#I did enjoy doing the sleeves thou

[floorbacon]

I was just wanting to do a warm-up sketch

I ended up doing Emerys but VAMPIRE OUTFIT

[yellowbunnydreams]

Bunny Ears (Part 5) ~William Afton X F! Reader~

~Hello, hello hello! I hope you're all enjoying this little more fluffy story so far. Some of your tags kill me when I see reblogs and I appreciate them so much! Also I am so sorry that this one is exceptionally long!~

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Tag List: @ruh--roh-raggy @h4nluv @sleepy---head @do-double-g @confiscated-peaches-main @dij-ology @viviennemuerte @robin-the-enby @shari-berri @randymeeksisafinalgirl @hallow1090

Cw: CW: Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - 30's), divorce/processing divorce, Afton being a sarcastic hot ass, Henry being such a dad, grumpy x sunshine (more to be added). Faz-Fuck TM

True to William Afton's word, you were placed on office duty for at least a week before you could return to normal work. Henry had even drive you to the local pharmacy after work and loaded your bike up onto the back of his car, buying you a soft wrist compress and some painkillers despite your protests and insisting that you would be being driven to and from work by either him or William for the duration of your 'light duties'. There were no ifs or buts allowed from either of them, Henry once caught you trying to walk to work and you had spent an hour in his office listening to him lecture you on why it was such a bad idea. You could have sworn that he nearly cried several times during it.

You had decided to try your luck walking in again today, knowing that the pair would be looking for your Freddy's uniform and your bike, you decided to place a thin jacket over the top to mask it, hair tied up and a hoodie beneath the jacket, hood pulled up as if you weren't sweating in the heat. Twirling your wrist back and forth as you tried to avoid it locking up with the compressive bandage on, you were lost in your own thoughts as you walked. It was sufficiently early in the morning that you were sure that neither of them would spot you even if they happened to be driving out.

Suddenly you heard a voice calling your name, and of course like a fool you stopped and turned your head. Spotting a car that you hadn't heard cruise up besides you and come to stop, blinking as you took in the black colour muscle car that you probably didn't know much about if your life depended on it before your eyes fell onto the owner who had climbed out of the door. Paling as you watched William Afton lean against the door with his arms crossed across his chest.

"M-Mr. Afton, you look...nice..this morning." You complimented, which he truly did, although it wasn't his usual colours that he wore to work. Still wearing his black slacks, he wore a Spring Bonnie shade of yellow shirt, the sleeves rolled up and a purple tie on. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he scowled although you could see some amusement in his eyes.

"That shit works on Henry, not me. So, it's a little early for a walk isn't it?" He almost growled your name at the end, making you feel slightly weak at the knees and your stomach sink as you began to realise how much trouble you were about to be in with the taller, older man. Opening your mouth as if to speak before he raised a large hand, finger up to shush you.

"Get in the fucking car, don't make me chase you cause I will assure you, you will get your cardio for the month in if that's the case." Staring into your soul, scuffing your shoes on the pavement as you reluctantly moved to the passenger side, William turned to watch you, your fingers on the door handle before you looked back at him, offering him a sheepish smile.

"Don't you mean get in the faz-fucking car, sir?" You could see his lips quirk at the corners and the joke clearly hit somewhere to make him amused, but he remained otherwise serious as he began to stride round to your side, brushing against your back as he opened the door for you and gestured for you to get in.

"No, I mean get in the fucking car young lady, I'm already thinking on how to punish you for making me do this shit." The thought of him punishing you made you shiver and blush, realising that you imagined his large calloused hands on you for a brief moment and feeling incredibly embarrassed. Not that you hadn't been thinking about the glimpse of him shirtless that you had gotten a few days before.

He climbed into his side with a practised ease, cracking his neck slightly and sighing as he put the car into gear, pulling off and heading towards Freddy's. You sunk into your seat as you heard him mutter to himself.

"Henry is not going to let me live this one down." Sounding slightly bitter about it, you raised and eyebrow and looked at him quizzically.

"What is Mr. Emily not going to let you live down?"

"He... I told him you were probably going to try some shit like this this morning, and he told me to lighten up, that you wouldn't after the lecture he gave you about being safe." He groaned, one hand on his thigh and the other on the steering wheel as his eyes darted about the roads, purposely avoiding yours. "He's going to call it my fucking 'dad sense' or some shit and call me old."

"Well sir, you are like...five years older than me?" You guessed, being a bit generous to try and win him over a bit more, causing the man to snort and look at you, pointing at his greying temples with his free hand.

"Does this look like five years to you? If so, wow your future is looking bleak. More like ten and even that is depressing enough." William sighed, running a hand through his hair and concentrating on the roads again. Cranking up the radio so that the rest of your drive would be in silence.

