#+ my own thing that his eyes reflect light at night like a cat's

[rollforjackass]

POV: you’re a bug living in questionably-human john constantine’s apartment (original panel, hellblazer #88)

[slowd1ving]

ACT III: PASSION ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT NSFW

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

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Scene I: Ember . 　⁺

He’s finally going to be number one, and have the stage all to himself. This is what he tells himself as he washes his face in the evening before the poison assessment.

“Mira, mira, at this moment right now, who is the most beautiful of them all?” Vil murmurs as he gently pats his face dry. It’s been ages since he’s last asked - between photo shoots and schoolwork, he’s barely had time to remember to ask.

“Neige LeBlanche,” the robotic voice echoes from his phone. Vil’s contemplative expression twists into one of scorn. Of course. It’s always him, isn’t it? No matter. He’ll beat both Neige and you very soon. He’ll conquer the stage and make it his.

“Tomorrow,” Vil promises his reflection. Tomorrow his luck will change. The two of you will both be on equal footing.

Surprisingly, these past few weeks have been somewhat enjoyable. You’re a competent manager, he’s forced to admit. It’s almost… fun, he supposes, especially when he sees your eyes tracing his movements across the ballroom. He doesn’t know why he craves that attention; his veins dance with fire after each practice in your presence.

He sets down his face towel on the vanity and rises. He can’t possibly distract himself with you the night before he finally overcomes you. It’s time for his evening tea anyway. Surely the lavender will soothe his turbulent mind. The floorboards creak as he steps out of the room.

Barely any light passes through the narrow corridor leading out of his room. Vil’s hairs almost jump out of his scalp as he feels a warm body collide with his, before callused hands grasp his wrists with a surprising gentleness.

“God, I’m sorry,” Vil almost screams as he hears your voice in the darkness. It’s strangely intimate, with your hands still fumbling around his wrists. He can feel his pulse accelerate, surely with rage, surely-

“Vil?” if he could see your face, he’d be sure you’d be squinting with those furrowed brows. His body stiffens under your touch; he knows you can feel his tension like a tightly coiled spring. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” he’s not as composed as he should be. Pull yourself together. Your hands let go abruptly, and he hears your footsteps shuffle backwards inch by inch. He doesn’t know why he feels this pit in his stomach.

“My bad for bumping into you,” you brush past him, suddenly better adjusted to the dim lighting, it seems. “The storeroom’s right next to yours.”

Then, you’re gone. Vil lingers in the corridor, still surprised by what happened. He makes his way to the kitchen slowly, still feeling the lingering embers of your touch on his skin. It’s not quiet in there - he’d give a whole lot of thaumarks to sit and brood in silence for a bit, but nothing seems to be going his way today clearly.

Rook’s furiously penning something on the kitchen table, no doubt another poem of his. Some things never change. Kalim sits draped over the table with a hand of cards laying despairingly in front of him. The offenders who caused this misery are none other than Ace and Grim, who look ever so pleased with their own hand.

“Ah, Roi des Poisons,” Rook’s greeting causes eyes to turn towards Vil. “Have you thought of a prize yet?”

“Prize?” Grim’s eyes light up with interest; beside him, Ace’s expression is a mirror of that cat’s. They really are two peas in a pod, even if they vehemently deny it. “What prize?”

“Yeah, what prize?” you chime in from behind Vil. The tone of an instigator is present in your voice as you brush past Vil once again - he’s suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings. You survey the kitchen, slapping down a colourful deck of cards on the table. “Rook?”

“The prize for the poison assessment, bien sûr,” Rook explains, peering at the cards you’ve brought. “What is this- Uno? What’s that?”

“There’s a prize for the poison assessment?” you tilt your head in confusion, swivelling to Vil inquiringly. At the same time, Vil spots Kalim and Trappola look at each other with very intently pondering expressions.

“Is this the same assessment used to choose the Pomefiore housewarden?” Ace blurts out. His brows are clearly having a disagreement with each other with how far they’re furrowed. “Why would the Prefect be involved in that?”

“Surely.. Did you challenge Vil for the title of Housewarden?” Kalim swivels his head to you with anticipation in his voice. You frown and hold up your hand. Why haven’t you told your friends about this? Do you not realise the true magnitude of this assessment?

“Other way round,” your reply is accompanied by that annoying shrug. Clearly, that dim-witted Grim lacks basic comprehension skills.

“Henchman, has he challenged you for the seat of Prefect?” Grim’s smug question is met with silence. Trappola’s clearly struggling to contain his laughter.

“Huh?” you stifle a laugh behind your hand. “No, I was just challenged.”

“Why the hell would anyone want to be Prefect of this place?” Trappola chokes out. Vil can’t even bring himself to be surprised - of course they’d focus more on this dump of a place than the extremely rare poison assessment.

“We’re getting off topic,” you interrupt the fits of giggles Ace has somehow dragged Kalim into. “What prize would I get, since I can’t exactly take your seat?”

“More importantly, what does Vil want?” Ace glares at Vil. He hasn’t really thought about it; the taste of victory feels like it’ll be more than enough. Vil glances at you, noticing the way your expression’s become contemplative. He hates it. He hates the way you look at him with those eyes full of thought, full of knowledge, full-

“He stands to gain victory,” Rook remarks from the table. “For some, pursuit of success and achieving that is the greatest prize one can hope for. Vraiment, c’est beau, the tenacity of it all. Isn’t that right, Roi des Poisons?”

“That’s so stupid,” Grim blurts out. “You’re doing this for a feeling?”

Vil is silent. He’s thinking.

“Yes,” Vil concurs. “I will be satisfied with the taste of victory as my prize.”

“That’s it?” Grim’s sceptical voice is starting to irritate him. “What about you, henchman? Remember, he’s got a buncha thaumarks from acting and whatnot. Milk him for all he’s worth.”

“I’ll decide what my prize will be when I win,” you meet Grim’s eyes levelly. Vil can see the urge to argue rise up within that demonic cat, but ultimately the cat backs down seeing the conviction in your stance.

“How wonderful,” Rook praises. “J’adore t’assurance, trickster.”

“Thanks, I guess,” you pull out a chair beside Rook, sliding over the colourful pack of cards you unceremoniously dumped on the table earlier. Upon closer inspection, they seem to be brightly coloured with markers and fineliner. Homemade cards? “Now, let me explain to you the wonderful game of Uno…”

Your voice fades to nothing as Vil wordlessly slips out of the kitchen. He can’t even remember what he came here for. He’s forgotten it all. Pale gold hair falls out of its perfect arrangement as he desperately runs his fingers through his hair to distract him from his heated face. Surely what he’s feeling is hatred right? Surely he’s not replaying your rough touch on his wrists over and over in his mind?

The door is shut with a swift kick behind him. Vil stands in the solace of his guest room in Ramshackle. The only sound to be heard is the muffled chatter from the kitchen below and his heavy breathing. He should sleep, right? Sleep’s embrace will wash all his feelings away, right? He sinks onto the bed with all the odd assorted blankets toppling from their carefully folded pile. Sleep won’t come easy tonight, he can already predict.

He’s right.

Scene II: Blue Flame . 　⁺

His dreams are turbulent at first; kaleidoscopes of nightmares and death grip his mind, most of them caused by his signature spell. Only the impression of fear remains as the backdrop inside his mind eases into a canvas of a rich sanguine.

Something within him blazes alight.

The mirages of his dreams have never been so brazenly- His train of thought is completely derailed as he feels warm lips press against his wrists in chaste kisses, lingering for only a few seconds. Vil’s heart skips with anticipation as whoever it is gently clasps his wrists, so familiar to what happened earlier that he cannot help but look-

There you are.

Your expression is positively enchanting with how you look at him like that. Like he’s the most beautiful being you’ve ever seen. It’s not enough. He needs that look permanently engraved onto his optic nerve - the soft smile you give him is causing his mind to go hazy, the soft smile you give whenever you’re in the middle of lab work. It’s full of pure adoration and glee and he wants nothing more than to look up on that charming visage forever.

“Please,” his voice sounds distorted and muffled. The scarlet haze of the background slowly morphs into his familiar room at Pomefiore. And you - you’re above him, pressing him into his very bed. A teasing expression paints itself on your face as you kiss his jaw; all your movements are agonisingly slow. You treat him with care, sucking and nibbling on his collarbone while he’s seeing galaxies unfurl behind you. He’s so utterly gone.

You’re deftly unbuttoning his dorm uniform shirt while he gazes at you with what he can only imagine to be starry eyes. It’s carefully folded neatly beside him before he can blink. Warm hands caress his body; he can feel the rough, callused skin brush against his waist and shivers. Your body hovers above his, just barely brushing over him. More, he wants to ask, please, do anything, but his lips betray him and he cannot get any words to leave his mouth. This languid pace you’ve adopted is nothing short of torturous. He can only hope his pleading eyes convey the message.

He lies on the deep blue sky of his cape, submerged in the midnight silk as you finally close the gap between your body and his. Whatever he was thinking about flies out of the window when he feels the warmth of your lips on his - finally. Vil’s eyes flutter closed and his hands clasp around the back of your neck so he can press himself into you further and further. Hyperaware. That’s how he feels right now, so much that he can feel your muscles tug your lips up into a smile. He can feel the way your hand wraps around his waist to pull his pelvis onto yours. He can feel the way your other hand presses down into the bed so you don’t fully sink onto him. He adores the way the two of you fit into each other.

“You’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen,” you murmur into his mouth. Vil hasn’t realised just how much he’s longed to hear those words until a heavy weight suddenly lifts from him. Curse his racing heart. Curse his flushed face. Curse you for making his soul do leaps and bounds. “Allow me to take care of you.”

You press your mouth against his, still keeping that maddening pace. Vil’s slowly coming undone from just this. His legs part as your knee slots between them. The whine emerging from his throat is muffled by your tongue in his mouth. Any self-control he might’ve had is beaten to a bloody pulp when your knee applies more pressure, and suddenly he’s grinding up against it to chase that high. The warm feeling of pleasure is slowly spreading throughout his stomach; he’d never thought he’d see the day where it came from you of all people.

Stars. That’s what plays behind his eyelids as he closes them, overwhelmed by the pleasure of being practically devoured by you. Your deft scientist’s hand moves from where it’s nestled in the slope of his waist and moves to his chest, where it lazily draws circles around his nipple. Vil lets out a strangled moan at the divine sensation of the rough pads of your fingers. More. He needs more of your touch. He needs you, he needs-

Vil wakes up with a rough start in his bed, breathing heavily. What the actual fuck. It’s completely dark outside and he can feel the uncomfortable sensation of sweat accumulated at his thighs and back. He grabs his phone from where it lays carelessly on the nightstand.

3:02 AM.

Details of his dream come flooding back to him vividly. He can feel a crimson flush bleed onto his cheeks like red ink. Not only has his sleep been interrupted, it’s been interrupted by you. Try as he might, he can’t get the image out of his head. Deep shame settles in his very bones - he can’t be thinking about his rival this way. He hates you, damn it! He hates the way you looked at him, as if you knew about the bottomless chasm of insecurity within him and still adored him nonetheless-

He covers his face with his hands with a groan, digging into his soft skin. He can’t spend the rest of the night wallowing in misery, not when there’s the poison assessment literally hours away. Whatever shame and other, inexplicable feelings pertaining to you, that will all be dealt with after the poison assessment. After he’s gone back to sleep.

3:13 AM.

Of course it won’t be that easy to slip back into the recesses of his slumber. Not when his mind is still plagued with you. Embers of desire still burn deep within his stomach; all he craves right now is to be touched. Sharp pain blossoms on his bottom lip as he bites down to suppress the small groan rising in his throat. He wants to scream. How dare the universe play this cruel joke? How dare his subconscious ruin his night sleep? His beauty sleep?? Not once in the past few years has his slumber been interrupted this badly.

His eyelids squeeze together and he forces his breathing to calm itself. Surely he can just act out the part of someone sleeping like a log, then his body will follow? Method acting. He forces his body to tense up for several seconds, then lets his muscles unravel to stimulate a relaxed state. He’s so tired. That must’ve worked, right?

The landscape of his mind is dark grey; he fades in and out of consciousness. He’s been trying to keep his mind completely clear to no avail. The half-slumbering state is broken instantly when his bed creaks underneath him. Annoyance builds within him as he slams his hand down on the goddamn mattress - he’s not even surprised by the appalling conditions of the room, but at least let the goddamn beds be goddamn functional-

3:35 AM.

The light of the phone almost blinds him when he picks it up. Overwhelming frustration thrums through his veins. Half an hour has been wasted, all because his subconscious put you into his dreams. Shame drips over his very being as he realises that the deep desire within his stomach still hasn’t been quenched. It’s gnawing away at whatever self-restraint he’s got. Vil wants to scream at the absurdity of it all. He who can woo millions with his performances, he who is world-renowned for his acting, he who can enrapture the hearts of those who surround him - he cannot even deceive himself and quash these desires.

He can’t even take a cold shower to take care of his problem. It would just disrupt his night’s sleep even further - he cannot afford that at all when the assessment tomorrow requires him to have razor-sharp wits. Biting his lip, the shame of what he’s about to do drenches him from head to toe. Of all nights…

His manicured hand carefully wanders down his body. Best to get this over with as quickly and with the least amount of effort possible. The tight fabric of his pants over the crotch is swiftly discovered by one hand, whilst the other creeps in under his shirt. He’s once again thankful that he’s been given his own room in the crumbling dormitory (and especially, especially thankful Rook’s room isn’t in the general vicinity).

A strangled moan leaves his throat and into the cotton of his shirt from where he’s stuffed some into his mouth. The stimulation his hand is giving him through the fabric of his pants feels heavenly after all the times he’s suppressed any form of desire. His other hand is circling his nipples, though it doesn’t feel as good as the rough friction of your-

Stop. Vil forces that thought out of his mind, choosing to concentrate purely on his body and the way his hips move upwards to chase that delicious high. It doesn’t take much to have his mind unravel from the pleasure, especially after that earlier- Again, he forcibly removes all thoughts out of his brain to focus on literally anything else.

Muffled groans escape his lips as he speeds up his actions, pushing his mind to that brink. His chest rises and falls faster and faster; he wants nothing more than to draw his pleasure out at the same agonising pace you- He does his best to ignore that, actually. The pressure created by his hand increases, forcing more and more noises out of his throat. His back arches in pure ecstasy. That all-consuming pleasure is finally within his grasp. His legs squeeze together as he finally lets go.

The sensation of the warm rivulets moving across the fabric brings him crashing back to reality. Shit. He’s not one for vulgarity, but it seems you’ve finally influenced him to break that habit. He’ll have to clean up properly in the morning, but he absolutely has to do something about the pants. He swiftly heads to the adjourning bathroom to change his garments and wipe himself down.

3:55 AM.

It’s almost four when he sinks back onto the bed, wracked with shame but finally, finally, his body listens to him and he can finally sleep.

He doesn’t remember his dreams after that point at all.

Scene III: Interlude . 　⁺

Vil doesn’t even look at you in the kitchen while he prepares a smoothie with the rickety blender that’s wobbling precariously on the counter he’s left it on. Your presence makes the back of his neck prickle.

