pumeyamann

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

The Cryptic Motif of “Three Hares with Conjoined Ears”

On the Heavenly Palace decorative patterns found in the Mogao Caves at Dunhuang from the late Northern dynasties are images with cryptic patterns, including Buddha's head, the Taotie beast, deer, animals copulating, three hares with conjoined ears, and also writings. This type of decorative pattern is cryptic and difficult to understand and may be closely related to the history of the popular Eastern iconology and divination philosophy from the Han and Wei dynasties and Emperor Wu of Northern Zhou's suppression of Buddhism. They are important references for studying the related history of this period.

[scltbvrns]

homogenising something that has always been inherently diverse will kill us all one day.

[ducktollers]

big ol eyes

[silvermountaininc]

An exquisite set of Sterling Silver Kundan earrings embodies the spirit of age-old craftsmanship and enduring beauty. The detailed pattern includes brilliant Kundan stones carefully arranged in a high-quality silver foundation, shimmering with light as they sway. These earrings present an ideal mix of classic Indian design elements and modern fashion, rendering them suitable for both special events and daily use. The allure of these Sterling Silver Kundan earrings is rooted in their capacity to enhance any look, introducing an element of elegance and refinement. Their fine craftsmanship and dazzling appeal render them an essential piece for those with a passion for jewelry.

[pilcare-nce]

Ciplox Eye/Ear Drops - Ciprofloxacin - Cipla Ltd - Ophthalmic Drops - Pilcare

Ciplox Eye/Ear Drops is an antibiotic, used in the treatment of bacterial eye/ear infections. It relieves the symptoms of the infection by stopping the further growth of the causative microorganisms.

[ladysharmaa]

Kate mini version

Anthony Bridgerton x Kate Sharma x sis!reader

summary: Kate's sister is sent to live with Kate and Anthony by her mother who had to travel to India and couldn't take her. Feeling that she was unwanted and intruding on the Bridgerton couple's lives, Y/n starts acting distant. When Anthony and Kate realize this, they try to make Y/n see how much she is loved by everyone

requested: yes

part 1 part 2 part 3

Y/n was sitting in her carriage for 5 minutes, not having the courage to open the door. She was outside the Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton mansion, in other words her sister and her brother-in-law. Her hands trembled in her lap as she took a deep breath to try to calm her anxiety and her irregular heartbeat.

Her mother Mary had to travel to India and decided to not let her youngest go with her. As Y/n was still too young to consider it safe to keep her at home alone, even with maids, Mary asked Anthony and Kate to welcome her into their home.

Ever since Mary's older daughter found a husband and went to live a new life, Y/n felt that her relationship with her mother got worse.

The house was quieter, both of them no longer had the usual company of the other sisters. It made Y/n realize how she couldn’t hold a conversation with Mary, at least not like Kate and Edwina. It also didn't help that Y/n was extremely similar to their father, who had already died. It seemed like Mary was grieving again for her late lover, and Y/n was the cause of it.

So, like a snowball effect, Y/n couldn't help but think that Kate and Anthony were just taking her in out of obligation, since they were family, but that she was actually considered a burden for them.

"Would you like for me to open the door, Miss?" the maid who accompanied her asked with a gentle smile.

"There is no need for that, Anne. Thank you." she replied, snapping out of her thoughts.

With a last deep breath, Y/n opened the door just as Anthony and Kate were leaving the house. As soon as she saw them, Y/n bowed slightly. When she lifted her head again she found the two of them with a smile directed at her. But even so, she had doubts, after all, in this society, everyone had learned to master the fake polite smile. Kate hurried to her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Y/n! It's so nice to have you here. The house can get so quiet when the Viscount is working. It'll be great to have our conversations like we had before." Kate whispered in her ear, Y/n only responding with a small smile.

Anthony approached the younger Sharma to greet her, Y/n bowing again. "Lord Bridgerton, thank you for your hospitality. It was very kind of you."

"By all means, Miss Y/n, you are family. Now let's come inside, Phillip can bring your belongings to your room." Anthony said, linking his arm with his wife and starting to head towards the room where the maids were setting the table for the tea.

Y/n followed behind the couple, her steps cautious. She looked at the huge mansion and sighed, her fears continuously running through her mind. This was going to be a very long month.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It was still quite early, the sun's rays barely illuminating the mansion. However, Y/n was already awake and ready for the day. She went down to the kitchen, wanting to help the cooks and maids. It was the least she could do, since now they were cooking for one more person and the day before they had brought her a rather late meal since she didn't eat all of dinner.

The maids were surprised to see the youngest Sharma in the kitchen, tying an apron around her waist. However, with a lot of resistance on Y/n's part, they let the girl help. Y/n had a lot of fun, the maids had a good relationship with each other, throwing in some jokes from time to time that made her laugh.

Y/n was placing the last dish on the table. She had to admit that everything looked great. The food varied from fruit to various cakes and breads. Just in time, Anthony entered the kitchen, stopping in surprise when he saw Y/n there.

"Miss Sharma, I wasn't expecting you to be awake already. It's quite early."

"I'm a morning person, Lord Bridgerton." Y/n chuckled, running her hands down her dress nervously. She then pointed to the table, desperate not to remain in an awkward silence. "Breakfast is ready."

"I see that, everything looks great." he sat at the end of the table. Y/n remained standing, looking around, causing Anthony to hesitate before asking, "Aren't you going to sit down to eat too?"

"Oh! I already ate with the maids, thank you. Hm, is my sister awake?"

Anthony clears his throat, looking down. A frown appeared on Y/n's face when she saw the man's cheeks start to turn pink. "Your sister is still sleeping. She was not feeling well last night so she couldn't sleep much."

"Very well..." The girl nodded slowly. "I shall bring her tea when she wakes up. Until then, I was hoping I could go on for a walk in the gardens? Please?"

"Of course, Y/n, you don't have to ask." Anthony nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin after drinking some orange juice. "Do you want me to ask a maid to go with you and keep you company?"

"No, it's okay, I prefer to go alone."

"No problem. In the afternoon we should go to my mother's house to play pall-mall. It would be lovely if you decided to join us."

"Oh, I'm not sure yet. I wouldn't want to interrupt your family time." Y/n looked away so as not to show the sadness she felt.

She had never even met Anthony's family properly, only meeting them briefly at the couple's wedding. Either way, with all the stories she'd heard from Kate, she doubted she'd be able to fit into the family dynamic. She was afraid that Anthony was only extending the invitation to her out of obligation to now be living with them, after all, she had never been invited even when her two sisters were.

However, with all these thoughts, the girl did not see the frown that appeared on her sister's husband's face. What do you mean she didn't want to interrupt family time when it was part of it?

Although his family never spent much time with Y/n, it was just because since she was younger, they thought she would feel more comfortable with her mother instead of being dragged around with Edwina and Kate to every event. She had lost her father and moved countries, they didn't want to overwhelm her. However, Anthony's siblings really wanted to meet her, especially Francesca and Hyacinth, who wanted to have a new friend.

"Y/n, you are family. My siblings would love to spend more time with you, especially my sisters." Anthony finally said.

"I will think about it." Y/n offered him a small smile out of politeness. "I will be heading to the gardens. Let me know if you need me. Excuse me, Lord Bridgerton."

When Y/n finally left the dining room, Anthony rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. He really needed to talk to his wife about this.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Y/n was lying down on the grass, enjoying the sun's rays that warmed her skin, when Kate found her. After Anthony told her about what happened at breakfast, Kate knew there was something wrong with her younger sister.

Anthony's wife lay down beside Y/n, alerting her to her presence. Y/n lifted her head, offering her sister a small smile. "Are you feeling better?"

"Pardon?" Kate frowned, not understanding the question. Her mouth opened in realization as she remembered what Anthony had told her with a light blush. "Oh, yes, I'm fine. Nothing that a few more hours of sleep couldn't solve."

"I'm glad." Y/n closed her eyes again, enjoying the sunny day.

"Are you enjoying your time here? Lord Bridgerton told me that you cooked with the maids today." Kate said after a few moments of silence.

"Yes, they were lovely. I wanted to help."

"If you had a good time then there's no problem. But you know you don't need to get up early to cook for us. I want you to have fun and be comfortable while you're here."

Y/n remained silent. Her hand started messing with the grass, a way to distract herself. "I know." she replied with a small voice.

"Do you?" the elder Sharma raised her eyebrows teasingly.

But Y/n remained silent, a small frown forming on her face as she thought about what Kate said. In turn, Kate felt her heart tighten with guilt. As she looked at her little sister, she remembered when she was a baby and made exactly the same face when she thought. A sigh escaped her lips, missing having Y/n's company all day.

The three Sharma sisters used to spend every waking moment together, strolling around the garden or simply relaxing in silence. But now, with Kate married and Edwina being courted by the prince, they didn't think about how it would affect Y/n.

"Tell me what is really wrong." Kate asked with sad eyes. Y/n sat down, opening her mouth to start speaking, but nothing came out. "Y/n, I'm sorry I haven't spent much time with you. But I love you, and I want you to be comfortable being here with me and Anthony."

"You didn't just let me stay out of obligation?" the younger sister asked shyly, refusing to look into Kate's eyes, who had also sat up and was trying to lift Y/n's chin with her hand.

"No! In fact, I was the one who asked mother to let you stay with me instead of considering you going with her to India. We wanted you here. I miss seeing my little sister every day. It can get lonely when Anthony works, and I love having you here."

"Really? But when you're bored, don't you visit Lord Bridgerton's siblings?"

"Yes, but no one can replace you. And I'm always talking about you to them, from all the stories I've told, I think they like you more than me!" Kate laughed, her smile widening when Y/n also chuckled. "I'm sure they would be delighted for you to go with us to play pall-mall."

"Hmm, I'm not sure. What if they don't like me?"

"Oh!" Anthony's wife gasped as if it was the most ridiculous idea. "That's impossible! With your heart and your kindness, they would be fools to not like you!"

"I really missed you." Y/n admitted, resting her head on Kate's shoulder.

"Me too. And after mother comes back, our house is still open. You can come here whenever you wish."

"Thank you, Kate. I'm glad you found Anthony, you seem very happy."

"I am happy." Kate assured her. "And just because I am married now, nothing changes between us. You are still my priority."

"Thank you. And I believe a game of pall-mall is not the worst thing in the world. I will join you." the younger girl nodded with a smile, gaining confidence from her sister's words.

"Great! Then you'll also get to see Lord Bridgerton be a sore loser when I win."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

She was already starting to regret her decision when she saw Anthony's family in the garden, already bickering with each other. She and her sisters were competitive, but not at this level.

"Dear siblings, if you could please just listen to me first." Anthony caught their attention with a sarcastic smile. "This is Miss Y/n, Kate's younger sister. She will be joining us today."