Arriving at Freddy's, William got out first and opened your door for you, hovering a few steps behind as he escorted you into the building where it seemed eerily quiet. You were there a lot earlier than usual and most of the staff hadn't arrived yet for morning duties. But walking through the empty halls with William, you didn't feel unsafe or uneasy doing so. Though you felt your stomach twisting into knots as you approached the offices together, knowing that Henry would be disappointed in you before you even saw his face, you tried to remain positive that whatever the two of them could come up with for the day couldn't be that bad.

"Morning Mr. Emily." You chirped, making the man sat at his desk smile as William unlocked his office behind you. Watching him run a hand through his curly hair and leaning back, eyes bright as always despite the early start.

"Morning miss..." Your name trailed off as he looked at you, suddenly squinting before his eyes widened, conflicted between a frown and a smile as he looked between you and William.

"Don't say it Henry." William warned, not needing to turn around to know what was about to be said by his business partner. Although you watched Henry almost bouncing excitedly at his desk.

"You totally used your dad sense! God you're so old William." He teased, making the taller man sigh and tip his head back in frustration.

"Henry, you're older than me." He retorted, opening his office door finally and stepping inside, flicking on the lights and scowling slightly as he rubbed at his face, disturbing his glasses and messing with his hair again before he ran his fingers through it and fixed it again.

"So, you're still a dad!" Making William sigh in annoyance as he looked at you, almost pleading for the happiness of his friend to dispel for just one moment to give him peace. Raising an eyebrow and gesturing to you to step into his office, your name sounding too pretty from him as he spoke again.

"You can spend the day with me sweetheart, I figure being bored to death by the more technical side of this job might be a better punishment than a lecture." Afton shrugged, making you look between the excitedly bouncing Henry and the calmer of the pair, and quietly choosing to be in for a chance of peace rather than seeing Henry tear up again as he lectured you again like you were his daughter.

"See you later Mr. Emily." You smiled, waving to him and stepping into William's office and hearing the door close behind you, William stepping around you with his fingers brushing your back to let you know where he was whilst he moved.

Compared to the explosion of children's drawings, family photos and colour that made up Henry Emily's office, William Afton's was much more organised in its own chaotic fashion. The main wall had a large pin board hung up on it, with neatly organised and spaced mechanical and electric diagrams for various animatronics and projects pinned up on seemingly colour coded pins that only he knew the order of. Two photo frames hung up too, one with William and a young blonde girl in a tiny turtleneck and cardigan, holding a toy Spring-Bonnie, the edge of the photo clearly cut as a mystery hand floated on the girl's shoulder, opposite to William. The other was a slightly younger Afton and Henry, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders and each holding the head of their animatronic suit under their arms, you could vaguely make out a building that said 'Fredbear's Family Diner' in the background.

The rest was fairly standard, except for the pile of animatronic parts and tools that laid scattered amongst the paperwork on his desk, all dark colours, including curiously a couch that was pushed up against one wall. The leather cracked and worn, a pillow set up on one of the arms and a faded blanket folded neatly over the back.

'Does he sleep in his office?' You thought as you looked at it, brow furrowing before you took a seat opposite Afton, trying to see what he was up to even if you didn't understand.

"So, you're a dad Mr. Afton?" You asked, breaking the silence and hearing a 'hmm' coming from the man before he looked up, brow furrowed in concentration and clearly having not heard your question. You gestured to the picture on the wall with the girl, smiling softly as you looked between it and him.

"Oh, yes! That's my little girl, Vanessa." He said, a bit of pride creeping into his voice as you noticed his left thumb moving against his ring finger, a lump forming in your throat as you noticed the glint of a gold wedding band on the finger. Of course he was married, what woman wouldn't want to marry somebody like him? Business owner, good looking, good with kids.

"She looks adorable." You commented, tearing your eyes away from his hand back to the picture, trying to spot which of his features she might have inherited.

"Yeah, probably haven't been the best dad to her but I try." Glancing back down at his paperwork and clearing his throat, he wondered why he opened up to you so easily. But he supposed he knew somewhat where he stood with you, you were easily flustered by him but you had genuine care about him and Henry it seemed. His thumb continued to twirl the ring on his finger absently, eyes unfocused as he wondered if he should mention his soon-to-be-ex wife to you, but decided against it.

William looked up at you again and offered a warm smile, adjusting his glasses on his nose before running a large hand through his hair again. Something he often did when he was somewhat nervous, although he wasn't entirely sure why he felt that way around you. Taking a moment when you looked away from him again to admire the way your eyes looked, their rich vibrant colour, the way your eyelashes fluttered as you breathed slowly and deeply. He swore at himself internally as he swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry as he realised what he was thinking about you.

