#And knows he could just tuck her under his arm lmao and restrain her because I hc moff is bigger than them both and physically stronger

[mushroom-for-art]

Wanted to write about the gang, still tryna work out character dynamics ect lmao, Maple belongs to the lovely @cinnatwo and again Moth is our lovely joint son

"Where in the Reverse world could she have gotten to?! We only looked away from her for like, 5 seconds!!!" Maple flew through the dense foliage weaving around trees expertly as she whipped her head back and forth scanning the surroundings for any shades of pink.

"Dunno what you're askin' me for, you're the smart one," Moth glided easily and casually parallel to her, his moves more sluggish brushing past the bark of trees with little acknowledgement and yet keeping pace with Maple, his tails swayed behind him as he flew through some low hanging leaves making them scatter from their branch, a leaf stuck to his face covering his eyes as he drifted along.

"Tsk, I was talking to myself actually!" Maple glanced over a bit frustrated by the other, his flying style was lazy and casual like a blimp just floating along while she was actively trying to go as fast as she could muster yet he kept up. It was slightly infuriating watching him take the leaf from his face, "don't eat that," and put it in his mouth, "urrgghh, Moth you're disgusting."

"Eh, can't help it, brain remembers being a Burmy," he shrugged casually as he chewed the leaf in his mouth rolling slightly to his side as he flew to show his back patterns to her before rolling into his back to fly upside down.

Maple stared at him….

"YOU WERE NEVER A BURMY WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT?!" He simply chuckled at her outburst, "If you're going to be like this just go back to the meadow while I actually look for our friend! I'm already stressed enough as is, those,! Disgusting bipedal creatures like to lurk in this place!"

"That's not very nice, they're only Aipom,"

"NOT AIPOM!"

"Ooohh, oddish?"

"NO-"

"Of course Bellsprout."

"MOTH!"

"Yeaaa? That's ma name?" he rolled over again onto his front.

"I'm on about humans!!! You know the furless clothes wearing creeps who put Pokemon like us into little balls like trinkets to show off!?!?"

"Aren't some of your friends human."

"That's different!"

"Yuh huh, sure Maple aple apple pie."

Maple groaned in frustration at him as he grinned simply bits of green leaf stuck to his teeth as she made a disgusted noise at him. Moth simply laughed before stopping ears flicking upwards, twisting turning listening, they twitched before he flew off to the side.

"This way."

Maple would've usually argued with him further but he always did seem to have the better hearing, probably because his ears were so big.

Moth lurked behind a tree peering past it towards a small dirt pathway that has been roughly created through the years as people and trainers used the same trail over and over again, Maple slowed stopping besides him peering out from the other side of the tree and nearly lurched forward from their watching spot had Moth not grabbed at her scruff to restrain her.

Two young humans were before them and a very familiar pink hued mew, Rosys tail swished and she looked slightly roughed up, her curly front had a few wisps loose and there were dirt scruffs on her arms and legs. She was floating in front of the slightly older kid, their face was red as big fat tears rolled down their cheeks as they held a slumped weak looking charmander in one arm, and held the smaller kids hand who was ducking behind them also crying with the other. The charmander had a purple hue along it's forehead and snout, it's tail flame was dim as it remained slumped in the child's arm, poisoned by the look of it.

Moth pulled Maple back as he could feel her vibrating with rage and for growling, "they're just kits Maple,"

"Don't you, 'they're just kids', me!" she hissed at him pointing an accusing digit at him as he blinked slowly at her. "One of them has a pokemon that they clearly aren't caring for which means they have pokeballs which means Rosy is in danger."

"Maple-"

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong-"

"Hey-"

"Shut up," he put his paw over her mouth to stop her talking, "there's plenty of poison type Pokemon in this forest, the kid's too young to be a real trainer, they probably wandered off the beaten path and got into trouble, Rosys a capable mew she can handle two kits." Maple growled around his paw, emptily biting him so he pulled his paw away calling her a meany.

He kept hold of her scruff as they watched, Rosys paw was on the charmander forehead with waves of glistening green energy flowing from her over the sickly Pokemon. When she pulled her paw back the purple hue was gone, the charmander tail tip burst with anew flames as the Pokemon lifted it's head becoming incredibly more active and alive. The older kid slowly crumpled to their knees wrapping both their arms around their Pokemon and sobbing again loudly as the younger one also joined the hug while also crying as the charmander cooed softly rubbing it's cheek against them both chirping and cooing comfortingly. Maple made a soft sneer.

The older kid wiped their face with their hand and arm wiping away their tears as they slowly stood, they looked at Rosy their mouth moving in repeated thanks as they grabbed Rosys paws in their own, Moth wrapped his other arm around Maple holding her back as she lurched forward again in aggression. The younger kid searched their pockets taking out a glistening shiny stone, likely one they found and pocketed for themselves and offered it to Rosy as a quiet thank you gift, while it was just a stone it clearly had had value to the young child and she accepted it with gratitude.

Rosy offered her paw to the oldest who took it, offering their hand to the younger one who grabbed hold in turn offering their hand to the charmander. Slowly Rosy moved, floating along and guiding them along the path as they followed behind in single file, she made sure to go slow for their little legs. Moth followed after securely wrapping both his arms around Maple essentially carrying her as she dangled in his arms angrily. As the trees cleared and the bright light of the outside was drawing closer Rosy slowly released her hand from the older child who blinked as Rosy gently motioned towards the end of the forest pathway. They nodded in understanding, thanking her again before proclaiming "Race you!" to the smaller child as they and the charmander ran towards the sunlight back out into their home town to no doubt excitedly tell anyone who will listen of the strange pink cat like creature they all saw.

Maple teleported from Moths grip and promptly air tackled Rosy, who made a startled mew, wrapping her arms and legs around her to quickly drag her away from being so close to the edge of the forest pulling her further and further back until she seemed it safe to stop.

"Maple!? Don't go scaring me like that darling!"

"Don't go scaring you? Don't go scaring YOU?! What were you doing around those humans!! You could've been captured!" Maple circled her looking her over lifting her arm checking her legs her tail, "put in a little ball and shown off as a prize! Given to or stolen by even worse humans! Do you not consider the danger you were in?!"

Rosy blinked as Maple grabbed her shoulders and shook her slightly for emphasis. Moth lazily swished over and brushed his paw carefully down Rosys arm dusting off the dirt and sending a small heal pulse through her to handle the small scrapes she had. He nodded his head as she thanked him as Maple made a frustrated sigh knowing she wasn't getting through to Rosy in the slightest. Rosy fluffed the curls on her chest sorting her slightly disheveled fur.

"I'm not blind to the evils of humanity Maple, I know a lot of humans are bad, but I also know a lot of the small humans are good. Those kids had good hearts, I could tell, they were lost, scared and in danger so I helped. You gotta have more faith in me."

Maple made an uncomfortable vocalization as she moved her head to avoid eye contact, "I do have faith in you.." she mumbled, Rosy sighed softly moving to nuzzle into her cheek making her make a mock "gah" sound, Maple pouted pretending to be mad as Rosy nuzzled her playfully. "Oh go away your nose is cold."

"oh is it?" Rosy grinned pretending to try to nuzzle her supposedly cold nose deeper into Maples fur who again made a "gah" moving her paws to lightly playfully shove her away, "You stop that! I mean it! I'll get ya back!" Rosy beamed as Maple moved forward to attempt to get Rosy as she flew backwards to avoid her.

"Hey! Get back here! You can't just shove your cold nose on me and flee!"

"Yes I can!"

With that Rosy started to run away flying and weaving through the trees as Maple eagerly gave chase, honestly just glad to be getting further away from the human town. Moths ears twitched outwards before he followed casually with the girls attempting to, well, do something he wasn't sure could've been sky tag by how Rosy was ducking and dodging. He grabbed a leaf from a passing tree and started to eat it.

#My writing #Rosy the mew #Maple the mew #Moth the mew #I made Maple a bit snippy in this because she's very stressed over Rosy just going missing #And because moth is very lmao annoying for her so she's a spicy attitude mew #Moth meanwhile has this very casual air headed if intentional winding up kind of attitude while also being very calm and knowledgeable #So when they're left alone together if Maples stressed he tends to lmao annoy her more big wind up because he knows he can take her #But again she's not mad at him for real hence her only empty biting she doesn't actually wanna harm him #And knows he could just tuck her under his arm lmao and restrain her because I hc moff is bigger than them both and physically stronger #Meanwhile Maple has this really protective streak for Rosy because Rosy tends to get in situations and Maple has probably seen her be hurt #Maple has probably felt her scars when in a cuddle puddle and it worries and scares her (and she attributes it to people) #So she's very overprotective of Rosy but also knows Rosy is incredibly capable so it's this weird inner struggle of I must protect her #But also knowing Rosy doesn't like Maple doing that cause Rosy can hold her own easily hence her discomfort at the faith question #Wants to protect but also wants to respect friends boundaries and requests but also girl you be in SITUATIONS #Meanwhile Moth and Rosy just kinda quietly bounce off each other he's quietly there to dust her off as Maple worries and to talk Maple down #They just vibe #Also moth casually probably being the fastest and strongest probably because he's bigger but never using it so there's never an imbalance #And also moth just being annoying on purpose like hoohoo I was a burmy once *shows off mothim patterns* #Driving Maple up the fucking wall XD he's the annoying big brother to her protective spicy sister to Rosys Rosy. #I do kinda hc tho that Rosy is the oldest (this also technically works as I've had her since I made Mud) and Moth being the youngest #Which would make Maple the spicy middle child. #Also Maple aple apple pie #I just thought it was very funny and very cute he is tormenting her baby brother activity right there XD #If Rosy is the oldest it would also play into her not wanting Maple protecting her because she should be protecting Maple instead #There is dynamics and it's interesting and I love them very much your honor #Actually ages/sibling placement are lmao up to interpretation tho really

