?

"Finally!" Dylan stopped in his tracks, making Rip almost knock into him. "Ice cream. This looks good! Rip, want some?"

Rip cringed. They were going to disturb the formation.

The witch and the human brother went ahead to get them dinner. The Executioner and the Wolfson heir were at the front and the Executioner's Second trailed behind Rip and Dylan. Rip, really. Anyone could see how easy it was for Dylan to move between the tourists. Like he didn't notice they were humans.

Or maybe he forgot he was a wolf. Again.

A small smile tugged at Rip's lips. "Sure."

Dylan leaned over the ice creams where a very big and very bored looking man played with his phone. "Now want to pick...coconut, punch, pineapple, oreo, caramel, Nutella, chocolate, snickers..."

"Aren't the last three the same thing?" Rip stepped closer shaking his head.

"Of course not! Completely different flavours, man. Such a shame they don't have salty caramel, that one is the best-"

"What did you say?" The rough voice behind the ice creams startled them both.

"Ehmm, I was saying the ice cream-"

"You don't like my ice cream or what, you little punk?"

Rip hung back, separated from the human by the stand and Dylan, but the man’s tone made his hair stand on end. 'Let’s go, D,' he murmured, tugging Dylan’s arm.

"I didn't say that! I just meant that you don't have all the flavours popular at Sunny Beach or Nessebar right now, that's all." Dylan obviously didn't get the hint.

The guy's face went red. He made his way out of the stand, towering over both of them. "How dare you insult my ice cream, you-"

A shiver ran down Rip's spine despite the warm weather.

"It's just ice cream! What's the big deal?" Dylan said, rolling his shoulders. He was muscular and tall, but compared to the man he had a slim boyish figure. "You shouldn't be yelling at customers Mister, you will just chase them away-"

Why weren't the other wolves doing anything? Rip couldn't let himself check though. He couldn't drop his gaze from the man reaching his hand back to throw a punch-

There was a moment of darkness. Like a sudden hit of an eclipse. When Rip's vision returned, he was holding the guy's fist in his own in an iron grip.

The guy's large face was red with strain. He was pushing against Rip's palm with his whole body.

Rip felt a wave of repulsion so strong he thought he was going to be sick right in that moment.

He had not touched a human in years. His shadow was drilling its way out in the open. Rip couldn't let it. He couldn't let his shadow touch this person or he would be dead in a heartbeat.

Even so. He could not move away and risk him touching Dylan. That was the main priority.

He curled his fingers around the offending wrist in his hand. Just a slight twist and he could break it. He could make him kneel. He could rip the hand off in one smooth motion-

"What's the problem, sir?"

The Executioner's voice was smooth and calm, yet somehow snapped Rip's attention back to the present. The presence behind him radiated coldness, icy and intense. Alarming in the sunset heat.

"I-....He-...!" The guy was splattering for thoughts, obviously understanding how Rip felt. How could Isaiah say a word, sound that calm and scare the living consciousness out of someone?

A hand landed on his shoulder. It wasn't a friendly touch, but the bridge to the ice wastelands of the other world. Rip froze, stepping away at the same time as the guy stopped struggling, hand dropping to his side.

Isaiah snapped his fingers. "Take them home."

Then the steely grip on his shoulder turned Rip around. Back to the beach. Away from people, civilization, the easy summer vibes.

They didn't stop at the beach though. "Move. Up the hill, come on." Isaiah commanded.

And Rip listened. His body went on autopilot as he tried to keep his boiling shadow in check.

They went up the hill and then another one. It was just grass and bushes and a beautiful view of the water behind them. The combination of hills and the sea so typical of this landscape.

At the top of it, Rip was panting from running up for so long and so fast. He braced against his knees before dropping down to them.

He fucked up. He could have killed that man. Why would he go and try to start a fight over ice cream? Jesus, that made no sense.

Rip wrapped his hands around his head, bowing to the ground. The repulsion rolled through him, leaving sticky nausea behind. His skin was crawling under his sweaty shirt.

"I'm sorry," he managed to get out between unruly breaths. "I wouldn't have- I shouldn't have-"

"You better not," Isaiah agreed. "Don't think we are far enough for you to risk direct contact yet."

"I'm sorry." If Isaiah reconsidered and judged him too dangerous for this vacation—hell, for this city—he could kill him right there.

Was that why he wanted privacy?

Rip gulped down heavily, bile climbing up his throat.

"Wasn't your fault. That was extremely out-of-nowhere." Isaiah sighed. "Seline said people here have short tempers. And the whole area seems to be owned by some kind of mafia family. I underestimated the situation."

Rip dared to look up for a second. Was Isaiah apologizing or something?

"You have been doing well. You just need to build your confidence back up-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Rip interrupted. His shadow was wiggling and crying out, wanting to attack Isaiah for pretending like this was okay. "I know you must have noticed."

Isaiah pressed his lips together, hands crossed on his chest. "Your shadow's killing intent during the fighting? Yes." He sounded way too unconcerned about it.

"And just now. I did the same thing."

"Considering your backround, that was a trauma response more than anything else. You didn't even let your shadow up."

Rip froze, realizing that was true. While thinking about striking back and imagining it, he did it without reaching for his shadow first.

"It's okay. I won't let that happen again," Isaiah said. He sounded almost...soothing. Like Rip wasn't a murderer, a wild animal fit for killing, but a scared hurt child. Trauma response. Yeah, sure.

"Why- why bring me here?" If Isaiah wasn't about to kill him, what was the point?

Isaiah's shoulders dropped. "Let go."

"What?!"

"Just let go. It's safe from people. No one's watching. Don't...hold it in." He rubbed at his chest with one hand before making himself drop both at his sides. "I always did. It will add up and hurt you in some other way. Like the migraine, remember?"

Rip took a sharp breath, lowering his head again. What was that supposed to mean?

If he could do whatever he felt like doing, though...his body would have ideas. The waver in his will was enough for the hot bile to shoot up his throat. Rip retched into the grass, stomach muscles constracting violently.

His shadow whirled out and around at the same time as the second lurch brought up his lunch. He had a lot of food to bring up since he got under this weird pack's protection.

The waves of disgust and nausea rolled through him so intensely he forgot what he was supposed to be upset about. His skin burned and itched where he held the man's hand. His shadow clawed into the ground in a way Rip would be scared to look at. It was too furious. Out of control.

When he stopped convulsing over the ground with dry heaves, it was way after sundown, and violet darkness blanketed the beautiful view from the hill.

The Executioner was leaning against an old tree. Hands still crossed, expression unreadable. But his green eyes were clear and open. Attentive.

There was no yelling, threats, or critique. Somehow, the wolf's quiet presence didn't feel icy or overwhelming. He wasn't trying to be intimidating. Whatever he was trying to do, Rip didn't feel judged or evaluated. If anything, he felt empty. Hollowed raw.

But at least he didn't feel like exploding.

[cross-crye]

𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔰

summary: twst & hsr charas with different soulmate au prompts that i think would fit them

incl: azul ashengrotto, idia shroud, malleus draconia, lilia vanrouge, aventurine, blade, jing yuan, sunday

wc: 0.9k

a/n: after an absolutely horrific year i'm finally back to writing!! got half a lifetime's worth of lore in what is essentially 2/3 of a school year lol. but hey at least i got some new lore, so what better way to celebrate that then writing abt my fave au?

monochrome vision

Even the most powerful of beings weren't immune to the effects of the passage of time. After spending such a longevous existence in solitude, enduring loss after loss at every step of the way, he becomes resigned to the notion of forever living in a grey-scale world. Perhaps he wasn’t meant for such luxuries. Perhaps he was one of the unlucky few who was condemned to a live barren of companionship and deeper meaning. He could only wonder in the late hours of the night, or in the lonely moments trapped within his own mind while sitting at his desk: ‘Just what sins have I committed in a past life in order to earn this karma?’ Imagine his surprise upon upon realising that perhaps he wasn’t fated for eternal despair and desolation, and that perhaps, he himself had a chance to experience true joy. As colours bloomed in front of his eyes for the first time in his life, one so long others would struggle to count it, all he could think was that perhaps it had truly all been worth it as he gazed at you, forever ingraining the details of your visage deep inside his memory, to be forever treasured as the face of his saviour.

lilia vanrogue; jing yuan

matching tattoos

Wearing long sleeves, covering up despite the less than optimal weather for such attire, developing and maintaining a preference for the indoors as soon as the temperatures start to rise; anything to keep that damned mark hidden away. If nobody sees it, it doesn’t exist. If nobody can spot it and remark a similarity, then its not there. As long as he can keep hiding the mark, he can keep denying the existence of his soulmate. To bear a curse such as his is an already horrific fate, he couldn’t allow himself burden anyone else with it. It was like a plague, it would only continue to spread and affect others, drag them down to the depths of despair; and for what? He couldn’t let his feeble desire for companionship be the reason somebody else lost their humanity. Yet when he found himself doubting his philosophy after bandaging your cut shoulder blades (curtsy of having fallen into a thorny thicket on your earlier walk that he begrudgingly joined you on) Spotting the familiar mark on you was something he hadn’t ever expected. His companion and dear friend had been his soulmate all along, a shocking revelation which had caused him to impulsively lift his own sleeves and point to the matching pair.

blade, idia shroud

interacting within dreams

That’s what you were to him, a dream. Something he could only long for and yearn with the entirety of his soul yet fail to reach every time he tried. Despite not having even see your face due to the dream’s magic, your presence was deeply ingrained in his heart. He had envisioned you so many times, imagined what you’d look like, wondering if you’d look as beautiful as you sounded. You would overtake every waking moment, for his dreams were no longer enough, he would daydream about you, and play your voice in his mind on loop, all he desired was to suffocate in your presence and truly surround him in a way his dreams of you never could. He memorised everything about you, from what you mentioned to eat for breakfast to your aspirations and moral philosophy. If simply thinking of you hard enough would have brought you to life, you would have been born anew countless times. He could only live on in a prison of longing of his own making, every moment increasing his desperation to finally meet you and escape his mediocre existence. His obsession ran so deep he could perfectly render your voice in his head and hear you talk to him of thinks you hadn’t yet said. He thought he’d finally driven himself mad with yearning, hearing your voice while awake even when he hadn’t been the one to picture it, only to turn to see you for the first time, the image of perfection that even he couldn’t have dreamt, finally complete.

malleus draconia, sunday

countdown until first meeting

The little wristwatch was what kept him going, seeing the numbers go down was his motivation to go on, giving himself a purpose despite his lack of one in others’ eyes. Knowing that out there there was somebody who could truly understand him, who could see his worth and achievements in light of his struggle. Early on he had been victim of the critique and ridicule, but the hope of one person’s existence in contrary to this fuelled him to keep going. To strive to be better, to do something better with the unfortunate cards he was dealt. What worth other’s pinned on him no longer mattered, and as long as the ever-changing numbers on his wrist would continue to decrease he’d continue to prove the world wrong about their initial perception of him. All his life’s work amounted to this, the fateful meeting with who was supposed to be his one true love. As he continued down the winding streets of the town he could only anxiously stare at his wrist, taking note of the handful of hours left. His distracted state however, lead to him making the wrong turn and the counter adjust itself, not even letting him take in the shock of seeing that it had now only read a couple of seconds as he immediately collided into somebody, gripping the stranger’s shoulders to maintain his stability. Neither of you processed the beeping sound of your timers as you gazed in each other eye’s awestruck at finally meeting your soulmate.

aventurine, azul ashengrotto

cross-crye © 2024.

no reposting, stealing, copying, translating my works or feeding them to AI

reblogs, comments and likes are all highly appreciated

[finnbbl]

Hey, I saw your requests are open. Would you write something for 3Racha where something sad happens and the reader turns non-verbal to try and cope with it?

It's just a problem that I always have and I would like to know how you think the boys would react :)

3Racha when you’re nonverbal

3Racha Written

Prompt: Being friends with the main producers of a music group had its perks. But when you’re asked to accompany them a certain gathering, you hesitate when you figure out who will be there.

Genre: Angst/Comfort

Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Implications of trauma, alcohol and dr*g mention, I don’t think there’s any swearing, reader goes nonverbal.

A/N: I wanted to first start off by saying I apologize it took me a bit to get out. I’ve been in my own slump and I’ve found it super hard to find motivation for anything, especially writing and posting.

I wasn’t sure if you wanted a specific incident to happen where the reader goes non verbal, so I hope this is okay. I also wasn’t sure if you wanted it romantic or not, so I just kind of wrote what felt right in the moment. I tried to leave the situation vague so it could match with anyone’s experiences. I personally don’t like it too much (I honestly hate my writing so it could just be that LOL) so I can make a separate post with a text version, of course it would be a little bit different than this. Please let me know your thoughts 🙏

Requests - OPEN

Masterlist

Please read disclaimer in masterlist

Parties were the absolute worst. If you were forced to choose a least favorite thing on the planet, parties would be it. They’re loud and crowded; Worst of all, he’s always there.

3Racha had been nominated for an award. They had been invited to a big award show, a one where afterparties usually follow. You were incredibly proud of them, knowing just how hard they worked. They meant the absolute world to you, and to see them put their best foot forward and exceed tipped you over the moon. Previously, you’d turn them down when they’d ask you to attend with them, and you had a very good reason. Firstly, parties just weren’t your thing. You never fit in with everyone else growing up. Secondly, you knew that he was going to be there. You didn’t know what to call him. Putting a label on things had never felt right to you before. If someone were to ask him, he’d tell them you were together. But if someone were to ask you, you’d say it was complicated and you were content with how things were. You did that with everyone that seemed to be more than friends with you, commitment was a scary thing. But you did know that he was someone you never wanted to be around ever again.

You remember the way he’d always ask you to accompany him to one. He was the partier in the “relationship.” However, you’d always preferred to stay in. Nice and cozy in your blankets. One night, you decided to try and get out of your comfort zone. You wore something different, and put effort into your appearance. The moment he let his hand “accidentally” linger over your ass was the first sign of a mistake. The night only went downhill from there. Next thing you knew you were drugged and taken advantage of. It took you months to recover, months to find the will to get out of bed. Only Chan out of the three knew of this incident, but only very very vaguely. He only found out because he was the one nursing you back to your normal self again. You avoided giving him details, he doesn’t know the person, time, nor the place. You wanted to stick to using being tired as an excuse to politely turn them down. There was no way you could let them find out that you were just too weak to attend said gathering, especially because they don’t know what happened.

You listened to the boys explain how excited they were for this one. How this was such a big award, and how it was going to be so much different. The excitement that laced their voices made it hard for you to deny the question you knew was coming. “Do you think you could go with us this time?” They knew the answer every time they asked this question. A hesitant no, almost as if you were thinking about it. In reality, your mind was fighting off bad memories. It was hard not to think of it when even the topic was brought up, there’s no way you could bring yourself to revisit the place it happened. He was always going to be there, just like he was at every one while you knew him. Again, parties were his thing. So you were confident no matter which one you attended, he would be there. You were scared, to say the least. Scared of seeing him, scared of being pushed back into that dark room, scared of reliving what had made you feel so lifeless.

However, Han’s unintentional puppy eyes drew you closer and closer to the edge. How you wanted to see them happy. You weren’t sure if it was only platonic or if there was some hint of romantic feelings for them there, but you knew you loved them so much. Although the three knew the usual answer, they still proceeded to ask. They felt as they should always invite you, even if they know what your answer would be. However, this time you surprised them. With a quick purse of your lips, the words fell from your mouth. “Fine, but only this once.” The way their faces lit up when you agreed to go to with them brought a smile to your face. Though it quickly dissipated as your brain grabbed back at those awful memories. The guys were too lost in excitement to notice, but you’d prefer it that way. Everyone else had their own problems, so you hated adding your own on top of them.

The last few nights leading up to the award ceremony were filled with anxiety. Sleepovers with Chan were a mutually agreed way to get both of your minds off of stress. However your anxiety still managed to claw its way through what was supposed to be a comforting barrier with him. Chan was next to you, fast asleep which was something that was rare for him. Meanwhile, you silently cried next to him. Hours passed and you were still unable to fall asleep, too busy fighting off the horrible memories. Horrible memories of a time in your life that left you numb. You couldn’t shake it, knowing that he was going to be there. He was a popular artist, and you’d already checked the lineup for the event. His name was there, and now you were petrified. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell them you changed your mind. They were so excited, so you dealt with it.

The night of the party arrived. You’d isolated yourself for the day, hoping to prepare yourself enough for what was about to come. Hours passed and next thing you knew you were sat between Chan and Changbin on a fancy couch. Despite it being a fancy event, Han sat on the back of the couch with his feet on either side of you, his hands slowly running through your hair. It was a common thing for you to do with the three, often being very touchy with each other. It was to the point where you questioned if you were more than friends. While you didn’t kiss, or do anything beyond that, you were very hands on. Cuddling, hugging, playing with each others hair or outfits, you name it. However, you couldn’t decipher whether it was platonic or if there was a hint of romance in there.

Suddenly, an all too familiar voice snapped you out of the peaceful thoughts that managed to distract you for.. at least a little while. Soon enough, your worst fear of the night happened. He placed himself on the couch right across from you guys. The first 20 minutes or so, he had the subtlety evil smirk on his face.

However, you knew it would dissipate sooner or later. Based on your experience with him, he was an extremely jealous person. And given, how important skin-ship was to you and the three boys, it was only a matter of time. It happened when Han noticed you were quieter all of the sudden. His fingers came to a slow stop in your hair to travel down to your shoulder. His head leaning down to your ear to whisper something.

“Are you alright, jagiya?”

It was quiet, quiet enough where only those within a 3 inch radius could hear. So you wonder why you saw that man who you feared, drop his smirk to a frown. Maybe he read Han’s lips and noticed the word ‘jagiya’ ? Either way, you ignored it, and with a nod and a small smile which was noticeably forced, you brushed off Han’s worries insisting you were just tired. Changbin took notice of his member’s concern, and leaned in close to reassure you that the event would be over soon. You gave him the same smile and quietly thanked him.

Thats when he suddenly started staring daggers at you from across the room, his hand clenching onto the almost empty soju bottle. He was drunk, for sure. That had to have been the scariest part. It only added more fuel to the fire, you were silenced. Except nothing was physically stopping you from speaking. Your head dropped down, staring at your nails that now started to dig into the palms of your and in an attempt to quiet the voices in your mind. It was a bad habit you picked up when you got anxious. Recently, it’d been worse so you currently had crescent shaped markings left behind on the center of your hand. Han noticed the tension in your body, and leaned down to express his concern once again.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re very tense.”