"Oh, before I forget, I collected these for you to look through." He chuckled, snapping him and you out of the reverie each of you had fallen into, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a stack of papers, some crinkled around the edges and messy, making you raise an eyebrow as you gingerly took them, pausing as you saw your name written in childish crayon on the top one.

Your fingers brushed the crayon markings like they were some ancient script that you had to be careful with. Flicking onto the next one, and the one after, your heart melted as you spotted a pattern to them.

'The day --- saved Spring Bonnie'

'--- Helping Spring Bonnie!'

'--- and Spring Bonnie'

The childish spellings and writing made your name incredibly hard to read on most of them, but you felt your eyes welling up as you carefully leafed through each sheet of paper and spent time looking at childish drawings of you and Spring Bonnie holding hands, or trying to help him up. There weren't many in the pile, but enough to make your lip quiver and your eyes feel hot and prickle with tears.

"I've got some too, children keep giving them to Henry or me and asking if we know Spring Bonnie or you and can we 'please give them to them?'. I thought you might like to know that you and Spring Bonnie are officially considered the best of friends by the kids." He smiled warmly as he noticed how you stared at the drawings with such emotion. William felt his fingers twitching as he wanted to reach out and comfort you, but he remained professional as he didn't know how you would feel about that.

"Thank you sir, this is-"

"William, you can call me William when we're alone." He interrupted, smiling lopsidedly as you glanced up at him, your cheeks burning up slightly as he gave you that sweet, warm smile that made the edges of his eyes crinkle slightly and of course, the idea that you could address him so informally made the butterflies reappear in your stomach.

"Then thank you, William, may I keep one?" You asked, taking care to say his name rather than addressing him as your boss. His smile grew a little as he heard you saying his name for the first time, his own chest tightening at the sound and he nodded his head, gesturing to the stack in your hands.

"Please, take as many as you want sweetheart. I'll grab us some coffee whilst we work."

Standing from his desk, he towered over you, his hand hovering near to your still lightly bruised shoulder before he thought better of it, heading for the door and turning the handle, pulling it so that it would open.

But it didn't.

Trying again, the door rattled and shook, but refused to budge. Frowning, William braced himself with his other hand against the frame and yanked, worried about breaking the door but no matter what he tried to do it to it, it wasn't budging. Eyes widening as he realised that you were trapped together, pressing his ear to the door and listening hard, he could faintly hear the sounds of the pizzeria filling with screaming kids and music already.

"Well....Fuck." He sighed.

~~

Both of you had tried the door for twenty minutes before William picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear, dialling quickly and hearing the thing ring a few times before a familiar voice answered him in it's usual cheery tone.

"'Yello?"

"Henry! Thank fuck, me and -"

"William, what have we said about swearing on property?" Henry chuckled as he stood in the end of the employee hallway, listening to the phone call and making sure to keep quiet enough so that William wouldn't suspect where he was, glancing out into the dining room.

"Faz-fuck that, you stupid bonnie-bitch! Me and," he said your name in the angriest tone you had ever heard on him, and even though you knew it wasn't directed at you, it made your stomach turn and body shake with anxiety at what was about to happen. "are trapped in my office, the door's stuck! Come fucking help us, or I swear to god Emily, I will force you into one of the working animatronics."

Henry couldn't help but grin at William's threats, knowing that he was really pissed if he was calling him by his last name, but Henry also knew that nothing was really meant by it. Looking out into the hall, he could see everything was running smoothly and that the staff were handling it all well despite being one down for the day.

"I'll be right there Afton, I'm just sorting something out and I'll be there in a moment." Feigning concern as he hung up on the larger man, straightening his tie and clipping his phone to his belt, turning it off so it wouldn't ring again as he headed back out into the diner, greeting parents and kids with vigour as he went.

William slammed the phone down and groaned, taking his glasses off and rubbing his face with his hands, elbows on his desk as you tried not to panic at the idea of being trapped in such a small space for potnetially the rest of the day. Your leg bouncing and heel tapping the floor as you brought your fingers to your mouth, ready to bite at your nails as you avoided looking at the handsome man opposite you. Seeing him with his hair messed up made you want to run your fingers through it and return it to normal for him, but you knew he was a married man and that you couldn't do such a thing to him.

"Good job we have a bathroom and a mini-fridge in here." He laughed, somewhat bitterly as he knew Henry would find some distraction that meant he wasn't going to be there as soon as they both wanted.