“What do you mean you’ve got the poison assessment to do with the Housewarden of Pomefiore of all people?” Jamil’s flabbergasted voice resounds behind Vil. Seems like Jamil’s only just now found out about the challenge, and it’s elicited the only correct response to hearing about it.

“What is that shrug supposed to mean?” Vil can almost picture that priceless look of horror on Jamil’s face while you nonchalantly stuff your face with breakfast and shrug. “Do you have any idea what a rare occurrence this is?”

“Chill out,” your voice is only a mumble as Vil hears you chew between words. He can’t bring himself to turn around and shoot you a disgusted look like he would’ve done any other time. Curse you. “I dome think it’s that big of a-” you swallow loudly here. “-deal.”

“Right, I’m going to ignore that for the sake of my sanity,” Jamil’s voice is clearly on the verge of snapping. “One day that laid-back attitude will bite you in the ass.”

A flurry of sputtering and coughing behind him lets him know that you’re laughing right in Jamil’s face. It’s very interesting to hear the normally composed young man also unravel at your annoying nature. Your idiocy knows no bounds, it seems.

“Sorry,” you don’t sound sorry at all. Vil pours out his smoothie, listening to Jamil’s muttered expletives.

“Bonjour, trickster,” Vil turns just in time to witness Rook’s lips meet the back of your hand as you let out a small giggle. His eye twitches.

“Bonjour to you too, Monsieur Chapeau,” Vil stares incredulously at the two of you, before Jamil voices exactly what Vil’s thinking.

“Since when-” Jamil’s furrowed brows finish off the question for him. Why the hell were you suddenly acting like Rook? And why the hell were you accepting his advances with that laugh?

“C’est vraiment un beau jour,” Rook looks around the kitchen with a pleased smile plastered on his face. “The air of competition is such a tantalising scent.”

“Glad to see there are multiple clowns not taking this seriously,” Jamil mutters, once again an extension of what Vil’s thinking.

“I am taking this seriously,” you pout, draping your chin onto the palm of your hand. “I’ve already packed up my equipment ready to go to the lab. I hate how there’s no cars here though.”

“Cars?” Jamil blinks. “Nevermind, I don’t want to-”

“Henchhuman!” Grim’s annoying yowl disrupts whatever semblance of peace was in the kitchen before. Vil once again feels that reprehensible eye twitch emerge again.

“Whaddya want?” your mouth is full of food once again. Vil doesn’t even bother to hide his disgusted scowl as you loudly swallow once again. At least you have the shreds of decency to cover your mouth while you speak, unlike a rowdy little Epel he knows.

“Make sure you beat his ass, henchhuman!” Grim’s enthusiastic cheer leads to you petting his head expeditiously, while both Jamil and Vil look at the weird interaction with nothing but incredulity.

“You bet,” your smile is sharp with competition as you look at Vil. He almost chokes on his smoothie when he meets your eyes. There’s nothing friendly in that gaze; he can feel the competitive fire with him blaze up in all its glory. Finally, he can feel the pure resentment build up, the way it should be.

“Not if I crush you first,” Vil’s smile is as sardonic as he can manage, but you don’t flinch away from it. Grim shudders beside you, remembering the whooping he got from Vil several weeks back with Ace and Deuce.

“Keep dreaming, pretty boy,” you tilt your head to the side slightly, and Vil feels your words impact him as the back of his neck flushes beneath his hair. Curse you.

“I’m adoring the fierce competition,” Rook marvels, glancing between the two of you with wonderment. Vil tears his eyes from you to watch as the hunter’s expression becomes one of exalted joy.

“I’m not,” Jamil cuts in. “Get a room.”

“Mornin’, Prefect,” Epel yawns as he comes into the room, Kalim being a few steps behind him. “G’luck in the assessment. Beat that snobby wuss.”

Vil doesn’t even know what to scold Epel for: that flagrant disrespect or his elocution. So he just ignores it, exiting the kitchen as it slowly fills up with more people. He needs to calm his racing heart before the poison assessment rolls round.

He needs to get you out of his head, as soon as humanly possible.

Scene IV: Poison . 　⁺

Acrid smells meet his nose as Vil strides into the laboratory that’s almost exclusively used for matters such as these. Traces of his own poison assessment still cling to the air, with the species of fungi he used all those years ago being one of the more prominent scents.

You’re already there with your equipment - thankfully, none of the huge clanging machines present in your lab are there. However idle-brained you present yourself literally everywhere else, he’s sure you’ll have meticulously checked with Crewel that all your equipment meets assessment regulations and ensures fair play. After all, you didn’t have to tell Vil anything about magical resistivity. You especially didn’t have to put yourself at a disadvantage just so the two of you would start off on equal footing.

He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised by your noble nature.

Perhaps you would’ve been better suited if you ended up at RSA. He’s loath to admit it, but you’re a far cry from a lot of the twisted individuals at Night Raven College. His train of thought is cut off by Crewel’s entrance.

“Good luck to both of you pups,” Crewel’s voice hasn’t got that usual sharp edge in it. He seems to be genuinely rooting for two of his best students. Vil finds himself oddly moved.

It’s not yet time. Vil’s hands work quickly to unpack his own utensils on his workbench, stationed several metres opposite yours. His eyes sneak glances at you: the way your goggles are slightly lopsided, the way your lab coat is properly buttoned for once but still covered in that awful doodle-embroidery (seriously, where the hell could you have found the time-), the way you’re wearing bright pink rubber gloves. All these aspects are carefully documented and filed away in his brain, much to his behest.

His own lab coat is completely wrinkle-free, with his goggles designed to not only protect his eyes completely, but to match his face shape as well. The rubber gloves he sports are a tasteful deep blue that matches his dorm uniform. He knows he cuts an elegant figure in the lab outfit. Yet you don’t even spare him a glance, like you would otherwise in a lab setting. In fact, your face lacks its normal joviality that’s present when normally doing lab work.

Is this how you look when you’re in your lab back home? Your gaze piercingly meets your utensils and equipment, checking meticulously for any sort of flaws or issues. The movements you make don’t have that usual lackadaisical quality; instead, you handle everything smoothly and with grace. Have you been putting on a performance the whole time? Vil feels his throat dry up at the revelation. It’s awfully off putting, the way he’s never seen this expression on your face before. Sure, your eyes are still filled with passion, but this is the first time he’s seen you this focused.

You’re serious.

His blood pumps with a renewed vigour. You’re finally taking him seriously. Heavy thumps resound throughout his ears - it seems his heartbeat matches the anticipation he’s feeling. Beneath it all, a trickle of fear is stimulated by the frigid expression you wear. He has to beat you, no matter the cost.

“Before we begin, I’ll go over the rules,” Crewel announces. He’s sitting at the desk with several papers neatly spread before him. It’s almost identical to Vil’s last experience. Vil sees you place down the cloth and antiseptic you’ve been using to disinfect your bench before beginning, and don new gloves.

“You both have exactly three hours to create your most potent poison. Raw, or up to 20% refined ingredients are the only ingredients allowed here. Magic is only permitted for the use of the potion. Memory spells and any interfering with your opponent's potion are prohibited. The use of notes, flashcards, and anything of that ilk is also prohibited. This room is purposefully designed to ward off foul play,” Crewel concludes, looking between the two of you. His eyes soften. “I’m sure both of you will compete fairly and proudly as befitting of my pups.”

With a wave of his hand, a three-hour timer appears on his desk. Smaller, translucent timers also appear to float in front of both workbenches. Vil steels himself. With a deep breath, he coaxes the adrenaline to course through his cells. Success. His wits are razor-edged, and he can almost feel each neuron firing.

“You may begin,” Crewel’s words don’t cause you to scurry around like the previous Pomefiore housewarden. Instead, you carefully take out a balance and some beakers. Vil realises he’s watching you instead of beginning. Curse this. Curse you for distracting him yet again.

His scalpel swiftly dissects Solemn Nightroot as his first ingredient. The acidic juices slowly drip down into his pristine measuring cylinder. His recipe for most potent poison has remained unchanged; the only refinement, really, is that of his signature spell he used last time to imbue the poison with the most deadly curse he can conjure up. His potion last time was as perfect as it could be, being 94 points while his housewarden’s only had 90 points. Stupid magical resistivity. He’s not going to hold back.

Vil’s movements are perfect as he carefully double-strains the acid, then adds chlorine to kill off any microbes that would absolutely interfere with the next ingredients he plans to add. He breathes in the comforting gunpowder smell of fire spells as he lights his Bunsen burner with a careful swish of his hand. He pours the Nightroot into a beaker, opening the flame into a roaring blue one. He takes his container of Arrow Monkshood to the oil extractor at the corner of the room, taking solace in the whirring of the machine.

Over in the other corner, he can see you working with the fume hood. Strangely, beside you is a microscope and a Petri dish. He’s got no time to dawdle, so he heads back while the oil drips into the container he’s set underneath it. The fractional distiller is tucked away in the corner of the lab, and he sets it up on his workbench. The fraction he’s hoping to extract from the oil unfortunately has a boiling point of 350 degrees, so it’s going to take a while to get there. The oil’s poured into the distiller and the flame gets going. He’s got a few seconds to catch his breath and watch whatever the hell you’re doing.

You appear to be… incubating something? Not only that, you’ve got a decidedly assured stance. You know exactly what you hope to achieve with the poison. Vil feels a shiver run down his spine. His poison may not be enough - he has to evolve. That 94 threshold is simply not enough. What had you said a few weeks prior in your lab? “Plus, my refinery skills are so unbelievably sexy.” He doesn’t doubt it, not with all the whirring machinery that you’ve deftly hooked up together. Just a few tweaks - he needs to have only the purest ingredients within that potion to even scrape past your level.

He separates the fraction and takes it to the lab’s refinery machine; from what he can see, it just looks like a regular distiller, but it’s probably got a built-in magical filter to purify the specimen put in. The wait time goes by in a flash as he checks on his boiling Nightroot acid, slowly adding in powdered raw Devil's Claw berries - aptly named for their odd, teardrop shape that tapered off into a curved point. He adds the powder until it’s in excess then waits until the solution is cooled down before filtering.

What’s left before him is a pitch-black solution that’s now only missing several key ingredients: colourful frog poison, the Arrow Monkshood essential oil, and his signature spell. Innovation. He needs to change the way he thinks to beat you. Luckily, he thought ahead and brought some belladonna berries. Last time, the naturally secreted poisonous mucus from the colourful frogs wasn’t refined either. He brings the berries over to the juicer, watching the deep purple liquid pour into the flask. Next, he takes both the mucus and juice to the distiller, removing the beaker of distilled oil.

One hour and thirty-four minutes remain. He’s practically almost finished, but he can’t let himself get overly confident. There are still several steps to complete in the correct order. Meanwhile, he can barely tell what you’re doing as you wear a different pair of what seem to be magnifying goggles. You’re also wearing a respirator mask with tubing streaming outwards behind you. In your hands, you seem to be prodding the Petri dish you’ve procured with what appears to be electrical wires. There’s about five various colourful pieces of apparatus set up, all containing bubbling potions. You’re incomprehensible, you know that?

Vil doesn’t even want to know what the hell you’re doing. He turns back to the distiller, placing the mucus in one compartment, then the juice into the one below it. Fragrant essential oil wafts upwards from the Arrow Monkshood beaker. Cautiously, he carries it back over to his workbench, setting it next to the pitch black solution in the beaker. It’s slowly measured out and stirred into the solution meticulously. Even as it is, it should be graded at a rough 70 points.

The purified juice of belladonna berries is boiled into gaseous form and captured as such. Wisps of Vil’s magic wraps around the test tube it’s in to ensure it stays as bubbles and keeps the energy levels of a gas. The purified mucus is added straight in, with seven equal parts and seven counter-clockwise stirs in between. Finally, he can siphon the jet black solution into the exam flask, before adding the gas into it. The bottle is sealed with the exam provided cork and shaken gently. That cork won’t come off until it’s arrived safe and sound at the Research Institute for Curses and Poisons.

Thirty-nine minutes remain. Plenty of time to visualise the strongest curse he can imagine and infuse it into the bottle. Vil resists the urge to sit down and break one of the cardinal rules of lab practicals. Standing meditation will do. But before that, he has to clear away the equipment. It takes a quick five minutes, plus some magic, until he’s tidied everything up. Now, he can focus.

He peels off his rubber gloves, setting them aside on the bench. Direct contact is essential for Fairest One of All to work. Deep breaths. He clasps the warm flask between his hands. Eyes closed. A painful death to whoever is unfortunate to partake in this fatal drink. It’s not enough. Vil musters up all the shame, rage and resentment within him. I hate you. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t actually hate you. A loveless, lonely death to whoever’s lips this poison touches. The ugly monster within stirs. Forever shall the person sleep. It’s almost cathartic, to unload all that onto the flask he clasps.

He cracks his eyes open to observe the colour change - the abysmal black churns into a neon toxic green, bubbling menacingly within. It’s his best poison yet. Vil knows this. The only question is whether it’ll be enough.

Twenty-four minutes remain. Vil sticks a label with his name, age and house onto the little flask. It makes a satisfying thud when he places it onto Crewel’s desk. The only thing he can do until time’s up is sit in silence until you’re finished.

Vil watches you, slightly flabbergasted as you pull out a cocktail shaker to quickly mix your ingredients. Are you secretly a goddamn bartender? Somehow, you strain the suspicious, colour changing liquid directly into the narrow flask without letting any of the potion drip out. Your deft hands grab a test tube without even looking and precisely decant half of it into the flask, gently swirling it all the while.

Whatever was in the Petri dish is unceremoniously scooped out and shoved into the flask. Vil watches along in bemusement as you cork the flask and stand back proudly with your hands on your hips, before efficiently clearing up your station.

Fifteen minutes remain. Your station and home equipment is back to looking squeaky-clean. Another thud is heard as you place your own flask beside Vil’s. It’s strangely.. intimate, Vil observes, seeing the two creations touch side by side.

“A quick explanation of how the poison works so we can test the efficacy,” Crewel shows a rare smile on his face as he looks at the pair of you.

“My poison sends the victim into an eternal sleep in the span of approximately three seconds depending on body weight,” Vil explains briefly. “The actual stages of death are designed to feel completely isolating.”

“Wonderful,” Crewel picks up the potion with the same proud smile. “You’ve beat your five second average. What about you, pup?”

“My poison is a virus that acts by removing the victim’s magical resistance completely, before causing total cell annihilation within two seconds,” you explain slowly, clearly suppressing your excitement with the way you’re wringing your hands into the hem of your lab coat. Vil almost shudders at your enthusiasm at creating a piece of biological warfare; he’s glad it’s limited to this assessment.

“Virus? I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a poison utilising that particular medium for this assessment. People always tend to go with fungi as the pathogen,” Crewel comments with interest. “How have you engineered that?”

“Electrical fusion between rapidly multiplying viruses and my cells,” you gesture to the little Petri dish in the biological waste bin. “I chose the fastest magical one and boom- you’ve got a nasty little concoction that can be spread through both the air and liquids.”

“Marvellous,” Crewel holds your shimmering potion to the light, noting the colour changes. “I’ll also be sure to take your resistivity study papers with me to the Institute.”

“Thanks, sir,” you beam proudly. Vil can’t even bring himself to dislike you at that moment. You’ve worked hard, he’s seen it all too clearly.