No response. As much as you wanted to reassure him that everything was okay, you couldn’t. It felt as if your throat was closing up, you couldn’t speak or move. You were anxious, overstimulated and all you wanted to do was jump out of the window. Anything to escape.

Your eyes were now staring daggers into the floor, and your body was completely still. Did you even hear him? He wondered at your lack of response, however it didn’t take long for him to pick up on it. But before he could say anything else, Chan’s hand gently but swiftly grabbed yours. Holding your hands in such a way that your nails couldn’t fight their way through your skin again. Chan was a very observant person, so it didn’t take him very long to notice the marks on your hands. That’s when Han recognized what was going on, Changbin following in their suit not but a few moments later. Once again, Han leaned down to say something. He was well aware that you were nonverbal right now, but he said it anyways hoping you could at least muster the energy to tell him you wanted to leave. You suddenly felt a hand on either shoulder, which were now rubbing soothingly into your tense muscles. “Do you want to leave? Chan still has to say his goodbyes to everyone, but I can take you outside.” This sentence was whispered into your ear, and the word ‘leave’ sparked your attention. You nodded almost too eagerly.

With that, Han motioned for you to stand up, saying something to you excuse yourselves. Chan let your hands slip out of his, looking over at his band mate and Changbin to silently communicate everyone would be leaving soon. You were unsure of what he said, now focused on not making eye contact with a certain someone right across from you. The closer to you that Han got, the more anger you could feel emitting off of the man in front. That only left you more anxious. Suddenly, Han put his arm around your waist gently to guide you out. The anxiety started to die down as you stepped out of the building, but the tears you were fighting didn’t. “You okay?” Han softly questioned as your eyes looked up to meet his. It took him not but a brief moment to notice your glossy eyes. He immediately pulled you in for a hug, which caused you to break down. Still unable to speak, you only mumbled out incoherent words that the male tried so hard to pick up on. Fortunately for him, he was able to make out a few words which told him everything he needed to know.

You felt unsafe is what it was. Although he wasn’t sure why, it was a step. Han would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t sense anger and tension in the room. The reason was what he couldn’t figure out. His head rested on yours, gently rocking you back and forth hoping to calm you down. Suddenly the door opened, but you remained still. As Chan and Changbin walked over, your breathing began to slow down. “Sorry n/n, I did my best to get us out as soon as possible. They don’t know when to shut up.” Chan apologized and rubbed his hand up and down your back. “Come on, we’ll talk later. Let’s get her out of here.”

Once you all arrived home, everyone went to their dorms. Except you stayed back at Chan and Jeongin’s. Although the younger was in the middle of a brand deal, which left you and the latter alone in the dorm. The trio agreed it would be better if you stayed with one of them for the night, so they decided on the leader’s as it would be the calmest. Your body lay next to him on his comfortable mattress, the lights set to a soft and comforting purple color with the tv playing a movie on the lowest volume. The male laying next to you, with his hand running up and down your back. Your eyes followed the movements of the character on the screen, but your brain wasn’t absorbing any of the plot. It was obvious this was a difficult night for you, but Chan just had to know.

“Feel free to not answer, I know you’re still not in a talking mood..” He led on, and your head raised to make eye contact with him. “Was that the guy… from you know.”

You did know, you knew exactly what he was talking about. Your facial features remained still, looking back and forth between both of his eyes as you mustered up the energy to get some form of response out. With that, you only nodded before turning back to the movie. Chan could swear he felt his heart break and everything suddenly clicked in his mind. If he had known it would only cause you anxiety, then he wouldn’t have pestered you to go for so long. “I am sooo sorry y/n.” His other arm found its way around you as he rested his head on yours. “We wouldn’t have pressed so hard if we knew what was going on.”

Although you didn’t respond, your hand found its way to his and gave him a light squeeze to reassure him that it was okay. “I know I don’t know the whole story but you can always talk to me about how you’re feeling, alright?” A small smile formed on your lips and your head nodded against his, nuzzling further. He let out a light and squeaky giggle as he ran his fingers over your knuckle gently. It was in this moment that you realized it was all going to be okay.

[fuxuannie]

This is honestly my first time requesting anything so I'm kinda nervous ngl lol.

May I request some HCs with Dan Heng, Jing Yuan and/or Blade with a GN Reader who dislikes physical touches? As in, if someone hugs them and grabs their arm they recoil as fast as they can because they're uncomfortable? And will only be okay with physical affection when it's needed or if it's their partner?

Thank you for possibly considering this request, and have a good day or night :)

* pairing(s) : various hsr men (4) x gender neutral reader

* prompt : request ♡

* authors note : this request is SO me-core, as someone who's horrible with physical touch, i think im the best candidate for this /j thank you for the req and i'm honored im your first! this is really messy, im sorry T.T

DAN HENG was one of the first people to notice your discomfort with physical touch when you joined the Astral Express. March 7th tried to cling onto you, but instinctively you moved out of her way. (and admittedly almost made her stumble and fall doing so.) Profusely apologizing for that little accident, but you never really let people hold onto you.

So when you two got together, Dan Heng was pleasantly surprised with how clingy you really were. Whenever he was working in the Archives, the arms wrapping his waist and leaning on his back couldn't have been anyone else, he didn't wanna ask or point it out, just incase you would've been embarrassed or awkward about it.

Not only giving, but receiving. You used to refuse any form of physical touch but now the way he holds you in his arms is a blessing. You fit so perfectly, like you were meant for him, and he's so glad that you are. He helped you learn to love touch, and you helped him realize he loved to touch.

"I'll be there after work, I promise." You remember JING YUAN saying, and you told yourself you could survive a few hours waiting for him. So there you waited patiently, sitting alone on one of the outdoor tables by the restaurant you planned the date on.

It was almost time for him to arrive, and you were just happy you'd be seeing him soon, but you hear a throat clear behind you. You put your left arm by the back of your seat and turn around. "Hello there!" The man asked, a friendly smile on his face but something felt odd about it. A sixth sense intuition that somehow he didn't have the best intentions.

"You seem to be alone," Oh no. "I can give you a much better time." You force a laugh, flicking your wrist while doing so. "It's quite alright, he'll be arriving any minute now." And that seems to annoy the man, his kindness running thin. "Listen, he's clearly not interested-"

His hand goes up to grab your arm on the chair, but in one swift movement, you stand up and pull away. "Please. Do not touch me so casually." You say sternly, sending a glare towards the stranger. But the familiar feeling of a hand around your waist calms you down, you look at your boyfriend, who looks back at you apologetically. The man had long left, realizing who he may or may not have pissed off.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have arrived sooner." He says with a tired sigh. "It's alright, I'm glad you're here."

BLADE doesn't exactly care nor mind, he wasn't much of a touchy person either. But he'll do the little things like locking arms or letting you hold onto him.

He will get annoyed and maybe even confront people when it comes to situations where he feels like he has to. His mere glare can send people off running, so you're greatful to have him around.

You did like it when he'd hug you or hold you. It was rare, but when he let himself rest for a few hours, you're his personal pillow for that time period.

Kafka would mess with him every once in a while, touching your arm and making you feel ever so slightly awkward and the glare Blade gives would scare any ordinary person. She loves the reaction she gets out of him, seeing you get pulled away and his hands on your waist posessively.

"CAELUS, wait-" March 7th and Dan Heng tried to stop him, but suddenly the trailblazer walks up to you and wraps his arms around your figure. The other two expected you two slap him in the face, or something to push him away, but the way you payed no notice to the way he holds onto you surprises them.

"Whaaat..??"

"Oh! Right, this is my partner. Hehe." He'd snicker, already seeing March 7th's absolutely baffled expression. "You have a PARTNER??? AND IT'S (name)?!"

You're known in the Station for being a researcher who despised being touched, most people knew how passive aggressive you'd get depending on how you were touched, and the intentions behind it. "I'm the one exception to that whole thingy they have, I'm just really special." Caelus sparkled in pride, before clearing your throat. "You're about to lose that privilege if you don't let me go and look at some papers."

Caelus apologizes, pulling away as you huff. "Thank you." And you return to your work.

"I still can't believe Caelus pulls.."

"What in the GALAXY is that supposed to mean?!"

[thebiggerbear]

"What do you see in him?" "Everything you don't." - Jensen Ackles RPF Prompt Response

Summary: Jensen says something at a con that initially bothers you that prompts a conversation where you admit that there are certain parts of his job that you could easily do without, not sure how that's going to impact your friendship moving forward.

A/N: This is part of the Soldier Boy/Beau Arlen/Dean Winchester/CJ Braxton/Alec McDowell/Jason Teague/Tom Hanniger/Russell Shaw/Boaz Priestly/Jake Gray/Jensen RPF prompt response project I've been working on the last month. I wasn't going to originally add Jensen RPF in there but I had an idea and had to see it through. Speaking of which, this was not the original idea I had lol but after catching up on the Comic Con panel, this idea popped into my head and overtook the other one. The other one I may turn into a future ficlet.

Also, I just want to make it clear that this is not criticism or commentary on what Jensen said at the panel mentioned here or anything else he has said previously or even of his career or persona. This is just a story idea, an exploration of a theme or thread that could be within that world if that makes sense.

This is a kind of sequel to "Come Pick Up Your Ghosts", and can be seen as a possible prequel leading up to "i want better for you...what's better for you than me?" or a standalone in that regard. Jensen and the Reader are still platonic here but if you squint, you might see a tiny little something. ;) Just to clarify, there is no cheating/infidelity going on here, implied, suggested, or otherwise.

All unbeta'd.

Disclaimer: No disrespect is meant to Jensen, Danneel, or their family. I don’t know either of them or anyone connected to or associated with them. I merely take things from interviews, con videos, podcasts, and his public persona to create the “Jensen” seen here. This is purely for creativity and entertainment purposes. Just for fun.

Warnings: language; some angst; smidgen of humor

Word Count: 5372

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel; @hobby27; @impala67rollingthroughtown

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx; @lyarr24; @bts24; @deans-spinster-witch

@rebel-paladin; @nancymcl

You can also read on AO3

Beau Arlen | Dean Winchester | CJ Braxton | Jake Gray | Jason Teague | Boaz Priestly | Russell Shaw | Tom Hanniger | Soldier Boy | Alec McDowell

Your assistant placed a file on your desk, grabbing your attention. “For the Whitman case.” 

You briefly glanced up at her. “Great, Lauren, thanks.”

She nodded, picked up your empty coffee mug, and beat a hasty retreat to get you a refill, closing the door behind her. You couldn’t help but smile as you went back to your computer screen. Lauren had only been working for you a few months since Janice had retired, but she already seemed to be a great fit and had everything down pat. 

You still missed your former assistant sometimes, though. Not only had you both worked together seamlessly for years, she had become a close friend and an almost motherly figure to you in times when you needed it most. You kept in touch and she invited you for holiday dinners, but as happy as you were that she was living her best life these days, there were still some moments that creeped up on you when you missed her dearly. And this morning just happened to be one such moment.

Your phone began to buzz with an incoming call. You glanced at the screen, huffing out an irritated breath at the name that popped up. Speaking of some sage motherly-like advice, you sure could use some right about now. Aggravation wasn’t your usual reaction to your best friend calling you, but this morning before you came to work, you had been catching up on some of the highlights of his panel the other day and there was one soundbite in particular that had you clicking your tongue in disappointment. You had briefly spoke to Jensen on Saturday night and he had texted you yesterday but you hadn’t known any of the specifics of how the panel went other than “It went well.” Not until you opened your newsfeed on your phone earlier and a headline popped out at you about Vought Rising and The Boys cast’s appearance on a Comic Con panel this weekend, with a video attached. That video led you to look up others until you finally arrived at the one that made you close everything out altogether and concentrate on finishing your coffee to hurry out the door.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance when your phone continued to vibrate and you hit the button on the bluetooth headset in your ear. “Hey,” you greeted curtly when the call connected. “I can’t really talk right now, Jensen. I’m about to meet with a client and—”

“Why haven’t you been answering my texts or calls?”

“Shit,” you silently mouthed to yourself and clenched your hands together. You then quietly cleared your throat. “I just told you. I have a full schedule this morning and I can’t—”

“Bullshit.”

Okay yeah, it was bullshit, he was right. Well, actually not entirely; you really had been trying to bury yourself in work since you arrived, earlier than normal (you’d even beat Lauren into the office), in order to prevent you from thinking about what he’d said and why it bothered you so much. “It is not bullshit,” you stated calmly, your jaw tensed. “I have a lot of work to do to prepare for court later this week. I told you that.”

“Y/N, you texted me early this morning, saying and I quote ‘Good morning, going to be super busy this week. Tons of work to do,’” he continued reading the message you had sent him before putting your phone on Do Not Disturb until about half an hour ago. “‘Hope you have a good shoot in Vancouver. Talk soon.’ Really?”

At that time, Lauren had decided to reappear with your new coffee. You gave her an appreciative nod and opened the file she had left for you, scanning the documents inside. “Yes, really. I just told you, I have a full week.” You waited until Lauren left and the door was closed once more. “I don’t see why that’s an issue.”

“You know damn well why.”

You expelled a quiet breath, telling yourself to bite your tongue and remain professional. It usually worked but Jensen had always had a way of getting under your skin.

“You knew I was going to call you once I got to set this morning. We even agreed on the best time for me to call.”

You did and you knew that your text was going to bother him once he received it, proven by him immediately trying to call you after you had sent it. But you just needed some space to think. 

Jensen was up North shooting an episode for a series he was guesting on, coming off of Comic Con in San Diego. He had asked you if you wanted to go with him, since you had never been, but you had politely declined knowing you had an upcoming court case that you needed to prepare for. And now, having seen the video and heard what you did, you were glad you hadn’t taken him up on his offer. You would have been unable to hide your disappointment the entire time until you both went on separate flights, you going back home and him heading to Canada.   

“What the hell, Y/N?”   

“I’m just busy,” you muttered, gazing over the papers in front of you, pen in your hand, poised and ready.

“You forget how well I know you. That text is your polite way of saying ‘don’t call me, I’ll call you’ which means you’re pissed at me and you don’t want to talk.” You winced at his matter of fact tone. He wasn’t exactly wrong. “So again, what the hell?”

Now that he had you on the phone, calling you on your attempt at temporarily pushing him away via text, you started to examine just why you were annoyed with him — something you had been trying to avoid much like his attempts to contact you the last few hours. Suffice it to say, he wasn’t going to let this go, you both were bound to get into an argument, and then you were going to get the space you wanted, albeit a cold and tense space, until one of you caved and apologized. Something that had become somewhat of a routine in your friendship, though rare since you both usually got along very well.

So now that he was holding your feet to the fire per se, now that he was not letting you push him away so easily, you had to really think about why you were pissed, why your gut had clenched when you first heard the voice of your best friend come down the line, and why his careless off-the-cuff joke had bothered you so much. 

“Y/N,” he spoke to you in a quieter tone than a moment ago. “Come on, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath and tossed your pen onto your desk, sitting back in your chair. Fuck it. “‘Old titties’? Really?”

There was a beat of awkward, tension-filled silence, before Jensen immediately filled it. “Wait a second. That’s what you’re pissed at me about?” He let out a laugh of disbelief. “Seriously?”

You flinched and immediately sat up straight, grabbing papers and loudly straightening them into a neat pile on your desk. “You know what? I have a court case to prepare for and I also have a 12:30 who just arrived. I have a full day, you have a full day of shooting, so let’s just end it here, shall we? Have a great week, Jensen, and good luck. Talk soon.” 

The laughter immediately stopped. “Whoa, hold up a second. Y/N, don’t—”

His voice was cut off as you pressed the button on your headset and then grabbed it, tossing it angrily onto your desk. Your phone started to buzz again but this time, you snatched it up, put the call to voicemail, and powered down the device before dumping it into your handbag and shutting the drawer it sat in. You clicked a button on your office phone and a moment later, Lauren’s voice filled your office. 

“Yes, Ms. Y/L/N?”

“I’m going to be working on the Whitman case for the next couple of hours so please hold all calls.”

“Absolutely. Would you like me to order lunch for you in the meantime?”

A little bit of your fury went out of you at her sweet offer. Right, you were a professional, and no matter how much your friend had just pissed you off, you wouldn’t allow it to affect your work. “That would be great, Lauren. Thank you,” you let out in a deflating and tired breath.

“Of course. If you need anything else in the meantime, Ms. Y/L/N, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the phone. “Thank you.” You clicked off the button and dropped your head in your hands. You could still hear Jensen’s laughter and “That’s what you’re pissed at me about? Seriously?” You couldn’t completely blame him for his reaction; you knew it was something small and stupid to be angry with him for. His response to Jeff’s question on that panel had nothing to do with you after all. But the minute he’d said those words, you couldn’t help but think back to that scene he had filmed with the two older actresses from season 3. Granted, a sexual attraction to much older women was part of Soldier Boy’s character, but at the time you’d watched that scene, while it had been amusing as it was meant to be, you couldn’t help but have respect for the two actresses willing to strip down and put themselves on display for the camera like that. That couldn’t have been easy, no matter the type of the career they had embarked on, and you were in awe, wishing you could have confidence like that when you reached that age. Hell, you could do with some of that confidence nowadays. You hadn’t had sex in forever and no one had seen your bare body outside of your doctors in the last five years or so. You also hadn’t been to the beach or any pools in that time so no one had exactly seen you in any swimwear either. 

Truthfully, aging was a bit of a sensitive issue for you. Not in a superficial, skin deep kind of way, but very much in a holy-crap-my-body-is-starting-to-turn-against-me-with-every-single-year way. As you got older, you continued to have more and more compassion for your elders, knowing that someday you would eventually reach that phase of life yourself. It made you appreciate your present everyday life all the more, but that didn’t mean you liked being reminded of where you (and every single person on the planet) were eventually headed. So any new gray hairs you found; any sign of aging in your skin; the fact that you absolutely had to get up at least once a night to use the bathroom now, no exceptions; how you couldn’t go without at least 7 hours of sleep a night or you’d be exhausted the whole day and even sometimes still were, not to mention the day after that and the next — you weren’t exactly thrilled to get those reminders. 