You felt your eyes prickling again, and your hands trembled as you realised that you were stuck. Sniffling lightly and trying to hide your concern and fear from William as you sat in the uncomfortable chair opposite him. The large man noticed however and he looked up, frowning as he heard the sound and feeling his heart melting as he noticed you trying not to cry infront of him. Standing up, he made his way around his desk and crouched infront of you, wincing slightly as his knees popped lightly at the movement but turning your chair so that you could see him and he could see your bowed head properly.

"Hey hey! Sweetheart, bunny, why are you crying? Is being in the same room as me for a while really that awful?" He teased slightly, trying to get you to smile, you choked out a laugh as you wiped at your eyes, trying to get them to stop watering.

"N-No, it's your terrible sense of humour I'm worried about." You giggled, trying to be funny and seeing William chuckle at your attempt. He looked strange without his glasses, but decidedly still very handsome as he grinned up at you before pretending to be hurt, placing his hand over his heart and making a shocked mock expression.

"Well, I promise not to ask for your ID whilst we're together if that makes you feel better?" Making you laugh more and nod, he felt his heart hammering as he realised how vulnerable you looked, how fragile and breakable compared to himself and it made him ache to comfort you even more.

"Can I touch you sweetheart?" He asked, hands hovering as he waited before you nodded slowly, wondering what he was going to do. Carefully, he placed his hands on your ribs under your arms, picking you up as he stood and your arms instinctually wrapping around his neck, legs hanging over his hips as he carried you. It was only a few paces to the couch in the corner, but those moments together set your heart into overtime and you couldn't help but get a smell of his cologne. Something earthy and spicy, and the faint scent of motor oil and sweat like it was engrained into his skin.

Almost whimpering as he had placed you down on the couch, grabbing the blanket from off of the back of the couch and wrapping it around your shoulders gently. Wandering off and dragging over an old TV on a wheeled stand, placing a tape into the VCR player and wandering off again, bringing back two sodas as the screen flickered to life and quietly began playing a cartoon of Freddy and friends, happy bouncy music clearly made for kids in the background.

Sitting besides you, Afton offered you a soda and helped crack it open for you, making you mumble thanks as you sipped at it, the high sugar soothing your nerves although it didn't stop your mind thinking about how his large hands hand felt against you.

"I figured we might as well watch something whilst we wait, things like this used to help me when I had panic attacks." He explained in a low soft voice, making you look up at him curiously, not sure you could see the giant man who was always so refined and poised with most people having panic attacks. But he grabbed the pillow and laid it across his lap, avoiding your eyes as you swore you saw a little blush on his cheeks in the flickering colourful lights. "You can lay down if you want, you can still say no, I'm not acting as your boss at the moment." Giving you a reassuring smile before he turned back to the screen.

Both of you playing the waiting game and thinking of the other without a word more between you.

~~

Henry finally managed to pry the door open, the pizzeria finally closed down and allowing him to escape back to the offices. The noise startling William awake slightly, although the weight on his lap made sure he didn't move too much. Henry grinned widely as he saw the scene before him, your head on Afton's lap and William's fingers tangled into your hair as if he had fallen asleep soothing you. He couldn't remember when he'd started it, or even when you had fallen asleep, but groggily he looked up and spotted Henry looking at the pair of you, grinning like a fool as William tried to quickly and efficiently extract himself from you without disturbing your peaceful sleep.

"So, I think you've certainly become more people oriented recently William." Henry teased as the man grabbed his glasses and rubbed at his face, hair messy and eyes still puffy with sleep.

"Shut the fuck up Henry, one word of this and I'll end you." He hissed, making Henry throw up his hands in mock surrender. Still grinning madly as William turned to look at you again, hoping that Henry didn't see the soft smile that crossed his face before he padded over to wake you up and let Henry take you home.

He didn't trust himself not to do something stupid if he was left alone with you. Something stupid like develop feelings.

[mentha-vacciniumrainbow]

Zestmilla tickle fights with the girls?

Nice idea, can do! (Hope you enjoy, is a silly little thing 💜)

《Clara, no 》 warned Carmilla, but it was all useless, as her daughter got ready to pounce on her

《Clara yes! 》 The kid screamed, jumping from the top of the wardrobe and onto her mother, her little hands busy tickling her 《I got you! Mum is my prisoner now! 》

《Stop it! I'm serious! 》 scolded Carmilla between laughters, carefull to move herself so that both her and her daughter would hit a soft surface when they would inevitably fall 《No TV the whole weekend! No spicy chips! No... No skateboarding! 》

《Worth it! 》 giggled the child, well aware that none of those threats would be followed by action. Her mum liked to act as she didn't enjoy their surprise attacks, but truth was, she could always see them coming from a mile away and never did anything to stop them from happening

《Stop! 》 She ordered again, as they fell on the bed and her dearest friend entered the room, alerted by the noise but not particularly panicked

《Zestial, a little help, please! 》 She pleaded, but Zestial, her oldest friend, the almost father of her daughters, her lighthouse in the storm, simply watched her with a knowing smirk, as he made his way towards them

《Thou doth not seem to particularly mind, mine dear 》 he noted, simply standing as her hyperactive child had the time of her life tickling her and undoing her neat updo.