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Hello, sweetheart! I have a prompt for you ❤️ Geralt has chronic pains since the mutations. Sometimes he can't get up, because everything hurts so much. Sometimes he does not eat for days (weeks...), because he cannot go out hunting. As the years have passed, he has managed to mask the pain on his face. Nobody needs to know. His brothers have already looked for a cure, but the potions only ease the pain for a few hours. +

+ When Jaskier started following the witcher on the path, whenever the pain became unbearable, Geralt told him that he had picked up a contract. A contract that would perhaps take days. And then he went into the forest as far away as possible, so that no one would be able to hear his cries of pain.+

+Jaskier knew he was lying. But he just didn't know what he was lying about. Until one day, tired of this situation (he's his best friend, for God's sake!), Jaskier decides to go after Geralt and find out what's going on. You can change anything you want ❤️

BAAAAAAABBBBEEEE 

listen I lived the chronic pain life for a while and if someone would have just told me to shut the fuck up and confront the problem things would have been WAY easier lmao 

Warnings: Lots of swearing. ye ole self-depreciation. chronic pain.

__________

His back had ached for the last six decades; this sort of twisting torment was nothing new. His second round of trials had induced horrible spasms and, according to Vessimir, Geralt had broken the restraints usually used for young witchers and damn near writhed off the table before the sorcerers had restrained him. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in sixty years because of it.

Eskel and Lambert had sourced out different potions and spells over the years, sometimes putting him under Axi just so he can sleep despite his body, but with the extra mutations came heightened adaptability. If he took any potion too frequently it stopped working, used any spell too often it would barely touch him. While this made his job much easier, and much safer, he was in a never-ending nightmare of shooting and radiating stabbing pain emanating from various points in his spine. It was worse than any stab wound or monster bite he’d ever endured on the bad days, a dull throb on the good days. 

Traveling with Jaskier was surprisingly helpful in this aspect. He made it easier to get rooms with real beds and didn’t care that Geralt’s limbs draped over him in the only comfortable sleeping position he could find most nights. He insisted on getting Geralt hot baths he would never be offered on his own and once blackmailed someone into letting Geralt into a sauna. Of course, Geralt had never told him, there was no point, but having an advocate when he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, defend himself was nice. 

However, as with most things in Geralt’s life, things eventually went to shit. A fall off a two-story roof chasing a vampire the week before had depleted the few potions Eskel had scrounged up for him last they spoke and, bed or no bed, there was no way Geralt could stay with the bard and pretend he was fine. The longer he tried the more explosive his behavior, and well that wasn’t fair was it?

He had gotten up early, before the pain had time to settle in the pit of his stomach and make him nauseous, to head off to the foothills. Giving Jaskier a lie about a contract a town over and meeting up later, he headed to collect Roach and disappear. 

Mounting was a miserable affair, even with a hay bail to help him up. His leg nearly gave out from what felt like one of Yennefer’s electric shocks running the length of the limb before he had the bulk of his weight over the saddle. But once he was on, he was relatively fine. Not trotting fine, but comfortable enough to go at a steady pace out of town without groaning or screwing up his face in agony. It wouldn’t do to scare the townsfolk if he wanted to come back and collect his bard. 

He let Roach meander as far as she wanted off the road running parallel to a stream, letting her choose where they’d be camping for the night once they were far enough from civilization. 

He hated doing this, letting his guard down and in the wilderness no less, but he was holding himself upright on the pommel by the time Roach found a sandy bank next to the stream. He practically fell out of the saddle, unbuckling the girth and giving its bulk just enough of a tug to let it fall off the mare’s back. Even the little effort put into untacking was agony, but he needed his bedroll off the saddle and Roach needed a break. He collected the wood he would need for a fire before he let himself rest, knowing that as soon as he stopped moving the muscles would tighten and cramp up, making it impossible to move until morning. 

He was peeling his shirt off ever so gingerly when he heard a twig snap. Dropping the garment back over his shoulders he gingerly turned to peer into the woods in the sound’s direction. If something or someone came upon him now he was at their mercy unless he could muster enough energy for a sign. 

“A contract, huh?” Jaskier stepped out of the treeline with his arms crossed and a surprisingly parental look of disappointment on his face.

Geralt relaxed a little, plastering the mask of calm on his face as he got back to tugging his shirt over his head, “You followed me?”

Jaskier deflated, dropping his bag and lute next to Roach’s tack as he moved to help Geralt out of his clothes, “I knew you were hiding something from me, but this? Geralt? How long have you been injured?”

The witcher laughed, wincing at the dull ache through his entire torso from the previous effort of keeping himself in the saddle, “Half a century? Give or take.”

“What?” Jaskier sounded offended, why was he offended?

Geralt just grunted, clenching his jaw to keep from yelling as he stood and waded into the stream of snowmelt. All the air left his lungs when he lowered himself into the freezing water, but as it lapped over his back and sometimes even his shoulders he felt a small bit of relief. Being able to lean back a bit and be supported by the current was almost intoxicating after all his muscles had nearly turned to stone over the course of the week.

Jaskier was now standing at the bank with his arms crossed and a look of fury on his face, “I’m your best fucking friend- don’t look at me like that we’re using the ‘f’ word today- and you tried to hide a debilitating long-term injury? Geralt what the fuck?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Geralt huffed, doing his best not to get angry. He hurt and he was vulnerable and Jaskier was using the ‘f’ word and getting his hopes up.

“Oh shove it up your arse. You make everything else my problem, why not this?” Jaskier was on the verge of yelling and Geralt still couldn’t figure out why. 

Geralt stared forward in silence, calmly noting his hands shaking from the cold, or maybe it was the pain, he didn’t really know. 

Jaskier swore and turned to rummage through their things, arranging and rearranging things as he waited for Geralt to get out. 

However, Geralt didn’t want to get out. He wanted to be left alone to be miserable in peace. He wanted to have one fucking day where he didn’t have shooting pain running through most of his body. Long ago he’d given up hope of a day free of pain, now he just wished for an aching sensation rather than this bullshit. He also found he was liking the water. It wasn't as cold as it first was and his breath was coming easier. 

Jaskier rolled up his trousers and waded out to the middle of the stream where he sat, “C’mon Geralt, you can’t stay here all night. You’ll die.”

Geralt frowned up at him, “I like it in here. Hurts less.”

“Dumb Fuck, you’re turning blue. Out. Now.” Jaskier held a hand out and Geralt found raising his arm was nearly impossible. He got it about halfway to the bard’s palm before he stalled out, shaking and staring at his hand in horror. 

“I- Jask I can’t-”

Jaskier sighed, “You’re damn near hypothermic, here.” He reached down and hauled the witcher out of the stream, ignoring his grunts of pain as he walked him back to the fire he’d started. Jaskier went about stripping his soaked pants off, toweling him off with his old shirt, and redressing him all while glaring at him. Jaskier made him sip some boiled water before he bundled the both of them in one bedroll, wrapping himself around the still shivering witcher as completely as possible.

“Th-thank you.” Geralt gasped as Jaskier angrily shoved his arm beneath Geralt’s lower back, the warmth alone was lovely but something about the way his spine laid over the extra bulk was even better.

“You’re welcome.” Jaskier growled, head tucked into Geralt’s chest, “I’m still furious with you. It’s been over a decade and you didn’t think to tell me?” 

Geralt swallowed back tears as he felt some of the tension ease in his back, “No one else really cares…”

Jaskier tilted his chin up to look at the witcher like he was sprouting a horn out of his forehead, “The fuck do you think I’m doing here? You think I enjoy being run out of towns and almost dying every other day? Shit, Geralt, you’re smart but sometimes you’re fucking thick.”

If it wouldn’t have hurt Geralt would have playfully smacked his shoulder, but moving any part of his body was a risk at the moment, “Thought you liked the adventure.”

“No, dumbass. I care about you. A lot.” Jaskier settled his head back down over Geralt’s chest, “In the morning I’m taking you to a healer. Or a sorcerer or mage or anyone who will give us answers.”

“Julek…”

“Shut the fuck up and sleep. Cute nicknames won’t get you out of this one. I’m still furious.”

#geraskier #geraskier fic #angry jaskier #chronic pain geralt #the witcher #the witcher fic #geralt of rivia fic #jaskier fic #chronic pain #listen i asked myself how many times i could make jaskier swear and it was fun #regan writes #comfy writes

[worldwidemochiguy]

Reticence (soft! Yandere Hoseok)

Summary: You were always terrified of getting kidnapped when you were younger, and now that you’ve been taken by a man who claims to want to take care of you, you recede within yourself so far you refuse to even eat... but Hoseok is determined to let nothing hurt you, not even yourself.

Warnings: Kidnapping, kind of Stockholm syndrome, mentions of not eating so if you’re sensitive to that kind of stuff pls be careful <3 Yandere behaviour, though I am kind of romanticising it in this fic, please remember that that is all it is: Fiction. Obviously in real life this behaviour would be unacceptable and horrifying. 