You knew what Jensen had said had nothing to do with you in the slightest and you weren’t narcissistic enough to act as if it had or take personal offense to it. Even though you had been disgusted at his choice of joke, you knew he was simply on and he was providing entertainment for the cast and crowd, like he always did. People laughed at the joke and you knew none of them viewed it the same way you did. Not one of them felt as if it was an unfair indictment of your sex when they got older (something that couldn’t be helped) or if it was a commentary of disgust at the average older woman’s body as she aged or even something completely misogynistic (and even if it was, it was in character which is usually what Jensen tended to aim for when doing these appearances). No, you knew it had been taken as a simple joke as you should have taken it but you couldn’t help your visceral reaction of irritation followed by massive disappointment in your friend.

The Jensen you knew was not the Jensen the world saw. In your friendship, you had gotten to know a very different person altogether. While he enjoyed garnering laughs from people and was very quick to make witty remarks and jokes that added to a pleasant atmosphere that he encapsulated, you found over time that you really didn’t care for his public persona at times. Or at least when it came down to things like that. You knew it came with the job he was in, but you much preferred your friend to the Jensen Ackles that was solely for public consumption and engagement. Which is why you supposed you never took him up on his offers of visiting sets he was on, attending any Hollywood events such as The Boys Season 3 premiere in Brazil, or even meeting him at any of the several conventions he had booked over the years. Early on in your getting to know him, you had trouble reconciling the man you saw privately with the man who sat up on those stages or in front of those cameras. There was nothing wrong with either of them but over time, you found you much preferred it when there were no cameras, no screaming fans, no celebrities or Hollywood executives around — just him. 

That didn’t mean you didn’t support his career; of course, you did. He had been successful on this chosen path way before you ever met him and he loved doing it. How could you not cheer on your best friend in a job that not only was he good at but also made him happy? But God, sometimes you wished fame, PR, and performativity weren’t part of the package. Despite the very nature of the business he had chosen to be in.

You straightened up and pulled the Whitman file closer to you. He hadn’t done anything wrong, nothing that you should feel angry with him for, and you would apologize to him later. Right now, though, you needed to get your head back into your own career and prepare for court that would be happening in the next two days’ time.

This whole thing was going to have to wait. Until you could make sense of things for yourself at least.

You watched as the couple on your screen awkwardly flirted, popping a yogurt-covered raisin into your mouth. The film wasn’t one you would usually check out; romantic comedies weren’t really your thing, especially the ones made these days. But there had been a particular selling point that caught your eye, that then had you watching the trailer, and before you knew it, you were fully invested in the movie and actually laughing at some of the cringe-inducing moments but also blatantly honest humor present throughout the story. 

You were so invested that you jumped when your phone began to loudly buzz on the coffee table. You paused the movie and leaned forward to glance at the screen that had just turned on with a notification, sighing tiredly when you saw the name on it.

You picked up your phone and clicked on the message.

Just got back to the hotel. Long day. I’ll be up for a bit though. Call me if you want.

You pressed your lips together, thinking it over for a moment. You still hadn’t spoken to Jensen since your terse call earlier and you had cowardly kept your phone off for the rest of the day. Which meant that when you turned it back on the minute you walked back in your door, you had several voicemail messages (two were from him) and quite a few text messages (most were from him) suddenly blowing up the device. Everything from justified disbelief to annoyance to explanations to apologies to requests for you to answer him saturated your last several text messages. You hadn’t responded to anything from him just yet; you had been waiting until you felt ready to embark on that conversation, not sure how much you wanted to delve into when you both had it. He would want to know exactly why that joke had upset you, as any other person naturally would, and you weren’t sure if you felt comfortable enough to tell him and dump some of that crazy of yours at his feet. You knew you weren’t crazy obviously, but how could you tell your best friend that his doing a part of his job (successfully you might add) bothered you? And that you got mad at him for it? What, was he supposed to change that up because it hurt your feelings or added to your discomfort with said part of his job? Now, that was crazy. 

You took a deep breath, ate a few more raisins, sipped your water, and decided the hell with it. Time to face the music. You pressed the phone icon next to his name and put your bluetooth in, waiting for the call to connect as you braced yourself for any justified irritation you might encounter. You were going to rip the band-aid off and apologize; he deserved nothing less from you after you had avoided him all day. 

“Hey,” his voice greeted you warmly, something you hadn’t been expecting. It completely disarmed you, especially when you could hear the exhaustion lacing his tone. 

“Hey.”

“You ready to talk now?”

You hadn’t really been truly ready about a moment ago even though you were going to push through it. But now, hearing the tired voice of your best friend after a long day of not being able to talk to him because you felt like you couldn’t — yes, you were. “Um, yeah.”

“Good.” You could hear him shifting in the background, letting out a weary sigh as he presumably settled wherever he had moved to. “Are you going to tell me why?”

You bit at your lip. “I just didn’t care for it, I guess.” You then dropped your head into your hands. Oh God, you did sound crazy. 

“Oh-kay. Was it the word choice? Because I only—”

“No. No, it…” You expelled your own sigh, frustrated with yourself. “It had nothing to do with any of that.”

“Then what did it have to do with?”

You chewed at your thumbnail, not really wanting to tell him since you would sound even worse than you already did. 

“Y/N,” he prompted. “What pissed you off about it?”

You dropped your hand to your lap and shook your head. Fuck it. “I just hate the forced performativity sometimes, okay? I get it, it’s part of your job, and I need to just shut up and stay in my lane. But you’re my best friend, I care about you, and sometimes I really, really dislike watching or hearing that side of you. Which is exactly why I choose not to engage with that world you’re in. Because to me, no matter how good you are at your job, and you’re incredible at it obviously, that performative bullshit isn’t you. Not the you I’ve gotten to know, anyway, and certainly not at that level. Like, sure, you try to make people laugh all the time and crack jokes, and I know you were probably a little nervous being on that panel so you had to break the ice somehow, I get it, but Jesus, Jensen. I just…” You let out another sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose, clenching your eyes shut. “I’m just not a fan of when you have to tap into that. I feel like sometimes you say things for the audience’s sake that just make me cringe sometimes and that I just can’t get behind. And that pisses me off because I want to support you but when you say shit like that, like some of the soundbites you’ve had these past few months, I just can’t. And I hate that, because I know that’s not you. And I absolutely fucking hate how judgmental I know I’m being right now but I can’t help how I feel. So that is what pissed me off about that stupid, insensitive, frat boy-ish, sexist, and quite frankly ageist joke, okay?”

A deafening silence filled the conversation then and you mentally cursed at yourself. Great. Well, this might be the end of your friendship and where you two parted ways. While the idea of it broke your heart, you couldn’t really blame him. You had just unleashed an incoherent rant of a word salad that anyone might take a second look at the concept of continuing a friendship with you for. You had called him to apologize…how had you gone this far off the intended track?

“Okay.”

Your eyes snapped open. “Okay?”

“Y/N,” he started gently, sounding like some guy on a nature documentary or something who was trying to soothe a wild animal into not seeing him as a threat. “It was meant to be a joke for the character. Just something to make people laugh while staying in character.”

“I know that. I get it, but—”

“There’s nothing more to it than that for me. We were promoting the prequel, promoting the last season, they even had me sit next to Ant since we’re going to dive deep into the whole Soldier Boy and Homelander dynamic when production picks back up. That’s all it was.”

Guilt and shame started to gnaw at you. He had explained these things to you, back when you were getting to know him, and he took you through the ins and outs of his job — even the things the public didn’t see or know about too much.  

“As for the other stuff, I have to be honest, I’m not really sure what to say. I know you’re not crazy about any of it. I’ve known that for a while now. Every time you turn me down when I ask you to come to one of these things, always with the excuse of work or having to go to court. I didn’t push you on it because I figured maybe someday you’d be comfortable enough to say yes and let me show you how it all works. I get what you’re saying, I do…but, it’s my job, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment brought you up short and then made you feel even worse. It’s not that he hadn’t used it before, but something about the sad resignation that coated his voice right then caught your attention. What did he feel resigned to? “I know,” you whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” His voice sounded a little thicker than before that had your brows knitting together. If you didn’t know any better, he sounded slightly upset. Perhaps this had definitely been a step too far and he was now going to give you the boot. Or perhaps it was something else…something else he hadn’t told you yet that was bothering him and that’s why he had wanted to talk to you today when he asked yesterday what the best time to call you was. Oh shit.

“Jensen?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

He cleared his throat and you could hear him moving again, presumably sitting up. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

You let out a quiet breath of relief when he sounded better than he had a moment ago. “Yeah.” You let a moment pass before you asked, ”You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

Another minute of silence happened, slightly less tense than before but a little more awkward. Like neither of you knew where to go from here and you both were waiting for the other to break it to give you some sort of direction.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” 

“Is that it?” His voice broke at the end of his question but he cleared his throat once more. “Are we…done?”

It suddenly hit you what he was really asking, why he sounded so resigned earlier. Your heart broke a little more at the realization and you silently cursed yourself again. Instinctually, you knew exactly what to say to lead you both out of this pool of uncertainty you had unwittingly pushed you both into. You let out an amused snort. “Dude, you saddled me with an angry poltergeist that cost me a small fortune in repairs and I didn’t show you the door then. What makes you think I would now just because you were doing your job?”

Another moment of quiet passed and you started to worry that you had ruined everything when he finally responded with, “I can’t believe you’re still going on about that. And I offered to pay for those repairs even though we both know ghosts don’t really exist.”

Your lips relaxed into a relieved smile. “Says the ghost magnet who knows they do exist.”

“Oh my God,” he muttered into the phone. “How is it that a successful lawyer like yourself still believes in that crap?”

“Probably because said crap destroyed my house while I had to stay in a hotel for two weeks. And how is it that a guy who played a ghost hunter for fifteen years, who dropped a very real ghost on my doorstep and saw the damage it did live on facetime still doesn’t believe in that crap?”

“Because they don’t exist.”

“They do.”

“They don’t.”

“They do and you know it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t let me smudge you every time you drop by.”

“I only let you do that because it makes you happy and this way I only have to hear ten times that night how I supposedly brought a temperamental ghost the last time I walked in without being cleansed, compared to the usual fifty if I don’t.”

“Oooh, buddy, guess what you’re getting for Christmas this year,” you teased. “I’m placing the order online right now.”

“Christ,” he mumbled. “Don’t you dare or you know what I’ll be sending you in return.” 

“You better not. I’ll hand deliver it to your doorstep and let your ghost friends have fun with it and you.” You weren’t really going to mass order sage and send it to him like you had threatened a few times before which had prompted him to threaten to send you several ouija boards in retaliation. Your friendship was a strange one sometimes, you’d be the first to admit it, but truthfully, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Thinking about that, your smile faded and you pressed your lips together. “Jensen?”

“Mmm?”

“I really am sorry.” You truly were. You felt badly for even getting pissed at him in the first place. You still weren’t entirely sure why seeing him like that bothered you so much, despite already knowing the performativity was part of his job. It didn’t change the Jensen you knew and when he was on, it didn’t affect you. So why would it disturb you that deeply? You refused to look at it any closer, though; you had done enough living in your head for one day. And right now, you wanted to make things right with your best friend.

“It’s okay.” From the way he said it, you knew he was telling the truth. “But can you promise me one thing?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Can you just…talk to me next time and not ice me out like you did? I was wracking my brains all day trying to figure out why that joke would bother you enough for you to clam up and push me away like you did. You’ve never done that before, no matter how pissed off I made you or whatever arguments we’ve had, and I just— I need for you to talk to me when that happens. No matter how pissed you are. I know that you need your space sometimes, I do too, but…don’t shut me out. Not like that. Okay?”

“Okay,” you choked out, clearing your throat and scrubbing a tear from your cheeks. You were definitely not on the verge of crying. Not at all.

“We’re still going to talk about the job thing but I’d rather do that in person if you don’t mind,” he murmured. “I don’t really want to have that conversation over the phone.” 

“Okay,” you repeated. 

After a moment he asked, “So, what are you up to right now?”

You wiped away another tear that was absolutely not rolling down your cheek. “Um, just watching a movie.”

“Oh yeah? What movie?”

“Uh, Anyone But You? The new Glen Powell movie on Netflix?”

“Glen Powell,” he scoffed, making you smile when you heard his tell-tale annoyance at the mention of your current celebrity crush. While you both loved the Top Gun movies, something you had in common, he had finally figured out why you wanted to watch the sequel more times than the original. He would literally grumble and wear his grumpy Dean expression, much like you imagined he was now. Sure enough, he grumbled, “What do you see in that guy?”

You couldn’t help but huff out a chuckle. “Everything you don’t.” You stared at the image on the screen of a shirtless, wet Glen that you had paused on. “Like lots and lots of muscles,” you answered honestly as you eyed the fine looking man on your television. You were biting your lip again but this time for a whole other reason.

“Muscles,” he muttered. 

“And the most gorgeous green eyes you’ve ever seen,” you added. 

“Seriously?”

“And a killer smile. Plus, he’s from Texas, did you know that? Austin, your old neck of the woods.” You knew he knew all of this but you couldn’t resist needling him a little. His reactions were always amusing as hell.

“Oh yeah, I know,” he said in a mocking tone that betrayed that he was less than thrilled at your listing off of Glen’s attributes.

“You know, maybe I should take you up on your offer to go to one of these public events if he’s also going to be there.”

“That’s why you would finally say yes?”

“Among other things,” you teased.

“If I find out he’s going to be there, I’m not inviting you.”

“Jensen!”

“I’m just kidding…maybe.”

“You better be,” you growled.

“Yeah, yeah. Glen Powell,” he muttered again, making you smirk. “Lots and lots of muscles, green eyes, killer smile, from Texas…” An aggravated sigh came down the line. “Fine. What part of the movie are you on?”

“No, you have to watch it from the beginning. I’ll watch with you.” You eagerly clicked out of the movie and went back to its menu.

“So you can see more of Glen’s fine muscles?”

“It’s about the definition, not the bulk.”

“Uh huh.” He faked a gagging sound, making you chuckle. “You’re lucky I care about your happiness, Y/N. That’s the only reason I’m even indulging in this ogle fest masquerading as a chick flick.”

“Hey, it’s not a chick flick and Sydney Sweeney is in it, too, so don’t act like this great selfless sacrifice you’re making is going to be hellish torture for you.”

“Sydney Sweeney? Now, why didn’t you start out with that? Hell yes, we’re watching this movie. Let’s go.” 

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head and smiling. Typical. “You ready?”

“Not sure how long I’m going to last before it puts me to sleep, but yeah, ready when you are.”

“Okay.” You pressed the start button and saw the familiar production logos pop up.

A moment later you heard, “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you called.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you laid your head down on your couch pillow. “Me, too.” And you were. Regardless of anything else, no matter your disagreements past or present, first and foremost he was your best friend. As he began to tease you when Glen first appeared on screen, you couldn’t help but smile; in the end, that was all that mattered.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this character.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

banner by @cafekitsune

[h00nerz]

law of attraction!

masterlist | 1k celebration

pairing: fem!reader x choi soobin

genre: angst kinda, rivals to lovers, law student!soobin, law student!reader, pining, kinda fluffy at the end

word count: 3.6k

warnings: soobin is a lil mean sometimes, veeerry suggestive, but that’s it i think

prompt(s): #33 — “i can’t pretend anymore.” #34 — “you’re all i can think about.” #49 — “i can’t get you out of my head.” “…thanks?”

requested: “hii!! i hope ur doing well <3 could i req 33, 34, 49 and 50?? thank u <333333333” — anon

authors note: haha another enemies to lovers! tbf it’s not my fault most of the requests were enemies to lovers themed. anyways i had been wanting to do a law intern thing for someone for a long time and i thought it would fit for soob! i got a lil carried away while writing this LOL i hope u enjoy!!

IN LIFE, THERE WAS ONLY THREE THINGS YOU WERE SURE OF. First, sparkling water is stupid. Just drink soda or water instead, there’s no point in pretending you’re better than anyone else when in reality it’s just that you can’t pick a side! The second thing you knew was you were born to be a lawyer. Arguing was in your blood, there was no doubt you were going to make an incredible attorney one day. The third and final thing that you knew for certain was that you hated Choi Soobin.

Freaking Choi Soobin. In the past, you never thought you’d be the kind of person to have a nemesis. The whole concept of having an enemy seemed childish, and like something that only happened in movies. But, then you met Soobin, and everything changed. You hated him, and his smug little attitude, and he hated you, too.

You know, there was actually a point in time where you didn’t hate Soobin. It sounds crazy, but there was actually a time you might have called him a friend. Back when you were just a baby-faced girl, fresh out of high school and filled with excitement for your first college course. Soobin sat next to you, and you bonded over your desire to one day go to law school. But, then he betrayed you when he told the guy you liked, Hwang Hyunjin, that he saw you kissing the TA for your class, and from that moment on, Choi Soobin was your enemy.

And of course, as your enemy, he just had to apply to intern at the same firm as you. He had followed you to the same law school, so it was no surprise he followed you there, too. But you were starting to grow tired of his ever looming presence. After you graduated, you wouldn’t be surprised if he got a job at the same place as you, just to piss you off.

After a long morning of sorting through the mess of files in the basement of the office, it was finally time for your lunch break. You had been standing with your shoulders hunched over for hours, and you were positive your back was about to break from the stress.

“Y/N!” One of the only other interns in the office, and your only friend in the office, Sumin, called out to you once you appeared back upstairs. “I thought you were out sick or something, where have you been?” She stood up from her desk and wandered over to you.

“I was exiled to the basement. There’s files from like, 20 years ago down there, it’s a mess.” You groaned as she followed you towards the break room, rubbing your shoulder as you walked.

Sumin winced. “Ooh, yeah. Sana was telling me about how when she was an intern here, she had to go down there once, and found a rat skeleton.”

“What?!” You gasped in horror, a little bit louder than you meant to. “That was like, ten years ago though, right? It must have been cleaned up since then, right? Because I don’t think I can work around dead rats, no matter how bad I need this internship.”

You heard a laugh from the corner of the break room, and felt yourself become filled with dread. With your jaw clenched tightly, you slowly turned to face the direction of the noise. There he was, sitting at the little table with a cup of ramen in front of him and his phone propped up in front of him.