So, apparently that was how he wanted to play, this time

《Traitor 》

《At least thou art getting cuddles 》 he comforted, and Clara stopped her assault to look at him dead in the eyes, a fanged smile brightening her round little face even more

《Don't worry jefe*, we won't make you feel left out》

《We? 》 asked Zestial, starting to look around the room, but it was already too late

《SURPRISE ATTACK 》

《Odette! 》

The child threw herself from the chandelier, successfully managing to knock Zestial to the ground and climb on him to deliver her own ticklish assault

《I'm speed, I'm stealth, I'm grace, I'M THE INVISIBLE TICKLER! 》

《I see thee perfectly, little lambkin 》 he laughed, still a bit out of breath, as he tried to rise, but his daughter was of a different opinion, and climbed on his chest as she pulled a long feather out of her sleeve

《Not for long! Feather attack! 》

《No! Not the feather, my only weakness 》 he played along 《show some mercy, I beg thee! 》

《No! Clara, I need help, dad is too tall to tickle alone! 》

《Reinforces are coming! 》

Assured the other, climbing off of her mother and joining her twin in her endeavour.

As his two beloved little menaces went wild on him and his poor clothes, Zestial noticed his dearest swiftly recomposing herself and preparing to slither out of the room

《Carmilla, mine dear... 》

He tried in his meekest voice, but this time it was her turn to smirk as she watched from above

《Na-ah. You were ready to leave me to my destiny, I'm leaving you to yours. Good luck, dear friend! 》

With a satisfied smile, she made her escape and closed the door behind her.

"Oh well, I deserved it." He thought "Yet, I shall nonetheless have my own ticklish revenge on mine loveliest lady... after our little ones are settled for the night, without a doubt."

*"Jefe" is the Spanish word for "boss", but is also affectionately/respectfully used for one's parents. I have a whole headcanon around it -used in my main fanfiction "You bring back my Springtime"-, but long story short, it's Clara's way of indirectly recognising Zestial as her dad, where Odette is more explicit.

[catiuskaa]

Floral Troubles: Tales of love.

It’s been hard dealing with your recent love life with how busy the flower shop has been since the wedding season started, over two weeks ago. It was just you, the ribbons and greenery, until he hugged you from behind, left 20 bucks on the table and in an affectionate tone, asked: “How do I say I love you in flower?”

and because of all the support you showed, yes, my loves, flower Binnie is back for more >:)

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reblogs and the votes! I never expected 'Yeah, flowers follow' to blow up like it did, and I'm really happy that you guys read it and enjoyed it as much as I did when writing it!

This can be read as a stand-alone, although I hope you guy's like this one as much as its 'first part', which I'll link here.

basically bc I mentioned to @tangerminie that there was a possibility that I'd do a part two (just bc she reblogged and said "Changbin, you can just go fetch more flowers", and she was right, Changbin's not the idiot, I am, LOL) and well, I committed 💪

word count: 4k. [☆☆❁☆☆]

It was after lunchtime when the bell rang inside the shop again, making you groan slightly towards yourself. Your feet hurt from standing up, knowing that your mother needed the only stool available —because God forbid she lets you take a chair from your apartment, which was just upstairs—.

You wished for hours to pass faster or for better shoes.

"One second, please!" You let out, quickly wiping your mouth with your sleeve just in case, wrapping up the white roses you needed for a booking made two weeks ago. Busy designing and planning the different flower arrangements with a soon-to-be bride, you had little to no free time, days passing by inside the little flower workshop behind the beaded curtains. And, sadly for your poor heart, that also had meant less time for a special someone, who was also busy composing, rapping, and most importantly, looking handsome for his fans.

Rushing to the counter, you bowed and smiled, eyes closing and dimples showing, hoping your encounter didn't involve one of those mean customers that think the Sun spins around them.

"Sorry, what can I-?"

"Hey, pretty."

You opened your eyes at max speed, seeing him giggle, his captivating almond-shaped eyes welcoming you with energy and enthusiasm. His hand travelled closer to your face, tucking some rebel hairs that had gotten out of the messy bun you had.

Looking around, you smiled widely at the empty sight, the different flowers and plants being the only witness of how you skipped on top of the counter, pulling the so-called "dark idol" into your embrace.