Word Count: 2.2K

Masterlist :)

a/n: my first hobi fic!!! this is for @kpopgirlbtssvt​ from a request made about a billion years ago (sorry :/ ) for made-for-each-other verse! Yandere Hobi with a shy reader who wouldn’t talk even though he begged her to, and then him coming home from work to her telling him she missed him and was glad he was home. this was a lil less fluffy and a lil more angsty than i intended, but its still a ‘happy ending’ bc im a weak bitch with simple pleasures, what can i say lmao

Reticence

“What do you want for breakfast, sunshine?” 

Silence. 

Hoseok sighed, then straightened up again, walking over to the refrigerator. You remained sat by the kitchen island, empty gaze fixed on the marble countertop. 

“Omelettes it is, then!” He exclaimed with artificial excitement, trying to be cheery in the face of your taciturnity, but even the sunshiney optimist that was Hoseok was finding it more difficult than he expected. He had hoped that by now you would’ve accepted him, but you remained as quiet and unresponsive as the day he brought you home. Not that you thought of it as ‘home’ yet, but he hoped you would eventually. Hoseok was not a patient man, but he was willing to wait forever for you. 

You didn’t even blink when he set the plate down in front of you. It didn’t seem like you were going to attempt to eat it either. Hoseok sighed. He could understand if you didn’t want to talk to him yet — even though it had been months and he’d been nothing but kind to you — but he drew the line at refusing to eat. 

You had lost weight. The cute cheeks he loved to watch bunch up as you smiled were now sunken. Your beautiful figure which he had admired from afar was starting to become worryingly waif-like. Hoseok frowned, a crinkle between his brows forming for the first time as his usually exuberant features warped with agitation.

“Listen, Y/n-” Hoseok sat down at the kitchen island across from you, bracing his forearms against the table and leaning forwards. “You have to eat. I promise there’s nothing in it that could hurt you. Look, I’ll even eat it myself!” Hoseok carved out a small piece of the omelette and popped it in his mouth, exaggerating his chewing and swallowing. “See?” You offered no reaction, and Hoseok felt his disappointment join the omelette on its way down to his stomach. 

“I can understand that you maybe aren’t so happy with me right now, but that doesn’t mean you have to punish yourself. Just, please, please stop shutting me out.” His pleading tone did nothing to move you. You just sat there like a ghost, and a groan of frustration slipped out of Hoseok. 

“Please! I’m begging you! Just eat! I don’t understand, all I want to do is take care of you! All I want to do is love you, why won’t you accept me? Why won’t you even talk to me?” 

The only sound was Hoseok’s harsh breaths after his outburst. If he couldn’t see the slow rise and fall of your chest, Hoseok would think you weren’t alive at all. He slumped in his seat, allowing himself to wallow in self-pity for a moment, before forcing himself to get up and ready for work. When he passed through the kitchen again on his way out the door you were still sitting there, staring at the countertop. 

