PROMPTS FOR THE FORCED PROXIMITY TROPE * Assorted Dialogue For The Moments And Circumstances That Force

PROMPTS FOR THE FORCED PROXIMITY TROPE *  assorted dialogue for the moments and circumstances that force two characters to spend time together, adjust as necessary

who said i agreed to any of this?

i said i would help you. i didn't say i would be nice to you while i'm helping you.

you scratch my back and i'll scratch yours.

oh no. don't tell me it's locked.

i was hired to protect you. that's my job.

i'm actually starting to tolerate you, believe it or not.

i don't want to be stuck here with you.

i'll work with anyone but you.

i'm not letting you sleep on the floor.

they're forcing me to work with you and i don't like it.

how long do you think we'll be stuck here?

is that the only tent we have?

i think we're snowed in here. we'd better find a way to stay warm.

it's going to take a few days for them to reach us.

you sleep in that room, and i'll take this one.

you can't get rid of me that easily.

i'm just going to come right out and say it - i hate being here just as much as you do, but we have to make this work.

don't get any ideas.

i'm going to see if they'll switch my room.

until you came along, i had this under control.

if we're going to survive this, we'd better work together.

why did they sit me next to you?

i'd like to be as far away from you as possible.

out of all the people in the world, i had to get stuck with you.

guess you're just gonna have to get over it.

i thought you were worse than this.

i'm not going anywhere, and neither are you.

you're not exactly my favorite person to be around.

well, get used to it. i'm not leaving.

i told them i don't need a bodyguard.

i never wanted to spend this much time with you.

all this time spent together has really opened my eyes.

you're not as bad as i thought you were.

we might as well try to get along.

i guess i should learn a little bit about you.

i think that means we're the only ones left.

there's no way i'm sharing a room with you.

you again? i've seen enough of you already.

i thought [name] was coming. why are you here?

they're counting on us to save them.

since we'll be here for a while... might as well make the best out of it.

i think we can set aside our differences for two minutes and work this out.

honestly, i think i was wrong about you at first.

there's absolutely no way i'm working with you.

fine, but you're sleeping on the floor. i'll take the bed.

as your bodyguard, i'm supposed to stay with you at all times.

i think we're snowed in for a while.

you could always sleep on this side of the bed.

we have to at least pretend we like each other.

the whole point in having a bodyguard is for me to keep you safe.

i don't like asking for your help, but here i am, asking.

you and i are the only ones who can deal with this.

you don't have a say in the matter.

looks like we're stuck here.

just sleep in the bed with me. i'll even make a pillow wall between us.

i'm not sharing a tent with you.

i need you to stay out of my way.

could you at least "guard" me from over there? why do you have to stand so close?

@shadowsung : “ was it worth what it cost? ”

rhysand has had many nights to contemplate it: the safety of his family, velaris still unscathed. for the price of his freedom, his dignity. all of the carnage he'd witnessed, the suffering he had to inflict — packed into those fourty-nine years, were enough to haunt him for the rest of whatever he has left. what did it really cost? he's unable to even look himself in the mirror, without feeling utter disgust. there is a monster that stares back now, of shadows & bloodshed. he can still feel the ghost of her claws, reminded of them every time someone dares to utter his newfound nickname: amarantha's whore. after everything, every sacrifice, even when he's gone ... that is all he will be remembered as.

the rebelling illyrian camps were the first to whisper of his time under the mountain, that his brother's had heard. whatever bodies weren't turned into red mist, now laying at their feet. he had no desire to reminisce, even if he knew this weren't the last they would hear of it. not when they had so many bands to still deal with. yet he doesn't hesitate, features void of any expression, gaze set on the massacre. " yes. there was no other way. "

he crafts a clear image over the bond, ( waves crashing, gulls singing. toned muscles, covered in illyrian swirls, exposed from the torso up. glistening in the mist, the rest of him consumed by the sea, at peace. fingers slick back dripping strands, face tilting to soak up the sun as he wades through the water … ) watching as it consumes feyre’s thoughts, head tilting into hand. a small shrug as it finishes, mischievous grin slipping onto cat-like features. “ sparing you from drooling in front of everyone again, is more like it. “

he glances down at his drink, before finishing it of, neglecting the empty glass at the side table. “ i’m clearing my head. “ whether it be the liquor, or her: it’s worked. any thoughts of jealousy have slipped away, the notion of being simply a distraction now seems better than nothing. if that all he were ever to be for her, he would understand why. he is not something worth loving, a monster by creation. his life isn’t a fairytale, like perhaps the spring court seemed to be. she would never be his blushing bride — would only be hunted & killed. everything eventually gets taken from him. to be only a distraction … he can live with that.

“ ah? is that what you think? “ he takes note of how her cheeks warm up, despite the feigned confidence. circles in on it like prey, challenging it with every step towards her until she is cornered between him & his desk. if only she knew — how tortuous this chase truly were, how much uncertainty it caused. even now, as rhysand tilts her chin up, star stained gaze heavy onto hers, he has not a clue where he truly stands. “ by all means, feyre darling, be cruel. “

i gave him the benefit of the doubt, trusting him to be forthcoming enough from here on out, lest he wished to be tackled into the snow again. i knew how much he carried, so the rest of us didn’t have to. he spent so much time and energy pretending he was okay, i wondered if he knew how easy it had become to read right through him. how his subtle nuances and changes in demeanor felt so familiar to me now. the secret language we shared every time our eyes met. i took a small sip of what was left in my own glass, the liquid courage still running through my veins.