"Another Sharma? We are going to lose!" the younger boy, who Y/n assumed was Gregory, said.

Two other girls came to her, introducing themselves as Francesca and Hyacinth, Anthony's younger sisters. As they excitedly talked, Y/n's nerves began to disappear. Kate watched them closely, relaxing when she noticed that her sister was smiling, looking happy to be making friends. Her husband joined her, letting her lean against him and kissing her cheek.

"I told you it was going to be okay."

"Yeah, I know. But I was so sad that she thought we didn't want her here with us. It's my fault." Kate whispered sadly, feeling Anthony put his arm around her waist in comfort.

"It's not your fault, my love. We have to make her feel welcome, but for now, I think she's having fun." Noticing that Kate still wasn't convinced, he added. "What if the three of us went for a horse ride tomorrow? You once told me that Y/n always wanted to ride a horse, but she never got to learn since your father died. What if I taught her?"

"You would do that?" his wife smiled in delight. "Oh, Anthony, thank you. I'm sure she would love that."

"Anything for my wife and her little sister." Anthony smiled, giving her a chaste kiss on the lips. "I love you."

"Are you being this lovely just so I won't be so competitive in the game?" she laughed teasingly. "Forget it! Prepare to lose, my dear husband."

Kate turned her back on him, going to the others so they could start the game. Anthony enjoyed the view of his wife, wondering how he got so lucky. "I love my life."

While they were playing, Eloise told Y/n how women deserved to go to college and not live just for their husbands. Benedict appeared later, declaring that he was going to save her from her sister's obsessions, making Y/n hide a giggle behind her hand. In turn, he and Collin were extremely funny, especially when Anthony made a bad move and Kate beat him.

Y/n also had time to meet Daphne's son, who seemed to like her and demanded with a cry that she pick him up. She didn't complain, the baby was too cute to refuse anything.

She and her two new friends got tired of playing, preferring to sit under the shade with the baby and play a little with him. Meanwhile, they talked about everything and got to know more about each other. They only realized how much time had passed when Lady Violet Bridgerton called them to drink and eat something.

By late afternoon, Y/n was exhausted but happy. Her family was more complete, and she loved being part of its dynamic.

[sonoor]

Big Indian Beaded and Gold Jewelry Earrings by Sonoor Jewels  

Indian jhumka earrings made of gold and gemstones is part of statement jewelry these days. In every traditional or modern event, women love to wear big indian earrings to look exceptional. If you wish to have the best earrings from India, explore the Indian style earrings at Sonoor Jewelry concepts. We have the best American Indian jewelry earrings best for all functions. Our Indian beaded earrings and gold hoop earrings will make you look most exquisite at any event. Visit our site: https://sonoor.com/product-category/earrings/ 

[canisalbus]

Chippiparai hound? Looks just like smol Machete

Oh, I've heard of these! Chippiparai is a sighthound breed from Tamil Nadu, Southern India. Even though most seem to have floppy ears similar to those of a Sloughi, some have pointy ones:

[blueiscoool]

The 'Carnyx' Nightmare of the Roman Soldiers

The Carnyx was a brass musical instrument used as a psychological weapon of war by the ancient Celts between 300 BC and 200AD in western and central Europe and beyond.

The carnyx was once widespread throughout much of Europe, although only a dozen or so fragments are known to us.

It was carried by bands of Celtic mercenaries; it was present at the attack on the Greek sanctuary at Delphi in 279 BC; it defied Julius Caesar in Gaul; and it faced Claudius when he invaded Britain. They are even shown on a Buddhist sculpture in India, proof of the far-flung connections of the Iron Age world.

However, they were not only used by the Celts; they were also used by the Dacians in modern Romania. The term “Celtic” is a complicated one. The concept of a pan-European Celtic culture is a myth; rather, aspects of art and technology were shared across vast distances by diverse cultures. The carnyx was one example of this.

A 12-foot-long, thin bronze tube with right-angle bends on both ends made up the carnyx. The lower end ended in a mouthpiece, and the upper end flared out into a bell that was usually decorated to look like a wild boar’s had. Historians believe it had a tongue that flapped up and down, increasing the noise made by the instrument. The carnyx was played upright so that the boar’s head bell protruded well above the warriors’ heads. Its primary goal was to create more noise and confusion on the battlefield.

The Greek historian Polybius (206-126BC) was so impressed by the clamor of the Gallic army and the sound of the carnyx, he observed that “there were countless trumpeters and horn blowers and since the whole army was shouting its war cries at the same time there was such a confused sound that the noise seemed to come not only from the trumpeters and the soldiers but also from the countryside which was joining in the echo”.

And the Roman historian Diodorus Siculus wrote, “Their trumpets are also of a peculiar and barbaric kind which produce a harsh, reverberating sound suitable to the confusion of battle.”

Archaeologists discovered a hoard of ritually destroyed weapons in 2004, including a dozen swords, scabbards, spearheads, a shield, bronze helmets, an iron helmet shaped like a swan, a cauldron, animal remains, and seven carnyces. Before the Tintignac discovery, the remains of only five actual carnyces had been found.

The finest was unearthed in Deskford, Scotland in 1816. The Deskford carnyx only has the boar’s head bell and is missing the mane, tongue, and tubing. Images of Carnyx players have been found as well. A Roman denarius, dating from 48 BC bears a representation of a Carnyx. Three carnyx players are featured prominently on the Gundestrup Cauldron, which was found in a Danish peat bog.

One of the seven found at Tintignac, on the other hand, was almost entirely complete. The Tintignac Carnyx was broken into 40 pieces. When puzzled back together, it was found to be just an inch short of six feet long with a single missing section of the tube. The bell was a boar’s head with protruding tusks and large pointed ears. Once restored, the Tintignac Carnyx proved to be the first virtually complete carnyx ever found.

By Leman Altuntaş.

Music video by John Kenny.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Shedding

[mysterious circle of robed figures] JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: i have terrible, bone-chilling newsss Rowling: did you know that india willoughby exisssstsss? Rowling: thiss makess me ssso mad

Rowling: i know you're all ussed to me being ssubtle Rowling: you know, talking about womensss ssafety and all that Rowling: but i'm done with that Rowling: now i enter endgame

Rowling: tonight my rage ssshall fuel my final transssformation Rowling: tonight i sshed my ssskin for the lassst time Rowling: gone will be the resspectable normie lib ssspotted patterning Rowling: henceforth i shall wear banded patterning [puts on arm band]

Rowling: now i sshed my ssskin and obsserve my transformation to full blood purity fascism Helen Joyce: but dark lord! it's too obvious! Joyce: what if the rubes notice? Rowling: just point to that old "wear whatever you want" post and pretend i meant it

Rowling: i'll be right back, gonna go shed a sskin Rowling: now before i leave one lasst directive Rowling: you lot don't do anything ssilly while i'm gone Rowling: you know, anything that would make our entire causse look dumb or anything Joyce: you can count on us, dark lord!

[Rowling exits] Joyce: so Joyce: anyone wanna hear this new fan fic i've been working on Jesse Singal: when does mommy get back

Joyce: so Joyce: so my story has draco/hermione otp, noncon, dubcon, cuckolding, underage, lemon, coffeeshop au, crackfic Kathleen Stock: noooo helen! don't read fanfic! don't you know fanfic turns you trans? Joyce: sorry its a risk i have to take Joyce: for science

Joyce: look, i'm going to scientifically prove that fanfiction turns you trans Joyce: luckily i'm built of stronger stuff Joyce: the rest of you just plug your ears Stock: what about you, helen? Joyce: lash me to the mast

Stock: i've been writing a fan fic too Stock: it's about the love between the Unknown, an evil choclatier who lives in the walls, and this mysteriously sexy lady oompa loompa who everybody loves who is named Stathleen Kock [permaberry, leaking juice, enjoyment, enemies to lovers]

Rowling: ok i'm back Helen Joyce: dark lord! how does it feel to shed your lib skin of plausible deniability to don your extremely online skin of blood purity? Rowling: i feel sstrong! powerful! like a new ssnake! Rowling: i feel like i can sssay Rowling: ALL THE SSSLURSS!!!

Rowling: tinktonk! cricklecrack! boofnoggin! i can sssay them all!!! Rowling: no now mudblood can ssstand in my way! Rowling: doess india willoughby still exissst? Joyce: yes dark lord! Rowling: [coiling in rage] the cheek!!!! the audacity!!!

Rowling: ugh, look at india willoughby, performing feminine joy! Rowling: womanhood isn't about joy! Rowling: true femininity is being miserable all the time, posting and also being banned from seeing your grandchildren

[sunflower--meadows]

OK, as an Indian person and ESPECIALLY as a Scottish person I have to say this.

The current Palestinian Genocide (let's call a spade a spade) and lack of response is an unambiguously, direct result of British Colonialism.

Palestine was given/promised/whatever word you want to use to describe it to Israel by the British Empire to whom it "belonged" as a colony.

Everything that happened thereafter, the Nakba, every invasion, every injustice is a result of that colonial attitude from which Israel was born.

Everywhere the British Empire has been it has sewn chaos and promoted the abuse of human rights as it left. It has happened in India, it happened in Nigeria, South Africa, Cameroon and Australia.

The reason for such a lax UK governmental response is because if they acknowledge what's going on is fucked they have to take responsibility for so much more. By leaving these countries originally the UK has "washed their hands of it."

I want to make this extremely clear.

Britain's hands will NEVER be clean

The British Empire has committed the greatest atrocities known to mankind and the British Government does not want to acknowledge that.

Israel has been built from these imperial attitudes, has repeatedly and continually committed war crimes and human rights abuses and governments just... don't care

It's actually insane and we need to recognise the root of these humanitarian calamities and hold our government accountable.

Write to your MPs, your MSPs, your MSs make your voice heard in whatever way that you can! Your voice may seem weak but it is so incredibly powerful if enough people speak up, if enough people make sure that the government never forgets about these things we can make REAL CHANGE. The link below will allow for you to find your government representative be that N.Ireland Assembly Scottish, Welsh or UK Parliament as well as their emails.

https://www.theyworkforyou.com/

Tell them how horrible things are in Gaza, tell them about Israel's repeated and continuous mistreatment of the Palestinian people, tell them how the UK cannot continue to plug our ears and ignore the fallout of our past. Just say something!

[r0tting-dolly]

Hi! Can I request headcanons for how the TWST third years would react to male Yuu!reader rolling up to their dorm in a crop top and booty shorts, holding a laundry basket and being like "Ay yo, my laundromat's busted. Can I use yours?" (With said third years having a crush on the reader?)