“Soobin.” You glared at him. Sumin, bless her heart, tried to pretend she couldn’t sense the tension as she slowly opened up the door to the fridge.

“You know why they sent you to the basement, right, Y/N?” Soobin asked, raising his eyebrows at you.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” You rolled your eyes, turning to the fridge to fish out the salad you brought for lunch.

“Because they don’t trust you enough to do the important stuff.” He told you with an amused tone to his voice.

You spun around, slamming the fridge door behind you. “Really? Remind me, who did Taemin pick to help him with the Park case? Me! Not you!” You snapped, jabbing your finger in his direction pointedly.

“Y/N!” Sumin hissed your name scoldingly, as though he wasn’t the one who started it.

Soobin’s smug smile twisted into a scowl at your reminder. “That’s just because I had the flu and wasn’t here. You were just his second choice.”

You had successfully managed to get under his skin--which wasn’t very hard--and were satisfied as you sat down at one of the other tables with Sumin. “Sure, Soobin. Keep telling yourself that.”

He started to raise his hand, like he was going to make some sort of rude gesture at you, but flinched and tucked his hand beneath the table when someone else walked into the room. You furrowed your eyebrows together, and turned in your seat to see who it was. His ears must have been burning, because Taemin himself had decided to join the three of you.

“Oh, hi, guys.” He smiled at you as he walked over to the fridge. You glanced over at Soobin over Sumin’s shoulder. He was staring back at you, with his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched.

That was another thing about Soobin that had always bothered you. Especially in moments like now, where he looked like he was seconds away from murdering you, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, he was extremely attractive. You had always thought so, even back a million years ago when you were friends. His dark eyes and his perfectly shaped lips just did something to you that you were slightly ashamed of.

You swallowed hard, diverting your attention down to your salad. You could already feel your skin becoming hot, and there was absolutely no way you could ever let Soobin get even an inkling that you might be attracted to him. It was just all so humiliating.

“Y/N, Soobin, I actually need to talk to the both of you. Could you meet me in my office after you finish lunch?” Taemin asked, and you immediately looked back over to Soobin to see if he knew what it was about. His eyebrows were furrowed together, though, and he looked just as confused as you.

“Um, do you mind me asking why?” You asked hesitantly, looking over at your boss.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. I just need your help with something.” He reassured the two of you wish a smile.

When he left the break room, you could hear Soobin grumbling in his corner. You wanted to ask him what he’d done to get you both in trouble, but you were also not in the mood to fight with him. Not when you had to go and face Taemin in just a few minutes. He said it was nothing bad, but you weren’t sure you believed him.

While you finished eating your food, Soobin stood by the doorway, huffing dramatically as he waited for you. Just for that, you took the smallest bites you could, which just made him even more annoyed. Sumin was clearly feeling very awkward as she ate her food, eyes flickering between you and Soobin like she was waiting for one of you to attack the other.

Once you had taken the final bite, Soobin stomped over, and grabbed your wrist to tug you out of your seat. “Clean up for her, will you, Sumin? I’m sure you already do that a lot.” He asked your friend, before dragging you out of the break room before you got the chance to protest.

Finally, you snatched your wrist free from his grip, rubbing the sore spot as you trailed after him in the direction of Taemin’s office. “Ugh, you’re such an ass, you know that?” You murmured.

“Me? You’re the one purposefully taking forever when our boss is literally waiting for both of us.” He snapped at you.

You don’t say anything else, worried that someone else in the office might hear your childish squabble.

When the two of you finally reached Taemin’s office, Soobin opened the door, and you’re shocked when he gestured for you to walk in first. Then, you remembered how much of a suck-up he is, and that your boss was on the other side. You shot him a glare as you walked in.

“Oh, good! You’re here!” Taemin greeted the two of you. “Please, sit.”

You obliged him, sitting down on the small couch across from his desk. Soobin sat down as well, and you immediately noticed his leg pressed up against your own. The same heat you felt before spread across your skin like a wildfire, and you cleared your throat.

“So, as you know, the Kang vs. Choi trial is happening next week. Now, Jun was supposed to be in charge of sorting through all the files and compiling them into binders, but his appendix burst and he had to get surgery.” He rolled his eyes, as though Jun was just being dramatic.

“So, now I have fifteen boxes full of papers that need to be sorted through… And I need to get them to the Court tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” You blurted out, eyes wide.

Taemin nodded. “I know, it’s short notice, but Jun claims he had been ‘busy’ and was ‘getting around to it’ before his appendix burst. So, I was hoping you two would be willing to stay late tonight and finish his work.”

“Tonight?! But—“ Soobin started, but was cut off by Taemin.

“You don’t have to do it. I’m more than happy to ask one of the other interns. I figured you two would just like the opportunity to help me out with this…”

“Absolutely yes, Taemin! I can’t speak for Soobin, but I would be delighted to help you with this!” You might as well have held up your hand in salute from how militaristic your answer came out.

Soobin glared at you. “Yes, I am also very willing to help you.” He said as formally as possible, but he couldn’t hide the slight annoyance in his tone.

Taemin smiled. “Great! I’ll have Jisung bring up the boxes, then you can get to work later!” He told you, which you took as your cue to leave.

Soobin trailed after you as you left the office and started to return to your desks. “I can’t believe he’s making us work all night to sort through a bunch of boxes.” He muttered.

“What, did you have a hot date tonight, or something?” You teased, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you jealous?” He asked, and you immediately scoffed in response.

“Why in the world would I be jealous? If anything I would feel bad for whatever poor soul has been tricked into a date with you.” You quickly snapped back at him.

“Whatever you say, Y/N.” He said with a sigh.

You hated that a small, minuscule part of you was happy he didn’t have a date.

BY THE TIME EVERYONE ELSE HAD CLEARED OUT OF THE OFFICE, you and Soobin had managed to get through seven boxes. It was nine o’clock at night, and the exhaustion, as well as the hunger was starting to hit you. You still had eight boxes to go through, and you weren’t sure how you were going to make it through the night.

“God, I’m so hungry.” You muttered as you picked through the papers in the box you were currently working on.

You expected him to make some snarky comment or something, but he didn’t. Instead he just let out a small hum in agreement. “Me too. Should we try ordering some food?” He suggested.

You nodded, then made the mistake of glancing over at him. At some point during your sorting, he had lost his tie, unbuttoned his shirt down to the middle of chest, and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. His dark hair, which had been meticulously styled when he came into work that morning, was now a disheveled mess. There was a thin sheen of sweat that glistened against his skin. He looked way too good under the soft glow of the office lighting.

“Sure. If anywhere is even open.” You replied, eyes flickering back down to your box.

“I know a good place. I order from there all the time when I’m working late.” He said plainly.

“You work late a lot?” You asked as you pulled out a thick stack of papers.

“Yeah. I mean, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I just… I dunno, assumed that you had other things to do besides work…” You shrugged.

He leaned back against the table he was working at as he worked on ordering food on his phone. “Why would you assume that?” He glanced up at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“I don’t know. I guess I just thought that a good looking guy like you would have a bunch of girlfriends and friends to hang out with.” You felt your face grow warm as you worked, once again avoiding his gaze like it was the plague.

He laughed. “Yeah, I wish. I’m way too busy for that…” His voice trailed off, and you could feel him look up from his phone to look at you. “You think I’m a good looking guy?”

You shook your head, while you started tapping the papers against the table to straighten them out. “No, I didn’t mean it like I think you’re good looking. Just, like, you’re objectively a good looking guy. I think. Sumin thinks you’re good looking. Not me, I definitely don’t—“ Your hand got too close to the paper, and you felt the edge slice straight through your palm.

You hissed loudly, dropping the papers onto the table. “Stupid fucking paper.” You muttered to yourself, and Soobin wasted no time rushing to your side.

“Did you cut yourself? Do you need me to go get a bandaid or something?”

“No, it’s fine. I just need to go and rinse it off.” You told him, trying to push past him in the direction of the bathroom. He pressed one of his big hands against your shoulder to stop you.

“Just let me get you a bandaid.” He rolled his eyes at you. “I think Sana keeps some in her desk…” He mumbled as he started digging through the said woman’s drawers.

You huffed, turning around to lean back against the desk. “You better hurry. I think I’m about to bleed out and die.” You called out to him.

He glanced up to give you that same annoyed look he always seemed to wear around you. “Maybe I should let you. Then I wouldn’t have to put up with you everyday.”

“But then who would keep you on your toes?” You asked pointedly. He finally found a bandaid, and started walking back over. “Admit it, Soobin. You need me.”

He didn’t say anything, instead focusing on opening up the bandaid. He held out his hand, gesturing for you to put yours in, which you did hesitantly. He had really soft hands.

You watched as he gently pulled off the tabs of the bandage, then laid it across your palm. He used one of his long, slender fingers to smooth it down and make it stick.

It wasn’t until he glanced back up at you when you realized how close he was to you. His dark eyes met your own, and you had the instinct to look away, but something about his gaze had you entranced, and you couldn’t look away, no matter how hard you tried.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, hanging his head down. He took a step back from you, and it felt like a warmth had disappeared. You blinked at him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t pretend anymore, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?” You asked quietly, although you had a feeling you knew exactly what he meant, because it was the same thing you were thinking.

“I can’t pretend like you’re not all I can think about. At work, at home, at school, I can’t get you out of my head.” He confessed, and for a second the insecure part of you thought he might have been saying all of this as some sort of cruel joke, but the look in his eyes told you it wasn’t.

“Thanks…?” You played stupid, tilting your head at him. You needed him to just come out and say it, to confirm you weren’t crazy, and what was happening was really happening.

He let out a frustrated sigh. “When we were freshmen… And I told Hwang Hyunjin you were kissing the TA…”

Your ears perked up. Was he finally going to explain what that was all about, after all these years?

“It was because Hyunjin told me he was planning to ask you out. And I got jealous because I wanted to ask you out, but was too scared to do it.”

Oh.

“You did?” You asked quietly.

He nodded. “Of course I did. You were smart, funny, and gorgeous, of course I wanted to ask you out.” He was avoiding your eyes now, his cheeks tinted pink.

“And… How do you feel about me now?”

“I feel like you’re incredibly annoying, and sometimes you’re a bit of a know-it-all, and some days you dress sort of like a grandma—“

“Hey!”

“—but I also think you’re smart, probably smarter than me. And you still manage to make me laugh. And even though you do dress like a grandma…”

Your heart jumped up into your throat when he started walking back over to you, getting just as close to you as he had been before. But then he got even closer, leaning down so his lips were aligned with your ear.

“…You look like a sexy grandma.” He whispered in a low, sultry voice.

You immediately burst into laughter. “Oh wow, Soobin, you really know how to get a girl going.” You told him with a laugh, and he leaned back to look at you with narrowed eyes.

“Shut up.” He murmured while you continued to giggle.

“Here, let me show you how it’s done, okay?” You wrapped your fingers around the collar of his shirt, and gave it a tug so you could lean in close to him. You didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting yourself catch your breath.

“Are you just going to breathe in my ear the entire time?” Soobin asked in an irritated tone.

You shook your head. “No. I’m going to tell you, that right now, with your sleeves rolled up…” You gently dragged your fingernails against his bare forearms, and you felt him shiver. “And your shirt unbuttoned…” Your hand traveled upwards to trail across his exposed collarbone. “And your messy hair…” You reached around to brush your fingers against the hair on the nape of his neck.

“You look incredibly sexy.”

He leaned back and immediately bent back down to connect your lips to his. He kissed you harshly, like you were the only thing that could cure his hunger. His big hands found home on your hips, while your own nestled themselves deeper in his hair. Just like you had predicted, his lips were perfect for kissing.

One of his hands let go of your waist, and you heard a scuffle behind you. For a brief moment, you pulled away from the kiss to see what was going on, just to find he had slid everything off of your desk. With it all clear, his hands wrapped around your thighs, and he lifted you up onto the desk and slotted himself between your legs.

He went back to kissing you like a mad man, using one arm to hold you close against him by your waist and the other to stabilize himself against the desk. Your fingers moved quickly across the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one until the shirt was completely open. As you started to trace your fingers against his abdomen, he slid the hand that was wrapped around your waist under your shirt, practically burning against your bare skin.

Just as he was starting to prod at your lips with his tongue, there was a loud banging noise, which caused you to help and immediately cling onto Soobin.

“Oh my god! We’re gonna die! The killers always go for the people making out first!” You wail, digging your fingers into his collar to keep him close to you.

He rolled his eyes. “I take back what I said about you being smart.” He said with a sigh, and you gasped loudly.

“Shut up, you ass!” You hissed at him, smacking his chest and pulling away from him.

He gave you a lopsided smile. “Kidding. Anyways, I’m pretty sure it’s just our food.” He told you with a sigh, staring down at you while his thumb brushed against your swollen lip.

You shivered. “I guess we can always… Finish this later, right?” You asked quietly. As much as it pained you, you were still starving, and had lots of work left to do.

He pouted. “Promise?”

You nodded, then sat up to gently press your lips against his. As you sat back, you smiled at his dazed expression. “I promise.”

permanent tag list: @jakeshands @exohclipse @ttyunz @i1l0-n4 @mazeinthemoon @luvsoobs @n0-thisispatrick @arizzu @cosmicuwu @naveries @yeonboy @blaaiissee

other tags: @haohyo @gyumibear @heartsforhyunjin

[sadistmusings9]

Careful what you wish for

I have meant to write this story for a while now. So come with me, as I stroll down memory lane. (Names changed for privacy) 

I met Jess on Tumblr, (of course, where else?) a private girl who rarely shared pics but was so direct and honest I had no doubt of her submission. Heavily into servitude and humiliation. She did my pet name task and we hit it off from there. We’d played off an on casually for weeks until she had been venting about a roommate. When pressed as to why she wasn’t a fan Jess mentioned Belle was selfish, didn’t help out much if at all. Taking action (While Belle was away) I had poor Jess take ‘revenge’ by pissing in Belle's panties and humping her boots. It was during aftercare and debriefing about the tasks that things got interesting. 

Poor stupid honest Jess let slip that humping Belle’s boots felt so good because “I wish she’d own me”. Naturally I pressed her further and once I established it was more than just a passing fantasy, well tenderhearted fellow that I am I couldn’t resist helping out. And thus began my manipulation uh matchmaking… 

I started slowly, boiling the frog so to speak (dumb metaphor -frogs do respond to external temps even if heated slowly (unless lobotomised)- but it fits). For context all the other roommates and Belle were away for a few weeks. I had Jess message Belle asking if there was anything she could do for Belle while she was away, cleaning her room, laundry etc. Belle was suspicious at first wondering what the catch was.

I puppeted Jess to reply that there was no catch she was simply extremely bored and alone. 

Once reassured Belle was keen, there was two bins of laundry to do “but don't expect anything in return” 

Of course not!! Jess replied promptly getting into a maid costume tits out and wearing Belle’s soiled panties on her face until they needed to be washed. 

Within minutes as an afterthought Belle sent “oh and you can fold it too i hate doing that part” 

What a bitch! No wonder the other roommates hate her, not Jess though she seemed to love the demanding nature of Belle. 

After the laundry was washed and neatly folded on Belle's bed I had Jess send Belle a pic and thank her for giving her something to do to stave off the boredom. Without a thank you in sight (Jess almost came when I pointed that out) Belle replied “if youre really that bored my bathroom could probably be cleaned” 

“I’ll do my best!” 

“Lol its been a few months since I cleaned it so it might be a little dirty. But yours is always spotless so i know you know how to do it” 

And so the maid got to work, well after its pathetic tits were clamped and the toilet seat made out with, for my amusement.  

“lol i could get used to this” Belle said when notified it was all done. “Anything else you’d like to do for me to stay busy??’

I had Jess reply after some discussion “I know you have a lot of boots and heels do you want me to polish them for you?? Idk why but Im feeling very domestic today”

“Lmfao sure why not but i swear to god if you ruin a single pair I’ll be so pissed”

“Do you want me to do something else instead?

“No that’s a perfect idea. Do the other girls know you’re feeling “domestic” or am I the only lucky one??” 

Come on holes, be honest I prompt from behind the emerald curtain

“It’s just you…”

“Then you better do a good job or I’ll share our little secret with them’ 

I was grinning and Jess was squirming, what a natural Domme no wonder she’s so demanding

Poor Jess was a wet mess unable to respond so I put her to work polishing the boots with her mouth and cunt, and fucking the heels. Then actually wiping them over and polishing them properly till they shined. 

“Hahahahahahaha” Belle was thrilled by the resulting shiny 14 pairs of shoes. 

“I’m glad to have made you happy”

“You should make sure I stay happy”

“How can I do that??”

“Maybe i’ll come back this weekend and we can make some arrangements” 

“If you do, is there anything you need me to do before you come home?”

“I’ll be back in the morning why don’t you have some pancakes and starbucks ready for me and be there to carry my bags inside”

Pause for panic and begging me for what to respond 

“It would be my pleasure, thank you” 

After laughing at the messy puddle holes had become I congratulated her on submitting to me and letting me control her into getting what she wished for. I instructed her to set an alarm early to give her time to pack away her crate (I had her sleeping crated at the foot of Belle’s bed) and go get starbucks and pancakes.  

And that was that, last I heard Jess was sucking the cocks of Belles boyfriends whenever Belle desired and I sincerely hope they’re happy together. I do miss holes though and should she be free, is always welcome under my control again. Feel free to crawl back puppet… 

As for the rest of you, be careful what you wish for. 

[ari-but-unhinged]

Art for Toritsuka/Hairo fic where I explored what was meant to be a crack ship and is now one of my favourite (??) ships in Saiki k- PLEASE HEAR ME OUT

(A long rant ensues so, if you don’t want that then that’s all good and you don’t have to click, but if you’re interested, then welcome to my rant about a rare pair i love!)

Of course, I started out by simply laughing at the “I hate men” line Toritsuka said about Hairo and thinking writing a crack taken seriously fic would be funny and it would be a nice break before I started this other fic I have planned that is going to be an even bigger endeavour with Saiki k x Danganronpa. What I didn’t see happening was for this Torihai fic to completely take over my brain space and end up with a fic just shy of 20,000 words.

This may not seem like a lot, but I usually only write fics in 1,000-2,000s so this is a lot for me, especially since I’m a slow writer/editor so it takes me a while.