The front door banged shut, the sound echoing in the apartment. Then, silence. And then, very quietly, the noises of cutlery moving against a plate and chewing. 

~~~~~~

“I don’t know what to do~” Hoseok whined, his head buried in his hands. Around him, his shocked friends were gathered in an informal circle. Each of them had an expression with varying degrees of surprise and confusion — they had never seen Hoseok, the literal personification of sunshine, so dismayed. 

“It’ll be ok, Hoseok. I know it’s bad at the moment, but you just have to wait until she trusts you. Once you achieve her trust, you’ll both be the happiest you’ve ever been.” Taehyung reassured him. Taehyung was obviously the source of authority, since him and his wife were basically the perfect couple. 

“But what if she never trusts me?” Hoseok fretted, before groaning again. “She won’t even eat! I don’t know what to do, I’m just watching her slowly starve in front of me and she won’t even look at me!” The rest of the group paused as they digested this new information. It seemed this girl was particularly stubborn.

“Force feed her then.” Jin shrugged and Hoseok’s head shot up in outrage.

“No! I could never hurt her like that!”

“You’re hurting her by letting her starve.” Jeongguk pointed out, and Namjoon smacked the back of his head, chastising. Meanwhile, Hoseok looked like he was about to cry.

“Listen, Hoseok, are you sure this girl is the one?” Jimin questioned, bracing his clasped hands on his knees. 

“I know she is.” Hoseok replied with a conviction he rarely used. “The second she came into my life, it was like I was born again and she was the first thing I saw. The only thing I could see. Her face- God, it just… glows. She’s like sunshine. She’s an angel. She’s so beautiful and kind and fragile and I want to protect her from everything, and I don’t deserve her but no one else does either and I know we’re meant to be together. If I thought I could’ve let her go, I would have. But I can’t. I have to have her, she has to be mine.” 

The circle of men was quiet for a second, before a quiet chuckle broke the silence. 

“Well then,” Yoongi rasped, “if she’s all that you say she is-”

“She is.” Hoseok interjected fiercely.

“Then all you can do is have a little patience.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It was incredibly boring being kidnapped. Especially when your kidnapper did nothing interesting except make bad food and dance along to music from the TV surprisingly well and cry sometimes when you wouldn’t look at him. Frankly, it would have been easier if he were more of the torturey-type, because it was really hard to stay stubborn in the face of his sparkling eyes and radiant smile.

When you were younger, there was a poster up on the wall of your homeroom at school. On it was an old man with an ugly sneer and a beige trench-coat, with the slogan ‘DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS’ superimposed in glaring red letters. You used to stare up at the poster and wonder how anyone could be so stupid as to talk to someone who looked like that. 

You were never afraid to yell ‘STRANGER DANGER’ at the highest decibel your little lungs could manage whenever a person brushed too close to you in the mall. It was almost a habit — you were avidly fixated on your own personal safety, much to your mother’s chagrin and public embarrassment. Being banned from all the surrounding stores within a 20 mile radius had two consequences:

You had to drive forty minutes for a new pair of socks.

You stayed at home a lot more than you went out.

You became a homebody, and it was certainly not something you were unhappy about. Staying safe in your room meant there was less risk for someone to kidnap you. The comforting layer of your blanket was a shield from everything bad in the world. When your parents were arguing constantly, screaming at each other every other night, you would just tuck yourself in and read a bedtime story on your own since they were both occupied. When your parents eventually divorced, you buried yourself under your duvet rather than answer their questions about who you wanted to stay with, and what your preference was. When your mom died in a car crash, and your dad started drinking, your mattress was the shoulder you could cry on, your blanket was a warm arm holding you close. You had always felt safe in your bed. Perhaps that was why you were having such an averse reaction to being taken from it.

Hoseok was not a man with an ugly sneer and a trench coat. He had an impeccable sense of style, and his smile was breathtaking on the few occasions that it appeared. You more often saw his face twisted into a pained grimace. For a kidnapper, he was awfully sensitive. You were pretty sure it was reasonable for you to be holding grudge, and it’s not as if you were actively fighting against him or anything. You were just refusing to acknowledge him. You were highly skilled at repressing things, or ignoring them, and you were resolved to do the same now. 

By 7 o’ clock, your resolve was slightly eroded. Hoseok always arrived back at half-past 5 on the dot. He was a very punctual person, and you felt an unwelcome sense of worry curl along the edges of your mind as the clock counted away the seconds of him not being there. You remembered feeling the same way when you waited for your mom to pick you up from your dads, watching the clock hand sweep past the numbers, increasingly taunting. Of course, you hadn’t realised that she was at the time caught in between a lorry with a drunk driver and a very steep incline. You wondered if you were being similarly clueless now. 

When the door clicked open at quarter to 9, you had to restrain yourself from exhaling in relief. Hoseok came in looking slightly disheveled, his collar undone and his hair mussed as if he had ran his hands through it over and over again. He gave you a quick once over to see if you were alright, shot you a small, forced smile and then went straight to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

That was odd. He never closed the door to his bedroom. He had always left it open in case you needed anything, despite your refusal to acknowledge him. First, his late arrival and now yet another uncommon action? You felt curiosity bubble within you. That was it. Curiosity. It’s not that you were at all worried about him, you were just being nosy. Of course. 

You tiptoed towards the door, tracing a finger around the door frame lightly. What if he didn’t even come out again for dinner? You doubted he had dined out without you, he had been eating his meals sitting across from you while you refused to touch yours since the day he stole you. You really should check on him, if only for the fact that if he dies then you’re trapped here with a high chance of starvation.

Before you could convince yourself not to, you opened the door and stepped inside. The only light-source came from the moonlight filtering through the window, casting Hoseok’s form lying on the bed in a deep blue. His eyes, which you assumed had been closed previously, shot open to observe you as he propped himself up on the backs of his forearms.

“Y/n.” He rasped, and a pleasant shiver ran down your spine. “D-do you need anything?” His tone was both excited and confused, probably because you had literally never directly interacted with him before. 

You didn’t speak, and for the first time your silence was due to speechlessness, rather than a conscious desire.

“I-I, uh,” You stuttered, and Hoseok sat up ramrod straight, hearing your voice for the first time. “You… were late home.”

Hoseok felt like he couldn’t breathe. Your voice was so soft and pretty, fuck, and you were actually looking at him, you were actually talking to him, holy shit- and you called the apartment home. You said he was late ‘home’. Hoseok somehow managed to keep his shit together. 

“I was?”

“Yes.” You confirmed with a small nod of your head. Fuck, you were so cute. “You normally come back at half five. It’s almost nine now.”

“I’m sorry. I was working late.” He was staying at the office because he felt guilty for not taking proper care of you and wanted to avoid seeing the proof of your unhappiness, but you didn’t need to know that. 

“It’s ok.”

You remained standing at the foot of the bed, locked in his gaze. The bed looked so comfortable, moulding to support his body, and his warm body was exactly the comforting presence you were searching for all those years ago and you found yourself asking,

“Can I sleep in the bed with you?” 

It was a quiet, timid suggestion but Hoseok reacted to it like a bombshell. His eyes practically popped out of their sockets and his entire body tensed. You were about to rescind your offer when he reached out a tugged a corner of the blanket down, welcoming you into the warmth. 

You awkwardly sat on the edge of the mattress, nudging off your house slippers with your toes before slipping under the covers. The relief was instantaneous, shrouded in comforting and familiar warmth, and you couldn’t stop yourself from plastering yourself against his side, arm reaching out tentatively to rest on his chest. You felt his muscles jump under your touch, before his arm slid under you and tucked around your shoulders, drawing you into him closer. You closed your eyes, letting out a quiet little sigh, and you let yourself say the words you wish you could’ve said all those years ago when your mother never returned.

“I’m glad you’re home. I missed you.” 

#yandere bts #soft yandere bts #bts hoseok #bts jhope #bts hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #yandere hoseok x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfiction #bts fic #bts fanfic #jung hoseok

[flightofaqrow]

🌟

Send 🌟 for lines of your writing that I enjoy a lot!

There’s probably a billion more that I could toss in here, but I’m pulling stuff that immediately jump to mind from my favorite threads, and what I can peep doing an archive skim. I’ll probably miss ones I really adored at the time IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO PICK WITH YOU OKAY.

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Speaks lots about his character that he would drink it dry over mixed. A concoction often mixed with water for its taste. Something you sip, not drown yourself in.

And Qrow drowns.

He drowns himself in everything that he consumes. From the busted pack of cheap Parliaments in his pants pocket to the oxygen that he breathes. Knows no such thing as self-control. The one variable in his life that he seeks to restrain forever flowing freely from his fingertips. Feels the glass slip from his grasp and its only luck that he catches it before it clatters onto the counter.

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Wracked with guilt, Qrow pushes himself away from the counter onto shaky feet to look the other properly. Ozpin only taller by a few inches. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, wet with booze and now tears that fell unprompted. The death of many weighing heavily on his conscious.

“I’m so… stupid,” Qrow breathed out finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence that fell between them.

“Everyone said not to, and I did.” A bitter laugh and Qrow’s face is all but happy. Twisted up in sadness and sorrow as he looked the other with pleading eyes.

“I gave you everything,” He breathed out, voice barely audible, “And you couldn’t give me the truth.”

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PLAY ALONG for now, mister.

Nothing more needed to be said as a warm body cozies up against his side, Qrow only mere seconds away from downing his third shot of Scotch. Sets the glass back down and he knows a trap when he sees one. Knows when a game is being played, having been one who played such games when he was younger, before Beacon.

A ploy harder to keep with age.

And age shows well on Qrow. It’s the weapon secured on the small of his black and the title he’s earned for himself that makes playing hard. He’s not as cute or coy about it anymore. Too well seasoned and trained for cheap party tricks. Secures information in more adult manner now.

A smirk graces plush lips as she leaned in, the smell of cheap perfume tickling his senses. Hooks an arm around her waist and pulls her forward and around, so she was trapped between him and the counter of the bar itself.

“Say no more, doll.”

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He’s hunched over the edge of a crate in the middle of a fucking alleyway in Mantle during a patrol. Clover the unfortunate sap stuck to tend to the huntsman in his current nauseated state of being. Withdrawal symptoms hitting him at the worse possible time and all he wants is for it to end.