Male Reader wearing a crop top and booty shorts in front of the third years

Characters: Lilia, Malleus, India, Leona, (couldn’t do all of them bc i got tired sorry :[ 

Warnings: suggestive, not much else

Lilia

You walked over to the Daisomnia dorm knocking before the door opened on its own, surprising you for a second. You walked in slowly carrying your basket of clothing and some blankets before something suddenly dropped down directly in front of you. “OH WHAT THE FUCK-” you shreiked dropping the basket before hearing a familiar laugh “Hee hee Kee hee hee”. Lillia hopped down in front of you giggling before looking up eyes widening as he began to smirk. 

“Lilia you damn near gave me a heart attack PLEASE never do that again” you panted holding your chest.  “I make no promises dear, but do tell what’s with the outfit” he smiled, staring you up and down. “Oh that, the laundry at Ramshackle is busted and I was wondering if I could wash this here” you picked up the laundry basket holding it. “Oh?” Lilia smiled “Come then although i’m not too sure if i'll be keeping my hands to myself” he smirked as you sighed while he brought you to the laundry room with an arm around your waist.

Malleus

A knocking sound was heard from the daisomnia dorm's door, which in turn caused its intimidating dorm head to face the door. At the time Lilia had taken Sebek and Silver out to get sweets from a shop he heard about online saying something about “All the kids are talking about this epic shop-” or something of the sort that caused silver to internally cringe while Sebek yelled about how “they must see it at once”. Malleus sat in his room, after hearing the knocking he stood up and opened the door. You stood looking up at him, originally he’d planned to greet you as usual, that was until he looked down at your clothing. 

“Child of man how come you’ve appeared to me toni-” he cut himself off after looking down breathlessly. You wore a short crop top and shorts that tightly hugged your skin, to Malleus it felt sinful to even look at. Malleus’s face heated up as his normally cold expression melted away, leaving his fists clenched and eyes wide ‘was it hot or was it just him?’. “C-Child of man I’m not quite sure If your choice of clothing is appropriate for tonight's weather, it’s quite cold right now” he said trying to regain composure although the blush on his sharply pointed ears said otherwise. 

“Oh hello Malleus. My washing machine and dryer are kinda busted, so I was wondering if you’d lend me yours for a bit” you said smiling as if unaware of the effect you had on him. He took a second to process before letting you inside and leading you to the laundry room. Although the entire time he was trying to be polite you could feel his dreamlike gaze on you.

Idia 

Ortho knocked on his brother’s door, who didn’t respond so he opened it. “Idia!” he said, alerting his brother who nearly slipped and fell out of his gaming chair. “A-ah Ortho I’m kind of in the middle of a match right now what do you-” he cut himself off after seeing the prefect walk in next to him. His jaw dropped while his hair burst into pink flames, his controller slipping out of his hands. 

“Y-YOU, i-i what are you doing here” he said loudly, his voice becoming shaky and quiet after the first word. “Well if you opened the door you would've known, His washer and dryer is broken so I offered to let him use ours we just came over to tell you” Ortho said informing his brother of the situation. “W-Whatever just get that normie out of my room” he said, face barely covered by his hand. After they left Idia crossed his legs embarrassingly hiding his hard on, the way those shorts hugged your thighs and oh god when you turned around, shit he needed to grab a tissue.

Leona

Leona heard someone walking into the room where he was lounging and he looked up, it was (Name) wearing some well fitting clothing, he raised an eyebrow. “Herbivore, what are you doing here? Did you pay Ruggie to let you in again” he said in a bit of an annoyed tone but his eyes said something different. “No, I was just here to wash my clothing because Ramshackles' shitty washing machine and dryer broke. I told Crowley to buy new ones but he just had to act like that was a world ending request” you sighed and Leona looked unsurprised. 

“Do as you will I guess but don’t take too long” he snarled, and you looked at him “ok big guy I'll only be here as long as it takes to wash and dry this stuff” you sighed and walked out unaware of Leona sharply eyeing your ass.

Authors note: I'm gonna work on some pretty pictures of the characters i write for so my layout looks cool!

[celandeline]

Because We’re Doing This For the Thrill of It

Farleigh x Reader SMUT, sequel to Not Your Boyfriend, Baby, tw for cheating and being cheated on, you know the deal

part one

Felix’s hands on your hips keep you pressed to him as you dance, your back pressed against his chest as you dance, the music pounding through the club keeping time with your heartbeat. The smell of sweat, vodka and cigarettes invades your nostrils, but you’re too drunk to care about the stench, too focused on the scene in front of you. 

It’s been two weeks since you fucked Farleigh, and you don’t think his eyes have left you for more than a few seconds the whole time. 

India grinds against Farleigh, one hand wound up around his neck for leverage as she clumsily dances, eyes closed. You couldn’t care less about her. Your eyes are locked on Farleigh’s, the green/blue lights of the club painting him in unusual colors, making him all the more entrancing to look at. The top few buttons of his shirt hang open, and you can see where some of India’s body glitter has rubbed off on him, catching the light and reflecting it away. He lazily dances, that perpetual air of boredom hanging around him even in the midst of the club - you get the sense that he’s just humoring India for something to do at this point. After all, he hasn’t even spared her a glance in the past five songs. 

You smile at him as you dance, wishing that it was his hands on your hips instead of Felix’s - but at the same time, this is fun too. Watching him watch you, knowing that he couldn’t care less about the girl that he’s with. Knowing that he’s thinking the same things about you. It’s intoxicating - more so than the green tea shots you’ve been downing. 

Felix leans down, his nose dipping into the crook of your neck, breathing heavy. A bead of sweat drips from his face onto you, and you tip your head back onto his shoulder, eyes still locked on Farleigh. You watch him wrap his lips around a cigarette as Felix’s voice booms in your ear. 

“Come do a line with me?”

You nod against his skin, and let him steer you off the dancefloor, through the crowd and towards the bathrooms at the back of the club, leaving the rest of your group on the dancefloor. You toss a look over your shoulder as Felix takes your hand, and find Farleigh again. He smiles around his cigarette as you throw him a gaudy wink before the crowd shifts and you lose him from your sight. 

Felix leads the way, tugging you along behind him until you reach a quiet corner of the club near the very back. You grin up at him as he digs out a little baggy from his pocket and hold up your forearm for him to shake a line out on. His eyes meet yours as he runs his nose along your skin, the cocaine disappearing and a line of goosebumps rising in its wake. He inhales sharply, blinking a few times as he scrunches up his nose. “Here.”

He passes the baggy to you and holds out the palm of his hand. You shake out a line and quickly hoover it up, almost nuzzling into Felix’s palm as you do. He always offers you the palm of his hand for that reason you think - he likes to watch you eat out of it. He likes to watch everyone eat out of it. He gets off on being a white knight - you’ve seen it a million times. 

You hand the little baggy back and watch him tuck it back in his pocket, his pupils already starting to dilate as the coke sinks in. You watch him watch you, and you can see in his eyes what he’s about to do before he does it, so it’s no surprise when he roughly grabs you by the jaw and kisses you, too much teeth and tongue to be really loving in any sense of the word. 

It’s nothing like how Farleigh kissed you. Farleigh kissed you like he loves you. You bite Felix back. 

He laughs when he pulls away, and grabs you by the hand again to drag you back to the dancefloor. You follow along in his wake as the crowd parts for him until you’re back where you started. India and Annabel pull Felix back into the throng, smiling up at him with that familiar hunger in their eyes as he lets go of your hand in exchange for theirs. You let Felix’s sweaty palm slide out of yours without protest. Let them have him - your eyes scan past Jack and Oliver as you look for who you really want to be here with. 

He finds you first, grabbing your wrist and spinning you around to drop down to his knees, comedically sexy, holding onto your hand for leverage as he shakes his ass. You laugh, even though you can only barely hear yourself above the music, and he stands back up grinning at you, cigarette trailing smoke like a halo around his head. He doesn’t let go of your hand as you start to dance. He keeps it friendly, just in case Felix glances over, which you appreciate. To the common observer, you’re nothing but friends. 

The way he looks at you is anything but friendly. 

Playfully, you pluck Farleigh’s cigarette out from between his fingers and tuck it between your lips, a pseudo-kiss. He watches you take a long drag, and bats away the smoke that you blow into his face with a dry smile before he steals the cigarette back. Still dancing, you spin around, facing the rest of the group again. 

The first thing you see is India’s hand skirting up Felix’s shirt and the way her eyes are half-lidded as she looks up at him. He doesn’t seem to care too much though - he’s too busy swapping spit with Annabel, his tongue bullying its way into her mouth. Your lips curl in disgust before you can stop them - you really hope that's not what it looks like when he kisses you. 

Maybe it’s the vodka, maybe it's the coke, maybe it’s the culmination of the months of watching him do this to you, but you’re really not in the mood to just let it slide tonight. You’re standing not even two meters away - he can’t think you wouldn’t have noticed? You turn back around to Farleigh, and grab his hand, tugging him back towards where you and Felix had hidden away before. He doesn’t protest, his eyes flicking between India and you before he follows along.

The crowd doesn’t part as easily for you as it had for Felix, so it takes you longer to find your way back into the recesses of the club, amidst the more debaucherous partygoers - you breeze past a couple very obviously about to fuck against the wall, a group of people gathered around a table taking turns doing lines and a girl in tears as she storms away from the bathrooms with her phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. Pushing past them all you pull open the door to the mensroom and pull Farleigh inside.

He grins at you, obviously amused. “Someone’s pissed.”

You roll your eyes, and push open the door to the stall at the very end of the row. “You wanna fuck or not?”

Farleigh raises his hands in surrender, and walks into the stall, still grinning. You follow him in, and slide the lock into place behind you, even though you’re fairly confident you’ll be uninterrupted. If it were the women's room you’d chosen, there would be no way in hell you could get away with this - too many drunk girls crying in the mirror - but the mens room is blissfully empty. Farleigh still looks like he’s about to laugh. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You say, pushing him against the wall and starting on the buttons of his shirt, picking up where India left off. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, not really sounding sorry at all. “It’s just - you said that you didn’t care about the cheating, but it looks like-”

“I don’t.” You insist. And you don’t in the sense that you couldn’t care less about Felix being faithful. He’s never going to hurt your feelings by choosing someone else over you when the only reason you’re with him in the first place is to live off of his excesses free of charge. But you care in the sense that he’s not even trying to hide it anymore. He wasn’t even two meters away from you with his tongue down Annabel's throat. He surely can’t think you’re that fucking stupid. 

“It seems like you do.” Farleigh slips his hand under the hem of your dress, pushing the glittery fabric up until it’s above your hips. He trails a finger under the lace band of your underwear, playing with the elastic. 

“He was not even two fucking meters away.” You say, undoing Farleigh’s belt, and then moving to the button of his trousers. “It’s like he thinks I’m actually stupid.”