“Scurry along, pups. You’ve both done a wonderful job,” Crewel shoos both of you along with an extremely proud expression. “I’ll send your equipment back to Ramshackle.”

“Thanks,” you call, turning your head as you exit the classroom. Your expression is giddy; Vil can see the urge to holler and skip within you. Your goggles are pushed back on top of your head, and the sun is gently kissing your features. For once, you don’t ignore him, chatting his ear off as if the two of you were friends.

It’s finally over.

He’s done what he can. He’s pushed himself to the limit to beat you. Now all that remains is Neige.

“Then I was absolutely sweating balls when I saw my little viruses not behaving properly,” you yammer, gesturing wildly. “Luckily I had my electrodes, or they might’ve crawled everywhere, y’know?”

Vil does not know. In fact, he doesn’t think he even wants to know. Ignorance truly is bliss.

He’s enjoying this sense of normalcy. In most cases, he rarely ever gets the chance to experience this. It’s part of the isolating experience of striving to be the most beautiful. His actor and model colleagues look at him with envy, and his fans with fervent adoration. But you, you’re undaunted by his beauty and treat him like he’s not some distant being.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re still a prick,” you ramble on. Vil is once again glad you don’t like him because of his attitude, rather than his beauty. “But this competition was really fun.. I’m glad you challenged me.”

Vil blinks owlishly in surprise.

“Any thoughts on what you’d want as a prize?” Vil finally adds to the conversation. Of course he’ll pull through, but in the small possibility that you might be the winner (that innovative virus might sway the panellists, after all), he’s curious as to what you’ll select.

“Worried I’ll beat you?” you grin at him. It’s not the friendly grin you give to your friends - really, this one looks more like that troublesome Floyd Leech’s - but he’ll take it nonetheless. After all, the two of you aren’t friends. You interject before he can even think of a response. Of course he’s not worried. “I still haven’t decided. Money’s not really something I care about when my potions are so lucrative.”

Well, that’s decidedly not a relief. Vil can only imagine the horrors you might ask of him. Curse this. He should’ve done this Azul-style, with a clear contract to make it binding.

“I’m not gonna ask for your heart on a platter or anything, geez,” you mimic his widened eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“I’m not,” the lie slips off his lips like butter. “I’ve no doubt that I can fulfil whatever you desire should you win.”

Curse his poor word choices. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen even further in surprise. Curse whatever implication he’s just made accidentally, especially after last night.

“Oh?” your lips tug upwards, barely missing a beat. Vil’s heart races, but he just stares you down impassively. “I’m sure you can.”

Your drawl makes him want to explode into little pieces and wriggle away. He loathes this feeling, loathes the way you make him want your attention, he loathes everything about that malicious smile you sport.

Curse you.

[moonselune]

Can I get an Astarion X Reader with a Bhaalspawn Reader who just collects very disturbing trinkets

Astarion x catlike!Durge is just absolutely perfect. I love it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion x Durge!reader: How kind of you...

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Your affinity for collecting the odd and grotesque had always been a part of you, a peculiar habit that others found disturbing but which you indulged in nonetheless. As a Bhaalspawn, your life had been anything but ordinary, and your tastes reflected that. To you, these macabre trinkets were fascinating remnants of a dark past, each piece a testament to your survival and resilience.

Astarion, ever the charming and enigmatic vampire spawn, had quickly become the center of your world. His appreciation for the finer, more luxurious things in life was well known, but you couldn't help but share your own form of treasures with him. After all, they were tokens of your affection, brought to him like a cat leaving a dead animal at its owner’s feet.

One evening, as the campfire crackled and the night settled around you, you approached Astarion with a new addition to your collection. He sat by the fire, elegantly flipping through a book, his pale skin glowing in the flickering light. You cleared your throat, and his crimson eyes lifted to meet yours, a smile playing on his lips.

"My love, I have something for you," you said, holding out a small, preserved hand, the skin shriveled and mummified. The fingers were curled into a grotesque semblance of a grasp.

Astarion's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but he quickly recovered, his gaze flicking from the hand to your eager expression. "Ah, another... unique find," he said, his voice as smooth as ever. He carefully took the hand from you, turning it over in his own. "It's... quite the specimen."

You beamed at his response, pleased that he appreciated your gift. "I thought you might like it. It's from an ancient tomb I found nearby. The preservation is remarkable, don't you think?"

"Remarkable, indeed," he replied, his tone even and composed. Inside, however, he struggled to suppress the shudder of revulsion that threatened to show. He had grown accustomed to your peculiar tastes, but some things were harder to stomach than others.

A few days later, you approached him with another offering. This time, it was a jar filled with pickled eyeballs, the murky liquid sloshing around as you handed it to him. "Look at these," you said excitedly. "Perfectly preserved, and from different creatures, too!"

Astarion accepted the jar with a strained smile, nodding appreciatively. "How... fascinating," he managed, holding the jar delicately between his fingers. "You certainly have an eye for detail."

You didn't notice the slight twitch in his lips as he forced the pun out, too delighted by his acceptance to catch the subtle signs of his discomfort. "I'm glad you like it," you said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I find these things and think of you."

His heart softened at your words, the genuine affection in your eyes piercing through his initial repulsion. Despite the nature of your gifts, the sentiment behind them was touching. "And I appreciate every one of them," he said, setting the jar aside and pulling you into his arms. "Your thoughtfulness is... endearing."

"I can tell it grosses you out a bit," you teased, nudging him playfully.

Astarion chuckled, a hint of relief in his eyes at your understanding. "Perhaps a tad," he admitted, holding you close. "But it's the thought that counts, and I adore that you think of me even when you're out gallivanting in the woods."

You leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of the fire and the comfort of his presence. "Maybe next time I'll find something a bit less... gruesome."

"Or perhaps just as gruesome," he replied with a smirk, "as long as it comes from you."

You both laughed, the moment of levity breaking the dark spell of your trinket. Despite the eerie gifts, Astarion knew that beneath your morbid interests lay a heart full of love and loyalty. And for that, he was willing to accept even the most unsettling of tokens, because they were a part of you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Bless him, I think as much as Astarion loves the gifts he does have decor standards - or so he thinks- we see those jars of blood Astarion, clean up after yourself for godssake. Enjoy! - Seluney x

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 5 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You notice Cat doesn't seem as frosty now, and you also notice she seems to have her eye on someone. As Bradley prepares for his deployment, Jake asks him some things that force him to reflect on the parts of his life that make him uncomfortable. And both of you are reluctant to acknowledge the looming countdown to the start of your period.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, swearing, pregnancy discussions

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

The deployment papers were all anyone could talk about at the Hard Deck on Friday night, and Bradley didn't even want to hear it. He was hanging out by the pool table with the others, but he wasn't really participating in the conversation. Apparently there was quite a large crew going on this deployment, including some younger aviators from Lemoore. 

"Younger aviators?" you asked, taking Bradley's beer from his hand to have a sip. You weren't really drinking tonight. When he questioned it, you muttered something about your fertility and needing to lose weight. 

"Yeah," Bradley replied, already pretty tipsy since you were the one driving. "Like fucking kids fresh out of flight school, probably. Not really looking forward to that."

You rolled your eyes and kissed him. "You're not looking forward to that? I'm really not either, Roo. You'll have a bunch of twenty five year olds all over you."

Bradley snorted as you handed the beer back to him. "No, I won't, Sweetheart. I'm old."

He was midway through taking a sip when you said, "You didn't seem old when you fucked me up against the refrigerator before we left to come here." Bradley started choking on his drink as you smiled at him. "And you didn't seem old yesterday when you lasted for an hour." He was still coughing into his fist as his eyes watered. "You're not old. You're just old enough. And you're sexy."

You turned to walk away with a smug look on your face, but Bradley reached out to grab your hand. When your head snapped back to look up at him, he could tell you were feeling a little vulnerable by the hesitation in your eyes. 

"You think it's funny to make me choke on my beer?" he asked, tugging you a little closer to him, a little further from the pool table. 

"Kind of," you replied with your chin in the air. 

Then he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, and you gasped as his lips came crashing down to yours. You tried to pull away, but he kept you right there until your arms were around his neck and you were kissing him back. You stumbled and knocked into an empty stool, but Bradley had his other arm around your waist, keeping you steady. 

You moaned into his mouth as your fingers crept up the back of his neck and into his hair. When you pulled a little on the strands, his cock throbbed. "Fuck," he grunted, his hand sliding down to your ass to give you a light smack. 

"At the Hard Deck?" you asked, gaping at him as you whimpered. "Are you serious?" 

"Uh huh," he grunted. "Get your ass in the bathroom. Now."

Bradley watched your lips tremble before you turned toward the back hallway. "Don't worry," Nat called out, saluting him with a wink. "I'll watch your beer." 

Then he was tripping after you as you walked right into the men's bathroom like it was nothing. The sink area was thankfully deserted, but someone was taking a piss in the first stall. You just charged right into the handicapped stall, and when Bradley locked you both inside, you were unzipping your jeans. He jerked his head toward the first stall. "Someone's in here," he whispered as you shimmied your jeans down your thighs along with your light blue panties. 

"I don't care," you told him, probably loud enough for the guy who was now flushing the other toilet to hear you. Bradley let his gaze drop down to your pussy as you turned toward the wall for him. And then he was behind you, and nothing could have stopped him. 

He pushed his denim covered dick into the soft swell of your ass, and you braced yourself for what was to come with both palms flat on the wall. "You feel that?" he rasped next to your ear, grinding against you with his hands on your hips. "All you have to do is fucking look at me, and I'm hard. You make me absolutely insane, Baby Girl."

Then he placed the softest kiss to the side of your neck, eliciting a chill that shot through your body and left you moaning. "Fuck me," you begged, head tipped back. Bradley growled as he released your body to unzip his own jeans and pull his cock free. Then he nudged your legs a little further apart with his thigh. 

"Spread 'em and bend over," he commanded, and when you leaned slightly forward, he thrust into you with one hard snap of his hips against your ass. 

"Oh!"

Bradley took you by the hips again. "You know," he whispered between thrusts, "I was gonna tell you we should be quiet, but I don't even care. When I want to fuck you, I'm gonna fuck you."

You whimpered, turning your face back toward him with a dazed look in your eyes. The rhythmic slapping of his skin against yours was enough to clue anyone else in about what was going on in here, but if they looked under the stall door at both pairs of feet, they would have their confirmation. 

Bradley rubbed his mustache along your cheek before kissing you and saying, "I want you. My perfect wife. Just you." He let one hand slide up your belly and over your chest to the front of your neck. And then he went faster, enjoying the feel of your barely concealed gasps and grunts against his palm. 

As hard as he was fucking you, he made sure he kept his hands soft and his lips gentle on your neck. You seemed vulnerable, uneasy about the idea of other women talking to him during his deployment. If only you could see yourself the way he saw you. "How could I want anyone else, Baby Girl? I've been all yours since the first time you looked at me. I'm wearing your ring." He planted his left hand on top of yours on the wall. "And you're wearing mine."

You whimpered as you clenched around him, and Bradley slowed down his pace, drawing out your orgasm as he felt himself reach his limit. "That's it," he groaned as you whined his name.

"Bradley."

"Oh hell," he whispered against your ear as he filled you with his cum. "If I knock you up in the men's bathroom at the Hard Deck, I won't even be embarrassed."

You giggled as one of the toilets flushed again, and Bradley carefully withdrew from you with a grunt. His cum was dripping out of your pussy and onto that light blue underwear he liked so much, but you just pulled it back up, wiggling your ass. 

"You do this shit on purpose, don't you?" he asked, tucking himself away and zipping up his jeans. 

"What do you mean?" you asked, turning to look at him once you were fully dressed again. 

"I mean, just..." he said, gesturing at you with his hands. "Just fucking all of this. I love you so much."

You pressed your lips together and nodded, taking his hand in yours. "Yes, Bradley. I do it on purpose."

"I knew it," he muttered, following you out of the stall with absolutely no shame.

------------------------

You were so exhausted by Monday morning, you were almost happy to go back to work. Bradley had been on you all weekend. First the bathroom at the bar, and then in your bed later that night. He had been a little drunk and needy, and thank goodness he got up to play golf on Saturday and let you sleep. 

When you rode to work with him in the Bronco, he threatened to follow you up to your office, and you really thought he might. Luckily the two of you saw Jake in the parking garage, and you pawned Bradley off on him. If you didn't have a ton of things to work on with the rest of your team, you would have been in your office with the door locked and your head on your desk, taking a nap. 

When you got to your lab, pretty much everyone else was already there, including Cat. Once you were settled in, she came over to you. "Thanks again," she said softly, and you turned to look at her. She handed your car key back to you. "I filled it up with gas."

"You didn't have to do that," you replied in a whisper, wondering why she was being so quiet. 

Cat was looking at the floor now. "Yes, I did. You let me use your car for the entire weekend. I ran errands and took Jeremiah to the beach. It was great. And I didn't have to bug my uncle to use his car. Don't get me wrong, Uncle Bernie is the best, but I'm starting to feel like I've overstayed my welcome. He's a bachelor, and having us there has been a huge adjustment, I'm sure. God, I'm just rambling now," she said, shaking her head, embarrassed. 

"No," you insisted. "You're not rambling." You studied her face and asked the one question you'd been thinking about all weekend. "How old is Jeremiah?" 

Cat seemed to close in on herself a little bit, and she didn't answer, even when she met your eyes. 

"You don't have to tell me," you said quickly. 

"I'm sorry," Cat said, closing her eyes briefly. "It's just that you're the only person at work who knows about him. He turned one in November."

You were shocked. Cat and Macy hung out at the Hard Deck together. She talked to Sonya all the time. And she hadn't told either one of them about her child? 

"What does he look like?" you asked before you could stop yourself. You wanted to die of embarrassment. This woman clearly did not want to talk to you about this. But then she surprised you again when she pulled her phone from her pocket and held up her lock screen. 

"I suppose he looks like me," she said with a little laugh and a shrug. 

"He's so cute," you told her sincerely. Brown eyes, chubby cheeks and lots of hair. And then you ached inside, because he was perfect. A perfect, sweet looking little boy with only two teeth when he smiled. You didn't look away from the image until she lowered her phone, and you felt like you'd been caught looking at something that you shouldn't have been. You swallowed hard and murmured, "He looks like a Jeremiah." 

She smiled and nodded. "Of course he does. I nixed all the names his dad wanted."

Just when you were about to ask about Jeremiah's dad, Cat cleared her throat. "So, yeah. Thanks for letting me use your car. It was the best weekend I've had in a long time. And your car does look horrible, but it actually runs nicely. I barely had to jiggle the shifter."

"Right?" you said, perking up again. "That's what I'm talking about! Can I have you give a personal testimony to my husband?"

"Sure," she said with a shrug. "He doesn't like your car?"

"Hates it," you confirmed. "I mean, it did try to take him out on the bay bridge one time.... but that was probably user error."

After that, Cat ended up bringing her computer over next to you to enter in some code. You and she didn't talk about anything other than work at that point, but it was still pleasant. But around noon, you jumped in your seat when you felt a hand on your shoulder, and Cat jumped a little bit next to you as well. You spun around to see Cam standing there laughing quietly. 

"Sorry," he told you. "But that was pretty funny."

"It wasn't!" you said, heart still racing. "You messed up my line of code!"