"Binnie," you mentioned, barely in a whisper, your tensed body quickly sinking on him, the light scent of cologne surrounding you feeling like a breath of fresh air.

You cupped his face between your hands, thumbs stroking the rapper's cheeks.

"You saw my text, right? I'm sorry... I know you only get this week off before not having much free time. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to our date, and I know being sorry doesn't really make up for it, but-"

He gave you a small peck, interrupting you.

"It does, silly. I know you have stuff to do, don't sweat," he smiled, and you snuggled closer to him. "You know I love this, but if your mom sees you on top of the counter, she'll kill me."

"I'll be your knight in shining armour, my prince. Thou shan't be afraid no more," you mentioned in a solemn yet somewhat mocking tone. Changbin chuckled loudly.

"I missed you, flower girl."

You got down from the counter, blushing.

"I missed you too, world star." You blew a kiss at him. "Stay with me?"

He nodded, staring intensely into your eyes, which made you smile. "So? You stormed in here just to flirt with the store's employees?" You covered your mouth with one hand, acting deeply offended. "You know, my manager will hear about this."

He played your game, turning upset in the blink of an eye. "How dare you? I just came here looking for yellow pansies."

You tried keeping up the act but couldn't hold back a smile, the idea that he had memorized parts of the book you gave him being funny in your head, blush still on your face. You took only one flower from its place and handed it to him in a huff.

"It means 'thinking of you.'" he nodded, proudly remembering the flower's meaning.

"Oh. Who's that for?" You asked, giving him a playful side-eye.

His smile lightened the colourful space. "You, of course."

"Ugh, I'm going to get diabetes. Hi, sweetie." Your mom entered with a cheeky smile, greeting the buff man only, making Changbin and you snort, still giving each other puckish looks.

"Hello, ma'am."

"Ah, you make me feel old! Just call me Deiji."

You quickly put the flower back in place and opened the small door to let Changbin access behind the counter.

"You can give the boy the stool I was using. I'll go upstairs and rest for a bit. It's time for my TV drama," your mom explained, ignoring how your eyebrows shot up, leaving the room with a big smile.

You waited until you heard steps above your heads, Seo looking at you with an amused expression. "She's been saying all day that the stool was hers until the day that she'd die. Unbelievable!"

"She loves me more," he teased, spinning side to side on the seat like a small child.

You laughed. "That's because you're adopted. She stole you from Chan Hyung."

The jokes continued, a funny atmosphere settling in the flower-crowded building, mixing with the low-toned music you played in the background.

"Hey, sweetie, come in here," your mom told Changbin, appearing through the curtains from the workshop. "We don't want people coming in here for the visuals rather than for the flowers," she joked half-heartedly, with the only intention of taking care of the idol, allowing him to rest without worrying about any gossip that could be spread.

He cackled, thanking the woman, quickly taking the stool and stepping inside the workshop. As he entered, he was immediately greeted by an atmosphere of creative energy and controlled chaos. Unlike the pristine and organized front area, the workshop was a less spacious room filled with several metal tables, each displaying an array of tools, materials, and unfinished floral designs. Vases, containers, and plastic baskets were scattered across the surfaces, some filled with water, others holding half-arranged bouquets.

The floor surrounding the workbench, situated in the centre of the room, was covered with scraps of greenery, petals, and snippets of ribbon, evidence of the ongoing creative process. The surface above was also cluttered with tools of the trade. Pairs of floral shears, wire cutters, and various types of scissors Changbin wouldn't know how to differentiate, each worn and marked from countless uses.

He took a deep breath, the air perfumed with a fragrant scent of blooms, mingling with the earthy aroma of greenery and the faint hint of floral foam that, funnily enough, resembled yours perfectly.

It was just like you, he thought, the workshop possessing a vibrant energy and a sense of untamed, natural beauty, both characterized by their creative essence and a certain level of organized mess.

He loved it.

The bell above the main door rang again, and he couldn't help to stare back at you through the beaded curtains.

Maybe it was only to him, but your presence exuded an aura of sincerity and radiance that was impossible to ignore. He had only seen that kind of beauty in movies, the ones he saw to get inspiration for his lyrics. With an ethereal glow surrounding you, to Changbin, you were like a magnetic charm that drew people in —the people being him—.

He had never been so into someone before. There had been flings here and there, but none of those had reached this level of intensity. His eyes didn't leave your figure, his heartbeat echoing in his ears as he saw you greet some clients.

Your lips, delicately curved and inviting, held a gentle smile to the people you were paying attention to. They were adorned with a subtle touch of colour. The sudden need to peck them, imagining the cute face you'd make afterwards, became more intense.