“I thought that was what you wanted?” He teases. “I mean, I thought that was the point of pretending that you don’t know he’s cheating on you.”

You push Farleigh’s trousers down his legs, and start to palm him through his boxers. “There’s a line.” You say. “Like, yes, I want him to think I’m a little stupid so he doesn’t figure out that I don’t actually like him, but this is just insulting. I’m not blind.” 

He tips his head back against the wall, watching you through half-lidded eyes as you work him to full hardness over his boxers. You take the opportunity to attach yourself to his neck, kissing over the same spots you had before, renewing the mostly faded marks. You never asked him if India noticed - or if she cared. Judging by the way she was dancing on him earlier, it didn’t even register. Not that she has room to talk really, with how she was feeling up Felix in front of you. 

“Why do you care anyway?” You ask against his neck. “Me being pissed at Felix is a good thing for you.”

“Why do I care if you’re upset?” He drawls, sarcastic, looking down at you. “Beats me.”

The implication hangs heavy in the air, and you pull back from his neck to look up at him. “Farleigh.” When you’d joked about it two weeks ago, when you fucked, it was just that - joking. You didn’t think he actually cared about you as anything more than friends-

He leans down to kiss you - soft, tender - everything that Felix isn’t. Your hands wander to his hips, and then up the sides of his stomach, trailing your nails along his skin to make him shiver. You slip your tongue into his mouth and he groans, his fingers dipping beneath the band of your underwear to push them down your legs. You step out of one side, and let them hang on your ankle.

When he pulls back, a string of spit dangles between your lips. You can’t tell if it’s yours or his. His pupils are blown wide, and he looks at you in the way that Felix used to when he first asked you to be his girlfriend. It makes something flutter in your stomach - something you haven’t felt in a really long time. 

He starts to say something, but you stop him, scared that it might be too vulnerable, too tender. Tracing your finger along the column of his throat, you drop your voice into a sultry whisper. “Fuck me against this wall Farleigh.”

You see him twitch in his boxers as he shuffles you around so that your back is up against the cinderblocks. He dips a hand into his waistband to pull his dick out, a bead of precum already collected at the tip. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he places his hands under your thighs, and work with him as he lifts you so that your hips meet his. The cinderblocks scratch the skin of your back that your dress doesn’t cover, but you don’t care - it barely registers, your body thrumming with the coke you did earlier and need. 

You dip a hand down to find his cock and line it up, pressing the tip against your entrance. You watch his eyelids flutter at the simple touch, and smile. He tucks his head into the crook of your shoulder as he pushes in, and the moan that leaves his lips trickles right into your ear. The stretch doesn’t even burn this time, and pleasure shoots through you when he bottoms out, reaching that spot inside you that Felix can never seem to find. You let out a sigh, and press your lips to the side of his neck, tounging at the shell of his ear. 

Farleigh gives a few experimental thrusts, readjusts his grip on you, and then begins to snap his hips against yours in the way that you’ve been craving since the first time you had him. You have no idea how India can still want Felix after having Farleigh - after having this. The way he pants and whines and groans as he fucks you makes the feeling a thousand times more potent, and you take the opportunity to wind a hand into his curls, tugging his head out of your neck so that you can look at him. 

Lips still spit-slick from before, he presses them against yours hungrily. You swallow up his moans as soon as they leave his lips, trading them for your own as he forces choked little sounds out of you with each snap of his hips into yours. His fingers dig into the backs of your thighs like he’s trying to leave a bruise there on purpose. If you were more sober, you’d tell him off for it - but you can’t bring yourself to care. Felix wasn’t even two meters away when he’d stuck his tongue down Annabel's throat. 

Farleigh pulls away from the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours, watching his cock slide in and out of you. “Fuck.”

You cast your eyes down to follow his, and the sight makes you clench, causing Farleigh to groan, his eyes rolling up into his skull for a split second. 

He drops his head back into your shoulder, leaning so that your chests are pressed together, breathing heavy. “Don’t do that, I’ll cum.”

“I want you to cum.” You say, running your fingers up and down his spine, savoring the feeling of his warm skin under your touch. 

“Fuck.” He keens, mouthing at your shoulder. “You can’t just say-” He cuts himself off with a moan as you clench again - this time on purpose. “Stop. I want you to cum first, I came too quick last time.” He breathes, sounding absolutely debauched. 

“Farleigh.” You clench again, not on purpose, as heat rushes through you. You busy yourself with pressing wet kisses against the side of his face and neck as he fucks you, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he wants you to cum first. He’s putting your pleasure before his, something Felix has never done - and likely will never do. You picked the wrong cousin. You’re sure of it now - even though being with Felix has elevated you to a status you could have never reached before. 

Fuck. 

Spurred on by the fact that he actually cares about your feelings, the coil of heat in your gut tightens. You grip onto his shoulders tighter, mouthing at his collarbone to try and ignore the fact that he cared when you seemed upset and that he wants you to cum first since he did last time is making you feel a particular way. 

He doesn’t have to worry about making you cum first, because you do, muffling your moan into his shoulder as you tense in his grip, pleasure shooting through you, hot and tingly. “Farleigh-!”

He presses his lips to yours, muffling the moan that escapes from him as his thrusts lose their rhythm. You kiss him back with everything you have, and wind a hand into his hair, holding him close to you as he pants and whines as he cums, high pitched and breathy against your neck. “Oh fuck, fuck-” He keens. “Mm, you’re so good, you’re so good, love you-”

“Farleigh?”

The cold touch of death shoots up your spine as Felix’s voice rings through the bathroom. You hadn’t heard the door open, you have no idea how long he’s been standing there. Still panting, Farleigh lifts his face out of your shoulder, wide eyes locking with yours. Hurriedly, he pulls out, stuffing his softening dick back into his boxers and pulling his trousers back up his thighs. You slip your underwear back into place and push your dress down, strangely calm. You should be panicking - Farleigh’s panicking, you can see it - but you’re not. Startled, sure, but panicked? No. You’ve known this was going to happen eventually. 

You slide the lock in the stall door, and pull it open, coming face to face with your boyfriend. 

He’s pissed - brow drawn tight, mouth tilted down into a tight frown, nostrils flared like he’s ready to fight. “What the hell is all this then?” He says, glancing between you and Farleigh. His eyes fall on you. “You’re cheating on me with my own fucking cousin?!” His gaze shifts back up to Farleigh. “And you’re fucking my girl- I thought we were mates, Farleigh. Family. I can’t fucking-”

You cut him off with an incredulous laugh that echoes around the tiled room. “What can’t you fucking believe, Felix?” You say, the anger you felt from earlier coming back full force. “That I finally am cheating on you back?”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at you, his eyes still locked with Farleigh’s. He doesn’t even have the decency to be ashamed at all, too full of self-righteous anger to realize what a massive hypocrite he is. And you’re fucking sick of it. 

Reaching up, you grab his jaw, forcing him to look at you, uncaring about the way your nails dig into the skin of his cheeks. He might be mad, but you’re enraged, filled with months of resentment like a thousand bullets. 

“I’ve known the whole fucking time.” You spit. “You’re not slick, you know, but I let it slide because you’re Felix Catton and Felix does what he wants, whenever he wants to and never suffers the consequences.” You sing-song. “I knew what I was signing up for when I said yes when you asked me out.”

“Sue me for wanting to enjoy my university years.” He says. “It’s different-”

“How?” You cut him off, searching his eyes. “Because it doesn't seem different to me at all. To me, it seems like you can dish it out, but you can't take it.”

He exhales, anger steaming from his breath. “Fuck you.”

You mockingly pout, pulling him closer by the jaw. “What are you going to do, break up with me?” You taunt. “What then? Who’ll protect that golden good boy image you work so hard to curate for your parents? Golden good boy Felix needs a girlfriend, or else Mummy and Daddy will find one for him, right? Or are you finally going to come out to them as a slag?” You tilt your head, waiting for him to respond. 

You know he won't do it - he uses you as a shield from his parents expectations, that was half the reason he asked you out in the first place. You keep them off his back, and in return you get to live the life of a rich girl. That’s the deal, and he cares too much about his end of the bargain to let you go.

He rips his face out of your hold, still scowling. He glances once more at Farleigh before angrily stalking away, the door to the bathroom slamming as he leaves. 

You let out a long breath, expelling the last dredges of anger from your system before you turn around to face Farleigh. “I’m sorry for dragging you into-”

“I love you.” 

He says it too loud, it bounces around the tiled room before it finds its way back to your ears. Your gut flutters. “Farleigh.” You say, pursing your lips. 

He closes the distance between you, kissing you like he wants to go for another round. “I’ve had fantasies about calling Felix out for being a bitch for years - mm - and you - mm - he can’t even do anything back to you.”

“That doesn’t - ah - mean that you love me-”

“I can’t stand that you let him fuck you.” He confesses, backing you up against the wall again. You watch him sink to his knees, pulling your underwear back down and pushing your dress up again in the same motion, wide brown eyes looking up at you in sheer admiration. “I get so jealous-”

“That doesn’t mean you love me either.” You gasp as he starts to kiss your thighs. 

He sits back on his heels, looking up at you with such vulnerability and sincerity that you find yourself almost uncomfortable. “I care about you, and that’s close enough for me.”

It’s not ‘I love you’ but it is at the same time. He cares about you. 

“I care about you.” You say. “Too.” And it’s true, you do. From the moment Felix introduced you, you’d thought he was interesting, and the feeling had only grown the more you’d gotten to know him. He’s smart, and funny, and a bitch in the same way that you are, and kisses you like he cares. Because he does. 

Farleigh grins against your thigh, pressing another kiss to the sensitive skin. “I know.”

A moment of loving silence passes between you, and your gut flutters again. 

“I still can’t believe you said all that to his face, that was so fucking hot.” Farleigh breaks the silence, nosing between your legs eagerly. 

You just laugh, and let him in. 

[esggs]

Kill The Damned Phone - Choso Kamo

[wc: 1500+]

[ tw: Choso Kamo x Reader, smut, fluff, established relationship, interrupted sex, blowjob, throat-fucking, prone bone, slight bondage, Choso being an absolute darling ]

“Nghh, Choso, right- fuck- right there!” You breathe out as Choso’s tongue runs over the shell over your ear. His chest to your back, your face buried into a pile of pillows, his entire right arm pulling your hips into him as he ruts into you prone bone. “Mhmm” he smiles, “you like it, baby?”

“I like you ∼” How cute. you can feel his lips stretching into a smile against your neck. He gives your wet pussy a slower, deeper grind to show his appreciation, pulling a sweet moan out of you. 