Part of the reason I love these two together is because of the inherent dynamic of Hairo’s inspirational preachiness and how it doesn’t work on Toritsuka, and how it might be refreshing for Hairo to have someone who challenges him (and not in the fake way Teruhashi does, with Toritsuka being very upfront and honest about it). Toritsuka also, because he’s so upfront about his feelings, helps Hairo to express certain emotions like annoyance/sadness that he wouldn’t normally express outwardly. Something else too is that Toritsuka tends to be very physically affectionate, and I don’t know that Hairo is used to that (I haven’t seen any examples of him being physically affectionate in any other way than a bro way) so that could be refreshing as well. Also, also, Toritsuka is Hairo’s gym buddy who was reluctantly dragged along that day Saiki was trying to avoid everyone and no one can change my mind lol (this, in Hairo’s mind, forms a bond between them that can never be broken and he will never stop reminding Toritsuka of this when they hang out).

I just think their dynamic can be playful/fun because they’re both real with each other if that makes sense?

On Toritsuka’s side of things, he doesn’t have a lot of friends and the friends he does have he either doesn’t have any chemistry with or hate him (Saiki lol), so I think it’d be nice for him to have someone who is extremely caring/attentive to his friends and clearly cares deeply about them and shows it often. Because of this, Hairo shows interest in Toritsuka’s life, and for someone who probably hasn’t had many friends, that would mean a lot. Also the fact that Hairo cares so much for Toritsuka sets an example as to how to be a good friend/human would behave and could help him grow as a person (which are always the best friendships/relationships when they grow together rather than staying stagnant and dragging each other down). Being more caring of others and allow him to develop his interpersonal relationships with more than just ghosts, instead with real humans.

Also, I’ve taken to calling them the “errand boys” because it’s a great prompt to force two people who are polar opposites and would never interact to hang out/do an activity together, so I thought it fit them perfectly.

In the fic I changed a few things from canon (sexualities obviously- Tori is bi/queer and Hairo is gay. Although quick side-tangent- I’ve written Tori/Kaidou, Tori/Akechi, and now Tori/Hairo and all three of them either are Asexual or are often headcanonned as ace by the community/me and I just find it very funny that the horniest character is continuously shipped with them. I only realized I did this after I first started writing the fic.)

- Hairo explicitly has psychic powers (it’s something they can bond over and it’s something that plays off of Hairo’s emotions. Cue a lot of blushing not only because of embarrassment but also actual literal heat rushing to his face.)

- Hairo was raised by a single parent (His family is never mentioned so I just made one up)

- Personal headcanon, but I feel like Toritsuka might occasionally pretend to not see spirits in order to avoid getting approached.

- Toritsuka’s backstory has been slightly altered and has a lot more angst to an already pretty sad backstory (it’s played for laughs, but imagine how that would’ve felt for him :( he realized he lost two people he loved in a matter of minutes. Also, he’s a child when this happens so that’s even sadder. I honestly wonder if they died somewhere in the house or he was just there and his guardians didn’t know, like??? How???)

If this made you interested in reading the fic which this is all about, I’ll link it at the end, but if you were just here for the rant, that’s cool too! I’m obsessed with these two because they’re adorable and I must spread the gospel of Torihai.

Link to original fic-

[ohmotherwhereartthou-if]

Not a question, just a small rant. I read your prompt about people complaining about the first of your book being too much for them and basically wanting you to change your art to fit their needs. I'm not sorry when I say then they should leave and cry somewhere else. I get so sick of these people having nothing else better to do than cry and moan because it's not something they want it to be. When the truth is, it's your art, your plan, and your hard work. It's your vision to where you want your story to go. It's just so aggravating to read not only yours but so many other hard working writers comments about, this is to much, this is too little, why can't we do this or that. Well you know what? It's because it's the writers book, their vision, and their hard work that brings these wonderful stories to life, and if they don't like it, then go write your own damn story the way you want it. I'm sorry to you, that you had to put up with that and it was so much that you actually did change some of your writing. Anyways, this was a bit of a longer rant than I planned, sorry 🤐 I'll stop now. I hope you're doing well and don't change your vision because people want to whine and cry about the way they think your vision should go. Hope you're have a wonderful week so far!! Take care 😉

Omg this is very sweet of you to say! 😊💙

Ngl I thought for a moment you meant to send this to another author because 100% I feel like most get bullied by their audience. I had to think when I might have gotten some pestering feedback but I think the only repetitive negative feedback I got was people saying it was too depressing in the beginning.

Which honestly I always expected since this has always been my writing style, I mean, the name of the story does revolve around an inside joke between me and my best friend how we both have mommy issues and how I can always find a way to make a comedy a tragedy lol.

I never really let it bother me or let it affect my writing, I don't want people thinking the story is all doom and gloom so I preface in the stories introduction that things do get better for the MC. But I also know that I enjoy making people cry with my writing, soooo... yeah.

But thank you so much for sending this, it's really sweet of you. I feel like more authors need to know they do not need to bend to what some people want when it's their story to tell. Not all stories are for everyone but better to make your story and be happy when some people like it for the way they wrote it!

I hope you wave a wonderful day or night, and if it's as hot where you are just like it is for me here; I hope both sides of your pillow is cold when you sleep because I am boiling. 💙

[mehoymalloy]

An Imogen/Otohan "drabble" (it's actually almost 2k)

Entitled:

"Imogen and Otohan Do the Silly Spider-Man Kiss But the Author Takes It Way Too Seriously"

(all because @inomakani gave me a silly prompt and I just kept working on it whenever my brain was too tired to focus on other WIPs. I'm posting this only on tumblr because I refuse for for my tenth published Imogen/Otohan work to be this bullshit lol)

EDIT: I forgot to mention that this is set in my Let Me/Won't You AU (which, If you keep up with this rarepair at all, you likely already know; if this is your first glimpse of the ship, allow me to apologize in advance).

~

"So you're the reason I woke up with a racing heart," Imogen mutters.

She gingerly leans back against a short tree, mindful of rough bark scraping her skin through the fabric of her sleep shirt. Tired eyes sweep across her surroundings, squinting to try and discern more shapes in the darkness.

A small camp has been set up in a copse of small trees and scraggly shrubbery. The remains of a fire smolder nearby, set in a shallow scrape dug into the dirt and cleared of any surrounding foliage that could catch fire.

The glowing ashes provide far less light than Ruidus: the ruddy moon sits ominously in the sky, close enough to give the distinct impression of lurking over one's shoulder rather than perched on the distant horizon. Gently undulating ley lines sprawl across the sky, converging at the bright beam of energy that leashes the moon to Exandria. Judging the distance, they can't be too far from the Key. Imogen glances down, gently dragging a sock-clad toe against the Hellcatch Valley's signature dry and craggy earth. Crimson moonglow filters through the sparse foliage, dappling the dusty ground like blood splatter on skin.

Imogen raises her gaze to the only other person present: Otohan is not far from the fire and a deserted bedroll, half stripped of their armor as if they had considered getting at least a little comfortable before abandoning the notion entirely. Their cloak and extraneous bits of armor have been removed, leaving Otohan in hide leggings and a fitted, padded tank, clearly meant to protect vital organs from injury. They look like they had every intention of getting some rest, but they are the furthest thing from settled. Instead, they're doing honest-to-gods push-ups in the early morning hours.

Otohan barely spares Imogen a glance as they push themselves back up from their near-prone position, palms protected from shale and grit by their customary fingerless gloves.

"And you're the reason I couldn't sleep to begin with," they huff. "Anxiety plagues you even in sleep, you know."

Imogen can't help but snort slightly at that. "I'm well aware—nice to know someone else suffers with me, though," she mutters.

Otohan gives no response as they push themselves to stand, adjusting their stance and sinking into a squat.

Imogen shoves herself off the tree, strolling to the campfire and prodding the embers with a nearby stick. Otohan's gaze is heavy on her as Imogen turns and plops down onto Otohan's bedroll. She reaches for a crumpled sheet at the foot of the bedroll, likely kicked aside at some point.

"What're you doing out in the middle of the desert anyway?" Imogen shakes the blanket out, watching as a cloud of dust falls from the rough-cut hemline. "Last I heard, you were the moon's guard dog or somethin'," she says snidely, folding the cloth in half and over itself again neatly simply to do something with her hands. When she glances back to Otohan, they have not paused their routine, though they hold Imogen's gaze with a level stare.

"Is there a specific reason you're still gracing me with your company?" Otohan asks, ignoring Imogen's jab.

Imogen sets the sheet aside, considering why she did choose to sit down rather than simply leave. Otohan stands fully, shaking their legs out one at a time before lifting their arms over their head. They bend one elbow to clasp the opposite, leaning into the arc their arm creates to give their side a long stretch. Then, they swap arms and do the same with the opposite side.

Imogen admittedly watches, trailing her gaze from Otohan's fingertips down their arms, tracing over flexing biceps to broad shoulders.

It's strange to see a glimpse of Otohan's routine—to know that the person who ruthlessly killed Orym coincidentally has a similar habit of doing push-ups when they can't sleep.

"I guess it's sort of, I don't know, novel to see you just existing," she mutters, a subtle frown twisting her features.

Otohan audibly snorts. "Did you think I spend all my time standing around ominously?"

Imogen rolls her eyes as Otohan turns away, striding toward the largest tree (which really isn't saying much) in this patch of scraggly foliage. They swing their arms in a few wide but controlled arcs, then abruptly leap upward.

It's interesting—during that awful day in Bassuras, Imogen had assumed Otohan darted around the street using some modified form of flight, or maybe even with the contraption on their back. But without the heat of battle to distract, Imogen can plainly feel the source of Otohan's enhanced ability.

Imogen's own powers always come with a strange sort of lightness—a skin-tingling sensation that accompanies every arc of lightning and telekinetic shove. It's a feeling that races through her bloodstream and sparks on the back of her tongue, raising the hairs on her arms as all that power seemingly strains to escape her.

But with Otohan, their power has a palpable weight. In the second before Otohan jumps, when both their feet are planted on the ground, Imogen leans forward ever so slightly against her will, pulled in by a subtle sense of gravity that seems to originate from Otohan themself. When they launch themself upward, all that gathered force expands, sweeping over Imogen like shockwaves, burrowing into her bones and reverberating through her form. Otohan isn't weaving a spell with the mysterious magic assumedly shared by all Exaltants; they're shaping their will into a concentrated force and physically exerting it.

It's subtle, but in the late night quiet, every little nuance and fleeting sensation strikes like bells in Imogen's skull before ringing throughout her frame, leaving her strangely dizzy from the feeling of powers so different from her own, shared through the strange connection between them.

All so Otohan can cover an unnatural height in one leap and grab hold of one of the tree's thicker branches. They adjust their grip, and then they start doing pull-ups.

As Imogen shakes off the subtle, lingering sensation of Otohan's magic, flexing her fingers and swallowing as if to expel or smother it. She admittedly studies Otohan. She trails her eyes over markings her fingertips had already been acquainted with, matching the memory of how they had felt beneath her hands with the sight before her now. Twisting crimson scars splay out from beneath the straps of Otohan's shirt, spreading across their shoulders and climbing up the nape of their neck, shifting and writhing as the muscles beneath contract. Shrouded in darkness and dappled with moonlight, the markings glint like raw wounds against Otohan's dark skin.

"Now you're just showing off," Imogen drawls.

Otohan actually huffs a laugh at that. "This isn't showing off," they toss over their shoulder.

They hang there and adjust their grip until their hands are spread further than the width of their shoulders, and then they lift their legs, curling their knees up to their chest. Arms flexing, they slowly lean backward, rotating like a wheel and bringing their knees up through their arms. Extending their legs, they securely hook their knees over the branch and let go, keeping their elbows tucked close to their sides as they steadily lower themselves until they fully hang upside down.

"This is showing off," they say pointedly, tone flat even as the faintest smirk curls at the corner of their lips. They then do a literal sit-up, engaging their core and keeping their back as straight as they can as they slowly curl upward until their chin nearly touches their knees.

Imogen snorts aloud. "You're ridiculous," she says, vaguely bewildered by just how true the statement is as Otohan lowers themself and arches an eyebrow at her. Silver curls hang freely, exposing more of those crimson markings along the sides of Otohan's neck that would otherwise be concealed beneath their cloak and armor.

Otohan only shoots Imogen a subtle, shockingly playful smirk as they do another sit-up, then another. Imogen watches with furrowed brows, repressing a rebellious grin. Otohan's shirt shifts and falls little by little with each crunch, soon exposing their belly button, which protrudes ever so slightly.

"Oh my god, you have an outie," Imogen exclaims before she can stop herself.

Otohan pauses (still upside down), staring at Imogen in confusion as they stretch their arms and arch their back. "Yes?"

"Weird," Imogen murmurs—not that Otohan's belly button is weird, more so that knowing about it is oddly unnerving. It's yet more proof that Otohan is a person as much as they are a monster. "You can stop showing off now."

Otohan's bemused expression morphs into a smirk as they pointedly do another sit-up.

When they do yet another, Imogen exerts her own power, holding Otohan in place.

Otohan's eyebrows raise in surprise, but their smirk takes on a challenging tilt—that feral edge Imogen finds preferable simply because it's predictable.

As Otohan tries to push through, Imogen clenches her jaw and twists her fingers in the worn fabric of Otohan's bedroll, leaning forward slightly as she focuses on keeping Otohan held fast.

Slowly but surely, Otohan steadily curls upward. Abdominal muscles strain to fight the added pressure, and Otohan grits their teeth and breathes sharply through their nose with the effort. When it becomes apparent that Otohan will eventually break through, Imogen abruptly releases her hold over them.

Otohan grunts as they snap upward, nearly knocking their chin against their knees and losing their balance enough that they have to grip the branch with one hand to catch themself.

Imogen barks a surprised laugh and shoves herself upright, only to bend over when she can't quite stop laughing, stifled chuckles escaping between each lungful of air.

That invisible force, that strange sense of gravity, suddenly reasserts itself, clamping down around Imogen's navel and nearly yanking her feet out from under her as Otohan drags her across the short distance between them. The only reason she doesn't trip is that Otohan hastily catches her, hands momentarily unsure where to land from their odd angle but assuredly gripping her biceps once they do find purchase.

"You think you're so funny," Otohan huffs, and Imogen grins despite herself as she meets their weak glare, noting the way their eyes crinkle from a barely repressed smile.

"Says the one who's smiling," Imogen points out. She reaches out to tug one of those dangling curls before she can think better of it, and then she immediately wants to slap herself for doing something so stupidly silly.

"Now who's ridiculous," Otohan mutters. Yet they loosen their grip on Imogen's arms, fingers skimming up to weave through the ends of her hair. They don't tug, though they might just consider it, Imogen thinks, as Otohan's gaze darts all over her face, lingering on her lips.

Again, Imogen acts before she thinks. She leans in and gives Otohan a quick peck on the lips.

Otohan's vaguely amused expression falls into absolute bewilderment. Imogen's playfulness dies at the expression as reality rushes back in: yes, they are both ridiculous, but that fleeting, practically innocent kiss is downright preposterous.

Imogen flushes in embarrassment and starts to pull away, only for Otohan to slip their hands up and around to the back of her neck, tangling their fingers in her hair and tugging her back. Lips meet clumsily, slotting together rather awkwardly from the unfamiliar angle. Noses bump against chins as the two of them expel twin huffs of surprise—Imogen at Otohan and Otohan at their own actions, apparently.

Imogen automatically reaches up, fingers finding purchase in silver curls, thumbs swiping across the sharp hollows of Otohan's cheeks. It only takes a moment of adjustment before awkwardness morphs to assurance, before hands grip tight and lips move with purpose. It's ridiculous, and Imogen doesn't allow herself to linger on that fact as she kisses Otohan back.

[mtreebeardiles]

A prompt for you? "hiding under the blankets to hide the blush" for whichever Shepard boy you think it fits 🥺

Whoa, I am finally answering this! 84 years later! Ayyy!

Lol, can find it below as well as over here on AO3!

Thanks for the prompt, sorry it took a small eternity to write it haha

It wasn't often that Everett hid things from him. 

Never anything bad, exactly, but almost always something the other man was worried about. It was a bad habit that would take a lot more than the scant few years they'd been together to break, and some topics were harder for Evvy to broach than others. It was a dice roll to guess what may have been weighing on his mind this time, but Kaidan was confident, as he leaned in the doorway of their bedroom, that whatever this was wasn't going to be devastating. 

Challenging, maybe, but not life-shaking. 

Probably. 

He watched his husband from the doorway, eyeing the way the other man was chewing on his lower lip, a furrow between his brows and his pale skin washed out in the blue light of his computer screen. He was under his usual pile of blankets, Kaidan's hoodie wrapped tight to his body, every so often swapping to chewing on the drawstring before catching himself and going back to chewing on something else -- his lip again, or his knuckles. Another habit, but one Kaidan could deal with if it meant not smoking. He'd let Evvy chew on all his hoodie drawstrings if it helped keep cigarettes out of his mouth. 

Everett sighed, drawstring falling from his lips as he sat back and stretched, and in that moment he happened to look up. 

"Shit! Jesus -- how long have you been standing there?" Everett's cheeks flushed; Kaidan raised his eyebrows.

Interesting. 

"Not long," he admitted, pushing off the doorjamb and wandering in. "Whatcha doing?"

"Oh, uh. Nothing?"

"Seems pretty intense for nothing," Kaidan pointed out. There weren't any of the usual signs of distress in his partner's expression -- not the sort that usually spelled an anxiety spiral. Worry, yes, and now a fair amount of embarrassment, which only piqued Kaidan's interest further. 

"It's… they're just… I was just seeing if I could…"

Kaidan hummed, settling on the bed next to him. 

"Seeing if you could…?" he prompted, gentle. Everett's cheeks went impossibly redder and Kaidan watched as he slunk down until he and his computer were under the blankets. 

"Um. Evvy?"

"Itsapplications."

"What?"

"…applications."

Kaidan blinked. "Like…for school?"

"Maybe." 

Kaidan settled in against the headboard, slipping a hand under the mound of blankets currently hiding his husband. School was a…tricky subject, for Evvy, he knew. Something he'd wanted for so long that had been just out of reach for years, his military career leaving no room for educational pursuits beyond the demands of being a marine, an N7, a SPECTRE. 

Beyond the demands of being Commander Shepard. 