A moment of peace in his life devoid of pain and suffering. He wants to breathe and be at ease. No fear of his semblance and what harm it could bring. No fear of being hurt and left behind to die. Could count the times he’s been left behind by the tribe to waste away. Liquor his saving grace from his misery.

Numbed the hurt and gave him something better to feel in return.

This, this was not better. This was miserable and god awful. This needed to end right now and all Qrow wants to do right now is to bitch and gripe about it. Shoves the hand reaching out to smooth his hair back away as he hurled once more.

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There’s a clench of his stomach in response. Empty. The idea of eating is unappealing to the Branwen however. The body wants, but Qrow does not feel the urge to feed it. Craving for liquor and basic necessities all merged into one, he can’t quite tell the difference anymore.

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HE’S QUICK. He has to be. Doesn’t have muscles oozing off of him like every other huntsman he knows. No where like anyone else in the tribe.  Qrow is all speed and skill. A natural talent honed in on to make up for the everything that follows him. He over compensates for being a bad luck charm. The movement is fluid. A  smooth transition, from running up on the Grimm, the fall of his footsteps quiet and controlled, to the extension of Harbinger. Qrow pirouettes from first position to second and swings down into third. Harbinger’s blade slicing clean through with each transition as he comes into place in front of Clover. Stops mere inches from slicing the other in half with his scythe. Cool metal starring dangerously into the face of the other.

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[ THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER FOR ONE I CAN’T FIND. THERE WAS AN AWESOME METAPHOR/TURN OF PHRASE WITH CLOVER AND CARDS AND I THINK A BLACKJACK REFERENCE AND FOR THE LIFE OF ME I CANNOT FIND IT!!! I liked it so much I read it out loud to my husband oh my god I’m so mad I don’t remember when it was... ]

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I won’t copy/post nsfw stuff, it might even be weird to mention it but uuhhhhhh THIS WHOLE ANSWER

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It’s like kissing ink on paper, bitter with a touch of something else underneath. Meant to stain and leave an impression. 

[ oddly enough the first half of the imagery with these lines kind of had a disconnect for me, because while I appreciated the hell out of the reference I couldn’t see why black coffee would need to be shaken OR stirred, so I wasn’t exactly sure what was being communicated. THE INK METAPHOR HIT ME HARD THO. especially with the concept of it being a layered thing. ]

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[JUST INSERT THE ENTIRE F’ING THREAD WITH STAT’S RAVEN OKAY. BUT UGH I GUESS I’LL PICK SOME]

Free them all from the burden of carving out their hearts and stabbing it into the trees of the woods where it can be maimed and torn apart by the very same creatures they hunt.

They’ve fought many times before and now should be no different to rekindle their love for one another. What she did hurts, but nothing hurts more than having a part of him forcibly torn away. To see her suffering further than he can feel from afar.

They’ve wounded each other enough as it is. Not a part of them scratch free. Their blades permanently carved into one another. Said things neither one of them truly meant and felt nothing, but each other’s pain in return. Tears shed from both twins, strong and overwhelmed with the emotional force combined by both parties.

Reaches out the only way he knows how, by baring himself whole. Put his emotions on display in it’s rawest form. Knows nothing else, but how to be honest. Tells her with little words that he still feels everything that she feels, if not more that she ever could. “I’m here, Raven.”

A hive abandoned by it’s own Queen is destined to die. Wither away blindly completing tasks with no end-goal.

He tightens his grip around her hand, rings pressing into the other’s skin. Only then is he mindful of how tight it exactly gotten. Something akin to fear in his hold. Like if he doesn’t take this, take all of it, she’ll slip away from him again and he’ll be here. Standing alone in the rain with an empty hand reminiscent of warmth he craves. Warmth that could only be fulfilled by her.

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[ I should actually do some of OURS huh... lmao]

No, Qrow offers himself up on a silver platter. Highlights his best features and puts it on display with the intention of captivating anyone who inched too close.

His next drink is lined up and Qrow circles the rim with his index finger. Feels the welcoming warmth of intoxication slowly begun to consume him. Combs through his hair with a level of familiarity and comfort he’s grown far too accustomed with. Beckons him to coo in delight at the sensation.

This conversation is far too convoluted to keep his interest. There is both nothing and everything going on at the same time and Qrow has little interest in thinking. If he was looking for a chat, he would have reported back to Ozpin hours ago. He would have followed through with his meeting with James, but he has done none and neither of these things.

He smiled as Briar laced their hand together, swinging their arms back and forth as they walked the streets of Mantle post-drinking spurge. Wherever it is their feet leads them is wherever they will go for the night. It doesn’t matter as long as she’s by his side.

Sweet is the first word to come to mind at such a brazen promise being bestowed upon him. Briar is sweet. How could she not be? Gentle in nature with consideration tucked under her belt. A dosage of sugar and spice he never knew he needed in his life. She is fun and a blast in the wake of his somber lifestyle.

Makes a request for rum and ginger ale, something sweet to satisfy his tongue. Far too odd for him to simply order whiskey on the rocks in a club. A drink meant for isolation, not mingling.

He pulls back and Qrow brushed at her shoulder with his hands to get rid of everything that left him. Disgusting as it is. Small smile on his lips as nervous laughter follows next. Doesn’t know what to do with himself as he stood there awkwardly, drenched to the bone in Briar’s apartment. “Hey,” he tried, “I’m back.” What else can he say after all that? The moment gone and Qrow more than ready to move on like it never happened.

It’s Briar! Qrow LOVES Briar. Qrow loves Briar except for when Briar is being the most Briar she can be and this, long pointed finger in his face as vermilion eyes narrowed at the sight of painted nails mere inches away from his nose as he drank is the least version of Briar he liked. Briar with a point.

The people outside the tribe far too fragile about their precious masculinity and feminity. Whereas Qrow could not care about these gender norms they aspire to. He sees a pretty outfit. He wants to wear it. It’s as simple as that.

OKAY ITS BEEN HOURS I NEED TO STOP AND MOVE ON BUT I COULD CONTINUE FOR MORE HOURS. I WANTED TO PUT SOME SIENNA ON HERE TOO BUT THIS IS SO LONG ALREADY SEND FROM THAT BLOG IF U WANT IT I GUESS. OKAY. ILU BEST BITCHHH

#infortunii #* behind closed doors = ooc * #* hey i got a tip for ya = meme response * #warning this is long af #my love for risa's writing knows no bounds

[elsaclack]

I wish you would write a fic in the Jake-can-feel-Amy’s-emotions universe that entails the warehouse raid and their first kiss that occurs after because I AM TRASH

HI THIS IS LIKE 8 MONTHS LATE BUT!!!! BETTER LATE THAN NEVER OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT

i did have something posted once upon a time in the original iteration of this universe butttttt i rewrote/repurposed parts of it to this, bc i like this one better but the first one had good bones

also this is a reference to two one-shots i posted a million years ago from a soulmate au i…developed? created? something like that lmao. you don’t necessarily have to have read either one of them but here they are just in case you want to: one and two

in the event that you don’t want to read them, the only thing you need to know is that in this au, soulmates can feel each other’s emotions. prior to their first kiss as soulmates, only one can feel the other - after the first kiss, they can both feel each other. so. in this setting, jake could feel amy, but amy couldn’t feel jake, and then they kissed, and now amy can feel jake. clear as mud :-)

So here’s the thing: it’s two o’clock in the morning, Jake’s smells like trash, and he’s about two-and-a-half minutes away from completely losing his mind. It should be noted, of course, that his teetering on the precipice of madness is entirely unrelated to the ungodly hour and his ungodly stench (though, to be fair, neither are helping) except by the furthest, narrowest of circumstances - that is to say, he could be fresh out of the shower at nine in the morning and still feel the tendrils of panic squeezing ever tighter round his heart.

So, here’s the thing: he’s panicking, and panicking some more, because for all of his feelings of panic stifling each inhale, Amy’s poorly-restrained anxiety rears up tenfold from the deepest dredges of his chest. It’s just his luck, he supposes, that his soulmate is such an anxious person by nature; normally it’s nothing he can’t handle, but with his current state of mind and his inherent inability to regulate his own emotions, Amy’s pretty much on her own.

Except that isn’t entirely true, is it, because here’s the thing: he’s panicking, and she can feel it. She can exactly how piss-poor he truly is at managing his panic, so it’s really no wonder that she’s panicking, because she always seems more panicky when he seems panicky and now she can feel exactly how panicky he is and god, who thought of this whole sharing-emotions-with-your-soulmate bullshit?

He didn’t ask for this, for the record. He was perfectly happy keeping their connection a secret and carrying it all the way to his grave, probably. Amy kissed him, not the other way around, thank you very much.

(He was probably going to tell her soon, anyways, because it’s been eating away at him like a virus and he’s pretty sure there’s science to prove that being around your soulmate without telling them they’re your soulmate for as long as he has been around Amy has physical side-effects in addition to being, like, a massive bummer.)

It seems wherever she is (somewhere in the back of the precinct in this very floor, he’s pretty sure, like either the evidence lockup or the bathroom or something) she’s at least partially aware of the effect her anxiety is having on Jake - he can feel her familiar attempts at tamping it all down, probably the result of her doing a breathing exercise he’s coached her through in the past. It works, if only a little; he can feel his own head clearing, his racing thoughts slowing, until the blurriness to his vision sharpens and he can hear himself breathe over the blood pounding in his ears.

He’s not even fully aware of his own thankfulness until he feels Amy’s bewilderment - and of course she’s bewildered, why wouldn’t she be bewildered at his thankfulness invading her mind like alien baby chest-bursters.

His newly-cleared vision lands on a slightly crumpled post-it taped to the bottom of his computer monitor - get a grip tonto, it tells him in Rosa’s scrawl - and he inhales deeply through his nose, letting the words reverberate around his skull. Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip.

It’s probably more of a reflection on him than it is on her that, despite his somewhat-diminished sense of world-ending panic, he can’t quite get the unevolved caveman part of his brain to stop replaying their first kiss. It’s not his fault - Amy Santiago is a good kisser, even under all the duress and pressure of an undercover mission seconds away from going sideways. She’s a good kisser when she’s sporting a gruesome black eye, a good kisser when she’s out of breath, a good kisser when she’s falling, a good kisser at the bottom of one of the nastiest dumpsters Jake’s ever had the misfortune of smelling in his life. Even if nothing else ever happens and he spends the rest of his life replaying this one memory on a loop, he’ll get it tattooed to his forehead:

Amy Santiago is a good, good kisser.

But, the fact still remains: he never asked for this.

He definitely hoped for this, but he never asked for it.

He kind of asked for it.

It’s not his fault.