A slow Sunday morning with nothing much to do. Choso had woken up much before you, as usual, and by the time you had washed up and dressed, he was done making breakfast. Tamagoyaki rolls, natto rice balls, leftover pizza and two bottles of yakult each. Choso, your sweet man, read you the news headlines he deemed important as you washed the dishes– “A tunnel collapsed in Sendai” “Putin might be gay” “India is stopping rice exports”. He’d given you a spank on the ass as punishment for wiping your hands dry on his sweatpants. That ended up with him pounding you into the blankets, your hands pinned over your head with his left wrist. Ah, to be young and in love. 

“You just like me? I thought it was love” He teases. “It’s so sad, my baby doesn’t love me!” 

Your giggles are broken by a gasp as he bites into your neck. What a pretty collection of hickies. “Yeah, this is what you get. There’s no love for grown men who bite.”

“Aww” He pouts so cutely that you have to risk spraining your neck to give him a kiss. He adjusts himself further up your body - fuck, that felt good, he’s so deep in me now, shit- to make it easier for you to reach his lips. He deserves all the kisses, that sweetheart. You peck his nose too, for good measure.

“Babe,” He asks. “Should I use Flowing Red Scale? Or would it be too much for you?”

Before you open your mouth to reply, his phone’s ringing. He sighs into the nape of your neck before dislodging himself and reaching for it, taking the charging cable off it before he holds it up to his ear. “Hello? Yuuji?” 

From where you lie on the bed, it is a weird mixture of hot and hilarious. Choso’s hair is a mess, his lips puffy from your bites (he tells you to stop biting his lips but you vehemently refuse). His neck, chest, abs and arms have not been spared from your teeth either, all littered with little hickies. He’s squatting on the bed, silently trying to make sure his still-hard cock doesn’t drip your wetness on the bed sheet, while he holds his entire arm up, elbow lifted, to keep the phone to his ear, like a middle-aged dad. “Little brother, is that you?”

“Onii-san!” It’s not on speaker phone but you can hear the kid loud and clear through the phone. “I’ll make it quick: how do you do a Supernova?”

“Oh, good, good! You’re practising the harder skills now!” Choso momentarily forgot the cock-wet-not-touch-bed-sheet thing in his excitement. You just smile, letting him figure it out himself. “It’s hard to explain it over the phone, but it’s like this. Now pay attention: You let yourself feel every drop of your blood, okay? In every cell, then it goes fwoop–” He balled his free hand into a fist, “and then you wait till it’s time, and then you let it go.” He mimicked an explosion with his hand. “But when you let it go, make sure it all goes at once.”  

“Ehhhh?” You can vividly imagine Yuuji’s grimace on the other side of the phone. You couldn’t keep your laugh in. For Choso, Blood Manipulation came as naturally as breathing, he didn’t consciously take note of every step. It was a bit hard for him to explain things; just as hard as it was for Yuuji to understand his explanation. “Oh– Is y/n-san there with you?”

“Yeah, say hi-” “G’morning, y/n-san!”

“Hello, is this my favourite little prodigy?” You did baby Yuuji a bit, taking on the role of an older sister that he never had. “What’re you practising?”

“I’ve already gotten Piercing Blood down actually,” he says. “Supernova’s next, but I don’t get anything Onii-san said. Do you wanna come down to practice later?” You mull it over. Yuuji’s punches hit hard (even when he was holding back)  and you didn’t really want to experience that again, but having done martial arts for far longer than him, you could teach him new techniques. You suppose it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make.

“Aw, sure. 6 evening?”

“6 evening. See you then, y/n-san!” Click. 

“He didn’t even say goodbye to me.” Choso huffs. “He likes you too much.”

You laugh, both at his words and the sorrow in his eyes when he realised that he’s stained the bed sheet. “He’s at that age where family is embarrassing, especially his doting onii-san. He’ll grow up, don't worry.” You rise to push a kiss at the crown of Choso’s head. “I hate training with him really, he hits so hard. I don’t know anyone with that kind of raw strength!”

“Really?” Choso has you under him in a flash. “You don’t know anyone?” He wrenches your legs apart and pins them under his knees. “Struggle then, let me show you.” 

You grin. This will be fun.

You let a minute pass to trick him into thinking you’re not doing anything. A bird sings out the window, you both turn to look, and -you’re gone. Slipped out from under him and jumped off the bed and out the bedroom door. “Oh, you little!” You hear him laughing as he scampers off the bed, running after you. This was so fun, you can’t stop giggling, even though, as you register now, it is a bit weird running with Choso’s pre running down your thighs.

Oh well, it is what it is.

He corners you at the living room table, trying to catch you while you jump over the table and leap onto the sofas. 

I’ve got you now, birdie. 

He knows there’s nowhere for you to go, you know you’re not going anywhere. You’ve got your arms ready to strike if he comes any closer, but he doesn’t stop walking to you. This is fine, you can take him hand-to-hand. Uppercut, a left jab, left hook to the jaw, straight punch to the liver- he dodges it all. You’re about to go for his solar plexus, as - “Blood Manipulation: Crimson Binding”

“That’s so fucking cheating!” You yell out at the unfairness of the universe. Your hands are tied behind your back, so you immediately resort to kicking Choso, so he just binds your legs too. “That’s unfair, baby!”

“I like it though.” He giggles, “I never said cursed techniques are out of play.” The bindings on your legs are getting heavier, making you drop to your knees. “Ooh” Chose is way too happy with this, watching your boobs bounce as you fall. “I really like it.” 

You look up as he walks close, his cock, growing again at the sight of you like that, gingerly touches your lips. “Make me happy, yeah, love?”

You smile up at him, giving him a little kiss at his leaking tip. “Go ahead, baby.” you tell him. 

He leans down to kiss you so deeply, spitting into your mouth to make sure it’s wet enough. Then he straightens up, wiping his cock over your lips and cheek, making a mess of your face. He’s just got his fingers into your hair, thrusting his huge cock full into your throat in one go as you choke back gag after gag, groaning at the feel of your throat constricting around his cock, his perfect little fleshlight, your nose in his happy trail and balls against your spit-slick chin. He’s just started leaning over you, shoving your mouth down his cock as you run your tongue over his shaft, going rougher as the sight of your lust-drunk eyes drives him wild. He’s literally just getting started– when his phone rings again. 

He sighs sooo deep, dropping his face into his palms, that you begin to laugh with your mouth still full of cock. He carefully takes himself out again, flings you over his shoulder and carries you back to the bedroom like that, where his phone’s not done ringing. 

“Onii-san!” It’s Yuuji again. You’ve been dropped on the bed. Since the bedsheet is already ruined, you wipe your face clean with it, your hands still being tied. “Oni-san, I got it! Supernova done!”

“Good work, Yuuji! I knew you could do it!” Choso musters up all his love for his younger brother, not letting a single trace of annoyance pass into his voice. The genuine love and care Choso has for loved-ones, it warms your heart.

“Y/n-san, can you hear me too?”

Choso looks over at you before realising that your voice would probably betray a hint of being roughly throat-fucked. “Aah, she’s in the washroom, I’ll tell her when she comes back, okay? You keep practising though!”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just tell her myself at 6 then.”

“All right. I was thinking, little brother, Supernova’s a difficult move, I’ll get you dinner today as a gift. Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah!! You're a great big brother.” You can see Choso’s heart melt. “Bye-byee!”

“Bye!” Click.

“Should we take him out to Ono Jiro? He’d like the experience.” you think out loud. Choso suddenly realises that he forgot about the Crimson Binding, freeing you with a sheepish apology. 

“I’m so proud of him, you know.” says Choso, burying his face into your tits as you both laze on the bed. “Even though he keeps preventing us from giving him any nephews or nieces.”

You both laugh. “We’ve got nothing to do all day and it's still just morning. We’ve just got to keep at it”. You pet his hair poking out from between your tits. Choso’s starting to suck a hickey into the thin skin of your sternum, and edging a hand to grab your left boob. His other hand’s already massaging the fat of your ass. 

“We’ll keep at it, then” Choso grins.

Bonus: Choso looks up books and videos about 'how to teach' so that he can help Yuuji learn <3

img credits: here. it's not the artist (i think) but i couldn't find any further sources. If anyone does know the artist, please let me know.

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 7.

Summary: A chance to look through Oliver Quick's eyes as he watches through windows, decides he wants to be loved, and finally takes a chance with the reader. Until it comes crashing down because Michael Gavey called Felix a slag, and it's made Oliver's problem.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT (we see reader topping felix from last chapter but through oliver's perspective, cockwarming, vague somnophilia because of that i guess??, reader getting head and reader giving head but reader's AGAB is not specified), also some vaguely unsettling imagery i guess, and the scene in felix's room with the cleaning is made even more tense and uncomfortable

A/N: 7084 words. POV shift to Oliver! Also this chapter is FUCKING HUGE, i tried to find a good place to maybe split it, but couldn't find one. so you're stuck with 7k, eat up friends! also i would really appreciate if anyone has any thoughts about how i've written oliver, id love to hear them, i don't want him to 100% like the reader, and i think ive managed to have him come across more uh, cerebral i guess im going with? yeah thoughts good, would love some. holy shit this chapter goes so many places.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Y/N's been rambling on about reading Anna Karenina for one of their classes ever since they'd met Oliver after his final class for the day, but he's barely able to focus on their words. Usually he likes to look like he's paying attention to their words, he knows it makes him seem attentive, and everybody loves to feel heard, but Oliver's mind is elsewhere. It's in the garden outside of Y/N's window. It's outside their door where he'd sat patiently, giving blithe smiles to your dormmates and telling them he was simply waiting for you to get dressed. The doors of the Oxford dormitories were thick, but not thick enough to hide sound on the other side from an ear pressed up against them when the hallway was empty.

It's not even close to the first time he'd seen you in these moments together; how no-one else in your group of friends, apart from Farleigh he suspected, believed you two were sleeping together was baffling. Wilful ignorance is a hell of a drug. He hopes the two of you never learn how to close your blinds.

But there was something different about yesterday.

"Any of youse seen Felix? Or Y/N?" He'd approached the group on the grass with the same kind of hesitancy he'd always put on for them, never wanting to seem too arrogant, to comfortable in their presence. He knew they didn't like him, but people like this liked feeling powerful over the 'lesser folk'. Anyways, it's not like he was particularly keen on befriending any of them, it was okay to hold them at arm's length.

Farleigh, beautiful, condescending Farleigh, looked up at him through his lashes; there was no sun in his eyes, the squint was more likely to be him half-pulling a face of contempt with plausible deniability.

"Maybe." Unhelpful.

"Y/N came through here like a fucking hurricane," Annabel told him; Oliver could only think of the irritating nasal in her voice as she'd listed off all the things she hadn't liked about him to Felix when they hadn't known he was around. Oliver fought not to make a face of his own.