He'd mentioned giving it a shot before, right after the Reaper War had ended and he'd officially retired. But nerves, the anxiety of expectation, and his own tumultuous recovery seemed to stall him any time he started looking into the matter. The fact that he was far enough in to consider the application process told Kaidan he was going to give it a real try this time. 

If he could get out of his own head enough, anyway. 

Cool fingers interlocked with his under the blankets, and he gave Evvy's hand a squeeze. 

"Can I see what schools you're looking at?" Kaidan asked. There was a pause before Evvy's laptop was carefully pushed out of the sanctuary of the blankets. Kaidan bit back a fond smile and took it, opening the lid and waking it back up to the page Everett had been perusing. He recognized one or two of the institutions listed in a word doc, and it didn't take long to see that Evvy's top three all offered remote or hybrid options. He wasn't surprised; there was no way Everett could ever experience being a regular student, not after having his name and face plastered over the newsfeeds for the past decade and a half. 

He gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze. 

"Sounds like they have some great programs," he began after a moment, his tone conversational and inviting. 

"Yeah," came the soft, muffled agreement. Kaidan toggled over to the application Everett had already started, reading over the requirements and expectations. All reasonable, and accommodating to older students. He hummed his approval. 

"I like the one in Vancouver, but it's hybrid, and I don't know if I want to deal with all that." Kaidan glanced down to see Everett had partially emerged from his blanket cocoon, the waves of his hair spilling onto the pillow. He shifted, releasing Evvy's hand to run his fingers through the errant strands instead. 

"Maybe still apply, and see what happens?" Kaidan suggested. "We could always go visit, if you like." 

Everett pursed his lips, eyes meeting Kaidan's briefly before darting away. 

"Hey," Kaidan went on gently. "Talk to me?"

His husband chewed at his lower lip again, and it took a moment before he could meet Kaidan's gaze again. 

"…what if I'm just fooling myself?" he whispered. "What if I left the only thing I was ever any good at?"

"Baby…" Kaidan carefully set the laptop aside and scooted down until he was lying beside him, turned to face him. This wasn't a new concern, wasn't a new conversation. Kaidan knew he could list each and every thing that made Everett so incredibly wonderful -- as a partner, as a friend, as a brother. Knew Evvy would hear him, but knew it wasn't always enough. 

"I think you should still try," Kaidan finally continued. "I think you deserve that chance, Evvy. Maybe you like it, maybe you find out it's not for you. You have the room to do that, now. You deserve to do that. You've given so much, honey… you deserve to take. To have something that's just for you."

Everett's gray gaze searched his, and his husband let loose a shaky exhale. 

"Yeah," he whispered. "Maybe." He sniffed, peeling back a few layers of blankets until he could cuddle up closer, tucking his head under Kaidan's chin, seizing his hand again and holding it to his own chest. "You're probably right."

"Usually am."

He felt Everett's laugh and smiled, laughing himself when he felt the undeniable scrape of teeth against his captive hand. 

"Fuck I want a cigarette so bad, Kay."

"I know, baby." 

"But I'm not gonna break," Everett went on after a moment. "And I'm gonna fill out those fucking applications."

"Fuck yeah, you are." 

Everett shifted, pulling back enough to peer up at him. He narrowed his eyes in thought. 

"What is it?" Kaidan prompted after a moment. 

"Since I have to write essays for some of them," Everett began. "I mean, they're separate entities. It's not like they'd notice…"

"Notice?"

"I'm gonna make a template, Kay." 

This declaration, delivered with the sort of stubborn flare reminiscent of days on the Normandy, startled a bark of laughter out of Kaidan. 

"Of course you are." 

"They're helpful!"

"I'm not arguing!"

Everett moved again, emerging fully from his blankets only to straddle Kaidan's hips. He grinned down at him, and Kaidan could feel the tension in his husband's body easing. 

"You're the one who says skills are transferrable..."

"No hacking to get a better schedule, baby."

"What are you, a cop?"

Kaidan shook his head and looped a hand around the back of Evvy's neck, tugging him down and capturing his smiling lips against his own. 

"You've got this, Nerd," he murmured when they parted for air. "I believe in you."

Everett's smile softened, and he kissed Kaidan's nose. 

"Thank you," he whispered. "Nerdlet." 

[agentrouka-blog]

Hey! Did you find the time to read the affc outline yet? I just know people are seething lol. I wanted to ask, what did you think about the Tyrion outline? That he will “witness incest”? Will he see two people and be reminded of Jaime/Cersei because there doesn’t seem to be any other option. Dany is alone and I doubt she will get together with Aegon VI later in the volume.

Moreover, I feel like the pov Prince of Sorrows is Tyrion’s or Tyrion centric nonetheless because I feel “whores go everywhere” is the answer to the constant question Tyrion asks himself in adwd - “where do whores go”. Maybe he finds out about Tysha and it is painful??

I know at this point we can only speculate because we don’t have any evidence to go off on, but what do you think, can we figure out something about the outline?

Hi there! :)

(Reddit post in question)

I've read it but not in-depth. No time, unfortunately. (Employment is a huge impediment to fandom...)

Here are some rambling thoughts, yay!

I'm pretty sure the Prince of Sorrows refers to concept that Tyrion was supposed to have an encounter with the Shrouded Lord (I think?) in a dream of some kind, probably during his near-death at the Bridge of Dream, which was in the Sorrows stretch of the Rhoyne. What snippets of philosophical musings GRRM put under that header certainly fit a transcendent confrontation with Tyrion's conscience. "Let it go or it will become you. Let them go - will not bring you peace." Tyrion's inability to let go of his own trauma and resulting rage (like Dany, like Theon, like Stannis, like LSH, like Bran, like Arya etc etc etc) is utterly the root of his own villainy and future undoing. So that checks out. GRRM cut it, probably because it may have been too heavy-handed at this point in time. He instead opted to show us a Tyrion descending into complete depravity at Selhorys, with any self-reflection deferred to a much later point.

"Witness to incest" is so vague that I don't think we can even extrapolate it refers to any specific action with the plot so much as it's a self-description.

It's important to remember that this informal little note of an outline is from GRRM for GRRM, and these are prompts or reminders that tie into his already existing thoughts. We have no idea what those thoughts are. A phrase like "KILL THE MOUSE" or "witness to incest" can refer to an intended quote, it can refer to a status he wants to emphasize inside the chapter, it can be a personal reminder to achieve a specific moment or plot point, it can be symbolic. Is the Mouse Shadrich, or is it a code for Alayne, who is a mousy-brown creature scurrying about the castle, different but similar to Arya's Harrenhal mouse era? What it does is beautifully showcase how he structures the more pragmatic, detailed bits of his plot around key points he wants to make. Take the Arya notes. "The joy of giving". Obviously, he is working on complex imagery that juxtaposes "taking a life" with "giving the gift", the hypocritisy of murder for hire - and the genuine peace offered to those who come to die of their own volition. Here, too, GRRM chose to hold back on actually going into these issues in the finished product in Feast-Dance, probably saving it for the climactic escape and/or Arya's confrontation with Catelyn's revenant.

Is the incest Jaime and Cersei, which Tyrion has witnessed all his life? Was it meant to tie into Aegon and Dany (who he learns are intended to marry), or to set up something else, or both? GRRM chose to cut it, anyway, so the sentiment may well come back at a later point, much like the insights in the Prince of Sorrows.

Basically, while the emphasis on Sansa's identity is a pleasantly unambiguous support for her (already obvious) trajectory north in GRRM's own mind, I don't think we'll get much else out of this outline that isn't already in the text one way or the other. We shouldn't be too literal with the notes in there because he wasn't writing an explanation of his plot, he was writing an extremely self-referential little to-do list that may be as reliable as the to-do lists I write for myself on a day off: i.e., I end up doing one thing and scrap the rest in favor of lying around on my couch.

[greypetrel]

(resisting the urge to not say "i'm not calling you a liar" for Raina LOL)

Maybe "This is as good a place to fall as any" for anyone who fits for Radha, or anyone else who fits? c:

Hello Laya!

Thank you for asking and LOL that song for Raina would have been so funny. x°D

This got me thinking. As previously said, I’m all for Solavellan when it’s platonic, not much when it’s romantic. But, Bedroom Hymns was undeniably romantic, and I couldn’t find one way to decline it as platonic (I TRIED). Thinking and rethinking about how to make myself like Solas as a romance enough to write something convincing unlocked me, tho!  I tried, let me see how it went, it was out of my comfort zone, but I hope it’s convincing enough.

And for the record, this is the book I followed. Some names are adapted to Dragon Age of course (Arbor Vitae sounded so similar to Arbor Blessing that I just put that. And “Virginian Spiderwort”… I put the name of a random city in the Free Marches. Also, Tevinter Plum is Indian Plum, with a VERY rough assignation.)

Tis the prompt list

Floriography

[ “This is as good a place to fall as any” ]

This is his body This is his love Such selfish prayers And I can't get enough Bedroom Hymns - Florence + the Machine

Radha observed Josephine with the air of a person that firmly believed she was being made a fool out of.

“Oh, come on.” The ambassador laughed. “Don’t make that face, it’s just a coded language like any other Leliana taught you!”

“Except assigning meanings to flowers makes no sense. Why should a Pansy mean thought?”

“It means I think of you. And I don’t know, maybe because it’s such a pretty flower?”

Radha watched Josephine fix the bouquet in front of her with care, a smile she couldn’t contain on her lips and in her eyes. She looked happy, and even if Radha knew who sent those flowers and was burning to tell her that Blackwall was hiding something, and to watch out… Whatever made her smile like that couldn’t be all that bad, she considered. She could attach meaning to those flowers, if she wanted, it really hurt no one, as much as a nonsensical way of communicating that was.

“If you say so.” She shrugged in the end, not convinced.

“I think it’s sweet.” Josie kept on, and turned her smile to her  in a way Radha didn’t like. “Wouldn’t you like for Solas to gift you flowers as well, and know he meant something with each one he chose?”

The elf groaned in all answer, rolling her eyes to the ceiling of the office. It was far too silly for her, and as Josephine laughed at the display, she smiled back at the woman and wove a goodbye, turning back and leaving her to attach whatever set of words she wanted to the plants she received.

She crossed the Great Hall, headed to the library, and the thought still stuck, picking at her curiosity all the more because she couldn’t really understand the purpose of it.

She was there when Ydun filled the aravel she and Aisling shared with field flowers, once her sister complained the other never did anything spontaneous. She was there to help Aisling  and her girlfriend clean the damn flowers out of the cart, which took the three of them hours of work, and a big question on what to do with all those flowers.

It had been silly and uncomfortable, and even Aisling had agreed that maybe picking flowers wasn’t that nice. That they were nicer growing in fields, instead of dead just for a fleeting moment of beauty.

That had settled the flower matter, for Radha, and she told Solas right away that if he really wanted to court her, beside not entering her dreams uninvited ever again, not to gift her flowers. And he had listened on both things.

But now, working with Leliana on how to circle the Templar blockade in the Emprise du Lion, reviewing reports and trying to concoct a safe way around the main pathway that could lead an armed group into Sahrnia off track, without having them trapped in the snow… The thought kept bugging her most annoyingly.

So annoyingly than when they were finished for the day, after she checked that Aisling and Dorian weren’t planning on setting themselves on fire or make something else explode that afternoon, she started shuffling the bookshelves until she found… ah.

Floriography.

There was a whole book about it, and it was fairly thick. Surprisingly thick.

Shuffling through pages, she discovered it contained pages upon pages with pictures of every single flower and plant, with instructions on how to recognise the wanted variety precisely, curiosities and other uses. Beside a dictionary of associations, ordered one by flower, one by meaning.

Radha wondered why it wasn’t just a book of botany and nothing more.

But, curious as she always was when meeting something new to learn, she placed herself on her spot on the couch in the rotunda, and started to read. With a grudge, and fully intending to disprove that silly method and silly book.

“I thought you weren’t the type for flowers.”

A known, dear voice chuckles over her, coming to sit beside her some minutes after.

She huffed, settling better to get in contact with him, allowing Solas to hug her shoulders and peek on the page she had opened on her bent thighs, as she kept on reading.

“This language is stupid.”

“Is it? I think it’s a clever way to communicate in an environment where being open is socially frowned upon.”

“Bah.”

She scoffed, not convinced, and turned the page.

“A rose changes its meaning according to the colour. It makes no sense.”

“A letter can stand for two different sounds as well, making equally little sense.”

Radha huffed through the nose, shaking her head. Not convinced at all. Solas chuckled some more, and bent to press a kiss on the side of her head.

“Would you like to try?”

She turned to him, raising one eyebrow in a silent and very disappointed question that, apparently, just amused him more.

“Just to see if it makes sense in the end, or if it’s fun.”

“Crittography is fun and doesn’t require the death of a plant.”

“It’s far less beautiful, tho.” He countered. “The brief time a flower is allowed to bloom adds to its meaning. Even if its life is brief, it’s not less precious. All the more so for it. And the sentiment attached keeps on even if the petals wilts. I find it quite poetic.”

Radha shrugged, seeing the point of his words but not fully agreeing with it. She settled herself more comfortably against his side. If he was in a mood for explanations and reading and not for painting, it was fine with her. Aisling had rubbed off her too much for Radha to not have picked up that love was in touch.

 A slender arm clutched her closer, another kiss made her lips curve up in a smile, and she turned another page, deciding she may as well indulge him. If not just to prove it wrong. It didn’t work for Cullen and Aisling, she didn’t see why it should work for her. But if he wanted to try…

“As you wish.”

“I will think of something.”

She shrugged it off, and went on reading, trying to figure out if the whole thing had some sense upon it. But no matter how much she read, she just couldn’t figure out how one person could look at a bush of lavender and think of Distrust.

---

Radha found the first flower three days later, early in the morning when she walked out from her room.

On the ledge of the half wall, just in front of her door, he left her the Floriography book. In its pages he firmed the stalk of the first flower, shining white against the dark of the stone, tiny flowerets gently moving in the breeze that swept the Keep. She conceded herself half a smile, just for the care he took to leave her the guide as well. Shuffling through the pages, it was easy to find the flower she needed. It was a fairly common bloom and she of course knew its name well.

Lily of the Valley: Return of Happiness.

She rolled her eyes to the sky, but kept smiling, as she gently smelled the flower.

Silly and sappy.

She needed to find just the right answer. She was early anyway, she could spend ten minutes finding for something on the damn book.

Facing Aisling and asking her if she could please summon a very specific flower she had but a picture of in a book was another story. She hated to ask, and she knew that of her siblings, the one truly skilled with Creation magic was, without a hint of a doubt, Pavyn. But, she didn’t really trust other mages on such a personal matter, their brother was miles and miles away, and Aisling would have had to do. Even if she smirked with a horribly knowing smile at her. Saying nothing, and at the same time saying everything.

Radha groaned at it, Aisling laughed, and she gave her the flower she had asked anyway, telling her to come anytime for the next. This looked like an important mission, and had the priority, surely.

The flower was left on his desk right after, during lunch.

Ostwick Spiderwort: Momentary Happiness.

Because she was playing the game, but she was playing to prove it silly.

They went on for days, leaving flowers to each other back and forth, in places each one knew the other would have found it and know whom it was from.

When they met, they never spoke about them, of course: the fun was in the secrecy of it, and talking about the flowers would have broken the game.

Solas left her a White Periwinkle: Pleasures of Memory.

Radha shook her head and oomphed, found just the right flower, and pushed Aisling to create it anyway even if she disagreed with her choice of proving a point.

“Can I at least tell him I disagree with-”

“No, Shrimp.”

“Oomph.”

Tevinter Plum, for Privation.

He didn’t say anything, but looked at her funny that evening, raising just one eyebrow as he saw her, in a silent question. She rose one of her own, challenging him to say something. He smiled under his breath and spoke of something else.

The next morning, there was a jonquil in a small glass jar on her spot at Leliana’s table. Leliana smirked knowingly, but all she had to say at the third time she looked at the plant – just to check the jar wasn’t staining the map it rested upon, of course- was:

“It means ‘I desire a return of affection’.”

Radha groaned and urged everyone -who was horribly giggling at her, to get back to work, they had no time to lose in silliness and flowers.

She wasn’t ready to give in so early, so her choice was, and at that Aisling giggled in mirth. Not that Radha minded.

A Lady’s slipper: Win me and wear me.

To which the answer was quick:

Saffron Crocus: Mirth.

Radha smiled at it, and mirth was what she felt. Before the cook saw her with that particular flower in her hand and yelped, asking her where did she found it and if there were others, if there were enough they could have saffron for free and-

Flowers were dangerous, Radha decided, running for her -and mostly for Solas’ life from an overeager cook that would have demanded the mage to grow her a field of crocuses daily, if she had caught her and coaxed a name out of her.

The next flower, she found it herself in the garden, growing spontaneously in the meadows. A fitting answer, she thought, returning to the rotunda just to slip it behind his ear, with a briskness that masked some shyness out of inexperience. He turned, and she was out of the opposite door with just a glance of pink cheeks.

Wild Daisy: I will think of it.

When she finished with her training, patting dust away from her trousers after the Iron Bull threw her to the ground the fifth times as she was distracted by parrying Krem’s sword, his answer was in the scabbard of one of her daggers. For all she blamed this stupid flower thing for being silly and pointless -and it was silly and pointless and a waste of magic- the small twig with red lantern-like fruits brought a smile to her face, and made her forget that her back was sore and she fell badly on her shoulder.

Gooseberry: Anticipation

The game continued in the next days, and keeping a straight face when they were together became more difficult.

Radha thought she had a good control over herself: she wasn’t emotional in the way Aisling was, bursting into tears and smiling wide so everyone could partake in her emotions as well. She felt hers, but always kept them private. This new thing, tho, the expectation of seeing the hint of a coloured petal or of a leaf every way she turned, made her silly.

Her lips curled up in a smile almost automatically when she caught a glimpse of Solas, in a way she found silly and blamed herself for it. It happened to others, it happened to Aisling and Pavyn and Vyrina: it didn’t happen to her. It never did, and she wasn’t interested in having it happen. She was happy as she was.

And yet, seeing him smile back, something melting in his face, posture relaxing ever so slightly, took some of the disappointment away from her.

She left him a sprig of mezereon: Desire to please.

He answered with a white mignonette: Your qualities surpass your charme.