It was a natural reaction - anyone who was in his place would have done the same thing, dammit! She’s his partner and she was in danger - and, okay, maybe the only reason he knew that in the moment was because he felt her sudden spike of shock and fear more than he heard knuckles connecting with flesh and her responding gasp of pain in the room he’d just crept out of. But the fact still stands - he would have gone and thrown that jerk off of any of his fellow detectives.

He would have gotten just as much savage, feral pleasure at punching that perp’s lights out. He would have yanked any of his fellow detectives into a bone-crushing hug. Just as Amy would have pulled any of the other detectives into a panic undercover kiss upon hearing their other perps coming back toward them at the commotion.

Right.

Amy Santiago is a good kisser, even when she’s unwittingly establishing their soulmate connection and feeling every last ounce of his emotion flood her nervous system for the very first time.

(He tries not to think about the fact that she’d gasped into his mouth or that she’d gone stiff as a board in his arms for all of one-second - tries to chalk it up to the sound of their perps storming in somewhere behind them and wolf-whistling at their display, too distracted by them to notice their companion out cold on the floor at their feet.)

And he really tries not to think about his stupid, fumbling attempts at leading them out the back door into the alley behind the warehouse before the perps caught on - about how he’d misjudged the distance, sending them both toppling over the edge of the loading dock and straight into the open dumpster below.

(And the weight of her settling over them even as they’d both grunted on impact - how she’d pulled back for a second, eyes blown wide, before leaning back in - how he’s still not sure if the desperation he’d seen in her eyes was case-related or them-related.)

It was messy, and stupid, and so completely and utterly them - and the fact that they managed to make all of their arrests gives him hope that someday, they might be able to laugh about this.

Of course, the fact that she did not speak one word directly to him and studiously avoided his gaze the whole way back to the precinct gives him severe anxiety.

It’s two-o’clock in the morning and his connection to Amy is a living, breathing entity - what was a soothing glimmer as delicate as spider’s silk glows bright an overwhelming now, rearing up and glittering like ocean waves beneath a setting sun. She’s everywhere, she’s everything, and he’s certain now that he won’t be able to live without her, and maybe that’s not the best thing to be thinking at two o’clock in the morning when he smells like a dumpster and there are half-finished arrest reports strewn about his desk, but it doesn’t matter.

Because the hailstorm of emotions originating from Amy suddenly taper off into a quiet and firm kind of resolution - and Jake’s stomach bottoms out at the feeling. He can’t tell around his own stupid anxiety if she’s happy or sad or angry or anything other than calm - it’s the exact opposite of the way he feels, only more so when his phone buzzes with a new text.

Will you please meet me in the evidence lockup?

She doesn’t have to ask if he’s still at the precinct, he notes with a certain amount of trepidation as he pockets his phone and slowly stands from his desk. She’s only felt his emotions for a matter of hours, now, and already she can read them well enough to deduce that he’s been paralyzed at his desk since they got back.

It would be comforting, if he wasn’t so freaked out.

She’s tucked toward the back of the evidence lockup when he slowly edges inside, leaned back against the shelves, arms crossed loosely over her chest. She straightens a little when the door squeaks on its hinges; he winces, both at the sound and at the fact that her face is entirely unreadable. She’s pulled her hair up into a low, loose bun in the time that has passed since he last saw her - a move he recognizes from her previous panic attacks, a half-conscious effort to allow cool air to touch the back of her neck. He forces himself to keep moving toward her for as long as he can stand it - all in, he stops about five feet short from where she’s standing, hands jammed so deep in his pockets he’s at risk of ripping holes through the seams.

Amy stares at him for a long moment, the only sound in the room the quiet mechanical whir of the precinct’s computer servers against the wall to his left. He tries to hold her gaze, really - it proves to be too much, the way the blinking server lights reflect off the molten brown chocolate of her irises, seconds away from piercing the very foundation of his soul. He focuses instead of her hands - on the way her fingers twist around her grandmother’s ring, knotting together in a way that reminds him of the knots in his own stomach. He inhales through his nose, holds it for a beat, and slowly releases it through barely-parted lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice is soft, curious; not an ounce of accusation colors her words. His heart leaps unbidden at the sound of her voice and her eyes practically double in circumference. “Jake, I…” she trails, her fingers pressing briefly over her heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He rocks back on his heels, fighting his flight instinct urging him to shrug. ��I don’t, um…I just, I didn’t want you to, y’know, feel…obligated.”

Her swell of affection is undeniable; he peers up at her through his lashes to find her gaze soft and a little bit sad.

Boldness sweeps through him.

“I mean, you were right about all of this - the choice part of it, I mean. I knew you were my soulmate the day I met you, but -”

He’s nearly knocked breathless at the sudden punch of disbelief from Amy. “Eight years?” she whispers, and he bites the inside of his cheek. “You’ve known for eight years?”

“Uh-huh,” he curls his fingers inside his pockets, twisting the fabric of his jacket between his nails. “I mean, it was rough at first - we weren’t exactly best friends, remember? And I thought I was wrong for a while, too, but I - I wasn’t. And, I dunno, I was starting to come around to the idea of telling you about it when -”

He stops, drops his chin, stares at the fraying seams of his sneakers. “When, what?” Amy prompts him after a moment.

“You were right that morning in the break room,” he says quietly. “When you were talking about, uh, the nature of free will. I didn’t realize how important it was to me until after we talked, but -”

“The morning my brother found his soulmate,” she interrupts suddenly, understanding washing through her. “Oh, Jake,” she says softly, “I was such an ass about it -”

“No, you were right,” he insists. “I had never really thought about it that way. It made me rethink a lot of things, actually. I realized I had been planning my whole life around - well, around you. But I didn’t even know you. It’s like you said, some cosmic force just decided that that’s how things were gonna be for me, and I never questioned it. But after we talked that morning, I realized that I wanted to want this. I wanted to want you. Not because someone else said I should, but because I chose to. And I - I wanted you to, uh, choose me. So…” he sucks in a deep breath, and Amy’s chin ticks up a degree. “You don’t have any obligation to me, Ames.” he says, pleasantly surprised to find his voice unwavering. “If this isn’t what you want, I…I get it. Really.” He tries to ignore the sharp ache in his chest as the words leave his lips, but based on the way her face crumbles he’s certain he’s done a terrible job. “Okay, eventually. I’ll get it eventually.” A half-smile quirks the corner of her mouth upward, and he feels himself steadying. “But if…if this is something you want…I’m yours. I want you. I choose you.”

It’s strange - up until now, he thought he’d felt every single one of Amy Santiago’s emotions. This one - this swelling, morphing mass of something - is entirely new to him, though. It’s bubbling up and folding in on itself, growing faster than he can comprehend, intensifying tenfold with each slow, tentative step Amy takes closer to him, and now her molten gaze has him pinned in place all the moisture in his mouth evaporating in an instant -

Her hands are warm and steady where they brush against his jaw and curl around the back of his neck, firm when they tug him down two inches, soft where they gently skate up into his hair. Her lips are pliant against his, coaxing and inviting, moving with him in perfect synchronization.

Amy Santiago is an excellent kisser.

But above everything else, Jake feels radiant acceptance swelling like a warm hug around his tripping heart. She wants him, too, it’s in her hands and her lips and her steady, steady heartbeat. He all but melts against her, releasing an involuntary hum as the tension leaks from his joints and his hands slide up the gentle slope of her spine. She lets out a little hum of her own when his fingers spread and flex over the space between her shoulder blades, and he tucks the sound away, fully intent on figuring out exactly how to make her do it again.

She pulls away first, pressing a hand to the side of his face when he momentarily strains to follow, and for a long moment they stand foreheads flush together, trying to catch their breaths. Her left arm flexes where it’s wrapped around his neck and he slowly curls his fingers around the curve of her waist, smiling at her quiet, breathless laugh.

“You really meant that, didn’t you?” she whispers.

He swallows thickly, reveling in the warmth of her skin seeping through his shirt, ignoring the now-distant ache in his chest at the thought of her not wanting this. “Yeah,” he breathes, and it’s the strangest thing - it’s like his conviction is echoing back to him.

She pulls away to look him in the eye, though her grip around his neck never falters; he bites back a smile at the feeling of her fingers curling into the material of his hoodie. “This is - it’s - a lot,” she mumbles, eyes briefly squeezing shut. “Like, a lot to process - is it usually this intense?”

“Never,” he says quickly. “I mean, like, sometimes if emotions were running high - like if you were really pissed off about something, or, like, having a panic attack - but that was before you could - I mean, that was when it was just me. I don’t - I don’t really know what happens now.”

She nods slowly, eyes darting down to his lips for the barest second before meeting his gaze again. “I…really want to find out,” she whispers.

It takes all of one nanosecond before the joy comes blazing in - a tsunami of it, all-encompassing and all-consuming. He yanks her back to him sharply, her responding laughter little more than a muffled buzz against his lips and a pleasant simmer in his belly. Fear and dread and panic are nothing more than distant memories now, and through it all Jake finds himself wondering why on earth he didn’t do this sooner.

“Jake -” he cuts her off with another kiss, earning yet another muffled laugh, pressing against her over and over again until he’s effectively smothering her. “Jake - Jake, let’s - Jake!”

He’s laughing when he pulls away, biting his lip, reaching up to touch the tendrils of hair fallen from her bun. “Sorry,” he mumbles, not sorry at all, “I’ve just been waiting for a really long time to do that -”

“I’m not saying we have to stop,” she says, “just - let’s go somewhere, anywhere else. I don’t even care where, just - together.”

“I smell like a dumpster, so -”

“Me too.”

“- shower? And then somewhere? I can pick you up at your apartment -”

“Or we could just…both go somewhere that has a shower.”

There’s mischief in her eyes and excitement in her veins and he can’t tamp down the grin on his face if he tried. “I think I know a place,” he says pseudo-thoughtfully, and this time it’s Amy pressing her lips to his to smother his laughter.

“Let’s go together,” she says when she pulls away too soon. “We can come back for the other car tomorrow, but let’s go together.”

“Yeah,” he says, an absurd hitch in his voice. “Together.”

She steps back and the loss of her heat against him is jarring until her fingers lace through his and gently squeeze; her affection and adoration is an undeniable hearth in his heart glowing in her eyes. “Together,” she whispers, chin briefly touching his shoulder.

There’s an urge somewhere deep to tack something stupid like ‘forever’ on the end, but he ignores it in favor of a broad, blinding grin.

(That hearth has grown to a wildfire still raging by morning, when he emerges from his bedroom dazed from sleep and everything else to find Amy padding around his kitchen, hair tousled, grin soft with the same affection he feels in her stuttering heart.)

#em answers #b99 #jake x amy #peraltiago #b99 fics #my b99 fics #fezzle #idk how else to tag this good luck y'all