"Took Felix and headed that way," a blonde boy -Rex? Reg? Oliver hadn't even bothered to retain his name - nods in the direction of the dorms.

"They're so co-dependent sometimes," India shakes her head, strange little expression on her face. Perhaps she did know and was trying to convince herself otherwise.

"Yeah," laughed Annabel, "they could have at least tried meditating or something."

"I don't know," Farleigh shook his head, clicking his tongue, "I don't think they have any other coping mechanisms apart from their co-dependant shit."

"They've always been like this?" India actually sounds a little fond.

"It actually used to be worse," Farleigh snorted, and Annabel pitched herself back in the grass, claiming that it couldn't be true.

"I mean, with that kind of money I think Felix is allowed to be weirdly close to his cousin," India says with a shrug. What? Why was the group laughing like it was an in-joke.

"They're cousins?" Oliver asks; Farleigh he knew about, but no-one had ever really talked about how Felix and Y/N had gotten so close. Considering all he'd seen them do together -

"Kissing, codependent cousins," Annabel sighs, sitting up.

"Hot, kissing, codependent cousins," India wraps an arm around her in solidarity, and the girls share an exasperated chuckle, though from looking around it seemed that a lot of the group shared that sentiment.

"You're hot too, Farleigh -"

"Thanks, but I'll stick with just that for now, I'm happy being the non-kissing, non-codependent cousin," he chuckled, before turning his attention back to Oliver, still awkwardly by the edge of the group as everyone else continued to gossip. However, catching Farleigh's eye, for the barest moment, his wolfish grin, Oliver had total and complete confirmation that Felix and Y/N were in no way actually related.

Which, if he were to guess, meant that Farleigh definitely knew the two of you were sleeping together.

And judging from all the times Oliver had spoken to you both, neither of you were aware of this well established gossip in the group, Farleigh was never ever going to correct anyone, considering how damn funny he clearly thought the entire bit was. It at least explained how the rest of the group was so unphased by the closeness you and Felix shared, while still apparently - kind of - dating other people.

Eventually, tired of putting up his awkward façade, though he was grateful for the slim amount of information he'd learned, he clears his throat.

"So -"

"That way," Farleigh doesn't look at him this time, voice flat, thumb jerking towards Y/N's dorm.

Its the afternoon, grey, most people are at classes, so the courtyard outside of your dorm room is empty of any other living souls. Whenever he stops in, or even walks past, he checks in your window out of habit to see if you're in; you don't close your blinds often so it's an easy way to tell. Anyone passing by wouldn't be able to see anything, not unless they stopped and made an effort, but Oliver wasn't most people, and knew the layout of your room and how to search it when granted even a sliver to look through like today.

And today, not only are you in your dorm with Felix, as predicted, but the sight of you both makes his mouth go dry.

Felix Catton on his back, arching, perfect mouth open in some kind of wanton, whorish noise undoubtedly as you masterfully worked his cock with your hand. Fuck, Oliver knows he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching this.

He steps forward into the bushes. They rustle, his heart jumps, but neither of you seem to notice.

He can't see your face with your back to him like this, but you must be saying something, because Felix's lips are moving and his chest is heaving as he's gasping out words. Oliver knows he's embarrassing flush, embarrassingly hard in these fucking slacks, but the courtyard is still empty, and he knows all too well how little the outside world matters to you and Felix in these moments.

He can feel his heart beating in his throat, in his ears, painfully against his ribs as you slide one leg so smoothly over Felix's hips, hand between your own thighs as you hover yourself above him. You're toying with Felix, taking your time, taking full and total control in a way Oliver's never seen you do. He didn't know anyone could make Felix act like this, look like this; he never thought Felix would let anyone. But he shouldn't be surprised that it's you of all people.

When you lean down over Felix, your chest against his, like a proud lion over its prey, Oliver feels sick with himself, with how he wants to burn this fucking image into his brain, with how fucking perfectly he can watch from here as you take the entire length of Felix's cock. Its impressive, both his length, and how fucking easy you make it look. You're kissing him. You're fucking him. You're riding this Adonis in a way that makes him pliant and desperate beneath you.

Oliver steps back from the window, finally glancing around to double check his surroundings. No-one peeking out of windows, no-one around. He heads inside. He knows he shouldn't but he does, pulls out the sweater he'd loaned from Felix and folds it in his lap when he sits with his back against your door, both as an excuse should anyone walk past, and to hide the visible hardness in his pants.

Sometimes you're too quiet to hear, but the way the bed creaks and the two of you moan, it's some kind of debauched symphony. Oliver swears he's not a masochist, but it almost hurts to hear you both like this, like something out of a dream or a fantasy, and to remain stone-faced at your bedroom door -

"I want everyone else you ever fuck to be jealous of the way you let me fuck you."

Oliver can't even begin to imagine the things this means, the things you want to do to Felix, but then he hears -

"Yes, fuck, yes- my Y/N, anything you want - please." Felix gasping, begging like Oliver's never heard before. Sounds he knows only you could have elicited from the man who makes people around him fall in love with him by accident.

Oliver Quick is never going to get these moments out of his head; he's never been so desperate to be wanted by anyone in his life, let alone two people. There is a shameless, lascivious kind of love between you both that he vows to get the chance to drink from the source.

It's again changed his perception of you, perhaps made him a little bolder once more. So the day after, walking to the pub after class, barely listening to you talk about your book, he's trying to see if anything's changed. As far as he was aware, your encounter with Felix the day before was unusual for you. Perhaps something's changed, and perhaps he's not subtle about looking.

It's something unspoken between you, it ebbs and flows depending on Oliver's mood, how bold he's feeling. A quiet, voyeuristic exchange you share, the pleasure of being watched, and the pleasure of watching. The roles reverse and your eyes are on him in the way eyes rarely are.

More the observant than the observed, he'd told you, yet he took pleasure in feeling your gaze upon him, taking the time that he knows is so precious to you to watch him. You are familiar to him in a way that is so foreign; you are watching and adapting and anticipating the desires around you. Not action, but reaction; a people-pleaser down to your bones, wrapped up Felix's brand of hedonism. You get off making people feel loved, but Oliver can't help but wonder about the desire you keep to yourself, just below the surface.

Neither of you have spoken about the night at the club; Oliver's desperate to see how long it will take you before you act, rather than get pushed into reacting. He doesn't know how long he can last.

Felix shows up to the pub with Annabel and a strained smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Which is better than Annabel's outright scowl. They sit in chairs across from the rounded bench that always took up half the table your group liked to tension filling the ample space between them. As the last to arrive, everyone else's attention was drawn to them, going quiet as everyone picked up the couple's sour mood.

There's a moment where Oliver catches the way Felix looks at you across the table. No-one else picks up on it, since in the next moment Felix raises his hands to cover a cough, and what Oliver suspects is a grin, but you've turned your head sharply, sniffing loudly and almost managing to press your face into Oliver's shoulder. After a beat you fake a sneeze, and apologise. Oliver brushes it off, and fights off a smile of his own. He doesn't have all the details, but clearly you made good on your promise to make Felix's other future fucks jealous.

"You know what? I'm desperate for a pint, anybody else -" Felix goes to stand, attempting to break the tension, but immediately Annabel scoffs.

"Desperate sounds about right." And she's not quiet with her scorn.

"Can you not do this now? We've been here two minutes, you want a drink?" He hissed, trying to keep up a positive façade despite the faint anger and embarrassment in his eyes. It doesn't last, of course, not with all eyes on the pair of them. It's Farleigh who speaks up first, not even bothering to hide his smug smile.

"You okay there, Felix?" He wears a grin that's all teeth.

"What?" Felix frowns, but Oliver can see exactly what Farleigh's talking about. When he brings it up, however, he does his best to sound genuinely innocent, concerned even.

"Have you got yourself hurt, Felix?" And when Felix meets his gaze he knows it's come across as intended, the conflict and frustration still somehow looking beautiful in his brown eyes.

"No, I'm fine," he tugs at the collar of his shirt, hoping it sits a little higher, hides the hickey that's clearly there.

"Burn yourself on a curling iron, Felix?" India teases, matching Farleigh's earlier energy, and while it did nothing to help Annabel's mood, at least Felix no longer seemed conflicted.

"Had a run in with a particularly aggressive vacuum cleaner?" You piped up from beside Oliver, and the minute Felix sees your own triumphant grin he starts to go pink around the ears and has to duck his head.

"Try several vacuum cleaners," Annabel snapped to the table, "or one whorish townie girl!" For just a moment, the group is quiet, contemplating what she'd said, the upset in her voice, but it's short-lived.

"How many vacuum cleaners?" Farleigh leans forward, elbows on the table and chin on his hands with a grin like the Cheshire cat. Felix tells him to fuck off, but his blush is still distinct.

"They're all over him," Annabel sticks her nose in the air, arms crossed and looking especially petulant. The lads at the table did actually cheer at that, much to her continued frustration.

"You spend entire nights hitting on other guys in front of me! You made eye contact while one latched himself onto your neck as I was trying to dance!" Felix argued back, and the jury of their peers began to shake their heads at this new information. Annabel pouted for a moment.

"That's different -"

"It kinda isn't," India tried to shoot for sympathetic, wincing as she said it, which was enough for Annabel to sigh dramatically, standing from the table.

"Fine, I do want a drink," and she immediately made a furious beeline for the bar. Felix, however, hesitated for a moment, watching her leave before he turned back to the group with a cocky smile, yanking down the collar of his shirt to show off several more bright, scandalous hickeys.

"Best vacuum cleaner I've ever had," he tells them all smugly, before standing up straight and righting his shirt, "okay, this round's on me." A cheer rises from the group, but as Felix walks off, Oliver catches the way he winks at Y/N. You snort a quiet laugh, but Oliver's pretty sure he's the only one who heard it.

Christ, you two weren't even trying to be subtle half the time.

Still, for all her apparent frustration at Felix's mystery partner, it seemed to only make Annabel cling to him further. No more flirting with strangers, no more sitting apart. She reeks of insecurity, but Oliver just watches you watching her. There's something in your eyes in these moments, like a lion too sated to be bothered with the hunt, but the instinct to pounce could resurface at any moment.

But Oliver's obsession with the intricacies of your lives still lead him outside of Felix's window after one of countless parties. Still watching with animal curiosity and a cigarette in hand, as Annabel works hard to stake her claim on a man she desperately wants to own.

Annabel is an unenthralling understudy, Oliver thinks.

Throwing the butt of his cigarette into the bushes, he can't bring himself to stay. He knows where he needs to go, knows what he needs to do; in his mind Annabel is a lithe and graceful performance of extasy, and Felix is all quiet focus and hard, gorgeous muscles shining with sweat from the exertion of it all. But there's no love. It's all performance, a pleasurable performance for them, he's sure, but it's just two beautiful people smashing their bodies together in sloppy ecstasy.