She was happy that he left it in her room, so nobody could see her blush. He wasn’t scarce in compliments, but she wasn’t really good at receiving them. Less of all in replying it: it felt… Too much, too soon, and she didn’t know what she should do.

After hours and hours of mulling it over, thinking if she was ready to be more direct and give a compliment back -he knew she admired him, what more could he want? Courtship was stupid. She decided that maybe not. She also decided that asking Aisling would have been a terrible idea if she didn’t want her sister to arrange with Leliana and Josephine a way to close them both in the same room with candles and rose petals and a chocolate cake so big no couple of living beings could ever dream of eating on their own… she may as well just offer him some sincerity back.

That would have worked better than Aisling setting them up, surely.

Amaryllis: Timidity.

She stayed the whole morning on pins and needles, uneasiness settling in the depth of her stomach in a way that was familiar of every time someone had requested something physical or emotional from her, and she just… Hadn’t it in her, and was made to feel in defect because in the field of love she wasn’t interested… Or in this case, when she surprisingly found herself interested, she needed to proceed slow.

He didn’t make her wait, tho: his answer was waiting for her in the war room, where she was expected for a recollection of the official plan to gather an entrance in the Emprise and Leliana had requested her presence.

A ceramic glass, stained with paint on the border -one of those he used for water when he painted, she knew- with clean water and a sprig of Evergreen Thorn, heavy with firey red berries.

Solace in adversity.

A consolation, and an acceptance. Aisling and Josephine looked at her, seeing the twig. Josie was worried, knowing probably the meaning of it, and asked her if everything was all right.

“Yes.” She answered. “Yes, it is.”

And she was fully sincere in her words.

The answer was fairly easy to find: it was Aisling’s favourite after forget-me-not, and it felt like a witty remark.

A tiger-lily on the top of his scaffolding, in the same glass: For once may pride befriend me.

She was up in the first story of the library, in the corner beside Aisling and Dorian to see his reaction. He turned the flower in his long fingers, and he heard him chuckle, as she had intended him to. He turned towards the nook with a sly smile, caught her eyes.

She felt the shiver of magic and the smell of ozone, and the next thing was something velvety and delicate caressing her right cheek. She startled to the side, thinking of something evil, for to her right there was just stone wall.

It was no demon what met her, but a single flower growing between two stones, and what velvety touched her was its leaf, spiky and sharp beneath delicate rosy and purple flowers.

“Can you go elsewhere before I puke with all this sappiness, please?” Dorian complained, groaning aloud.

“Hush, you!” Aisling giggled, swatting his arm aloud. “They’re cute, leave them be.”

“They’re getting sappier than you and Cullen, and I’m getting diabetes. Too much straight energy for me.” He groaned aloud, as if he was in pain, and let his bust fall heavily back, a wrist on his forehead for added dramatics. “I think I may die.”

Aisling hoomphed under his weight, collapsing back a little in surprise. A pile of books fell down under their combined weight, but they went on bickering about Radha one moment, their experiment the next. In the meanwhile, Radha had found which flower it was, and what did it mean. She snorted a laugh.

Oak leaved geranium: True friendship.

“See? Sappier by the minute, I swear!”

“Leave her be!”

It was, all in all, a nice afternoon full of laughter. And in all sincerity, all Radha could answer was but one flower.

Saffron Crocus: mirth.

It went on for some days more, and Radha slowly and carefully had to admit, if only to herself, that it was indeed amusing to go back and forth that way. No words, no grand declarations nor speech. Just colourful messages, well thought for their synthesis, to the point.

A bellflower in her glass, at breakfast: Gratitude.

Corn straw, deftly braided, between his quills: Agreement.

And then, after a day, when Radha was thinking he had stopped, they got through with it and had their fun but there was only so much they could tell each other through flowers -not thinking that she spent the day looking this way and that expecting a petal, a splash of colour in her field of vision… Another one that left her unsettled.

He had asked her if he could leave a couple of books he had meant to lend her directly in her room, instead of leaving them in the rookery where she was, and let her bring them back herself. She paid it little mind and told him yes, and in the evening, when she returned, there wasn’t just the four volumes of history on her desk. No.

There was a flower on her pillow, bright and colourful on the white of the sheets.

Ranunculus: You are radiant with charms.

Radha felt her breath grow short, the blow stronger this second time around, and she wondered if it was normal. She didn’t like this romance thing, she always felt like she was dancing without knowing the steps nor what he expected from her. This compliment thing… It left her uneasy and terribly, horribly seen.

Was it so bad, this insistence and being seen? Yes. But maybe… She didn’t mind being seen by Aisling, but Aisling had ways that were more delicate, and didn’t put a mirror in her face. This… A rational part in her calmly acknowledged that it was courtship, every animal did it. Birds flaunting coloured feathers to attract the female, hallas fighting for the same reason. Bonding gifts served the same purpose. Reproduction as the end goal. But this wasn’t that. She’s been clear that she wasn’t interested in that, she didn’t want children of her own, and she didn’t know if she would have ever been willing to try more intimacy than kisses. She never had the urge before, after all. He had been understanding and told her he didn’t mind it, he was happy with just whatever she had to give, and wouldn’t have asked for more.

It was the companionship, what she didn’t expect. It was the gratuitous appreciation of what she was, not what she could do, her qualities and skills. The way he listened to her and asked her opinion after long, long explanations, and seemed to value each and every of her words, remembered what she told and interpreted her ways for what they were, appreciated them. It was the smile he had just for her and the tender way his eyes would melt.

It was how her heart beat fast and how her mind could, if she tried, figure out the exact way he would have said “You are radiant with charms”, and how it made her horribly dizzy.

She prayed Aisling was in her room and was alone -she couldn’t face Cullen on this. Creators, asking one person was a lot.

Luckily, she was there and she was alone -made a weird face when Radha confessed she didn’t expect her to be, but was quick in changing the topic. In a way that told her that she didn’t want to talk about it, but still. They sat together on her bad, legs crossed, with all the curtains of the canopy drawn, it almost felt like an aravel: Radha spoke and Aisling listened with attention.

“It’s scary, isn’t it?” She asked in the end, an understanding smile on her face as she cupped her face to look at her in the eyes.

“What?”

“Falling.”

Radha glomped down. Was that it? Was it? All the fuss, all the chasing and sighing, all the novels and poetry, for this? For feeling dizzy and unsure? She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all, but something clicked true in her.

She nodded, feeling herself blushing madly.

“Yeah, I know, it’s shitty. Truly horrible.” Aisling agreed, moving forward and dragging her bust down to hug her shoulder, collecting the rogue against her frame. “It’s ok, tho. You can cut the game any time, there’s no obligation to answer. You already told him that you were shy, it’s ok. He won’t insist if you don’t want him to.”

Radha hummed, knowing she was right. It wasn’t anything serious, this game of theirs, anyway. The experiment had proven its point, she could call it out whenever she wanted.

And yet, that ranunculus…

“And- What if I wanted to?” She squeezed her eyes shut and drowned her face in the crook of Aisling’s neck.

Fingers started to thread in her hair, caressing and soothing, a kiss pressed on her cheek.

“Well, then. If you wanted to… You can be sincere about why you don’t want to reply. What about it?” Aisling asked. “Is there another flower for shyness?”

There was, they discovered after running all the way down to Radha’s room and the book. And checking also what Dandelion meant now because Aisling decided she may as well try it too, and “Cullen is definitely a dandelion”. She was very disappointed when she discovered that Dandelions meant “Rustic oracle” (“What does that even mean?? It makes no sense!” and Radha couldn’t but agree). But they found one for her as well, and it was with a sigh to get some courage, that she left it on his desk, very early in the morning.

Peony: Bashfulness, shame.

As embarrassing as it was, that was what she felt.

Waiting for an answer, after all, was still better than dreading answering in the first place. She had work to distract herself with and… Was that Cullen with a crown of dandelions on his head the one Varric and Sera were whistling at?

She had work to distract herself with.

The answer came soon enough, thankfully, and it calmed her down considerably.

A twig with leaves of white poplar: Time.

She smiled at it, relieved in her anxieties. The perfect answer, really, and she felt silly, now, for doubting him so. He gave her time, and time was what she needed. With a fuller heart and a calmer mind, and more faith in the future, she gently pressed one of the leaves in her notebook, as a keepsake, and went on with her day.

Her answer was a columbine: Foolishness.

She felt a little foolish for worrying so, truth to be told, and if sincerity paid off… Why not keeping up? Maybe it would have brought something else of good, while she tried to unwind the ball of yarn her feelings and thoughts got wound up into.

She had time, yes.

The next one was another leaf. One she knew fairly well, and which spoke thankfully more of him than on her.

Arbor Blessing: Unchanging friendship. Live for me.

Radha knew, turning the trail in her hand and rubbing the leaves between two fingers to release the balsamic perfume of them. Surely he meant just the first meaning of it. He was the first one to say she should pursue other interests and friendships that weren’t him. With a dedication she didn’t really understand.

That little slip tho… That little inattention, finding something with a meaning so contrary to whatever he ever told her.

Maybe he was equally bashful about this whole endeavour. Thinking of it, he always spoke of her and her qualities, what he saw in her. Never of what he himself was feeling more deeply than expressing friendship. Before this one. This one little slip that…

Maybe she was reading too much into it. But he was always so precise and careful, measuring his words with such attention, that Radha found hard to believe that he just read half the definition.

Weirdly enough, that little slip made her heart beat, but not with the anxiety of those days before. No. This time it was tenderness, and recognition.

If he was bashful too… Maybe she really had nothing to fear.

Maybe she already had fallen, and she didn’t realise she already landed.

Beside, her mother didn’t raise a quitter.

So, she marched to Aisling and asked her one last flower. This time, knowing perfectly well what she wanted.

The next morning, Solas found a thin vase on his desk, in a corner as if it had been always been there.

Inside, sprouting tall and proud, one single purple lily.

First emotion of love.

Radha, that evening, got back into her room to find not one flower, but a full bouquet. It was just one bloom, and it filled the room with a pleasant, sweet perfume.

Lily of the valley: Return of happiness.

She smiled wide, didn’t mind he entered her room without asking, and let her treacherous heart keep her awake for long, that evening.

Enjoying the sweet smell of lily of the valleys for the brief and precious moment while it lasted, and maybe understanding a little better why people gifted flowers.

Why Lavender meant Distrust, tho, she never understood.

[cloveroctobers]

DECEMBER DRABBLE — 2. Angel Reyes 🌨️

A/N: gif belongs to [user: @pedropcl] now it seems like it’s next to impossible to find decent gifs through the gif search up here especially when it comes to this man. S/o to google this time around! Anyways here I am writing for another angel but the main angel? That I usually write for lol. For once it’s nothing too serious—well kinda…and might actually fit into the drabble category. Let’s pat myself on the back…maybe. I write my AN’s before I actually write the content 😬

S/N: decided to add Dante Torres from Chicago PD into the mix because I have a crush on Benjamin levy Aguilar and loved him in that Netflix series with Veronica mars (she’ll always be Veronica mars sorry y’all lol) and there’s no content on him. He’s only mentioned in this so don’t attack me too much if you read this and I’m new to the Chicago PD series and his character which is why I didn’t write any scenes specifically with him.

Prompt: #24. “Lift me up so I can put the star on the tree.” + #16. “We can’t put this photo in our Christmas card.”

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ . ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙

　　

Angel didn’t like what he was seeing when he pulled up to his house that weekend. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions but he recognized the car that passed him by before he parked his bike next to your car in the driveway. He wasn’t late so he didn’t know why someone else was pulling up to his house uninvited.

And he had something to say about it.

“Yo!” Angel called into the house as he dropped his keys into the dish by the front door.

He stepped into the living room to see you swaying in front of the Christmas tree, joint attached to your full lips. Angel almost got distracted by the way your ass filled out those gym pants but he was on a mission. Then he picked up on the music full of Afro-Beats, which meant you were in a good mood and something inside of him provoked him to disrupt that.

Angel licked his bottom lip, getting one last look before he lightly touched your upper back to get your attention. And what did he do that for? You slightly jumped and spun to aim a high kick at your attacker, who you didnt recognize as Angel at the start.

Thankfully he dodged your long leg and called out to you, “whoa! Aye, querida. Relax! It’s just me.”

“Angel?! What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?” You muttered around the joint as you exhaled.

Angel sucked his teeth, “I called out to you as soon as walked in the door.”

“I’m having a jam session right now, you know I don’t hear nothing when I’m dancing.” You wiggled your hips and held out the joint to the man who plucked it from your hands.

He took a hit and deeply exhaled as you carried on, spinning around him while he lightly shook his head.

It was time to get down to business.

“Whatchu do all day? Have anybody over?”

“Mmm nope. Spent the day doing a wash and go, listening to music, and putting the tree up. Now I get to relax.” You told your boyfriend while you continued dancing.

Angel called out to alexa to stop the music, shutting it off much to your annoyance. You held your hands out silently asking what he did that for and awaited a response from the party crasher.

“I saw a car on my way coming in. The same car that pulled up to the club once before…you know anything about that?”

Why would you? Your poked your head out in confusion and rolled your hands, “just spit it out already Angel, you’re getting on my nerves trying to play the accusing game.”

“Are you cheating on me with that egghead oink oink motherfucker? D’Angelo?”

A laugh couldn’t help but to burst out at Angel’s description but the look on his face was anything but humor.

“You mean Dante?” You asked, turning back to the couch in search of the remote.

Angel waved his hand around, still holding onto your joint, “whatever his name is. Are you sleeping with him?”

“I don’t cheat on people I claim to love. I don’t move like that and you know it so stop insulting me.” A heated stare went his way and Angel felt himself having to take a deep breath.

Of course he knew that. That was his own insecurities and previous actions getting in the way. He knew you were solid and would never, you already warned him if that’s something he did or even thought about when it came to your relationship then it was automatically a wrap. You had such power about you, like it seemed like nothing could hurt you, like you were invincible and it was incredible to watch. Angel didn’t want to be the one to fuck with that, not purposely.

And he really did care for you, which is why he didn’t want to believe that you could cheat on him. However he knew that you could just get up and leave whenever you wanted and that thought alone scared him. He never felt that way more than once before.

You didn’t need him and he knew that. Yet you still showed him love in a way that he wasn’t used to. You were patient but firm, which is why you weren’t raising your voice at his foolish accusations.

“I—I’m sorry but he was here right? I’m not completely bugging, I know that much.”

Plopping down on the edge of the couch you waved the remote around as you briefly thought about it, “…yeah he was. He stopped by for a minute, he didn’t come in out of respect for me.”

Angel huffed, “respect for you? What about me? He don’t pay no bills around here, he should be asking my permission to be anywhere near you.”

Sighing you said, “he doesn’t need your ‘permission’ to be around me. He’s my friend and been my friend since we were teens. Also you don’t know if he was here because of whatever case he’s working on and before you get paranoid it has nothing to do with you or the club. I would let you know that. Do you see me on your dick about the bartenders you used to mess around with? Now no. So stop your bitching and lift me up so I can put the star on the tree.”

Angel took a long drag from the joint at your words. He didn’t know who you thought you were talking to but he liked it.

“Why don’t you call the egghead back over here and he could do the work,” Angel mocked, “you already put the tree up without me.”

“You told me it was fine! Every time we planned to do it during the weekend you got called into the club. I asked you not once but thrice so don’t start, angel.” You scowled, getting to your feet and pulling your gym pants further up your waist.

Sighing Angel leaned over you, placing the joint into the dish to hold for him. He stood in front of you who peered up at him with raised brows. His hands massaged the sides of your neck before trailing up to rest against your cheeks, his hands were always rough but cool thanks to the rings that decorated his fingers.

“Love you lots you know,” he started, making you roll your eyes, “no for real, listen I do. It’s just that im fully aware I got the full package here and I don’t want nobody getting in between that. Especially no fed that your friends with…I dunno what it is with you and my fucken brother being friends with the opps.”

You sent a jab to the man’s abdomen who winced as you said, “don’t talk about franky like that, you know that’s family.”

“Oh shit, I keep forgetting.”

“Yeah, I don’t see why after everything he’s done.”

Angel made a chirping movement with his hand and stepped back before you could fight him some more, “don’t expect me to be friendly with egghead Da Vinci either.”

“I don’t think he wants to be your friend anyways.” You answered, making Angel furrow his brows as he began removing his vest.

He tossed it on the couch as he exasperates, “why? What his ass say? I’ll fuck him up.”

Laughing to yourself you shook your head, not instigating anything further. You knew Dante scooped Angel out because he cared about your well-being and didn’t think the man was good enough for you. It was always like that when you started dating but Dante also knew you would do whatever you felt like doing no matter what someone had to say.

You always had a mind of your own.

Yet Dante Torres was diligent and rebellious and and that didn’t change when it came to you, his best friend.

Dante also knew the boundaries he had to respect out of the sake your relationship but that didn’t mean he had to like Angel Reyes. At the end of the day he had a job to do and when he was ready he could take down the whole club if he really wanted to. However he was leaving to Chicago for a couple of weeks and he just knew something would go down without him even prying.

“And then you’ll be in jail for assaulting a cop and that’s a hard charge to get out of.” You let out a low-whistle, remembering a family member who took that route in his early twenties and just got out at the age of thirty-four last year.

Angel scoffed but said nothing more not wanting to waste anymore breath on some guy that didn’t matter to him. Instead he searched the empty box for the crown that was your star for the tree and held it in between his teeth. While he did that you decided to turn the music back on, just in time for Angel to grip you by the waist to face him. He then pulled you around to be in front of him, you glancing back at him in question as he motioned for you.

“You know what to do, spread ‘em.”

“Ask nicely.”

Angel gave you a look making you laugh as you got into a jumping Jack pose without the jumping. Angel fixed the crown back between his lips before he crouched down in between your legs. Once his neck was in between your legs, he kept a tight grip on your legs before he lifted you up into the air.

“So this is what it’s like being seven feet tall?” You asked as Angel carried you over to the tree.

Reaching downwards you gently took the crown from his mouth and reached upwards. Angel’s hands tightened on your upper thighs as he leaned towards the tree more, eyeing as you slipped the crown right on top of the very decorative tree.

“Tree looks nice as fuck, Querida. How long it take you?” Angel used one hand to touch one the rose gold ribbons you had wrapped in it.