“ are you scared of getting your hair wet? ” i cocked my head to the side, in a poor attempt to distract from the way my heart began racing loudly — i didn’t dare to move from my perch on his desk, in case he could already hear it. “ for someone supposedly working, you’re sure drinking a lot. ” i felt my own cheeks flush, as i became dreadfully aware of his predatory gaze, as he turned the power of his full attention on me. swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, i tried not to stare at his lips. this was just reckless and casual flirting, i told myself, boisterous banter with a friend — if that’s what we were. you’d have no idea what to do with yourself. i barely knew how to maintain my composure now, but i could not allow myself to shrink away. not when i wanted it — the adrenaline that rushed through my body each time he looked my way or flexed a single muscle near me. i couldn’t remember the last time i felt more alive than when i was in his presence. “ maybe, ” i conceded, working to keep my voice even and hold his prowling gaze, as if i possessed some newfound level of feigned self-assuredness. “ or perhaps you just enjoy the chase. in which case it would be cruel of me to spoil your fun. ”

@feydarling : i'm not letting you sleep on the floor.

their plan couldn't have been going worse. on the run, hiding in a motel room that only had one bed, while the rain relentlessly pours down. nothing else around them for miles. by the time rhysand is finished ransacking the vending machines, desperate for anything that didn't look past it's expiration date, he's drenched. a palm pushes back raven strands clinging to his forehead, dumping his haul onto the table while feyre freshens up in the restroom. the rain soaked shirt he was wearing is shed off, as he grabs a pillow from the bed, & the flask he keeps on him, planting himself on the floor.

when feyre emerges, there's an attempt at hiding his grimace — casually shrugging, as if his skin weren't crawling at the thought of sleeping on this carpet. " i've slept in dirtier places, feyre darling. " he nods towards the pile of junk food, taking a swig of whiskey before holding it up to her. " hope you're hungry. we have a lovely spread of stale chips, expired pop-tarts, and luckily ... alcohol. "

spicing up conversations by saying 'you really believe in that' at the most basic inane things

he savors every second, every shudder under his touch egging him on further. movements are slow, taunting & teasing, skilled in the ways of torture. a game to see how long it takes before he can break him, that he intends on stretching out for as long as he can — until cassian is pleading for release.

there is sadistic pride in the effect he has on him: the male who he has seen bring armies down singlehandedly, submitting himself so freely to his high lord. now unable to even speak. he decides to challenge it, push him over the edge one last time. lithe fingers sliding over venous wing, his own twitching with desire. he finds the apex of nerves with ease, circling for a moment too long ...

" hm? " feigned innocence swallows the smirk threatening his lips at the insult, rhysand's gaze following him as shoulders simply shrug. " my fingers slipped. "

such casualness is washed away as he stalks closer, closing the space between them. his hand moves to slip under cassian's shirt, tracing shapes upon toned stomach. wicked cruelty laces each movement, each stroke lowering until he stops at the band of his pants. he leans in to nip at his ear, voice coated in honeyed mischief.

" what is it that you want then, cassian? "

𝐃𝐎𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐒   𝐎𝐅   𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐒   𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇   𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃,   𝐇𝐈𝐒   tongue   pressed   against   the   roof   of   his   mouth   as   if   ready   to   spill   them   all.   but   his   teeth   clench,   confining   the   muscle   behind   them.   he's   let   this   go   on   for   too   long,   so   long   that   his   knee   has   stopped   its   incessant   bouncing,   that   he   might   not   even   be   breathing   because   he's   afraid   the   slightest   movement   will   end   him,   if   rhysand   didn't   put   him   out   of   his   misery   first.

this   was   torture.   this   was   torture   made   worse   by   the   fact   that   it   was   rhysand   doing   it.   but   because   it   was   him,   cassian   didn't   pull   away.   that,   &    because   pulling   away   meant   giving   rhysand   something   to   gloat   about.   that   was   always   the   dilemma,   wasn't   it?   wanting   to   beat   him   at   these   stupid   games   but   also   wanting   to   submit   to   his   high   lord.

(    one   has   happened   more   than   the   other.   there   is   a   sense   of   pride   in   that   too.   )

@rhysie   𝑠𝑎𝒊𝑑:   ❛   do   you   like   that?   ❜   (he   felt   left   out   </3   4   cass)

yes.   goddess,   yes.   muscles   tense   underneath   skin,   adrenaline   pumping   &   blood   rushing   all   through   out.   he   wants   to   speak,   to   laugh   this   all   off   but   the   beast   can   only   grunt   in   response.   just   a   moment   more.   just   a   little   while   longer.   teeth   dig   into   tongue   to   keep   from   begging.   the   white   noise   in   his   ear   rises   in   pitch   as   a   finger   moves   up   the   length   of   a   bone   in   his   wing,   then   slowly   follows   the   trail   of   a   vein   on   the   thin   membrane-

whole   fucking   body   shudders   &    wing   pulls   away   as   cassian   lunges   out   of   his   seat,   snarling.   he   has   to   tug   at   the   string   of   his   leather   pants,   the   knots   loosening   from   where   his   bulge   threatened   to   spill.

"   don't   be   an   ass.   "