Fuck.

No only is a creep, and a pervert, but now he's a picky, creepy pervert.

But his thoughts stop in the courtyard outside of your dorm. You light is on. Your window is open all the way, and there you are, looking like a dream in your pyjamas, sitting on the windowsill and having a smoke.

"Ollie!" He'll never get sick of how you say his name, how you smile when you see his face. There's a split second where he has to make a decision, has to figure out how to approach you in this moment. At the club you'd all but folded on the spot at his bold approach, he knows he could have had you practically there and then if he'd been inclined, but part of him can't stop thinking about how you'd had Felix on his back, practically begging.

Oliver feels like every time he thinks he's close to figuring you out, he learns something knew about you that makes him rethink it all. He wants to know all of you, your hopes and dreams and the grotesque desires you will never tell the world, desperate to keep testing you and your reactions, and perhaps even your limits if it ever came to that, to figure out how to get underneath your beautiful skin the way Felix had. Part of him feels like you're never going to stop surprising him, one way or the other. You are intrigue and unexpected and he wants to carve a home for himself in your bones.

"Thought you'd still be out," you tell him, back flush with the frame of your window, one leg up on the ledge while the other dangled over the gardens he'd watched you from more times than he'd like to admit.

"'s not the same without you," he admits after a moment, hands in his pockets. Your endeared, bashful smile is predictable, but no less heart-warming to see. He loves the way you react to him.

"Is that why you're here," it sounds teasing, but he can hear a hint of something that almost sounds hopeful. When you look back at him again, there's that same look you've been giving him since he'd held you, kissed you, ghosted you at the club.

"I don't know," he lies softly, "I just started walking."

"Come on then," you grin, stubbing out your cigarette on the windowsill, "you came all this way, why not have a sleepover," and you swing your legs inside, hopping off the ledge. He moves automatically towards the window, but when you hear him moving, you frown over your shoulder, "door, Ollie."

He's never been inside your room at night.

It glows with the same gold light that all these old building with their old lamps glowed, casting all your knickknacks in shadow and sharp relief. Only your bed lamp was on, book open on your bed. Jane Austin's Emma.

"Sorry, I don't mean to impose," Oliver's voice matches the rest of how he wants to appear; small. Sitting on your soft, patterned duvet, he looks not at you, but around at the room you call home, cataloguing everything in this new light, trying not to think about Felix and Annabel fucking, Felix and Annabel laughing, Felix and Annabel joking about how -

He's a scholarship boy who buys his clothes from Oxfam; no-one wants to sit next to fucking Oliver.

"I love you Ollie," you tell him blithely, easily, truthfully, "you never impose."

Annabel grates on his ears and his nerves and his fucking memories. Your smile is like a balm for that the burn that snobby bitch leaves in the back of his mind when he thinks too hard about her.

You move with such ease around the space, not that he should be at all surprised at that. Perhaps it's more that he still feels like a stranger in his own room at times. Planting yourself against your headboard legs crossed and looking so at ease in your summer pyjamas, you ask, tone light, "you don't mind if I read for a bit, I'm not going to be up much longer, but like I said, you're always welcome to stay."

"What are you reading?" Oliver lets himself relax in your presence, lays himself back on the bed, looking up at the sculpted ceiling of the old building. He knows what you're reading, he just likes hearing your voice.

"Emma," he can hear the rustle of the pages, had seen the worn spine and yellowing paper, wonders if it's vintage, wonders how you got it if it is, "Jane Austen for my lit class."

"Finished Anna Karenina?" You make a quiet hum of acknowledgement. More silence and the warmth of company and lamp light, "it's been a while since I've read any Austen."

"Do you want me to read some to you?" Of course there's humour in your tone, but Oliver can hear it for the genuine offer that it is. When he looks at you, he can't help but smile. There's such fond affection in your eyes as you look at him over the top of the book.

"Please," he says it so softly, so sweetly, and it's enough to see you smile before you disappear behind the book again.

"I'm near the end, you won't get the context -"

"Doesn't matter," he sits back up, pulls off his jacket, kicks off his shoes, and settles back beside you.

"Settled?" Your voice is a murmur, barely a whisper, and when he laughs quietly, he knows you can feel the way it rumbles within him.

When you start, your voice is soothing, halfway through a chapter, through a conversation between characters he has no clue about. He's never read Austen but he'd devour her books if you were the one reading them. It feels like an almost perfect moment.

"- Seldom, very seldom," his head is on your shoulder, eyes scanning the page, the words as you read them, "does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken, but-”

"I did come here for you," something about the line makes the hairs prick on the back of his neck, he can't keep quiet; there is want still simmering beneath his skin, and each time his mind drifts to Felix and Annabel, something furious and desperate coils in his gut. You fall silent, book still open and aloft, cheek still resting against his head where he's kept it on your shoulder. When you take a deep breath, he feels it, both of you move in sync, "of course I came here for you."

This time, he doesn't reach out, doesn't touch you more than he is. Every time he's reached out, he's gone against the pattern you've observed of him, he's always made a connection with you where you know he holds back from others. This time, he waits with bated breath.

"If there's nothing more you want from me than moments like this, I'll never say another word about it," he assures, as if trying not to spook or pressure you. But still he waits.

"What do you want, Ollie?" To pick you apart like a vulture, to see the desires you keep so close they're written on your bones.

"You," he says instead, all gentle words and just as gentle breathing, "if you'll have me." Tell me what it is you want. Tell me you can want. Tell me you know you can want things for yourself, want things beyond a reaction to the wants and needs of everyone around you -

Carefully, you reach over to your bedside table, trying not to jostle either of you too much, and keep your place with a bookmark before you put the book down.

But you do make the first move. You take his face in your hands, holding him like he's fragile and perfect and porcelain, shuffling to face him properly. This kiss tastes almost like home, like finally from you both, until his tongue runs along your lips and you part willingly for him, the kiss turning quickly more passionate. Oliver's not even sure how he came to be straddling your lap, nor how he didn't notice you undoing half of his shirt buttons already, but when the kiss breaks he takes your hands in his.

"Of course I want you," tumbles from your lips, sounding heady, needy, and for just a moment, Oliver breath stutters in his chest. But he slows things down again, leans in to kiss you sweetly once more, before he's pulling off your pyjama shirt.

"I want to know what you want," he murmurs against your lips, kissing his way down your jaw slowly as he speaks, "wanna know how to make you feel good."

"Anything you do -" you try, but he looks up after pressing a kiss to your sternum.

"You need to be needed," he says softly, punctuating each statement with a kiss, refusing to break eye contact with you, "and you want to be wanted," his warm lips on your belly, he sees the conflict in your eyes, the desire and embarrassment all at once, "and you're very good at those things, one of the best, I'm sure." Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, he pauses, "is this okay?" You nod quickly, enthusiastically, and he gives a warm smile.

"You're like me, sweetheart," he says softly, resting his cheek on your inner thigh for a moment, watching you still. Reaching out, you card your fingers through his hair, fingers trailing down his jaw, and he turns his face to kiss your palm, "I know that if I gave you half a chance, you'll figure out how to be all I could ever want, but tonight I want everyone to hear how you sound when someone's making you feel good-" he doesn't realise he's quoting something he should not have heard from Felix until it's too late, but you cut him off. You didn't even seem to realise.

Then your other hand is in his hair, a new look in your eyes, a newfound determination, a nervous excitement. You grip on his hair tightens.

"Yes?" He gives a cheeky grin, and you finally smile like you mean it.

"I get it," you roll your eyes, but there's nothing malicious about it, especially since the gesture has Oliver pressing his own chuckle against your thigh, "now you have one guess as to how I'd like you to shut up." There's that confidence he'd heard the other day, the confidence that was burned into the back of his mind, the confidence that had been part of the reason he'd spent a good hour in the shower after hearing it.

"Only if you turn out your lamp," he smirks, though inside all he can think about is how bright the whole room is through the gap in the curtains. It doesn't seem to bother you, it never has, and though he was grateful for it when he was on the outside looking in, there's something about being the one potentially being watched that causes him a faint sense of unease.

You call the moonlight more romantic anyways, and Oliver doesn't need to be told twice to go down on you.

When Oliver wakes the next morning, still in your bed, still in you, he almost wants to pinch himself. It's a childish sentiment, but you're in his arms, wrapped up in him and this early morning light through your curtains. Though he tries not to jostle you too much, the arm beneath his head is asleep and getting more uncomfortable by the second. Except the movement just makes you mumble around a breathy moan, hips moving against his.

"Fucking hell," he groans into your ear, and he gets a sleepy, contented chuckle in return, turning your face a little more towards him to give an affectionate bump against his forehead.

"Ollie~"

For just a second, Oliver thinks about living in this moment for the rest of his life.

"You okay?" He murmurs, watching your smile grow. Everything about you looks so pleased, so content, so satisfied.

"Never done that before," you admit, wiggling your hips a little. Oliver swears under his breath again, but judging by the mischievous smile you wear and the twinkle in your eyes, you knew exactly what you were doing. Then, with all the casualness of any other conversation, you manage to catch him off guard again; "anyone who thinks you don't fit in has clearly never fucked you; you fit perfectly -" his teeth sink into your shoulder before he can even properly figure out how he should have reacted.

But instead of finding it strange or off-putting, you let out a breathy laugh, tension easing in your shoulders. Your hips begin to roll against his, consistent, deliberate. He wonders how many people you've let fuck you like this, like they love you, like they care about you. Oh he knows you fuck your friends with love on your tongue, treat them like they're your last meal, like they mean something, but Oliver gets the feeling you don't expect them to return the favour. He's seen the kind of company you keep, he's pretty sure they never do.

How many of them have seen you grateful the way you look now, bathed in the morning light of Summer, laughing and unable to stop talking with such casual fondness in your eyes and on your lips.

When you go down on him in the shower, Oliver thinks he sees hearts in your eyes.

There might just be something very fucking wrong with you, and he's grateful for it every day.

But it doesn't last.

It's on a Summer day that's too hot, less than a week since he'd spent the night with you. Summer days around here seem to always be too hot, but this might be the worst. Felix still doesn't close his blinds, sun painting him golden where he lay on the floor of his room with a cigarette. Oliver had perched himself on the windowsill as you'd taken up residence on Felix's bed, sitting with your back to his headboard, engrossed in what appeared to be notes, or some kind of file.

Oliver has no idea if you've told Felix, or what you would have told him. The dynamic between the three of you appears to have remained otherwise unchanged. Sometimes, however, Oliver catches Felix looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, head tipped, curious like he was about Oliver's past; his expression is always unreadable, but it's started pitting in Oliver's stomach whenever he catches it. Felix always looks away. Felix has been looking at him less lately, that too causes some kind of anxious feeling Oliver would rather not dwell on.