"Move," Cam said, sliding your chair out of the way. You watched him lean down and fix it for you. And then you watched Cat watching him fix it for you.  Oh no. Jake was not going to be amused by that. "There you go. Good as new," he told you, sliding your chair back into place. 

You took a deep breath and said, "Hey, Cam. This is Cat. She's kind of new to the lab." He reached his right hand out to her, and she took it. "And Cat, this is Cam. My friend from way back at the Naval Academy."

"It's nice to meet you," Cam said with his usual charming smile. 

"You, too," Cat said, eyes soft.

Fuck. What were you supposed to tell Jake? Now you needed to figure this whole thing out with another layer added to it. 

"You coming to lunch?" Cam asked you.

"Oh. Yeah. Go ahead down and grab a table with Maria. I'll be right there."

As soon as he was out the door, Cat turned to you with a bland look. "Does a full hour ever go by without a hot man visiting you?" You burst out laughing, and she smiled as she shook her head. "I'm serious though. He's so cute."

"Yeah.... he is," you agreed. Then you decided to just go for it. "Would you lump Jake Seresin into that same category of hot men?"

"Oh," she said, biting down on her lip. "Yeah. Obviously. And don't take this the wrong way, but your husband's no slouch either." And now you were laughing again as Cat added, "I know you said Seresin is your friend, but he seems like a strictly you can look, but don't touch scenario."

"Really? What makes you say that?"

All she said in response was, "He's got a reputation. As a womanizer."

You gaped at her. Maybe you were just too close to Jake to really know what people said about him and thought about him. But you knew he was sweet. And sincere. Trustworthy and steady and honest. 

He was a bit like Bradley. Those negative things and those positive things also applied to your husband once upon a time. And you never let anyone say anything negative about him, because you knew what kind of person he was now. Didn't Jake deserve the same thing?

"I don't know about that," you told Cat. "All I know is, he's one of the best friends I've ever had."

She studied your face and nodded like she was accepting what you said even if she didn't quite believe it. And then she was gone, and you stood as well to go find Cam and Maria.

-----------------------

Bradley really hated getting ready for deployments. It was never this bad before he was with you. He used to just toss his shit in his duffle bag and climb aboard the carrier. But now there was special planning involved. He was going to have to have a conversation with Jake about you, and another one with Payback, Fanboy and Coyote. He was going to have to make sure you had everything you needed. And if that involved taking a trip to Costco and letting you call him Daddy the whole time, then so be it. 

He was also pretty devastated about putting the quest to get you pregnant on hold. The countdown to the day your period was due was driving him crazy, so he knew you must be waiting to see what happened as well. 

Bradley was working on a few projects around the house so you wouldn't have to take care of them when he was gone. He was on the ladder on the back patio, fixing a broken piece of the roof gutter when he heard you. The sliding glass door was open, and he could hear your voice along with Jake's. Bradley rolled his eyes. Jake was seriously cramping his style right now. But at least if he was here, Bradley could have a chat alone with him before he left. 

"Why won't you tell me what she said?" Jake asked, and then Bradley heard you hesitate. 

"Because I don't want to hurt your feelings."

"Angel, I'm a thirty three year old man. I don't have feelings."

Bradley could hear you snort before you said, "Yes, you do. You whine and cry them out at me all the time."

"Just tell me." 

There was a longer pause this time, and then you finally said, "Cat thinks you're a bit of a ladies' man. A player."

"Well, shit," Jake muttered. "Now I kind of wish you hadn't told me."

"Listen, Jake. I think you're wonderful, okay? Really, I just adore you," came your quick response. "But Cat seems to kind of have a thing for my friend Cam anyway."

"Cam Harvey?" Jake balked, and Bradley rolled his eyes. "That skinny nerd?"

You burst out laughing in the kitchen as Bradley climbed down the ladder. "He's not a nerd! Okay, he's a little skinny, and he does wear those nerdy glasses. But he's cute! And he's a good kisser."

Bradley froze in place just as he was about to walk inside. That was interesting, because he had explicitly asked you before if you had ever dated Cam. You still spent a lot of time with him and Maria, eating that nasty avocado toast at brunch.

Now Jake sounded insecure. "Well, maybe she just doesn't know me well enough yet. Because I've got a bit of a nerdy side, too. I just don't tell that many people about my toy airplane collection. And I'm a fucking great kisser, not that you would know that."

"Yeah," Bradley said, walking inside. "And you're gonna keep it that way." But there was no threat in his voice, because as soon as you saw him, you came rushing over to give him a hug.

"I thought you were out walking Tramp!"

"Nah, just doing some chores. Tramp is digging behind the shed like a complete menace." Bradley kissed the top of your head a few times and wrapped his sweaty arms around you. He reached up to play with your necklace chain, smiling when he saw you were wearing the charms he'd give you last year. "I love you."

Jake cleared his throat loudly, and Bradley glared at him.

"Why are you always at my house, Jake?" he asked as you pressed just one soft kiss to his chin and then pulled yourself out of his grasp. 

"I came by to workout with you," Jake replied.

But you laughed and said, "No, you didn't. I mean, you can still do that, but you came by to borrow my paraffin wax bath because you secretly want to go get a manicure, but you won't let yourself."

Jake just gave you a bland look before turning back to Bradley and saying, "I'll be out in the garage."

When he disappeared through the sliding glass door, you patted Bradley's abs and said, "Go play with your friend."

Bradley swatted your ass. "He's your friend, not mine. I have one friend, and she'd never use a paraffin wax bath or get a manicure."

"You have other friends besides Nat! And just because she doesn't do fun things with you doesn't mean she doesn't do fun things! She and I went for a manicure together last year."

"Nobody ever asks me if I want to go," he grumbled playfully. Then Bradley let you push him toward the door, and since he was already dressed for chores, he headed out to the garage to lift weights with Jake.

Jake was sitting on the bench when he walked in, and Bradley said, "Hey, can I talk to you for a minute about when I'm deployed-"

"How did you do it?" Jake asked, looking up at him with an almost accusatory gaze.

Bradley froze with his brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, what are we talking about?"

Jake eased himself back onto the bench now that someone was here to spot for him, and Bradley watched him take his time adjusting his gloves before he finally spoke again. "I don't understand how you went from a guy who was sleeping around to a guy who was taken seriously by Angel overnight." 

Jake grabbed the bar and started on some reps while Bradley just stood there. It was like Jake had read his dirtiest thoughts, the ones he tried to hide back in the deep recesses of his mind, never letting them see the light of day. Because he was kind of ashamed. Always afraid he wasn't good enough for you. "I don't know either," he whispered.

Jake grunted, counting under his breath before placing the bar back on the rack. "And why did you do it for Angel?" he asked, taking a short rest before reaching for the bar again. 

"I...had to," Bradley replied. "I just needed to. First time I saw her, I was completely hooked. Like I would do whatever needed to be done to even get her to talk to me. I think I had slept with a different woman the night before I met her. Can't really remember. And then I was just done."

Jake seemed to be contemplating what he'd said, but now Bradley's thoughts were a mess. You. You. You. All he thought about was you. Ever since he met you, but especially since he spilled beer on you and fell in love with your voice. It was impossible to explain out loud with words, but it was the strongest thing he had ever felt. The more time he spent with you, the clearer it became that he really pulled off the impossible. 

He wanted to give you everything. Be everything. And now, as Jake counted off some more reps, Bradly thought that maybe it was his fault you weren't pregnant yet. Maybe he was letting you down each month without even knowing it. 

"I haven't even slept with anyone since before your wedding," Jake said with an edge of annoyance to his voice. 

Bradley rubbed his mustache as Jake stood so he could have the bench now. "Well, maybe you should. You seem extra irritable."

"There's this woman..."

"Yeah, I know. Cat," Bradley supplied, wrapping his hands around the bar and lifting it from the rack. 

He counted his own reps while Jake said, "If someone who just moved here a month and a half ago already thinks I'd fuck anything with tits, then why would she ever want to go out with me?"

Now it was Bradley's turn to be quiet for a few moments before he finally said, "Show her who you really are. And if that doesn't work, spill some beer on her. Did the trick for me."

---------------------------

When the boys came back inside, you were straining the pasta while you danced to a playlist Bradley made for you. 

"Smells like Marry Me Rooster," Bradley grunted, heading right for you. He was all sweaty which made you immediately dizzy with lust, and you really had to reel it in with Jake around. When Bradley wrapped you up in his arms, he whispered, "Thank you."

"For what? Dinner?" you asked with a laugh as he kissed your cheek. "You're the one who has to clean it up."

"Not just dinner. For everything." 

Now he was looking at you with the softest eyes, so you quickly asked, "Jake, you staying to eat with us?"

You already knew he wouldn't. Not with Bradley suddenly turning into a sap. "No, I'm heading out, but thanks. See you at work."

When you heard the front door open and then close, you lightly punched Bradley in his solid midsection. "Did you scare him away on purpose?"

"No," he replied, wrapping you up in his arms. "But he and I had a heart to heart, and I love you, and I just want to touch you all the time."

So you sat on his lap and shared one plate piled high with dinner, and then Bradley cleaned the kitchen shirtless while you watched. "You like what you see?" he asked as he set the pans in the sink to soak. 

"Very much so," you replied, enthralled by the flex of his bicep and his tattoo. 

When he dried off his hands, you thought he was going to take you right to bed, but instead he asked, "What are we doing for Valentine's Day?"

You raised one eyebrow. "Nothing? Do we ever do anything?"

Bradley shrugged. "I was deployed last February. This is only our second Valentine's Day together. First one I'll be home for. Thought we could do something special. Go away for a night."

You bit your lip then whispered, "We should be saving our money. I'm still optimistic we might need to eventually give one of the extra bedrooms a little remodel into a nursery."

"Oh, that's definitely going to happen," he promised. "Doesn't mean we can't go away just the two of us for a night. Maybe you won't get your period."

You kissed him and murmured, "I don't want to talk about my cycle. I want to talk about where we're going for Valentine's Day."

-----------------------------

Their first Valentine's Day spent together. Hard Deck smut. And I love the heart to heart between the boys. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 6

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

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@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

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[f0point5]

And I feel perfectly fine

Companion piece to the Max Verstappen x bestfriend!reader social media au

✨Set after Y/N’s first date with Elliot✨

A/N: I’m ALIVE! I took a long break because I had my dad’s wedding and then Christmas and also because I have BIG anxiety about posting these writing pieces lol so every time I thought about posting I was like no these suck. But I really miss this blog and the smau so…we move. I hope you guys enjoy these. If you don’t…mind ya business and pretend they never happened haha, I really hope they don’t ruin the smau for anyone! Anyway…enjoy…I hope

You take your shoes off in the taxi and step straight out onto the granite paving outside the building, your Mach&Mach heels in hand. It’s a nice evening, you think to yourself as you enjoy the warm breeze and the faint scent of sea air. I had a nice evening, you think as an afterthought.

The concierge greets you with a smile, asking how your night was, and you stumble over the answer. He doesn’t notice and doesn’t care, bidding you a perfunctory goodnight as you pad through the lobby to the lifts. You miss the lifts from the old building, with the scratched and worn wood panelling. These are all sleek and cold and the mirrors are some treated glass that makes everything look glum. It’s the mirror, you tell yourself when you catch sight of your own reflection as the lift lurches up towards the penthouse.

You fidget on your way up, thinking what you’ll tell him about your evening when he asks, because you know he will. Just like you know you’ll have to avoid his running shoes right by the door. Just like you know he’ll be awake, on the sim or doing some last minute packing. You know either way he’ll be looking for his old blue and white fleece. You know you’ll lie and say you don’t know where it is and you know he’ll believe you.

It’s the first time all night you’ve felt even a little nervous, and it’s a strangely addicting nausea.

The first thing that happens when you set foot inside the dimly lit hallway is that you step on a running shoe. You stumble forward and the shoe slips out from under you, flying into a cat, you suppose, judging by the cartoonish meow that emirates from somewhere behind you.

“Enfant désordonné,” you mutter as you lad down the hallway towards the living room, dropping your own shoes as you go. “C'est comme vivre avec un enfant en bas âge.”

“Hello,” he calls to you, and you don’t mind that he doesn’t even look up from the sim. You prefer it, even. It makes the fact that you were out without him seem more normal, though it isn’t. You can’t remember the last time you were out without him when he was home.

You wander over to the hulking set up, trying to figure out what track he’s driving. Nordschleife, you realise when he flies through the banked corner. You glance down at him, lit up in blue by the light of the screen, his normally soft features contorted into the hard lines of concentration, eyes shuttered and focused. Putting a hand on his head, you gently carding your fingers through his hair just once, and he loses the rear for a second, correcting himself with a click of his tongue. He says something rude in Dutch under his breath and you laugh at him, reaching down to grab a drink from his mini fridge before heading over to the couch and turning on the TV.

For a while it’s like any other evening.

Eventually you see the screens go black in the corner of your eye and he frog leaps out of his sim rig before heaving over to sit beside you.

“What are we watching?” Max asks, cracking his knuckles as he kicks his feet up.

“The decay of humanity,” you answer with a snort. “Love Island Australia,”

He laughs, his UV glasses sliding down his nose a little. Your eyes linger on him as he fixes them. You’ve teased him about them relentlessly, and you’d never admit it, but you like them.

Wordlessly, you both shift so that he’s lying on the corner of the couch and you’re curled up next to him, his cheek resting against the crown of your head so that you can feel when he finally speaks.

“How was dinner?” He asks during the advert break, the words mumbled into your hair.

“Good. I had lobster Thermidor,” you tell him, getting only a hum in response. “I saw a girl from school at the restaurant, too. I hated her at school, she was so…she used a crocodile birkin to carry her PE clothes,”

This means nothing to him, but you feel his cheek lift in a smile as he hums just to prove he’s listening.

You stay quiet for a while, muscles unwinding to the best of Max’s steady breathing. He wants to ask, the question is lingering unsaid in the small space between your bodies. You know because last time it was you that had questions. You wonder if he feels now like you did then - unsettled and selfish, scared to ask the question because you didn’t know what you wanted the answer to be.

There’s a part of you that wants to tell him how nice it was to discuss Proust and Dostoyevsky, and how nice it was to be able to go to a fish restaurant, how no one filmed you or asked for your picture. There’s a part of you that wants to tell him all the painful truths to make up for the fact that you hated that he wasn’t there, and that somehow that feels like his fault. But you don’t. Because even though you know a petty vindictive nature all but colours your blood, you try to be kinder with Max.

“He’s nice,” you say, telling yourself you’re too tired to say more even though deep down you’re not sure there’s more to say.

“Good.”

“He knows about wine pairings, and art,” you say with soft smile that he can’t see, “and he can actually share a dessert with me all year round without worrying about the calories,”

“Ah, well, you have to marry him then,” Max says sardonically, his shoulder shifting underneath you like a nudge. “Where’s the ring? It better be big,”

He reaches for your left hand, thumb sliding along your ringer as he pretends to inspect it. You jostle him with a scoff, trying to pull away but he squeezes gently, his fingers tangling with yours for a few seconds before he lets go.

The adverts end and the show comes back on. Within seconds, you feel your body begin to fall into a sleepy oblivion. Yeah, you think to yourself, this is a nice evening.