[trans-l-lawliet]

Can you headcanon L and Matsuda being both autistic and/or with ADHD and kinda understanding each other eventual needs please?? And with the reaction/opinions of others (Light, Soichiro, Aizawa, Misa and Mogi)

Hi there! So, my ADHD had me in a pretty intense BNHA lock down (here is my sideblog shameless self promo lmao), and tbh I’m answering this ask first just because of the hilarious irony of it. 

I tried to answer both the premise and how the other characters react, and I’m still in the process of shifting back into Death Note mode, so bear with my dumbass ass

L and Matsuda were peak autism/ADHD solidarity, and they bonded pretty fast over it.

L already knew about Touta because he investigated the police very thoroughly, but Matsuda realised quite fast that Ryuzaki shared certain traits with him.

Both of them loved to sit down “weird”, and would be found discussing the case in the strangest of postures. Once Aizawa walked to Matsuda hanging his legs mid air as he laid down on the couch, while Ryuzaki was sitting on one of the armchairs, face pressed against the arm, his voice muffled as he recited the deaths’ data from the previous week.

“Ryuzaki, I literally can’t take any more information in today, I want to talk about Detective Conan” “Sure, but only if we can talk about my list of sweets after” “Deal. Which country today?” “I’m feeling Italy” “Nice. So, I’m on volume 42 and-”

L wasn’t much of a fan of having to repeat himself, or being interrupted mid sentence, but once Touta explained that it was because of his auditory processing issues, he started to give Matsuda five to ten seconds to reply, and would repeat what he last said if asked, two-three times if needed.

When they became closer and seemed to actually start developing something like friendship, the unstoppable force of Matsuda’s Labrador energy clashed with the immovable object of L’s rejection of physical touch. He tried to learn how to read Ryuzaki’s body language so he could take some steps back if needed, to which L was grateful for.

Once Touta learnt about what flavours L loved, and the right texture he could tolerate for his food, he started bringing snacks to share with him that catered to his needs. Except for eclairs, those were for Ryuzaki alone. The simply thought of eating one made Matsu’s skin crawl.

Ryuzaki completely dropped any form of degradation towards Matsuda after a particular night when he lashed out at him in frustration with the case, and Touta had a panic attack triggered by his RSD. If he ever expressed anything akin to an insult, L always made sure it was clear he was joking, in his own way.

Executive dysfunction had always been a pain to deal with, and Matsuda was no stranger to it, but he grew to be so grateful to have Watari around, he once cried about it.

The man was used to L's own version of it, and to have someone to actually help Matsu out by giving him pointers and tips, as well as a helping hand, it made his heart ache in a good way.

The other members of the Task Force didn’t know how to react at first, because Matsuda restrained a lot when he worked back in the police. They considered him clumsy and a bit of an airhead, but little did they know that the limits he pushed onto himself were to blame for that. 

Being in such a small team, plus being in company of someone who understood his needs better than any other coworker would’ve been able to made him feel more free to just be himself and behave in ways that actually helped him work better.

Like stimming. He didn’t know how much he missed it on a work environment until he was able to bring his favourite pen in and click clack it away while working through reports. Or bouncing his left leg as his right was tucked under himself on the chair.

Mogi had always been one to roll with the punches, and when he found both men in a deep conversation about home decor at three in the morning, he simply sat down with the reports he had brought and started working through them.

Aizawa started being slightly more considerate towards Touta, and tried to reduce his complaining about his attitude, as he caught on the fact that Matsuda had been simply restrained by societal expectations. It wasn’t at the same level, but he could relate to those feelings of inadequacy. This, in turn, softened his attitude towards L as well.

Soichiro, the always diligent leader, noticed how much more productive and eager to work Matsuda was, and tried to silently learn through observation. If he could make it easier for Touta once they had to return to the police, he would.

Light always had these feelings of slight irritation towards Matsuda, that he never put a name of and simply branded as thinking of him as stupid. But L saw right through Light in a lot of aspects, including this one. And He Did Not Like It At All.

When Ryuzaki handcuffed himself to Light, he made sure to invite Matsuda over to indulge in ranting about their interests even more than it was already usual for them. If Light ever complained about how much they were talking, Ryuzaki would tell him that surely Japan’s Top Student could push through and concentrate in whatever he’s doing, no matter if there’s a conversation going on around him.

Misa loved her manager Matsui. And Matsuda was very fond of Misa as well, even if he couldn’t admit it because she was still suspect of being involved in the Kira case, with so much evidence against her… But she was sweet and full of life, and he couldn’t help but admire her.

He never told her, but he was pretty certain the girl had a touch of ADHD herself. They settled in a fun friendship dynamic right from the start, and when they discovered they had the same tastes in music, random karaoke nights in her room were on. He even got Ryuzaki and Light to join once, even if neither of them actually sang a single song.

Touta explained to Misa a bit in regards of how to act around Ryuzaki, because she was Very Loud and even more physical than Matsuda, and he didn’t want his friend to have a meltdown because she just went slightly overboard with her natural excitement. 

Ryuzaki didn’t learn about this until he was reviewing the footage for Misa’s bedroom one night, and he wouldn’t admit it, but it was touching to see someone actually try to be accommodating instead of dismissive.

#touta matsuda #l lawliet #ryuzaki #death note #dn #headcanons #shoichiro yagami #light yagami #shuichi aizawa #kanzo mogi #oh look I can still write death note stuff #wild #hope u like these anon

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: honey on my table; adam page

Notes:

This one was originally sent to me by @adampage​ on my old / new main blog snarkandsarcasmwrites. This is part 2 of a 3 part thing, btw. The third part is gonna be posted next, lmao. Part one is babes in toyland and can be found by clicking [here].

Summary:

In part 2 of this mini series thing, Grace and Adam are getting onto the cruise ship. They’re sharing a room. Grace is hungry. Food themed teasing comes into play. Part 2 of 3.

Pairing:

Adam Hangman Page x OFC, Grace

Warnings:

Uhh... mildly suggestive.. If you squint. Innuendo and flirting.

The cruise ship loomed ahead and Grace gripped Adam’s hand tighter, making him chuckle and drop hold of her hand to slip an arm around her. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of boats too, darlin.”

“Baby, we’ve been through this. I’m an actual scaredy-cat.” Grace hid her face in his bicep and he stopped their walk to scoop her up, carrying her up the boarding ramp and onto the deck of the ship. He stood her on her own feet and pulled her against him as they were checked in and given a room key. She could feel his hand resting lazily against her ass, rubbing through the thin fabric of her favorite sundress and she felt her cheeks burning hot, a whimper falling softly from her lips as his hand started to squeeze.. Adam chuckled next to her ear, “Somebody’s gettin flustered.”

“Somebody is playing with my ass. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Instigator.”

“I can’t help what my hand does.”

“Hangman..” Grace practically purred his name and he chuckled quietly. “Did I tell ya we got one of the suites?”

“Ah, thank fuck. The less I have to actually deal with other people, the better.” Grace’s arms slipped around his neck as she turned to face him. He chuckled, pulling her flush against his body. “You are somethin else, darlin.” his lips grazed her forehead and she nuzzled against him a little more, fingertips catching in the fabric of the shirt he was wearing as she whispered daringly against his mouth, “Do you think we’ll luck into getting the pool to ourselves at some point?”

“Probably not, little hellion.” Adam teased her gently as they made their way down a long corridor, too caught up in each other to really bother with anyone else around them. Kenny passed them up and Grace scowled after him as Adam pretty much just didn’t even bother with speaking to the guy. “If he fucks up your shot at the titles, I swear to God…”

“Darlin, whoa.. easy.” Adam snickered at her getting all worked up even though it was cute as hell when she did and it made him feel loved.. Important. Wanted.. Like he was ten feet tall and bulletproof. “This a hunger thing? Because you’re not you when you’re hungry, princess.”

“Oh bite me, Hangman.”

“Where, darlin?” Adam’s eyes roamed freely over her body and he leaned in, teeth bared and scraping gently over the exposed cleavage, teasing gleam in his eyes. “Adam.” Grace whined, her head lightly hitting against the door to their suite as they stopped in front of it. He fumbled for the keys and kept dropping them thanks to his hands and mouth being all over Grace and when he finally got the doors unlocked, he picked her up, stepping into the room, quick to open the door again and hang out the Do Not Disturb sign. Just for good measure, he took the phone in the room off the hook too.

Then for extra good measure, he turned off his cell phone. Grace dug around for her own, powering it down too and Adam was being pulled down onto the massive king sized bed, settling himself over her as she raised a leg, bending it at the knee and his hand gripped her thigh tight beneath the hem of that little pink sundress.

They bumped noses and laughed quietly. But the growling of their stomachs had them springing apart and snickering out loud.

“Darlin, you that hungry?”

“Me? It sounded like you had a dinosaur loose in your stomach, big guy. I’ma go see if there’s anything in here to eat..” her eyes settled on the wicker basket sitting atop the dresser by the door and she spied the varied assortments of fruit and candies.. And the bottle of chocolate syrup tucked away with a bottle of honey behind it. She was bounding over and grabbing the bottle, twisting it open.

“Darlin, c’mon. Let’s go find real food.”

“Hangman, I want junk.”

He waved his hands and chuckled softly, shaking his head. She struggled with the lid on the honey jar, pouting and he reached around her, taking the bottle from her hands and unscrewing the lid. When it earned him a deep and almost needy kiss and her practically climbing him like a tree, he barely restrained a growl just shy of passing his lips as he stepped back over to the bed, sitting her down on it.

He flopped down beside her and reached out, lazily dragging his index finger around the rim of the little glass jar gazing at her with a teasing smirk as he held out his finger to her. Grace guided his finger to her lips and as her lips closed around it, cleaning away the honey smeared there, Adam swore under his breath and rose to a sitting position, pulling her into his lap. The jar of honey was taken and sat on the nightstand and he gently took her face in his hands, kissing her until he felt her lips starting to swell. She rocked and grinded in his lap and he sucked in a ragged breath. “Oh, you want it now, hm? But I thought you were starvin and you wanted junk food, darlin?”

“Screw the junk food. I want you.” Grace muttered against his mouth, earning her a quiet growl and Adam getting her back against the mattress as he settled over the top of her all over again. “Maybe there’s a way we can have both.” he mused.