He admired your confident yet effortless stance as you moved through the store, looking for the bouquet the client had asked for.

"Oh!"

Changbin snapped out of his daydreaming, facing Deiji.

"So you're serious about her," she concluded with a sly smile.

Seo found himself unable to hold back a goofy smile as he scratched the back of his neck. She giggled, the smile on her features making her look younger.

"Come, sweetie." She invited Changbin upstairs, grinning happily. "I can't let my future son-in-law get cold in the workshop!"

As he ascended a small flight of stairs, he was greeted by a quaint entryway leading to the apartment's main living area. The open floor plan created a sense of spaciousness, allowing the living room, dining area, and kitchen to seamlessly blend together.

Above the bustling flower shop, the small apartment had a cosy and charming ambience that invited anyone to sit and relax. Despite its modest size, it was easy to see your touch in the small decorations that crowded the building.

"It's quite messy, but let's pretend otherwise," your mother said, dismissing it with a flick of the wrist. Changbin laughed, feeling at home.

His eyes locked with another staircase, even smaller, that had books and pots on the side that wasn't facing the wall.

"Her room is in the attic, if you want to wait there," Deiji mentioned slyly.

He had to hold back his curiosity, fidgeting with his rings.

"Can I?" Seo questioned sheepishly.

"Of course! I'll get her there soon, don't you worry!"

She softly rushed the buff man upstairs. Changbin couldn’t help but smile, seeing a wooden sign with several flowers painted. It was so obvious it was your room, you could feel it, and the sentiment intensified once he entered.

With its sloping ceilings and exposed wooden beams, it had a rustic charm that added character and warmth. Soft, natural light came through a dormer window, casting a gentle glow upon the space, which made the furniture inside seem magical.

Against one wall, a somewhat messy, wooden, old-looking piano took centre stage, its unpolished surface and stickers adding to the atmosphere the soft glow of fairy lights delicately draped around it created. The instrument served as a focal point of the room, where it was noticeable you spent hours, judging by how used it looked and how several music sheets filled with compositions adorned a nearby music stand and walls.

The attic's nooks and crannies were transformed into storage areas for various instruments and books. A violin rested upon a stand, ready to be played. An acoustic guitar leaned against a wall, waiting for the touch of skilled fingers. A collection of books, whether flower-related or not, were carefully arranged on a vintage bookshelf, adding a touch of your own personality to it. Close to it, there was a small desk that stood by the window, offering a dedicated space for writing and composing music, in between the range of options. It was adorned with notebooks filled with scribbled lyrics, a laptop for digital composition, and a collection of pens and pencils.

Changbin couldn’t help but lie on the bed as soon as he saw it, looking at the walls of the attic, which were adorned with posters of iconic musicians and whatnot, reflecting your appreciation for the art form. He was excited to see known artists on the walls, happy that you two had common interests. Strings of fairy lights were delicately strung across the ceiling, casting a warm and magical ambience, reminiscent of an intimate concert venue. He hoped one day you’d play something for him, or that you two could play together.

With your flowery scent surrounding him, feeling like he had reached a feeling beyond contentment, Changbin realised how tired he felt all of a sudden, and slowly drifted to sleep.

[☆☆❁☆☆]

You hummed along with the music that kept playing, sketching possible designs for the wedding centrepieces the bride had asked for. Your mother came from upstairs and tsked when she noticed you yawning, quickly turning off the CD player.

"You young people need to sleep more. Go up to your room, I can finish these myself."

"But Mom, it's barely 8 pm, I can just-"

"Fiddlesticks. You'll fall asleep as soon as you touch your bed. Unnegotiable."

You groaned as you stood up, leaving the metal stool for Deiji. You stretched your back, your muscles sore.

"Hey, did you see Changbin leave?" you mentioned, trying to hide a childish sadness in your tone.

You didn't see your mother grin for a second, then quickly put on her round glasses, continuing your design.

"No, I didn't."

You pouted. You knew it was a bit selfish from your side. You understood that he wasn’t going to waste his free week wandering in a flower shop, but there was a small part of your mind that secretly hoped that he'd stay with you until you finished. Your mom cooed, looking at you from above her glasses.

"Moooommm," you whined teasingly. "Gimme a break."

"Whatever. You teenagers live in your own dreams." She mocked, and you couldn't help but chuckle.

"You sound much older when you talk like that."

She laughed. "Just remember, I'll leave in a few hours for the flower convention with Yeongsuk. I'll come back in two days."

"Is she coming to pick you up or do you need me awake?" You inquired, taking your brown apron and hanging it on the wall closest to the stairs.

"Good night, kid."