"I don't like Michael Gavey," you announced from your relatively dark corner of Felix's bed. How did you even know Michael Gavey?

"Who?" Felix makes a face in the sunlight, whole expression wrinkling up, as if trying to wrack his brains. But you're looking at Oliver. There's no affection in your eyes, manila folder in your hands.

"He's-" Oliver feels like he's on the back foot again. All the comfort and good will he'd built up around the two of you feels suddenly so far away, "he's in my year." There's no precedent, no road map in his mind for where this could be going.

"He likes you," it's accusatory coming from you. Oliver looks to Felix for a moment, if only to avoid the intensity of your gaze, but he's closed his eyes, staying out of it.

Oliver considers bailing out of the window, but thinks better of it.

"He, erm, kind of was my friend, I suppose."

"Kind of was your friend?" Felix's voice is almost cold, surprising Oliver, but apparently not you. It's clear you're both looking for some kind of elaboration. Why did this feel like an interrogation? What had Michael done? Why was Oliver on trial for it? Felix cracks his eyes open as he takes a long draught of his cigarette.

"Back at the start of the year," Oliver wets his lips, fidgeting, focusing his attention only on the folder you held, desperate to know what was in it.

"Nasty friend you had," you tell him. It's so cold it almost stings.

"Is he the one who got you all riled up the other week?" Felix finally appears to connect the dots, sitting up on his elbows. Thankfully, however, his amusement breaks the tension, and you have to hide your face behind the file as you opened it and began to read. Oliver could feel his heart in his throat, confused, anxious -

"Impressive mathematic record across the board for his first semester, as well all throughout sixth form," you rattled off, eyes narrowed as you look at the paper, "several documented attempts to contact the Head of Math, Phys-Ed, and Life Sciences to," you cleared your throat, shaking your head with surprising disdain, "beg to be exempt from any potentially mandatory Humanities or Social Sciences courses. Unsurprising," you rolled your eyes, "since he bombed his English and French GCSEs, and I think he's the kind of person who prides himself on a perfect GPA."

Every fact you list you do so with such casual cruelty, momentarily folding the file closed and leaning down to make sure you could see Felix.

"He went to high school with us apparently," so casual it actually hurts Oliver a little to hear, "year below us he said," and you wiggle the file in your hands, "looks to be true."

"Still don't know him," Felix shrugs, like he doesn't give any kind of a shit how you got your hands on all of this information. Sitting back, you continued;

"Applied for scholarships - didn't get them; turns out you have to play sports to get a sports scholarships," you click your tongue as you flip through the pages of Michael's file like you were reading the newspaper, "no clubs, no social life, and a notably arrogant prick." You snapped the file closed, levelling a look at Oliver that he'd never seen you make. It was nothing, like a void, demanding a reaction, a response from him. Accusatory yet without any hint of blame, there's something about this look of intense, demanding neutrality that makes him feel actually sick, like you'll be able to know when he lies, know all his secrets if you look at him long enough.

Felix settles back down on the ground, seemingly immune to the tension so thick Oliver felt like he was choking on it. Even if he looks away he can feel your eyes boring into him, like a spider watching a futile fly in it's web.

"What's your problem with him?" Oliver can only bring himself to look out the window, bringing his hand up to scratch at his nose. Maybe if he covers his mouth he won't spill his guts under your gaze. Then, almost so fast it gives Oliver motion sickness, the tension drops.

You sit yourself back, kick your feet out in front of you, and toss the file to the end of the bed. That can't be legal.

"It's sweet that your friends are protective, but he knows you're your own person, right -?" God your light, flippant tone all but rings in his ears. Still, Oliver knows a warning when he hears it.

"He's not my friend; he was, but he's not," Oliver quickly insists, desperate to be on the other side of this deeply uncomfortable conversation. The tension eases in your shoulders when he looks over to you; the right answer. Something about the relief he feels doesn't sit quite right; why had you brought Michael up now of all times? Why had your gaze felt so constricting, even when he and Michael weren't even close; all you would have had to do was ask -

"Said some nasty things about us is all," your voice goes quiet, rueful even, and he follows your gaze to the edge of the bed to where you knew Felix lay, "called Fi a slag."

But there it was; the true audience for your show of force, and the blade that sliced so cleanly through any other attachment people think they have with Felix, all in one.

Its a simple nickname, the most basic nickname anyone could give to a guy named Felix, but no-one else calls him anything but Felix. No-one else calls him Fi the way you do, they wouldn't dare. He wears your nickname like a collar and he doesn't even realise.

"What a cunt," Felix groaned, so infuriatingly uncaring.

In the moments that follow, Oliver almost feels like his head's spinning from the interaction that had just been forced upon him. There's so many questions, new, anxiety-inducing implications for the information you've brought to them both today. Felix doesn't seem troubled by it, but that seems to be the point.

"So fucking hot," he sighs into the afternoon heat, finishing off his cigarette like none of what you'd said even mattered now.

"I know," Oliver finds his voice again, barely. He can't look at you, at the way you're lounging in what he could mistake for triumph. All he can see is Felix, the centre of the fucking universe.

There's something grotesque about you both in this moment, in this room, beautiful and terrible; the perfect picture of privilege and squalor.

"What's that smell?" Pizza, mostly empty drinks, plates and cups unwashed, dirty clothes -

"Uh," if Felix thinks about it, he isn't thinking too hard, clearly, "I don't know." Smoke rings from his pretty lips aren't enough of a distraction from the moment, from the filth of it all now that Oliver's starting to properly look around.

Again he finds himself realising that he has no idea about your background, how you came to find Felix. Sitting with your back to the headboard and eyes closed, even you seem to not care-

"Can't believe you let him live like this," Oliver actually scoffs, hopping from the windowsill, needing to do something with his hands, move, shake off the layer of moral grime that your verbal attack on Michael Gavey had showered him in.

"What?" Felix barely even props himself up, "what are you on about?"

"It's disgusting, Felix."

"It's fine."

"Right, I'm cleaning up -" Oliver moves without thinking, picking up a the waste paper basket and throwing out trash from every surface he can reach. He can't look at Felix, can't look at you, but you're both watching him, "only rich people can afford to be this filthy," he hears himself say. Then, after barking a laugh with no humour in it, he turns his shallow gaze on you, "and what's your excuse? Just picked the habit up after all those years?" For a moment you look at him with genuine confusion, but you give him no real response before Felix tells him to fuck off. But Oliver doesn't stop.

Even as Felix is growing more fed up, insisting he'll clean up later, Oliver's own frustration rises. Felix will never do anything for himself.

Except he doesn't mean to say that part out loud.

That's what gets Felix on his feet, gets him to grab the basket, irritation and resentment on his tongue. Oliver feels like he's touched a live wire, like he's pushed Felix too far, watching him tall, frustrated, glowing with sweat from the afternoon heat. It's the heat Felix complains about as he blows about him room, resentfully stuffing rubbish into the bin, complains about the building and it's age and it's wood fucking panelling that can't be ruined with an air conditioner.

In the moment Oliver chooses to glance to you, he's surprised. You only have eyes for Felix, watching him with an expression Oliver can't begin to fathom, curled up in the corner of his bed. You are waiting. You are holding yourself back. You are desperately trying to let Felix prove Oliver wrong.

"Stressing about the exams?" Oliver tries to pivot, tries to redirect the conversation to something he can claw his way back from, that will keep these relationships from being unsalvageable.

"I'm not stressed about the exams, Ol," Felix sounds like he could snap at any moment, sitting on the edge of his bed, wastebasket held on his knees while his other hand reaches out to you. Still half a foot of space between you, and you keep yourself compact, but the intention is clear; Oliver wonders if he even knows he does that, or if it's just instinct for the two of you these days. Felix, however, is looking at him, that same look he's been giving Oliver since you'd slept with him, "you're driving me fucking -"

Felix seems to realise what he's saying, however, with a sharp inhale as he looked away, moving his free hand from beside you to run through his hair. What is there to say now?

Felix says he's got revising to do, that he'll text later about going to the pub. Oliver desperately wants to believe it, but can hear that it's a lie. Felix can't even fucking look at him.

Oliver finally throws a helpless, hopeful glance to you. This time you are looking at him, but there's apology in your eyes. It's enough. It's the confirmation he'd dreaded, that makes his stomach drop.

"Ollie," even just a few hours ago he'd been in love with the way you said his name. Never like this.

"I'll catch you round," he can't look at either of you as he retreats, cant bare your eyes on him like that, and Felix's turned away.

A million thoughts, desperate ideas, all circle the drain that is quickly becoming his mind as the anxiety and the anguish sets in.

Unsalvageable. Past the point of no return. Irrevocably, awfully different.

With all he'd learned of you both, however, he couldn't just let it go to waste. Oliver had worked for all he had in this life, this prestigious place, among these self-important people. Despite his ongoing attempts to figure you out, he at least knew that if he was good to Felix, he was in good with you.

And Oliver knew exactly who Felix Catton wanted him to be.

[halo-desert-rose]

Jon in a French plait, based on a post from @cult-of-the-eye

This has been rotting in my drafts, please take it

Screenshot of the post and image description under cut

[ID:

Three images; two traditional illustrations and a screenshot of a text post by @/cult-of-the-eye .

In the first illustration, Jon is sitting at his desk, reading a statement. His hair, black streaked with white, is done up in a French plait that is thrown over his left shoulder. He wears a white button-up shirt under a emerald green, unbuttoned cardigan, and a medium brown skirt. From his visible ear, dangles an earring with two blue spheres. In his arms is an orange cat. His right hand is on the cat’s head, scratching behind the ears, and the cat looks very content and pleased. In his left hand, he is holding the cat’s paw. Jon’s eyes are dark brown, trained on the two pages on his desk. A grey tape recorder sits on the desk as well. His chair is dark brown, with a high back rest and black arm rests. Next to Jon’s head is a speech bubble, with ‘Statement of…’ written in it.

The second drawing is of Jon from the waist up, his face in a side profile. Jon looks to the right, his face tilted slightly down as he looks forwards. He wears a black shirt under his green cardigan. His right arm is bent slightly, while his left arm is held in a position as of he is holding a walking cane that is not visible.

His cardigan made of a layer of light green and dark green fine-liner ink. His hair is outlined with black India ink. His chair is composed of a layer of dark brown and a layer of grey ink, while the armrests are a layer of black and grey. In the second image, his black shirt is a layer of black and a layer of grey.

The screen shot, which is under the cut, reads:“Are we considering Jonathan Sims in a french plait era”

[END ID]