Tag list

@somanyfandomsbruh @eugene-emt-roe @reidsworld @max3verstappen @laneyspaulding19 @elliegrey2803 @inthestars-underthesun @jayda12 @gaysontoast @baw-sixteen @wcnorris @motorsp0rt @obsessed-fan-alert @lifesuckslife @luciaexcorvus @dumb-fawkin-bitch @lickmeleclerc @goldeng1rl8 @trentwife @mynameisangeloflife @princessria127 @mcmuppet @hiraethrhapsody @toomuchdelusion @lxclerc @lpab @lordperceval-16 @larastark3107 @bangtanxberm @random-readers-world @bladestark @allenajade-ite @ironmaiden1313 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @charllleclerc @kachoooow95 @bellalilo @samywhale @satellitelh @leclercdream @jamie2305 @illicitverstappen @vellicora @honethatty12 @sociallyinepludi i @raizelchrysanderoctavius @bellewintersroe @taylorslovesswifties13 @tyna-19 @jquinnmunson

[leighsartworks216]

Brown Eyes

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Wrote this really quick. Idk if I'm happy with the ending but I wanted to write something before I go do work until probably midnight

Based on this post by @lumar014ad

Warnings: swearing, slight sexual implications??

Word Count: 670

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You gently trace under his eye, trailing your finger down his cheek until he catches it in his hand. He lifts your knuckles to his lips, feather light and meaningful. It was perhaps his favorite way of showing affection.

You hum. “You have such nice eyes, Star.” It was a delicate subject, and certainly not one you enjoyed broaching, but the thought was implanted in your mind since you caught a glance at yourself this morning. Your hair, wild and untamed. Your cheeks, flush from exertion. And your eyes. “It’s like looking into a barrel of wine. Deep and rich.”

Astarion grinned, but it was tempered. He didn’t like focusing on his vampiric traits. “Not half as lovely as yours, love.” You couldn’t stop your scoff; it had been entirely unintentional. You flushed as he raised a brow at you.

“They’re just brown. They’re not that special.”

He frowns, pulling your hand from his lips. He looks almost pained to think you would ever thing any part of your person, no matter how small, was anything but unique and wonderful. “Don’t be silly, darling,” he chastises lightly. “They’re not just brown.”

You hum, unconvinced. “You’re right. They’re shit brown.” You chuckle, but he frowns deeper. Uh oh.

One moment, you lay beside each other in bed, close as you could be. The next, he rolled you over onto your back and straddled your hips, hands cupping your cheeks. He could feel the warmth beneath his fingers as he tilted your head so the candle light caught them just so.

“They’re so much more than brown, my dear.” He leans down and presses a kiss just below your eye. “When the sun catches them, they’re golden; a warm and hardy ale. Sweet and soft like melted caramel, especially when you look at me.”

You don’t miss the smirk that paints his lips as he teases you. You can hardly be embarrassed when you know it’s true. Besides, he did the same with you. How many times now had you caught him watching you with such fondness, so much that it overflowed from his eyes into a tender smile and relaxed shoulders?

He kisses his way across the bridge of your nose. He doesn’t take his eyes from yours. The prolonged eye contact only flusters you further. “The color of deep, rich soil after summer rain. Oh, don’t even get me started on how they look at night, when every star reflects in your eyes.”

His lips brush yours for just a moment. His hands holding your face keep you still, so you can’t chase after them. Your hands slide up his thighs to his waist and grab onto the bottom of his sleep shirt.

“Even now, dove, you look at me with shimmering jewels. Amber and topaz and jasper.” He catches your mouth again. A restrained passion keeps him contained, as though he simply couldn’t resist kissing you again when you looked at him like that. He sighs longingly as he pulls away, remaining close enough that his nose brushes yours. “A million things - but never shit.”

You squeeze his hips playfully, but your eyes are half-lidded as you stare up at him. “This was meant to be flattery,” you repeat his own words back at him, “not poetry.”

He smirks. You feel it rather than see it; he’s so close. “How can I resist with you, my love? Now, where was I?”

You look away bashfully. “I think you’ve made your point, dear. You can stop now.”

“Not yet, darling. I don’t think I’ve fully captured each aspect of your lovely eyes. I haven’t even told you how they look when you’ve had too much wine, or the way the firelight catches to make them burn. In fact…” He sits up, catching your eye again as the movement attracts your attention. He looks quite self-satisfied, like the cat that got the cream. “I think we’re going to be busy all night; until you realize just how gorgeous your eyes are.”

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueen_cosplay @yarn_yogi @tototini @teardropcup @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

How about Rollo meeting Ortho in the interaction?

ROLLO ONII-SAMA ERA??????? ????? ????? ??? ?? ? ????????? ???? 👀 (Gotta love how even the most uptight characters have sort of a soft spot for Ortho…) I shared some of the ideas expressed in this interaction in this previous post, if you want to check that out!

This very long interaction is “just strangers meeting for the very first time” since the request was non-specific. I do plan on releasing more in-depth Ignihyde and Rollo interaction headcanons later, so please look forward to that!

***WARNING: there are massive spoilers for Glorious Masquerade in this interaction.***

***CONTENT WARNING: depiction of a panic attack.***

Like Fire, Hellfire.

Late.

He was running late.

One thing had led into another, and that after-class chat with Professor Trein had spiraled into a longer-than-intended discussion on magically binding contracts. The older man was, Rollo found, poised and intellectual—a wise choice for an instructor. More than that, there was a warmness behind his austere presentation, something grandfatherly, kind, and comforting.

Rollo had been enchanted, and the time had slipped by so easily. Only when the sky was painted in hues of rose, tangerine, and gold did he realize the afternoon had bled into sunset.

He cleared his throat. "Pardon me, Mozus-sensei. It has been a very enlightening conversation, but I have other matters I must tend to."

"Of course. It was wonderful getting to speak with you one-on-one." Trein stroked the fur of a plump black and white cat nestled in his lap as he spoke. A familiar, Rollo ventured, careful to not let the disgust seep into his expression.

"Then I will see you tomorrow." He bowed, turning on his heel to exit. Just as Rollo was to cross the threshold, Trein called out to him.

"Flamme."

He stopped, looking over his shoulder. "Yes?"

Trein rested his hand. The setting sun poured in from an unobscured window, coloring the room in the shades of a dying day. He released what was on his mind.

"I want you to know that you are able to come to me whenever you wish. If you are lost or need guidance, academic or otherwise, I would be more than happy to assist. Your circumstances being as they are…" Trein shook his head. "I worry about you, the same as I do for each and every one of my students."

Rollo found himself frowning. He let the lie upon his lips go.

"Thank you, sir. However, your concern won't be necessary. I have taken the time to properly reflect on my actions since the masquerade.”

"... Very well, I won't push further. Have a good evening."

"Yes, you as well."

Rollo stepped out into the hallway. His past still clung to him like a shroud, trailing behind him like a wedding veil. It would follow him to his very grave.

He was not lost—he was certain of where his destiny would end, and it was wreathed with the flames of vengeance.

At this time of the day, hellish red washed over corridors devoid of students. With everything empty and painted the same shade, the campus appeared monotonous—each hall the same as the last. Hadn’t he already passed this classroom a few minutes ago? Was he seeing things, or was Night Raven College turning into a glorified maze?

It was strange—first, he had been late. Now he here he was, lost. It was unlike him to be in such circumstances. Had he stepped into a wonderland where everything was the opposite and logic was topsy-turvy?

Should I turn back and return from the way I came? He wondered whether it would save him time or waste even more.

Something flickered in the corner of his field of vision. His eyes instinctively darted to it. Whatever it was, it was blue in color, emitting a soft halo of light. It was at the end of the hall, too far away to make out any concrete details.

What is that…?

Rollo’s feet moved on their own, compelled to follow the mysterious blue glow. At first, they were set in a comfortable walk—but his pace grew brisker and brisker as he approached. Walk to jog to sprint.

He didn't know why, but he was desperate to catch up to it. Rollo was a man possessed, a moth drawn to a flame. Every bone, every muscle, every drop of blood screamed at him: you must.

The blue sharpened, coming into focus. Taking form, assuming a body. From behind, Rollo could tell it was a young boy, his feet low to the ground but not quite touching it.

An otherworldly apparition, floating.

His heart caught in his throat. His breath hitched, then stilled. Fear had seized his throat, preventing the air from escaping him.

No. No, it can't be. Impossible.

Rollo's hand shot out, expecting to meet the air, to faze though the boy in blue. But his skin met something solid, and a bolt of ice raced down his spin upon contact.

Liquid welled in his eyes. Searing.

Don’t leave me. Don’t disappear right before me. Not again.

His pulse quickened, his stomach twisting.

The breath he had been holding was released, shakily expelled like a horrible secret.

"Brother...!"

Then Rollo saw him in full. The composition of it was all wrong. He had the same wide, curious eyes—but his hair was set aflame, and the ghostly pallor of his face was framed in an odd mask. His mouth was obscured from view, and where there should have been a heart was an eerie blue fire.

His body, too, was not natural. Metal, with strange segmentations in the limbs. A low hum of electricity. Decidedly unhuman.

Rollo’s heart sank, his fragile hope shattering.

It's not him.

“Uwah!” the boy in blue cried, startled.

Of course, Rollo realized. Why wouldn’t he be caught off-guard? He had just charged at the boy and suddenly grabbed him. Rollo let his arm drop and bowed deeply.

“I apologize for the fright. I… mistook you for someone else.”

“Oh, that’s why!” The boy in blue seemed to smile reassuringly from behind his mouth visor. “Don’t worry. It’s common for humans to make optical identification errors.”

“Erm, yes.” Rollo wove his hands together. It did nothing to relax his hammering heart, his creased brows. “Do excuse me for the disruption. I’ll be on my way now.”

The boy tilted his head. Rollo shivered—it was as though the child was peering straight into his soul. Big doe eyes full of life. Warm like a little candle. It was uncanny how familiar this boy was.

Candid, pure.

It’s almost like he has returned to me.

His chest twinged, and he faltered with his departure.

“… Mister, your vital signs all read abnormal. Body temperature, pulse, respiration rate, blood pressure, even the level of perspiration.” His tone turned concerned. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“I am fine.”

He didn’t look convinced. Rollo wasn’t sure if he believed his own lie either.

“You’re not wearing a Night Raven College uniform,” the boy noted. “You must be a visitor then! Let me escort you to the nurse’s office. You will receive the care you need there.”

“I assure you, I’m not in need of their services.”

He blinked. “… Feedback acknowledged. If you refuse to go, then I can’t exactly force you to.”

The boy hovered in a circle around Rollo, extending his arms out toward him. “I can still help you get to your destination though—wherever that may be! Just let me know and I’ll calculate the most efficient route for you.”

“What…”

Rollo reeled at the sight of him flying—on his feet, and without a broom! The boy spoke so strangely for his age as well as well, talking of biometrics and mathematics as easily as a child might discuss their favorite toy. But the way he stared back at him…

The eager expression, hands outstretched.

“Onii-sama!”

The hurt in his chest intensified, a new bloom of pain taking root in his head. An ash-covered memory was lit ablaze again.

Smoke in his lungs, singed flesh in his nose, and tears stinging his eyes. The scream of a burning child ringing in his ears.

Pain, a searing knife against his skin.

“H-Help me… HELP ME…!!”

Rollo took a trembling step back. He didn’t realize it, but he had started to shake all over, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. His eyes were alert, paranoid.

The air too thin to sate his screeching lungs. The world closing in, blanketed in curtains of smoke. Coals at his feet, fire rising.

“N-No, I… I…!!”

His hands flew to his head, clawing at his skin, his hair. Everything suddenly felt too uncomfortable, too hot—

“Mister!!”

Rollo felt arms being thrown around him. An encircling, kind embrace. He looked down to find the strange child hugging him tightly. Smiling softly, angelically.

“… It’ll be okay," the boy said, his voice as tender as the touch of a feather. "There, there. Everything will be okay."

The flames froze, as did the fuel that fed them. Rollo stiffened, reality seeping through to him. His body, unsure of how to react.

He slowly lowered his hands from his face, properly looked the child in the eyes. They seemed to pulsate hypnotically, projecting soothing shades: gold, amber, honey.

"I'm here for you," the boy continued. "See? I'm here.”

He was. Rollo knew his gaze, his touch. The warmth he had long since renounced, been deprived of.

“Focus on me. That’s right, just like that. Breathe slowly. Let’s do it together, okay? In, out. In, out…”

Huff, huff, huff.

Rollo was not so much as breathing as he was gulping and spitting up pockets of air. He was a dehydrated man tasting sweet water on the verge of death, then vomiting on the luxury of it.

The boy nodded understandingly in spite of his shaky efforts. “Just like that! You’re doing great.”

Huff, huff.

His body moved more on instinct than on command. Taking in air and returning it, a process set on autopilot. Each breath increasingly more stable than the last.

A warm hand rubbing the area between is shoulder blades. Wordlessly easing him through it.

“… How are you feeling now?”

Those few simple words dispelled the last of the suffocating heat. His emotions tempered, cooling, and finding ground once more. What was left was fizzling frustration and knotted confusion.

Huff…

Rollo released the last of his breath.

He struggled to speak. “I... I don’t understand. Why are you…”

He pulled away, but kept his hands on Rollo's shoulders. “I detected heart palpitations and other abnormal biological fluctuations. Altogether, they indicated that you were experiencing something akin to a trauma response. You looked so sad and scared. I initiated the only protocol in my memory bank that suited the scenario."

“You…” Rollo hesitated. “You did that for a complete stranger?”

“Hehe. Did my comfort protocol work?” He gave a happy twirl midair. "I'm glad that you're feeling better, even if just a little!"

Rollo watched him in silence, guilt stirring in the pit of his stomach. When he touched his cheek, he found it slightly damp. Renegade tears that had slipped free and dribbled down.

Pathetic—after all these years, he hadn’t become any stronger at all, still crumbled when he reminiscenced. Old, aching memories forever branded into him. Memories that continued to hurt him, even to this very day.

He clutched a hand over his heart.

And yet this boy…

Protectiveness swelled up.

“You,” Rollo spoke up at last, “why are you wandering on campus grounds unsupervised? Are you not aware that this is a dangerous location for youths like yourself?”

“I’m here to pick up my big brother!” he replied, beaming proudly. “Nii-san had a big exam today, plus a club meeting. It should be over by now, so we’re going to meet up and then have a family fun night!”

“How… thrilling for you.” Rollo offered a tight-lipped smile. “My word, this elder brother of yours sounds highly irresponsible if he’s leaving a child of your age unchaperoned. It should be the older sibling’s responsibility to look out for the younger, not the other way around.”

“Huh? That’s usually how it is for us, though. Nii-san forgets to take care of himself when he’s not reminded!” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Nii-san stays up late gaming, snacks instead of having real meals, and rarely leaves his room.”

“That’s absolutely abhorrent,” Rollo seethed, his rage returning to him. “What sort of example is he setting for you?”

Red prickled the edges of his vision. How dare that so-called brother burden this poor, sweet boy and allow him to wander around a mage-infested school? For that, Rollo would put him to the stake.

“That’s it, it’s settled! I will accompany you and ensure that you find your way home safely. Furthermore, when you reunite with your brother, I will be sure to give this man a piece of my mind.”

“Eeeeeeeh?!” Shock lit up the boy’s face. “This is the first time anyone’s ever wanted to meet nii-san so passionately!”