“Thank you, baby.” You beamed, knuckles now pressed into your hips as you admired your work, “I actually started on Friday, getting everything from the basement, mom came over on Saturday then she pissed me off trying to dictate how it should look as if she didn’t decorate her tree and my sister’s tree already. And I just finished today. It’s perfect.”

Angel chuckled to himself. He knew how your mom could be, she was a interior decorator herself so it only made since that she wanted to take over the whole process. Now angel was really kicking himself from missing out on this, you lost your cool whenever it came to your mom despite the love you had for her. Yet your mother is very stubborn and sensitive wrapped into one. He tried to question how your dad handled a woman like her but he knew your dad wasn’t rocking with him like that.

“Ah it is.” Angel began to crouch, making you grip for something as he began to do some squats.

“This what we doing?”

“I missed the entire weekend to work out, let me have this. Count for me?” Angel encouraged while you held on tighter.

The man slowly took working out seriously through persuasion of you. Also working as a phlebotomist encouraged you to take not only your health but others around you seriously. You always found health class and physiology interesting so it was no surprise to your family and friends that you got into this field.

And so you did, getting to fifty before Angel decided to call it quits.

“You did great,” you mentioned as Angel took the time to focus on slowing his breathing.

Once he did, he lowered you down to the ground with a nice slap to your ass of course.

“Thanks for being my weight and letting me in between those thighs.”

“Oh, shut up.” You playfully shoved the man, who laughed yanking you to his slightly sweaty frame to pepper your face with kisses.

Later…Angel sat at the kitchen table, eating the Sunday dinner you prepared while your eyes went over a series of photos on your laptop.

“Angel, what is this?”

Angel stopped chewing the lamb and peered over at you, “what?”

“Why did you move these into the possible Christmas card options?” You spun the laptop around to face the dark haired man who smirked at the image.

Angel continued eating, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Angel…” you exhaled and rested your fingertips against your forehead, “Our reenactment of Janet Jackson’s rolling stone cover and her ex husband with your hands on my breasts and you in a Santa hat is not appropriate to send to my granny or my parents. We can’t put this photo in our Christmas card.”

Angel shrugged his shoulders, “why not, it’s art? It’s Christmas, it’s supposed to be happy.”

“Would you like me sending this to pop?” You quizzed.

Angel pretended to think about it, “he wouldn’t keep it anyways and would probably call me up to yell at me about it. I’d love to see the look on his face though. We look sexy, what’s the problem?”

“These were for our eyes only. For fun.”

“Which is what Christmas is all about.”

“I thought it was about celebrating the birth of Jesus?”

“Fuck if I know, I was raised catholic.”

Your eyes instantly went to Angel’s who met your stare. He laughed to himself, “I know how that sounds, be quiet.”

Grabbing the computer back you shook your head at the unbelievable man. Scrunching up your nose, you lifted your glasses further up the bridge of your nose as you clicked onto the next set of photos.

Angel licked his fingers, finishing off his food before he patted his belly. “Here’s an idea, why don’t you send that one to your old homeboy? Maybe he’ll get the message to stop coming around when I’m not here.”

“I’m not doing that to feed your ego.” You easily responded, eyes trained on your screen.

Angel got up from the table to place his items into the sink. He actually took the time to wash them to place into the rack. Once finished he walked over to you, leaning over to see what other photos you were looking at. You took a good thirty photos together so there had to be something in there that was satisfactory in your eyes.

He didn’t really care to be honest, “Whatever you pick will be cute as shit that your granny will keep pushing for us to give her a great-grand baby.”

Almost gagging you shuddered at the thought. Being pregnant terrified you, sure babies were cute and everything but the whole process of carrying and actually giving birth did not sound like a 10/10. You’ve watched enough horror stories and heard enough horror stories to know that’s not exactly what you wanted right now. Or ever? Of course that could always change but the full discussion of children with Angel made you uneasy.

He already had a son and previously lost a son, which didn’t sit right with you, however it was none of your business. Although, you didn’t exactly enjoy the idea of possibly raising a child with a man that was hardly there…but that was not a conversation that you wanted to have tonight.

If Angel picked up on this, he chose not to say anything about it when you know he could have. Instead he just placed a kiss on your temple, his beard briefly scratching at your skin before he left your side, saying he was off to take a shower and leave you alone with your final decisions.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ . ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙

Continue along with my anthology December prompts here.

[thedeal-if]

How would the ROs react when the MC gives them a present

(Viktor better like it)

😆 dw anon Victor is actually a sweetheart deep, deep down!

I thought this was adorable and ended up doing a little drabble for all ROs I hope it's not too long lol. I might keep doing the drabble thing if I see it fitting the ask!

Dante is used to being the one giving gifts while receiving nothing in return so, he's quite shocked even if the gift happens to be something small and casual. His initial reaction would be to ask 1000 times whether MC is sure, whether the gift is really for him, and whether MC meant to give it to someone else. Once the shock wears off Dante would be so delighted and excited! He's that kind of person (demon? being?) who loves surprises and changing plans and he wouldn't even try to pretend and play cool about it. Dante would probably end up giving MC something in return so he can "repay the favor" tho. Maybe wouldn't buy something (because he's broke) but he'd find a way.

[It’s only now when Dante is finally holding your gift, that you see how his eyes light up with mirth, pupils darting back and forth between you and the trinket. The disbelief is still clear in his eyes, but it has dimmed down by the unfiltered cheer cursing through him.

“This is for me,” Dante repeats slowly. He holds the trinket close to his chest. As if afraid you’d say ‘no’. You nod either way, and the small bob of your head is the catalyst for the brightest smile you’ve ever seen on the demon “This is for me! And you’re not taking it back.”

“Dan,” you sigh his name fondly “It’s just—”

“Shush! It’s mine now,” Dante insists. Though he tries to tame his voice into neutrality, holding back his emotions has always been something Dante is terrible at. The demon grasps your hand and tugs you towards him “Thanks a bunch!”]

---

Situation-wise, Lilith is Dante's opposite. They've been spoiled before and they've exchanged gifts with people. It's been a while since it's been a personal thing though (nowadays gifts for her are practically bribes or attempts to get on her food side). If MC was the kind of person who likes to give gifts she probably wouldn't be all that surprised. If MC makes an exception for Lilith she would notice the change too, and that would feel just as special as the gift MC got for her. I'd say she's very detail-oriented and she'd find a meaningful way to make MC feel special too even if it's not through another gift.

[As soon as you show them your present, you see Lilith grinning, looking up/down at you eagerly, expecting you to make the move and relishing the possible ways you might do it. With a subtle nod, they prompt you to act. Their eyes flicker briefly towards the gift in your hands.

“I got you something,” you say, and hand it to them.

Amusement floods Lilith’s gaze. They take the present from you, they hold it carefully—but they are only looking at you. Like you’re the greatest gift she could have received. Affection has never been something they’ve tried to disguise, but the moment they channel it at you feels almost like a fire being fanned.

“Thank you, love,” they say softly “Can I?”

When you nod, you expect them to unwrap the gift. Instead, they step closer to you, lean up/down, and press a chaste kiss to your cheek.]

---

Josh is a bit of a contradiction. He receives gifts like he receives compliments: though he likes and feels grateful for them, Josh is immensely awkward about them. Answering properly is something he just doesn't know how to do. It's kinda funny to see Josh break a little when he's always so careful and in control of situations. If MC is someone who has always enjoyed giving gifts he resorts to some sort of default answer that Josh always uses, which he also does when it's his birthday lol. If it's unusual for MC to give gifts Josh's mind would probably shatter trying to find an answer. Dw, inside he's very happy, he just doesn't know how to articulate that.

[“Oh.”

That’s all Josh says for a few seconds. You know him, and you give him time. Your best friend looks like he’s on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“Oh, wow. Fuck.”

“You don’t like it?” you tease him.

Josh scoffs, almost offended by the suggestion that he could dislike anything you’d do. He grips your present a little tighter, rolls his eyes fondly, and doesn’t even force back the smile that threatens to spill.

“Of course I do. You know I do,” you can practically see the gears in Josh’s mind turning as his entire posture shifts awkwardly. Like he wants to draw in himself in an attempt to hide from your inquisitive eyes. He ultimately sighs with finality “Thank you, Dot. Seriously.”]

---

Villanelle is the happiest woman alive. If she likes you romantically or as a friend, she's probably given you hundreds of little gifts (cookies she baked or bought, flowers, little doodles, etc). Villanelle has a lot of fun thinking about her silly presents and she believes that sharing is caring. She'd adore receiving gifts and would think of it as an exchange. Villanelle is cheerful and bubbly 90% of the time and she only lights up more when MC does something that makes her happy.

[When she sees you, Villanelle smiles. Then, she looks down, and the gasp the sight of the present draws out of her is dramatic, almost exaggerated. Finally, she shrieks with excitement.

Villanelle is upon you in less than a second. One hand grips the gift and the other is tightly wrapped around your midsection.

“Oh my God,” Villie mumbles when she pulls away. She points at the gift, at you, at herself, buzzing like a little fly with too much energy and too little time “Oh my God!”

“You like it?”

“I love it, silly!” she grins happily. And you believe her. Everything about Villanelle screams genuine glee “You’re amazing.”]

---

Victor is genuinely confused. It probably never crossed his mind that he'd get a present. He doesn't even get presents on his birthday lol (Alekto tried to figure out when he was born but has been unsuccessful). He'd probably think MC wanted something out of him if he didn't know them all that well. Victor isn't all that expressive so he (seemingly) might not even react at all. But seriously despite seeming very aloof, Victor is just very clueless about his feelings and how to properly act on them.

I made Vic's drabble a little longer because this ask was especially about him lol.

[You wonder if Victor would get mad if you laughed. You almost do, when he holds the gift like he’s afraid he might break it. Victor’s jaw is tense, his entire posture is, the discomfort and awkwardness seem to have overcome his very being.

“Who do you want me to give this to?”

That’s the moment you do laugh, much to his dismay. Victor frowns but says nothing. And you take the time to explain.

“It’s for you. I wanted to give you a gift.”

His frown deepens, “Why?”

“I wanted to.”

The giant Exorcist mutters something under his breath. Probably a complaint about your vagueness. But Victor doesn’t seem unhappy anymore. His posture relaxes little by little—you see it clearly, you’re close enough—, shoulders dipping slightly and muscles releasing the tension Victor seems to embrace readily.

With gentle care, he shifts and holds the present with one hand. The other is too busy coming up, slowly, to rest upon your head. Victor pats you twice, staring inquisitively into your eyes. The question is obvious: is this okay? You make sure to smile widely up at him. ‘Yes, it is. It is more than okay.’

“Thanks,” he says simply. Victor’s hand falls limp by his side.

“You’re welcome.”]

---

Aliyah has probably even forgotten what a present is. That's how long she's been without receiving anything, and giving to people who definitely shouldn't have a genie. Aliyah's first reaction is just a frown. Then she'd probably laugh, or force herself to laugh. Aliyah really hates it when someone has the upper hand. If it's an MC whom she's close to. She'd probably say something snarky and seem kind of annoyed. Whatever the trinket is she'd definitely keep though (even if she's not that close to MC).

[“What’s this?” she asks with a sigh. When you open your mouth to explain the meaning and origin of your present, Aliyah rolls her eyes, “Don’t answer.”

You see the conflict well enough to heed her words and stay quiet. To call it conflict feels like undermining whatever Aliyah is feeling, though. Her eyes are a storm. She’s barely holding back a frown, not even her smirk seems sincere. Aliyah purses her lips and stares at the present.

“I’m not going to owe you, you know? This—” her violet gaze finally flickers up to look back at you “This is a one-sided thing.”

‘Things’ are often one-sided with Aliyah, or so she insists on claiming. You smile patiently, “I know. That’s why it’s a gift. Not a bribe.”

That makes Aliyah chuckle, and she thankfully sounds a little lighter than before.

“A pity,” she teases “It nearly worked.”]

---

I've mentioned a few times what it's like being a demon but I've never said anything about angels... Let's just say they don't get gifts often. Nathan likes playing cool. He doesn't like taking situations all that seriously. If MC gives him a gift Nathan would tease them about it (he wouldn't be too mean about it). His true emotions are tightly kept under wraps, but not because he isn't grateful. He is! Nathan is just very sure that being funny is the best course of action and he's dying on that hill. He'd probably run away before Azriel appeared to spew what Nathan truly feels lol.

[Nathan presses a hand to his chest, presenting to you the very image of overdramatic flair. He points towards your present, a silent request for him to hold it, and when you nod Nathan smirks and takes it from you.

“You naughty human,” he tuts “If I didn’t know you I’d say you’re trying to win the favor of an angel! How scandalous.”

You frown, “I—”

“Are my miracles worth this much? You know you could have asked,” You also know that Nathan is lying “Unfortunately! That’s not possible.”

“Nathan, I don’t—”

“I’ll just pay you back some other way, yes?” he winks playfully.]

---

Whatever MC gives Eden is probably the first present she's received in a long time too. Gifts are such a foreign concept to her she'd probably squint at it like she was trying to figure out whether it's a bomb or not. Eden probably thinks she's about to receive bad news lol and she'd just forget to thank MC and wait for them to drop the metaphorical bomb. Whether MC explains or not Eden ends up understanding, finally gives her thanks and genuinely wonders whether she's supposed to get them something back in return.

[Eden grabs the present like it could burn her if she allowed herself to touch it properly. With the tips of her fingers and her arms slightly stretched out. You wonder what expression she would make if she was a little less aloof. But as it stands, she stares at you with a dead seriousness clinging to her eyes. Like you could burn her.

“Um,” you mumble “Do you like it?”

“Huh?” Eden tilts her head.

“The gift. Do you like it?”

“Oh,” the woman finally relaxes, and she pulls the present towards her. You wonder if Eden was trying to figure out what it was. Now, though, she’s trying to figure out your intentions. Eden stares at you with eyes that are slightly narrowed, but you know her well enough to see the appreciation swimming in her white, iris-less pools “I do. Thank you.”]

I hope y'all like the drabbles this took me the entire day to write 😶‍🌫️

[royrockstone]

treat it as a prompt to spread your food motifs thoughts, would love to hear some (especially after finale)

ty for askinggg <333

4x10, as told through food:

Caribbean Air Clear was a big win for caroline ed truthers. caroline’s food stuff has always been a stand-in for her failure to parent— she is either resentful of having to, or unable to, nourish them; she gives food in paltry amounts because that’s how she parcels out affection. and the kids find what she does give them inedible. at the Peter Munion Pitch Dinner, she announces that the portions are going to be small, and the only thing that looks like palatable food in her kitchen (the cheese) is reserved for peter— a person she actually chose to put in her life and seems to be happy with.

in contrast to logan, who tested and punished them around food, i read caroline’s inability to nourish them as more unintentional— she just can’t do it because she feels so much bitterness about her family. i also think there’s gender stuff in there— she's not Womanly bc she can’t cook (or, more likely, have someone else cook) properly, she’s like if the wire mother didn’t even give milk. in some ways, she’s sort of girlish rather than womanly (expressing in chiantishire that she wants to like have fun and drink and fuck and gossip rather than settle into being an older woman who’s best days are behind her. and she gets along best with her girliest kid, roman.) it always makes me feel crazyinsane that the one moment In The Light that roman seems to have gotten is laughing with logan about caroline’s inability to feed them (“three muddy trout for six and fill up on mustard”) those kids had no chance to be fed emotionally or physically lol </3 

meal fit for a king! lets talk about it. it is, first of all and foremost, sweet! it’s a time when food is being used playfully and you’re expected to eat rather than expected to abstain. but theres also such a dark side to it imo, as with all affection for the roys. 1. shiv spits in the blender (in a mirror of when she spit in kens notebook in s3) which is meant to be at least a little bit degrading 2. the whole point is kind of degrading (the name sounds like something logan would do — see boar on the floor, dinner for winners and mole in the hole from the script books) make kendall eat something disgusting, not as a test per se, but as a way of humbling him just a little. food is still lowkey a weapon even when it’s sweet and silly. (also theres some kendall jesus motif— roman crowns him but in a way that’s mocking etc) 3. it’s sweet specifically because the foods are a) unwanted— the roy kids have been starved, of affection and literally of food, and they’re making something genuinely nice with scraps and b) not luxurious— it’s not ortolan or kendalls endive salad, it’s bread ends and cocoa powder. 

there was an interesting moment that mirrored my 4x08 food lore thoughts— ken offers roman rum punch when he’s still trying to woo his board vote against shiv, and roman ignores the punch, pours himself a shot, then grabs a beer. kendall is the one who locked him in a cage and made him eat cake, he’s the reason they had to eat roast chicken, roman experiences his brother as always trying to subordinate him by controlling what he consumes (which is obv a corollary to trying to control him in business.)

on the less thematic/more personally self-serving ed headcanon side of things, nothing has contradicted my hc that roman hasn’t eaten solid food since logan died. all he does is lick Peter’s Special Cheese, drink coffee (sleep deprivation won succession, actually), and drink alcohol. we see roman eat cake at connors rehearsal dinner, pre-logan death and during what he thought was a secure time in the sibling alliance, then never again. his habit of snacking on little bits of fruit and desserts has totally disappeared. tho it's not shown, i could see him eating the night of the election when he realized he won at something and was expecting to crush it at the funeral the next day. if hes becoming logan, hes allowed to eat. but the second he flames out at the funeral and realizes he is, in fact, still a dead man walking, he’d go back to not eating. trying to please the dad in his head, or to express his essential deadness/emptiness without his dad. 

ofc, we don't rlly see the other siblings eat, either (i have laser-focused Roman ED vision so something might have slipped past me. does shiv taste the breakfast tom brings her?) notably, no one ate at the Funeral Planning Committee breakfast, they don’t eat at the tailgate im p sure, i don’t think anyone touched the food at the Munion Pitch Dinner. (tbh concerned for shiv’s fetus re: having adequate calories.) i think part of it is grief and part of it is collective family Disorder and part of it is the good old competitive strong dog weak dog stuff.

i made a joke that roman is going to end up like caroline, but i kind of meant it? i can see him having no food in his house, cocktail in hand, snugly burying himself some place out of the way and fucking around with mild self-destruction for the rest of his life. (altho rather than a failhusband i think he’d try to replace logan yet again and end up with a partner who was pretty brutish or domineering) 

ty again!