“Oh?” Grace’s eyes fluttered open and shut at the way his lips danced against her skin, the contrast between rough and soft driving her crazy and making her wiggle and squirm beneath his body, trying desperately to rub against him, to do anything she could to ease the ache settled in her core and get more friction. Adam’s hand slipped down, gripping her hips and squeezing as he muttered lazily against her collarbone, “First we gotta get this dress off ya. I really hate to do this but..” he pulled her up and reached around, the snapping of thin strings making her gasp and whimper as she bit her lip. He tugged the dress free and tossed it behind him onto the floor, staring down at her intently. Her hands went for the hem of his shirt and she tugged it upward, letting it settle on the floor next to her dress. Her fingers raked down his chest slowly and he bit his lip, gasping slowly and quietly. She stared up at him, the most innocent of smiles on her face the entire time. Her finger snagged in the button of his jeans and as it loosened, he bucked himself against her and leaned down, muttering right next to her ear, “What’s that look for, huh? What are you gonna do to me, princess?”

“Oh.. you’ll see.” Grace gently shoved him back against the mattress after she’d gotten his jeans unzipped and given both jeans and boxers a tug, letting them pool to the floor at his feet. Adam shook his pants free from his leg after taking off his boots. He was pressing into her all over again, thrusting against her thigh and groaning at the sticky warmth coating the inside. He stopped to look up at her and with a smirk, he reached out for the bottle of chocolate syrup sitting next to the bed on the nightstand.

“Remember when I said we can have both?”

“Mhm.” Grace was rocking up against him, mouth latching onto his skin clumsily with every chance she got. Her hands were all over him. Adam chuckled quietly and the silent tearing of the protective covering over the lid of chocolate syrup broke through their kisses and heavy breathing and the quiet whimpers she made. “Well, I’m starvin, darlin.” his tongue trailed slowly over his lips and she squeezed his hips with her legs. As his mouth began to dance down her body, the flimsy fabric of the strapless bra she wore didn’t stand a chance when his hands grasped it, it came apart easily in those hands and Adam chuckled quietly, eyes dancing over her mostly nude body and filled with desire when they met her own. She shivered at his touch and the feel of five o’clock shadow against her skin. Her legs practically fell open in anticipation just as his teeth snagged on the waistband of the matching panties to the bra he’d just destroyed and thrown to the floor carelessly. As he started to tug them lower, reaching up to snag his index fingers on either side and snap those in two as well, he reached down again, the soft release of air from the bottle as he opened the lid had Grace’s eyes widening and had her squirming as sticky and cold syrup met her warm skin. Adam carefully drew a line of chocolate across her abdomen, his eyes meeting hers as he winked and leaned down, that thick tongue swiping in a slow and lazy broad stroke right over her belly, a low chuckle rising from the depths of his chest as he did so.

“Oh.. Mmm.” Grace’s head fell back and she bit her lower lip, squirming under the feel of his tongue and it’s broad strokes over her skin. He drew a bullseye around her navel and as soon as he started to lick away the chocolate there, she giggled, nearly coming away from the bed. Adam stopped and rose up, mischevious gleam in his eyes. “So ya are ticklish.. Hmm.” he made his way up her body, leaning down to whisper against her ear, “Open that mouth, princess..C’mon. This is somethin I’ve always wanted t’ try.”

Grace leaned up a little, licking her lips and eyeing the bottle of chocolate syrup in his hands. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” Adam raised the bottle of chocolate syrup, pouring just a little into his mouth before leaning down, pressing himself down into her body, pinning her against the mattress as his hand wandered down and all over, squeezing and cupping and caressing her body. Grace’s tongue met his and she tasted the heavy sweet taste of the syrup, taking it into her own mouth, groaning at the way it felt and how handy he was getting. It was getting harder and harder for her to keep quiet and Adam seemed to know this, smirking against her skin as soon as he’d drizzled even more syrup down the front of her throat, letting it roll down between her breasts. “Didn’t think this stuff could get any sweeter, darlin.” he mumbled huskily against soft warm skin, “turns out I was wrong. I could eat you right up.”

Her fingertips dug into his shoulderblade, gripping, trying to rub herself against him as much as she could in a desperate bid to ease the dull throbbing ache as it settled deep in her core and also get as much friction as she could. “Oh you could?” she gasped as she rocked herself against him. Adam’s mouth ventured back up her body, capturing her mouth in a slow and deep kiss as he mumbled a husky “Yeah. As a matter of fact, darlin.. I think that’s exactly what I’m gonna do..”

#adam hangman page fanfiction #adam hangman page fanfic #adam hangman page fic #adam hangman page oneshot #adam hangman page imagine #part 2 of 3 #// food mentions ; alcohol tw

[loghainmactir]

satinalia;

hey demons its me ya boy anyway everyone’s doing christmas fics so i wanted to do one with padril and loghain bc of course i did. this is the first time i’ve written them with their kids, too!

as per usual, super unedited and super unplanned, lmao. sorry 🤷‍♀️ (this will also be on AO3 soon!)

—

Snow crunches softly under his boots as he moves, and the cold winter air bites at his cheeks, turns them rose-red.

Loghain loves the cold. It’s a part of Ferelden he will never, ever tire of; he could be anywhere in Thedas, really, and it— and the rain— would remind him of home. Of days spent farming while rainwater pools in his boots, of nights where it did nothing but snow.

Home. He’s skirting the perimeter of their small home, now, actually, following the sounds of shouts and giggles; the home itself is wood and stone, only an hour or two from Denerim, but tucked away from the road so they’d be free of distractions. It was quiet and secluded enough that even Anora could visit them, and she did— often.

It’s funny— he wasn’t sure they’d ever settle down again. Not after the Warden Rebellion, not after the… well, whatever it was Inquisitor Cadash had dealt with. And yet here they were; only a week out from Satinalia, five years from when they first settled here.

He had thought he wouldn’t come home to his family at all.

Loghain watches Valarie sprint with wild abandon at her brother, her roar loud enough he’s sure Denerim can hear it.

She wears a thick, wolf-fur coat, her boots a tad too big for her little legs. In her hands, a wooden sword and shield; she reminds him too much of Anora, all orders and demands. When she was seven, Valarie had become enamoured with Ser Cauthrien; she’d seen her wallop Loghain while sparring, and it was if the child had never seen anything more hilarious, and she’d immediately asked to spend more time with Anora and her knight.

Her black hair has been cut short— at her own request, of course, just below her jaw. Her skin is darker, like her father’s, and she had his nose— but her eyes are big and blue, without a trace of Loghain’s sternness.

Cassian, on the other hand, looks terrified.

He clutches a similar set of sword and shield in his hands. Loghain can’t tell whether it’s because he’s chilly, or if it’s because he’s never been terribly fond of any kind of confrontation and his sister charging at him is like something out of his nightmares, but Cassian is shivering.

He’s a sweet boy; quiet, much more interested in reading than play-fighting his sister. Loghain doubted there was even a slightly rude bone in his body, and his heart ached for him. He can’t help but dread to think of how the world might treat him.

Like his sister, Cassian’s short hair and skin are dark; he had brown eyes, however, like Padril. His mouth is pierced and his nose is arched; he scowls in frustration sometimes, and Loghain swears to the Maker he sees himself. Both of them are tall for their age, but Cas is almost lanky no matter how much they feed him.

They collide with a thunderous crash of wood-on-wood. They collapse in the snow, and Cassian wails as Valarie pummels his shield. “Ah-hah! Die, darkspawn—!”

“Why do I have to be the darkspawn?! I’m always the darkspawn! You be the monster today!”

A smirk cracks onto his face as he watches them; they struggle and roll about, kicking and squealing. They abandon their wooden weapons to hurl half-formed, desperate snowballs at each-other, and Valarie shrieks as her brother dumps handfuls of snow down the back of her shirt. She thumps him in turn, and Loghain’s smirk disappears as their play starts to get rough.

“Now, now,” He calls, and soon enough he’s strolling closer them. They’ve caught each-other in a headlock, struggling and grunting at each-other. It doesn’t happen often, but occasionally they’ll get on one another’s nerves. “How about we all play nicely, yes? We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Chipped tooth. Bruised forehead. Crying for hours because someone, originally, had pushed the other straight into a tree.

They seem to consider this for a moment, and eventually they both let go.

“Sorry, father.” A brief pause, and the next words are almost muttered; Loghain is only a few feet away, now. “Cassian started it.”

“No, I didn’t!” He complains.

Loghain feels himself restraining a sigh of relief. At least he doesn’t have to wrestle them off each other. “I know who started it, Valarie Mac Tir, and if you don’t discontinue, I’ll be sure to end it.” They both straighten up at this; he’s getting older, now, but he can certainly wrangle them both into submission.

Last time he did, though, he pulled a muscle in his back. Padril had laughed at him.

Hmph.

“Are either of you going to apologize?” Loghain prompts, and the children glance at eachother; it’s almost like they’re daring each-other to poke the bear.

They cave. The idea of being tickled until tears are pouring down their cheeks and their lungs and ribs are sore from laughter doesn’t seem to appeal when it’s freezing cold. They shoot eachother a quick ‘sorry’.

“That’s more like it.” Loghain begins to continue his patrol of the house, arms folded. “Have either of you seen your father around? I haven’t seen him since this morning—”

There’s a brief moment where Loghain is aware something is flying towards him. The kids shriek, and soon after, there’s a thwap, and a hard, cold sting blooms across his cheek as he struggles to maintain balance.

When he catches himself, he whips around to narrow his eyes at the culprit.

He’s standing there in his old, blue Warden’s cloak. His greying hair is in a thick braid over his shoulder, and there’s slight creases by his brown eyes, now. A scar hooks over his bottom lip and stops at his chin— a relic from their time in Weisshaupt.

Snow has collected on his shoulders and in his hair, and there’s a grin on his face that he’s seen one too many times and it always means trouble. He’s almost picturesque, though; Loghain can do nothing but blink stupidly at him. That’s the love of his life, isn’t it?

Padril notices him staring and sticks his tongue out at him, his nose crinkling as he smiles into it.

Maker, he’s gorgeous.

He manages to straighten up. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Thought I’d test your reflexes. You’re getting slow, old man!” Padril shoots back, and he’s already dipping down to pack more snow together.

Loghain blinks once more. He looks to his kids— they look on in shock, as if their other father has commited a grevious, unforgivable crime, and they weren’t sure how to respond to it.

His gaze snaps back to Padril; he barely manages to duck under another snowball. It hits the side of their house and shatters, and Padril looks terribly pleased with himself, hands on his hips.

“Maybe you’re not as slow as I thought. Still old, though.” He grins at him, pointed canines showing and all. “Positively ancient, really!”

Loghain glowers playfully at him, and he turns on his heel to start moving towards him, slow and deliberate. “Oh, you’re in for it now, Mahariel.”

He’s awful— Padril dips into a low bow, arms stretched behind him, grin still plastered on his face. “Come ‘n get it, Mac Tir.” He dares, and he shoots him a wink.

That’s all he needs.

He breaks out into a sprint, and Padril spins and bolts as soon as it happens— the kids are behind him, shrieking and hollering as they try to keep up.

“Come on!” Loghain calls, glancing back at the half-elves hot on his trail. “Let’s destroy him!”

#loghain mac tir #loghain #dragon age #loghain x warden #OC: Padril #long post #ok to reblog #my writing #this was so fun to write. it might be one of my favourite things #tho i’ll have to go back and rewrite it to make it ‘’better’’ i still love the image of pad n loghain bein old and so stupidly in love #and being cheeky to one another still gjskfksk #(also u KNOW ‘come and get it’ has a double meaning i hate padril 🔪)