For all the wrong reasons, he recognized—still, there was a fragment of hope in the circumstances. Potential friendship to be found in the confrontation. He clung to that possibility.

"Well... okay, if you really want to. Nii-san might be a little more than surprised to see you, but it's a good chance to him to meet new people."

"Fufufu, that's correct. It would do him some good to become acquainted with—" A thought dawned on him. "Ah, forgive me. I forgot to ask for your name earlier. Please, may I know it?”

“Me? I’m Ortho! Ortho Shroud.”

Shroud.

The surname (unfortunately) conjured up a familiar face. Pale completion, cobalt lips, irises in piercing yellow, blazing blue fire for hair. A man that retreated from the light, spitting words as sharp as his jagged teeth.

Rollo grimaced. How had he not seen the resemblance sooner? Blinded by emotions, he ventured with a subtle scoff.

“What’s your name, mister?” Ortho asked, peering up at him.

"I am..." Rollo stopped himself. A swarm of unanswered questions fought for his attention, each wanting to be the first to be let out.

Shroud’s brother is no longer with us. How is it possible that he is standing here before me? What has happened to his body? Why is it metal? Surely they’re beyond normal prosthetics. He’s floating like some unorthodox apparition…

One inquiry won out in the end.

Has he told Ortho about me?

What would happen to the boy’s faith, his joy, once the introduction was uttered? The idea summoned a great deal of discomfort, twisting painfully like a knife plunged into Rollo’s guts. Guilt pooling.

He fell silent.

“… Never mind that. My identity is unimportant, for I am a mere visitor to this prestigious school. You may continue calling me ‘mister’ as you were.”

“Roger that! Let’s get going then. Nii-san’s waiting!”

Ortho flew ahead, the guiding light in a world dyed a hellish hue of red. Rollo followed at a safe distance, but never let the boy out of his sight—but he never drew too close either.

Why did you do that? Rollo rebuked himself. You've done no wrong. You have nothing to be ashamed of, no reason to feel any guilt. You are in the right. Why mask the truth?

He squeezed his eyes shut.

That night, atop the bell tower...

"Do you think your brother would have wanted this?! Idia had demanded. “Would he be happy... seeing you do this to the city—to the world—in his name...?"

I am without sin. I am righteous, Rollo told himself. A prayer, a staunch affirmation. Of my virtue, I am justly proud.

“Hurry up, mister!” Ortho called to him. The boy’s voice snapped him back, and Rollo smiled in spite of himself.

“… Of course. I am coming.”

This happiness, he knew, would not last forever. Spells always broke before the strike of midnight.

He had to relish these fleeting yet magical moments while they lasted.

[marigold-hills]

Dunes & Waters, part 7

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

“What happened to your hand?”

Again, Black is already in the kitchen, smoking and hanging out of a window, when Remus wakes up.

“Paper cut.”

“You bandaged yourself up like that for a paper cut?”

“I’m prone to infections.”

“Merlin,” Black definitely doesn’t believe the excuse, but that’s the point really. Say something so stupidly improbable and the question of what happened to him becomes second to why won’t he tell me.

People are fickle creatures like that, Remus knows. Selfish even in their concern. He’s not blaming Black for it – they don’t know each other; he’s got no reason to be worried for Remus. Especially not with the way their interactions have been going. It’s a dually convenient thing for Remus: he has no desire to get close to Black, or to be gotten close to. And lack of interest means lack of questions when he has to disappear for a couple nights.

Black finishes his smoke, putts it out. The silver ring on his finger reflects the morning light as he lights another.

“Why didn’t you get your own cigarettes yesterday?”

“I don’t smoke,” Black replies, taking a deep drag and flicking ash out of the window.

“Evidently.”

“Well… only sometimes. Socially.”

There are four butts in the makeshift ashtray by Black’s knee.

“The people keeping you company, they still here with us?”

“The cat is out there again.”

Remus sticks on the kettle, adding in enough water for two cups. To save himself having to repeat the process. “You’re smoking with the cat?”

“Better conversationalist then some people.”

Remus doesn’t raise to the bait. It’s nothing he’s not heard before. Get to the point and why are you telling me about this and look, I’ll listen later but I’m really way too tired now, alright?

The kettle boils, the tea brews. Two mugs, two sachets of Assam. Two sugars and milk for him, black for Black (Remus snickers to himself). An almost perfect builders’ brew. As each morning, Remus takes a moment to miss the box of Yorkshire teabags he’s got in his office back in London.

The crossword has been butchered again. “This isn’t even close to being correct,” he waves it in Black’s direction, “if you want to have a go you could just ask the reception to send up an extra paper.”

Black takes his tea and his spot at the table. “That thing makes no sense.” There is a defensiveness in his posture, an undercurrent of something ready to explode. It’s evident he’s not used to being wrong footed.

“Sure, it does,” Remus dismisses, “you just don’t understand it.”

One raised eyebrow, eyes thinning. There’s that same bit of anger – diminished and contained – that he brought at the market. Remus is sensitive to changing tides, a part of the moon always with him, and Black is like the sea. He can smell it on him, the way his magic builds up and crackles about the fingertips.

Black, however? Doesn’t seem to notice.

NEXT PART

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

[firefly--bright]

the drywall confessions.

jean kirstein x fem!reader , modern a.u

summary ; making a home out of the walls that surround you was easy when it was the two of you.

warnings ; none! what a shocker

a/n : something short and sweet! im still in the process of writing d2d and masquerade hehe. summer break just started so it might take just a little more time :3 inspired by this reel i saw on instagram. also requests are now open since i'll have more time to write!!

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeancremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes .

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ join my taglist ✿ requests are open! ✿ songs to listen to while reading !

If walls could talk, they’d sing praises of your love.

the dark brown scuff against the right wall of the living room that was left when you and jean tried to move the couch by yourself was all but proof of that moment. He almost stubbed his toe, and you almost tripped over the carpet, but after the couch found it’s new home only a tad bit to the left from where it was before, the two of you heaved a breath as you reaped the rewards of your hard work on the couch, wiping the sweat off of your forehead. Jean grumbled about how it didn’t really make a difference. You had a ready answer on your tongue; pointing to the now one inch of extra space – “look at all this free space we have!” with a sarcastic grin on your face. Jean took one glance at you and knew he had to laugh, if only a little, if only to please you, if only because he loved you.

if walls could talk, they’d tell jean about how much you missed him while he was gone.

The business trip wasn’t even that long, only about two weeks, and it wasn’t even the longest the two of you had gone without each other, but it was enough for you to notice his absence after your move into the apartment together. The walls watched softly, reflecting the sunlight off of themselves, as you accidentally pulled out two mugs instead of just yours – your see-through, glass mug with small hand drawn flowers on it with a thin crack along it’s base that you were only mildly concerned about and his usual mug that said, in big bold letters, “NUMBER 1 COUGAR”. the walls noticed how often your eyes strayed away to the screen of your phone, hoping every time that it would be his message lighting up your screen. And later at night, when everything was dark and he finally did, the walls observed, that you eagerly picked up and talked and listened and talked until the only thing they heard was your small snores. The phone call ended three hours after you had slept, they’d note.

If the walls could talk, they’d whisper critiques about your decoration choices.

It didn’t make sense, really. Everything on the shelves was eclectic and without any structure. The bookshelf was really just a name of what it was supposed to be, but held objects that were far more precious than pages. Jean’s hereditary vinyls that he’d unapologetically stolen from his childhood home along with the record player, small plants that each had their own names, pictures from photobooths that you had taken throughout the years – some with just the two of you, some with your friends, some with you and your cat. lamps with warmly lit bulbs in them of varying heights and colours, collecting a small but unseen amount of dust on their bases simply because “jean. This looks exactly like the lamp that crushed pixar’s 'i'” “why are we supporting an abuser, then?” and “this one looks like a mushroom!” “babe, we have so many lamps already-“ “jean, this one is a mushroom.” They were good lighting for your old and new artworks, some of them messily made but with more than enough personality for the walls to be able to speak through them. And if they could speak, they’d tell you about all the sketches of you they’d see jean draw but never show; all his loving being silent but all-consuming.

And the walls would scold you for ruining their perfectly white canvas into something better-worse.

Jean agreed that maybe the smudges could be fixed by painting over the whole damn wall. “im getting sick of this white.” “that’s very racist.” followed by a scoff from the former, as he opened the pinterest browser on his laptop, asking you to shift closer to him to get a better view at his screen. Not because he thought your warmth was mandatory for him to function, of course not.

The walls would retell how scared they were when jean got those small pots of paint, you sat in your most worn-down and ruined pair of pyjamas infront of the white wall that currently had too many stains for it to go unnoticed. Jean opened the can with a butterknife with a, “dude, couldn’t you have gotten, like, a popsickle stick?” “a whole pack of fifty for one paint can?” “we could’ve made popsickles.” “uh huh. You just want an excuse for something sweet.” to which you only smiled ear to ear and jean wondered if you knew that he didn’t need something sweet as long as you were infront of him.

The painting job inevitably failed. Two sort-of artists that thought it was something they could accomplish ended up with a wall of mismatched paint and aching shoulders and stained fingers. You called it a night with pizza and washed hands, jean cradled calcifer – your adorable but petty cat – in his arms like a spoiled baby and placed several kisses on his furry forehead as you sat down with plates in your hand. jean joined you on the ground, letting the furball run free across the apartment before resting his head on your thigh.

The walls would have notes of what not to do while repainting them as one of those two sort-of artists waited for her beloved to leave the house the next day and once again, sat down and drew a small heart with the residual pastel paint left in the pot, a small and satisfied smile on her face even if it was only for a small mark.

The day after the next, when she took the paint, her fingers itching to claim the walls as theirs again – she found three small stars around the heart that she did not remember drawing. Smiling, you put down your signature flower and leaf combo before closing everything back up and waiting for the vandalism wars to begin.

By the time the walls could recall how jean proposed to you, the bottom of the bedroom wall that was conveniently covered up by the bed held countless doodles. Some of them were smaller, cuter versions of the two of you with big eyes and small bodies holding hands, some of them were far more detailed version of them – just their faces with their eyes looking at the other -  despite their small size. The most remarkable ones, however, were your initials written on the wall. Bottom corner of the bedroom wall were the initials of the people that loved the most while residing in their walls that could only be seen if anyone was actively looking for them, seeking them out.

 If the walls could talk, they would talk about you and jean.

Despite the bustling and distracting city outside, jean’s vinyls played their safe melodies as you pulled out two mugs from the cabinet in the kitchen, jean’s arms wrapped around your back as you prepared coffee for the pair of you in your respective mugs. Jean would hold back a small grin at the mug that was now his signature – the one that you gifted him when you were only friends and just getting to know each other, the one that made him know that he’d want you in his life for far longer. The walls would sing the songs of jean’s record player as you sat near the coffee table in your living room and typed away on your laptop, calcifer snoring peacefully on his father’s lap, the latter with his own laptop infront of him. The walls would tell you how much he loved you because he would look at you so often they wondered if he ever got sick of the view – but they didn’t. the walls didn’t talk because they knew you knew. They could tell you accounted all his actions and return them tenfold, in your own silent but all-consuming ways.

If the walls could talk, they wouldn’t want to because you slept on his shoulder after coming home late from work and finding him on the couch with his eyes closed. They wouldn’t talk because they’d see you wrap a blanket around his shoulders before snuggling up next to him – gently, softly, so as to not wake him up.

If the walls could talk, they’d say nothing because everything was already said and known.

If the walls could talk, they wouldn’t have to.

[readychilledwine]

Early Mornings

A/N - Happy Surprise Saturday, my loves ❤️ I've had Azriel pieces, an Eris piece, a Rhys piece, and a little love for our baby bat, and it only felt right to ensure our favorite General had sometime to shine. Enjoy this grumpy/sunshine or orange cat bf/Doberman gf piece.

Cassian and his mate are well matched in almost every sense. He's a powerful Illyrian general, she is the last of the Valkyries. He loves their family, she is devoted to them. The only thing they never seem to agree on is mornings.

Warnings- Swearing, mentions of alcoholism and mental health struggles, mentions of trauma, alludes to interesting behaviors between Nesta and our unnamed female oc, unedited by an outside source

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Cassian stood in front of the coffee maker. His arms were crossed as he watched each drop of liquid fall into the pot he was brewing for his mate, himself, and the two other fae living in the house. His mate finally entered the kitchen, flipping him off as he offered her a smile before sitting down.

Cassian adored mornings. He loved watching the sun as it began its ascend over the mountains. He loved the crisp chilled air. He loved breakfast. The sound of the birds greeting each other at first light. His mate, however, adored their nightlife. She was the last to rise out of bed. The last to leave the table at Rita's with Mor. The last to head to bed. She loved dinners, the stars reflecting on the Sindra. She loved the way music felt in her bones as she danced into the early morning. She loved quiet walks home with her heels in her hand after Cassian would inevitably show back up to retrieve her. She worshiped the moon, and he, the sun.

The one thing the two truly shared in common though, was their love and need for coffee. Cass was approachable before his first cup, chipper even. He glanced over his shoulder where his mate sat, her wings wrapped tight around her. Her hands held her head. Her long dark hair was falling over her shoulders. "Almost done, babe."

"Fuck. Off." His mate? Not so much. He chuckled lightly at her response before grabbing their matching coffee mugs. "Why the fuck did you wake me up?"

"You promised me you would go on a morning run with me. Remember? Setting an example for the females? Helping them by seeing one of their own training? Helping Nesta see-" She groaned loudly, rubbing her temples. "I'm sorry baby, I'll be quiet until coffee is done." He leaned across the counter, kissing her forehead.

His heart melted at her smile, it didn't reach her hazel eyes yet, but he knew it would only take a few more kisses and some coffee to change that. "Why are we being quiet?" Cassian laughed as his mate turned, grabbing the nearest object to her before throwing it at a laughing Azriel. "Awe sis! Are you grumpy this morning?"

"Go shovel pig shit, Azriel." His brother moved behind her, kissing the top of her head with a soft "good morning" while rubbing her back lightly. "Why the fuck are you two always so happy in the morning?"

Azriel shrugged. "We go to bed at a decent time."

Cassian nodded. "We are used to early morning routines."

Azriel continued. "We don't drink until we black out. Anymore."

"Training in the morning starts the day right."

"Training in the morning is eas-"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Cassian and Azriel laughed quietly. "Where is my coffee?"

"Just finished, beautiful." Cassian was pouring the hot liquid into the third cup a shadow had handed him, giving it to Azriel. Then he filled his mate's and his own. "Sugar or cream, sweetheart?"

"Both, please?" Cassian nodded, fixing her coffee to her liking, before moving to sit next to her. "I love you," she whispered to him before kissing his jawline. "How long is the run?"

"Only 5 miles," Azriel said softly. "We cut in half after you decided to drink half the camp under the table last night. Wonderful job stealing Devlon's most expensive whiskey, by the way." A smirk graced his face as he peeked at her. "Has anyone dragged Nesta out of bed yet? Is she getting ready?"

The illyrian female rolled her eyes before looking at the pot with 4 cups of the morning magic still resting for the oldest sister. Her head leaned to rest on Cassian's shoulder. "I haven't tried yet, and we'd know if Cassian did. If you think I'm grumpy in the morning, Azriel, have you tried speaking to her in the mornings? She puts me to shame. You should go try. She likes your pretty face after all." She was sniffing her coffee, waiting for it to cool down with a small smile on her face.

Azriel took a long drink of his coffee, nose scrunching from the bitter taste. "No. That's your job. She actually likes you more."

He took her mug, a very quiet "oh fuck," came from Cassian's direction. He backed away from his brother and mate. "Fight fire with fire. Get at it." He forced her out of the chair, smacking her on the ass as he pointed up the stairs. "Go on. Earn your coffee by doing something other than my brother."

"Fuck. You. Cassian, get my coffee back." The General looked between his mate and brother. "Babe!" Cassian just shook his head and inclined it towards the stairs.

"Get Nesta up and I will get you your coffee back." He knew deep down his mate would be the perfect weapon against Nesta. He and his high Lady's sister had butted heads since she had been made and even before then. Az cared for Nesta, but his patience with the female only went so far. His mate's no bullshit, no prisoners attitude seemed to be one Nesta respected. The two got along really well.

Almost too well at times.

He'd find her and Nesta cuddled on the couches in the House, Nesta between her legs with her back against her chest, a blanket thrown over both of them as Nesta read romances and his love read thrillers or reports.

He would find them giggling in the library, his mate holding Nesta's face in her hands. She'd be whispering to Ness, whose face would be flushed, while she smirked at her. Their bodies would be close together. Nesta's hands would stay locked on his mate's hips.

He even found Nesta in their room once, waiting on their bed, staring at his wife's body while she was finishing her makeup. Just to tease Nesta, he had walked behind his mate, slowly lifting the hem of her short dress while staring at the oldest sister. His mate had stopped him quickly, but not before he watched Nesta pull her lower lip between her teeth.

The final sign that his hound of a mate liked the Archeron happened just yesterday morning. She had made Nesta coffee and breakfast, something she only did for him and his brothers. They were speaking to each other quietly, not realizing he and Az were watching. She had pulled out her special mug, the one Rhys had paid good money to have made for her, and given it to Nesta so she could tuck one of her cold hands into the little nook built into the stoneware while his mate held the other one.

He knew something was brewing between the two of them, and Cassian was more than happy to just watch through the bond, or in person, when it finally happened. He sighed softly. "You might be the only one able to get her down here and on that trail."

"You are joking, right? Nesta is a grown female. She is allowed to make her own choices and heal at her pace. You-" he cut her off with a kiss. She leaned into him with a soft hum. He couldn't tell if it was due to the bond or just due to the lingering taste of coffee on his lips.

"Go." He kissed her gently again. "We just have to get her training babe. Rhys is-"

"I know. I know how he is. This isn't his first go round with a female who is… like that." Cassian flinched at the reminder. His mind flashed back to the screaming matches between his mate and Rhysand after the first war. The journey she had undergone to heal was ugly, rough, and long. But the 4 of them had gotten through it together after she had overdrafted an account by close to 1000 gold marks.

Rhys had wanted to kill her, but what she had overdraft the account on was the ultimate sign she needed help and was silently crying out for it. The only way she knew how. Her pride ran deep due to her independence as an Illyrian and a female. The only daughter and first grand daughter of a long line of camp Lords who were forward enough to see value in their girls and ban clipping.

The oldest sister of 5 brothers who looked up to her and followed her guidance. An oldest sister who felt she failed those brothers as she found them dead one by one on the battlefield.

Leader of the valkyries. All of whom she also felt she failed as she watched them all slaughtered. She was the last of her kind, at least for now, and that had ate at her. It spun itself into guilt, addiction, rage.

Cassian and Azriel both remembered Rhys sitting her down in his office as they blocked the doorways. They remember her just silently nodding as Rhysand lectured her, having calmed down significantly when he realized she was so impaired that she wouldn't remember a single thing. They remembered her crying and Rhysand moving to hold her.

Azriel finally broke the trace the three had fallen into. "The only difference is you accepted help. You let all of us help you heal, get you new hobbies, and teach you how to safely partake in activities with us. The only sign of your issues you still have is how big of a bitch you are in the mornings and how you are literally Mor's "scary dog privilege," whatever the fuck that means, when she wants to stay out too late," Azriel mumbled. "I think Nesta wants help deep down. I just think she is too scared to face what getting help means and what she will have to face."

Cassian watched as his mate sighed and nodded. "There's a lot of trauma there. I was over 200 years old, Az. She's barely in her 20s."

"I know."

"Then be kinder." The two had a stare off, beginning a silent fight between the spymaster and the last Valkyrie.

Cassian grabbed her chin to refocus her, chuckling at the glare and sleepiness still in her eyes. "Get her out of bed and on the training field, and I will reward you later."

Azriel rolled his eyes as her wings fluttered, attitude suddenly leaving her body, and she leaned into Cassian, their noses touching. "What kind of reward?"

Cassian smirked down at her. "Whatever my sweetheart would want."

His mate smirked, shutting her eyes softly as he leaned his forehead against hers. "Even if it's just coffee?"

He nodded, kissing her forehead. "Even if it's just coffee."

[asttrogirl]

𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞？︱𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

﹙❀﹚PAIRING; gojo satoru x f!reader

﹙❀﹚WC; 0,7k

﹙❀﹚SUMMARY; satoru is insanely jealous.

"Have you been cheating on me?" whispered Satoru, his face adorned with a mischievous expression, though inside he concealed deadly jealousy. The dimly lit room intensified the tension between them.

Satoru could no longer ignore the nagging feeling that had haunted him for weeks. He knew that if he didn't address the situation at that precise moment, he might regret it later.

Yes, you and Suguru had shared moments together while he was away. You had visited that charming cat cafe and ventured through the streets downtown in search of late-night snacks. Each of those shared experiences between you and Suguru felt like a thorn piercing Satoru's heart.

Although you always told him with a smile about what you had done with Suguru and assured him that you would also do those activities together, a bitter feeling began to nest deep in his stomach. The shadow of doubt and insecurity darkened his thoughts.

Of course, Satoru had confronted Geto about it. He had cornered the brunette in the classroom and threatened him to confess if he felt anything more than friendship for you. However, Geto's contemptuous laughter echoed in the air, making it clear that he saw you only as a little sister.

"Cheating on you?" you laughed, causing a wave of anguish in Satoru. His narrowed eyes reflected a mixture of pain and longing.

"Yes, cheating on me. Suguru told me that you had a lot of fun this week while I was on that mission that practically endangered my life," Satoru added, pouting his lips, his voice filled with mixed emotions.

Silence engulfed the room, only interrupted by the faint flickering of a candle on the table.

The atmosphere grew even heavier, leaving room for unspoken words to float in the air, finally revealing the truth.

She let out a light laugh, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, as she shook her head gently

"What? No, Satoru," she replied, her voice tinged with amusement. "You can't let jealousy consume you. What you're thinking is simply not true. Besides, you're talking about Suguru, your friend, my friend, our friend. There's more chance of him dating Shoko,"

Satoru furrowed his brow, his doubts lingering in his gaze. He needed more than a simple denial to calm the insecurities that tormented him.

He knew that there was still nothing between them and that doing this was simply pathetic, but something inside him told him that soon they would officially start a romantic relationship.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. You know what? Come here, we haven't spent time together in a while," you said with flushed cheeks, encouraging him to rest his head on your thighs. You knew that pampering his hair would put him in a good mood.

The atmosphere softened with your invitation, and Satoru accepted with a mix of resignation and curiosity.

He settled on the floor, resting his head on her thighs, feeling the comforting warmth of her presence.

The room was illuminated by strategically scattered candles, creating an intimate and cozy ambiance. The gentle scent of incense floated in the air, creating a relaxing atmosphere.

As your fingers glided through Satoru's hair, caressing it tenderly as he lost himself in his own thoughts, the gentle touch of your hands and the whisper of your words reminded Satoru that he was there, present, in that moment.

The heartbeats of both synchronized, leaving aside the doubts and jealousy that had disturbed their connection. In that instant, there were only the two of them, immersed in an oasis of calm and complicity.

"I'm sorry," Satoru whispered, releasing a sigh of relief. "I should have trusted you from the beginning. Sometimes I let my insecurities control me."

You smiled, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on Satoru's forehead. "I understand your fears, Satoru. We all have them," you whispered. "The important thing is that we're together and can overcome any obstacle that comes our way."

Time stood still in that intimate space, and both lost themselves in the comforting silence, enjoying each other's company as the candles continued to dance with their faint flames. In that atmosphere of love and forgiveness, they vowed to continue building their relationship on the foundation of trust and sincere communication.

©asttrogirl│don't copy or translate

[lolitakirstein]

Hey Neighbor pt 6

Part 6

[Previous part]

a/n: Sorry this kind ends abruptly but the word count was getting high so I figured i'd split it up. it doesn't really move the story alone, but I had fun writing this part.

wc: ~1.1k

tags: @better-imagination-9

The sun slants through the curtains that normally you would have drawn. But as the piercing light stabs your retinas, the events of last night slowly come back to you. Albeit in bits and pieces. A drink, or two, maybe four? Walking. Ok, stumbling. Being on the ground, looking up at Toji. FUCK. You sit up and the sudden movement sends the room spinning. Toji saw me, drunk, on the ground.

That thought quickly unlocks more from last night: Toji carrying you to bed. You throw the blanket off, groaning both from the tilting of the room and your growing embarrassment.

Once dispensing a gracious amount of cat food to Mewsy as an apology for not feeding her the previous night, you sit at your kitchen table. Still trying to piece together the events of last night. Had you said anything stupid? Made more of a fool of yourself than what you think you already did? And more importantly, how do you ever face him again?

Ok, time for damage control. Let's see, he saw me drunk. That wouldn't have been a big deal if he hadn’t also witnessed me rolling on the sidewalk like some kind of cat in heat and then carrying me like a child. Ok, the logical thing to do is to apologize. He saw me acting immature, so I’ll show him that I can be mature and own up to my mistakes.

After quick shower and a dusting of makeup to cover your dark circles, you check your reflection one more time in the hallway mirror and you open the front door. Before nerves can get the best of you, you stride next door.

You knock three times and pray that no one is home. I’ll count to five and if he doesn't answer I’ll—

The deadbolt clicks and the door swings open, revealing Toji in low-slung jeans and once again no shirt. His skin gleams with a thin layer of sweat. Smears of oil and dust coat his hands. His hair sticks to his sweaty brow and, once again your stomach clenches with a delicious warmth. Something about being around this man instantly kicks your body into overdrive. As if it’s in a perpetual state of ovulation when he’s near.

“Hey neighbor,” Toji greets you as he grabs a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. The act is arousing. The thought of him working with his hands. Instead of working in his garage—which he had clearly been doing—you imagine what those hands you do to you. Would they be gentle? Or rough? Or would he alternate between soft touches and choking—-no, no, focus.

“Hey,” you clear your throat. “Is this a bad time?” Please let it be a bad time.

“Not at all,” he opens the door more. “C’mon in.” You step around him, trying not to brush against him.

“Hi y/n!” Megumi shouts as he runs down the hall towards you.His arms outstretched. The excited voice, normally adorable, pierces right into your skull causing you to grimace accidentally.

Megumi stops short, his arms falling to his side. “What’s wrong y/n.”

“Nothing, I’m just–”

“Y/n was out way past her bedtime son,” Toji interrupts behind you. He slams the door, hard. Another jolt of pain shoots inside your head. “Let's give her a round of applause for being able to stand upright today.”

Toji starts clapping his hands, Megumi following suit, jumping in place. More pain crackles behind your eyes. Asshole.

“I’m going to go,” you murmur, turning back, intending to run out the door. Toji's leaned against it, however, his arms crossed and a satisfied look on his face. You’re blocked.

“Nonsense, we were just about to have lunch. Join us,” he coos, cupping and squeezing your face briefly before sauntering into the kitchen. You stare daggers at his bare back. Megumi grabs your hand pulling you to trail his father. “C’mon, y/n”

In the kitchen,Megumi climbs into a seat as Toji places a sandwich and some baby carrots in front of him. You remain standing, feeling out of place. Toji must notice because he pulls out a chair and gestures, albeit a bit dramatically. You roll your eyes before taking a seat.

“Here.” Toji places a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water in front of you. Your head spins from the thoughtful gesture, or it could just be the hangover. Nevertheless, a blush creeps into your cheeks.

“Are you sick,” Megs asks between bites of his sandwich.

“I—”

“Y/N was a bit of a party animal last night, fell down and dad had to carry her home,” Toji quips, pulling up a chair beside you with a sandwich of his own. HIs long legs stretched out. You whip your head towards him, intent on glaring him in the eye. You're then reminded that he is, still, shirtless. Your eyes betray you, drifting to his bare chest. Quickly you look away, focusing on pills and water.

“Isn’t that right, y/n” Toji presses. He's taunting you, wanting a reaction. Be mature be mature be mature. He nudges you with his leg. “Hmm??”

Taking a deep breath and gathering yourself, you look at Megumi. “Yes, I did have too much fun last night so I am a bit sick. And your father being shirtless and sweaty isn’t helping me feel any better.” So much for being mature.

Megumi giggles. Toji leans forward and places his forearms against the table. “Doesn’t seem to make you ill when you’re looking out your window at me,” he pretends to whisper, sending megumi into another fit of giggles

Shit! Did he know that you watched him? Now you look like a total creep. Fuck.

You try to think of something witty to say, but come up empty and embarrassed.

“Yeah didn’t think I would notice ya, staring out the window while i’m working out huh,” he prods.

“Can we talk?” you snap before he can say anything else humiliating.

“We are talking,” he gestures between the two of you.

“Alone,” you say softly, not wanting to hurt megumi’s feelings, excluding him.

After a few seconds of staring each other down, he finally yields. “Megs. take the rest of your lunch into the living room, Ok?”

Hanging his head, Megumi gathers the remainder of his meal and sulks out of the room.

“What?” Toji snarls.

“You always avoid adult conversations by using your child as a buffer,” you spit. Toji rolls his eyes, leaning back against the chair.

“Floors all yours, darling,” he gestures dramatically. “Let’s have an adult conversation.”

“First can you put on a shirt?” you ask

“Are you distracted?” he banters, a coy smile on his lips

You don’t take the bait. Instead scowl at him.

His smile falls as he sees you aren’t going to play his game. “Fine,” he grumbles, standing up and walking upstairs.

Now alone, you try to even remember why you came over here in the first place.

[sweetlikesunflowersandhoney]

"I thought you were still at work for another hour!" For sashnetra or another ship if you want? 💕💕

Here you have, my love 💛 I hope you like it

Read on ao3

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The stage is a raging fire of incandescent lights, making her skin prickle with sweat. Blood rushes through her veins, a burning pulse through her limbs as she moves in impossible poses with the grace of a ballerina, one who’s shed off her pristine white layers to stand in the middle of the stage in just a red thong and heels. Sasha is a flame for the moths that cram themselves into the sweltering cabaret every night to watch her perform, making the tables shake with their fervent cheers.

She holds her final pose for longer than necessary, because applause is addictive. The lights are blinding, the men blend into a single loud mass holding out bills for her to grab. She takes some from a lucky few as she leaves.

The roars of the crowd follow her backstage, but the fire begins to calm down as the cool air soothes her skin. She breathes with her eyes closed, still savoring the applause. Her heart beats loudly, blood rushes in her ears. She moves in a cloudy daze to the bathroom to freshen up and grab a silk robe to put over her lingerie, now that she’s cooling down. The cheers of the crowd get replaced by the loud chatter of the dressing room, where everyone is in the process of changing to go home. She bumps Kylie’s shoulder as she sits down at her vanity to fix her makeup. Normally, she would just take it off, but she has plans tonight.

“You did good, honey,” Kylie says, nodding to the bundle of tips Sasha crammed into her purse. Although Kylie’s own pile, which she’s currently uncrumpling, is far from modest.

“I better, I got a man to buy dinner for,” Sasha jokes before smacking her lips to spread the dark red she painted on them.

She redoes her eyeliner and ponytail, and bats her eyelashes at the mirror, enamored with her reflection. There’s no need for false modesty when you know you’re the one.

She’s in the process of counting her tips when the whoops and cat whistles from the other girls let her know they have a visitor.

“Sasha! Your boy toy’s here.”

Through the mirror, she watches herself simper and Anetra wade through the crowd to her station. He keeps his eyes firmly cast down as the girls whistle and subtly open their robes when he passes by. Sasha jumps to greet him before they start tucking singles in the waist of his pants.

“I thought you were still at work for another hour!” she says instead of hi, as her arms settle familiarly around his neck. He’s tall, even in her heels she has to look up at him and it makes her stomach flutter.

“I finished early,” he says, sliding his hands under the robe to settle on her waist, and the warmth of his hands relights her fire. “Thought I’d come pick you up, catch your final number.”

“You got to see me?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “You’re incredible.”

She tangles her fingers in his hair and brings him down for a kiss. She closes her eyes, savoring him. Her heart beats loudly, blood rushes in her ears. She’s in that cloudy daze again, and the only thing that exists is his body against hers.

And then a booming voice breaks the moment by yelling “Get a room,” which sends the hens laughing and shrieking.

“Yeah, Sasha, take him to the private rooms!”

“If you don’t, I will!”

“Alright,” Sasha tells him through the hollering, “I’m getting you out of here before one of these whores actually tries it. Let’s go eat.”

“Can we stop by my place first? I forgot my wallet this morning.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Sasha grins, patting his chest with the fan of bills in her hand. “I’m paying.”

“But you paid last time, too,” Anetra protests half-heartedly.

Sasha folds the stack of bills in half. She hooks her finger in the front pocket of his pants, and tucks the bills in there.

“And that’s how I like it.”

Anetra hums and spreads his hands on her back, pressing her flush to his front.

“I’ll pay you back.”

“You pay me in kisses,” she says, tangling her hands in his hair again. “And other goods.”

He rolls his eyes and she delights in the blush rising up from his chest. He pecks her quickly.

“One down.”

Sasha grins, dusting off some of the body glitter that got on his shirt.

“You only have a thousand to go.”

[thearcherprentiss]

Criminal Minds as things my friends have said

Emily: "Derek you have beautiful eyes. No homo though."

Derek: "What?"

Emily: "No homo, but in a straight way."

Reid: "I think she deserves to be happy."

Cat: "I think she'd make a good rug for my room."

Reid: "w h a t t h e h e l l ?"

JJ: "I don't drink caffeine. If there was enough caffeine in the world to make me happy, I'd drink it... I have nothing to live for."

Luke: "Don't you have kids?"

JJ, dejectedly: "Right, yeah, them."

Rossi: "I should probably be more professional... unfortunately for you people, I'm not going to be. Sorry. But not really."

Emily: "If you're not dragging everyone else down with your uselessness, you're doing it wrong."

Morgan, as Reid is bleeding out: "If you die, I'm going to drag your soul back into your body. You don't get to leave us here. Not with Emily."

Emily, to JJ: "I'll ride with you, if you don't mind."

Morgan: "When have you ever been polite enough to say 'if you don't mind?'"

Emily: "Shut up bitch." *turns back to JJ* "is that okay? :)"

JJ: "I don't know what it is about Hotch, but I can't look at him for more than like two seconds. For the first few months I worked here, I didn't know what he looked like, because I couldn't look him directly in the face."

Emily: "Where would you have a blood fluke?"

Morgan: "The liver, I think."

Reid: "Guys, I love you, but you are SO stupid."

JJ, pointing at Will across the room: "That's my new boyfriend."

Emily, trying not to laugh: "One word. Drugs."

Hotch: "Emily, be nice. JJ likes him."

Emily, shamelessly laughing now: "Tell me you can't see the meth in his eyes."

*everyone talking about Spotify wrapped*

Morgan: "What about you Reid? What was your top song?"

Reid, quietly: "...the periodic table of elements song."

Rossi: "If you say you like oreos, that isn't self-disclosure. But if you say you like to do kinky stuff with oreos, that is."

JJ, stunned: "How did he come up with that highly specific example on the spot?"

Emily: "It's Dave, do you really want to know?"

Emily: "Wait, guys, if the toxin from the mushroom gets people high, how does it not get the mushroom high?"

Reid: *becomes catatonic for a whole minute because of her stupidity*

Morgan: "Hey Reid, how did they walk on the moon? Wasn't it too hot?"

Reid: "No?"

Morgan: "But it literally glows."

Reid: "It doesn't produce its own light, it reflects the sun."

Morgan: "Ha! I know that isn't true, because the sun isn't even out at night!"

Reid, sighing: "Derek, no, the--"

JJ, placing her hand on Reid's arm: "They made special moon shoes. That's how."

Morgan: "Ahhh, now that makes sense!"

[justhere4kpop]

Easy as Breathing

P.SH x Reader

W/C:1176

Genre: Fluff, Stay at Home, Date Night.

Summary: You finally can have a date night with your partner, what will you get up to? He is the love of your life after all. Don't forget some shenanigans with a kitten.

a/n: Happy Birthday to one of my best friends on the entire planet! @hwaightme I love you so so so much and I can't believe we've spent almost a year together on this rock! Thank you for always believing in me even when I couldn't and making every day a little brighter with your art and delulu, you mean the absolute world to me and I love our chaos crew! I love you so much! I can't wait for many more! Here's to you!!!! <3 <3 <3 (also thank you my love @pocketjoong for beta-reading <3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dating Seonghwa was as easy as breathing, he fell into you like a missing puzzle piece and wamed your heart like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. He was there in the time you were studying for your degree and you were there as he and his group traveled across your home, attending his performances was something you had always promised to do whenever you could. He made sure to be there when you had graduated and you made sure that you were at the show for his birthday.

You had moved in together some time ago as you could never be away from each other long enough to keep your own place. Your home was cozy and minimal, it had lego displays and Star Wars memorabilia, a sofa big enough fo every member and yourself in the living space with a tv made for watching movies. The coffee table adorned with “The Star Wars Archives” “Star Wars Art.” and “Cabinet of Natural Curriosities.” A turntable adorned a corner of the room with speakers. Art hung on the wall, some you created, some you both had purchased from art fairs. The color palette was cooler, soft blacks and whites, a few accents of emerald and a pop of gold. Seonghwa had liked it for the rich vibes it gave him. You both had worked hard to make it into a home, this was your home. You remind each other it could be a cardboard box and it’d feel like home if you were together.

After what felt like Seonghwa being gone forever you both had settled on a date night, and while all your outdoor plans had been rained out or cancelled due to the weather you could still make the most of it. Grabbing umbrellas and ponchos you head to the local department store to pick up a few things, a lego set, snacks, a book or two, a puzzle, and a movie to potentially watch later.

“Okay I’ll start organizing the pieces into categories.” you said sitting at the now cleared off coffee table lego box open.

“Okay I’ll see where we should start.” Seonghwa smiled at you.

Lego building always starts peaceful but about halfway through you both are arguing if that’s the correct piece or if it’s actually the piece you’re holding because it looks more like the picture that way, you decide to make hot chocolate to get away from him and cool off because after all it is a silly argument, Lego building is very serious in this household, just ask your cat…also named Lego. The sweetest little black kitten with the brightest roud boba eyes. Seonghwa as a cat as you describe to your friends.

After your adventures in lego building you decide to do something a little active to wake up so maybe a few rounds of Just Dance, or as Hwa suggested a Youtube tutorial on aerobics. Then of course neither of you could decide on reading or the puzzle so you decide to snuggle up on the sofa and he reads to you while you lean against him, adjusting his glasses when they start sliding off his face since his arms are too full of you to keep them on his nose. You journey back to the lego building but of course you become distracted when Lego begins chasing the light reflected off your phone onto the floor. Your giggles becoming his favorite sound on the planet.

As the date night came to a close you made his favorites for dinner, a proper feast even. He held you close as you cleaned the kitchen and began waltzing with you as if in one of those old time movies with the big poofy dresses and gloves, him in a three piece suit. In reality you’re both in glasses and pajamas laughing as you stumble around the kitchen and listen to him humming. Finally settling in for the night back on the couch watching Kiki’s Delivery Service.

“Maybe we should get Lego, a Jiji.” Seonghwa smiled down at you.

“You sure you can handle two cats and a girlfriend Hwa?” you smiled back slightly.

“Well I’d have you to help out now wouldn’t I.” he pinched you slightly. You yelpped out in surprise.

“Yah! Park Seonghwa!” you hit him with a pillow.

“What’s like without a little spontaneity” he smiled and held your arms above your head before crashing his lip down on yours.

Lego jumped up on the table and let out a mighty roar. A tiny baby meow that stopped you both in your tracks.

“Yes sir Lego?” Seonghwa looked at the kitten who has yelled at his father.

“I think he said ‘Stop attacking mom.’” you chuckled from under the love of your life.

“She did start it Lego.” Hwa chuckled and scooped the kitten into his arms.

“Okay maybe we do need another cat since I now have no cat and no cuddles Hwa.” you pout gently.

“Well then, my little witch needs her Jiji doesn’t she?” he smiled and passed Lego into your arms and held you both close. “See this works much better doesn’t it.”

“It does……..PARK SEONGHWA!” you practically launched the kitten across the sofa and turned to hit the man who once again has found it in his enjoyment to torture his poor significant other while the cuddle on the couch.

“Have I ever told you how much I loved you.” he smiled as he stared into your eyes like they held the stars in the sky. 

“You could stand to mention it more now that you’re here.” you stuc your tongue out at him.

“I love you very much darling. Very. Very. Much.” he emphasized each very with a kiss to your lips. 

“You’ve now distracted me through the whole movie.” you chuckle and push him up gently.

“Alright alright, I give.” he sat back up and let you get comfortable.

It wasn’t long before the warmth of the blanket mixed with you partner in crime, a soft movie, and full stomach from too many snacks and tea began to drift you off to sleep.

“I do love you very very much my darling.” Seonghwa kissed the top of your head as you breathed peacefully without a care in the world.  Yes dating Seonghwa was as easy as breathing.

Bonus:

You awoke the next morning, it still dark and damp from the non-stop rain of the night, the soft patter on the window, Seonghwa arrived with a coffee just how you like it and his laptop under his arm.

“Good Morning Darling.” he smiled softly as you sat up and took the coffee.

“Mmm Mornin’ ” you mumbled.

“I was browsing for our very own Jiji this morning while I was waiting for your coffee to finish, I think I found the perfect one. Sure she’s not a black cat like the movie but-”

“She’s perfect Hwa.” you looked at the photo of the mostly black cat with a sweet little white star patch over her chest.

[amyysfics]

skz - "bet."

pairing: felix x bff!gn!reader warnings: fluff, pining, reader eats popcorn summary: you make felix watch your favourite movie word count: 850

©amyysfics (2023) All Rights Reserved - Reposting/Modification of any kind is not tolerated.

Giggles, snorting and all kinds of laughter filled the room. You were barely able to catch your breath, when a voice broke through the sound of heavy breaths and occasional giggling. "What the fuck kind of movie are you watching, that is making you laugh this hard?", your best friend asked.

The both of you sat in a video-call on Discord. He had been playing a game, which you assumed must have been League of Legends, judging by his continuous screaming, "Noooo!" and "What are you doing? We had it!". You had turned on your favorite movie eventually. None of this was a rare occurrence. You hung out with Felix this way whenever possible - both of you doing your own thing while being in each others company.

"I'm watching what is possibly the funniest movie ever, thank you very much for asking.", you looked straight at the camera, poking out your tongue. How dare he judge this amazing piece of media? Out fo the corner of your eye you could see your blue-haired friend roll his eyes. Though, before he had the chance to tease you back, you thought of a deal. "Why don't you watch it with me? I can restart it. And if you end up liking it and enjoying your time, I will treat you to a smoothie!"

The idea made Felix' eyes light up. He loved having movie nights, especially with you. And he was was being honest with himself, he couldn't give less of a shit what you guys were doing, as long as he got to spend time with you - his best friend, that he just so happened to have a not so tiny crush on. She he did what every sane idiot in love with his best friend would do; He responded with as little words as he could as to not let you hear the shakiness of his voice, "Bet."

You left your seat for a minute to grab a fresh bottle of water and Felix used the time to finish (and lose) the round of League he was still in. It took you a few moments to come back, so he made sure to to set his screen up properly. He could click on one of the images to have them fill up almost the entire screen, the rest of it being smaller at the bottom. After making everything look the way he wanted to, he noticed you walking back - a bottle of water in one hand and a bowl of fresh popcorn in the other.

The Australian silently cursed himself for agreeing to this. It wasn't the first time you watched a movie together, but he would usually be the one streaming it - the movie taking up his entire monitor. Today, for the first time, he had the chance to observe your reactions. He noticed the way your eyebrows scrunched together mere moments before you laughed. He saw the way you attempted to hide your shy smile as the two main characters kissed. He could even tell that one strand of your hair seemed to be bothering you - constantly tickling your neck. Felix knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from brushing it away if he actually sat next to you.

"Yongbok!", your less than quiet voice ripped him out of his thoughts. You glared at the boy, or at least it looked that way to him. "Were you even watching?", you clicked with your tongue, fishing through the last few pieces of popcorn for the best one. "I was! I loved it!, he lied. Your best friend put barely any of his attention towards the movie. You smiled a little, popping the chosen popcorn-piece in your mouth, "Right? The part where the cat rolls in the snow is so good!" Felix nodded immediately, "It's probably the best part."

"You couldn't stop feeling your heartbeat get faster, almost pounding out of your chest, knowing you caught him in a lie. "Lix, first of all, there wasn't a single cat in the movie and it's set in summer. And second-", you leaned closer to the camera, "I can see the reflection of your screen on your computer-case a little bit. You had my camera on full-screen-mode the entire time.

His body reacted faster than his brain allowed him to come up with a witty response. A blush crept up to the tip of his ears in an instant. And even his neck turned about three shades darker. He tried to think of a response - any explanation, but he couldn't get a single word to come out.

"You know what?", you broke through the silence, smiling, "I'll still treat you to that smoothie. I mean it looks like you had a good time, no? Pick you up tomorrow at five?", you winked. When did you get so smooth?

Felix' blushed even harder at this chance of a date with you, even that was even possible. But what he didn't know, was that you were just as excited about it, as he was. So he gathered all the courage he could.

"Bet."

@bokkiesplace @notastraykid @hee0soo @moon0fthenight @bbyquokka @strawberry31 @weird-bookworm