You snickered, going upstairs slowly. You quickly took your phone and went into your messages. You pouted again, seeing that he hadn't even left a text. Tapping into his contact, you started writing an apology.

'world star ✿ฺ' hey, 'm sorry about today. I'll make it up to you.

But just when you pressed send, you were surprised to hear a notification sound coming from behind your room, the door left ajar.

You stepped in cautiously, your heart skipping a beat when you saw him snoring lowly on your bed. Your insides churned, smiling cutely. You tsked to yourself, knowing that your mom was the one behind this.

You changed into your pyjamas in the bathroom, laughing silently at the sight of the tough-looking man still sleeping cutely when you came back. You took an oversized T-shirt and some sweatpants that were too big for you, but you hadn't had the opportunity to return them yet. You approached him carefully.

"Binne?" You shook him softly.

He slowly opened his eyes.

"Wh-what?"

"You fell asleep, silly. Here, take this. You can get changed in the bathroom downstairs. It's the first door closest to the stairs."

You giggled at the marks that he had gotten from the blankets.

He came back, and you laughed at the sight of him with your clothes on. How could someone look so cute?

"Shouldn't we tell Deiji I'm staying the night?" he asked softly, getting back inside the bed, under the covers.

You snuggled closer to him, taking his arm and settling it on your waist.

"Nah. She'll leave in like two hours, anyway."

You both got lost in each other's eyes.

"You smell nice," you said, fighting to stay awake.

He couldn't help but move his hand towards the blanket, covering you a bit more.

"And you are really pretty when you're half asleep."

"Hey, you're also half asleep." You blabbered, almost unintelligible. You poked the tip of his nose. "Cute," you laughed before falling asleep. He nuzzled in your neck, hearing your calm breathing as a lullaby.

[☆☆❁☆☆]

Changbin woke up, his legs tangled with yours, still close to him, between his arms. Your breathing, calm and rhythmic, also made him relax, enjoying the sight of your body surrendering to the embrace of slumber. Soft moonlight still filtered on the room, casting a gentle glow through the windows, fighting against the Sun, which was starting to wake up too.

He smiled when he notices you do the same, a faint smile lingering at the corner of your lips.

Your room, illuminated by the soft moonbeams, looked different to him. The posters of musicians on the walls seemed to come alive in the pale light, as if whispering melodies that guided your dreams. He wondered what you were dreaming when your embrace around him tightened. He kissed your forehead, brushing stray hairs from your face, which slowly woke you up.

"Hey, pretty."

Instead of answering, you giggled, quickly getting on top of him, your legs resting on his sides, your nose brushing against his.

"Hi there, world star." You lie down, getting comfortable still on top of him. His hands travelled to your hips, caressing them, trailing shapes with the tip of his fingers.

"What time is it?" you whispered, your breath tickling his neck.

He took the first phone he could from the nightstand, trying with only one hand, refusing to let you move from on top of him.

"It's too early."

You giggled. "But what time?"

"Me time."

"Wha-? AH-"

His grip on you tightened, and he pinned you down this time, planting soft kisses all over your face. You laughed uncontrollably, one, because he's a loveable dork, and two, because it tickled, but you weren't going to say in case he'd use it against you.

"You're built like a brick!" You cackled, unable to push him off you.

"You love my strong arms, don't lie." He joked, flexing. Seo relaxed, trying not to crush you with his weight.

"I'm hungry, lung crusher."

"That's my line, you savage stealer."

"Get off and I'll make you coffee."

You both went downstairs, filling the place with giggles and light jokes.

"Hey, I'm actually sorry for yesterday. We only slept, and you could've done something better with the boys after getting the week off."

His voice was soft, words rolling off his tongue. “I prefer to be with you, the others can wait,” he said, eyes locked on yours. He wasn't going to say that he didn't care about sleeping with you —and by that he meant actual sleeping— because he loved waking up by your side, hiding his reason behind a lovestruck smile.

Suddenly, your head was spinning, at a loss for words. You couldn't quite place what was happening to you, why you were suddenly so reactive to every detail. It was a weird feeling that tickled in your chest, but you let yourself fall into it, the feeling of being loved and loving so new and daring that you couldn't get enough of it.

He sat on the stools as you took a mug for him, pouring 99% milk before microwaving it, then adding 1% coffee.

"As dark as your soul, mister."

"Very funny," he didn't laugh, not until he dunked the tip of his fingers into his drink, noticing that it was only lukewarm before splashing it on you with a flick.

He just stared at you with the same goofy smile that was on your face, while you cut some strawberries into smaller pieces, putting them into a yoghurt. He swallowed dry when he noticed you biting your lip in a sign of concentration.

"Whaddya looking at?" You said, in a somewhat sing-song voice. He just smiled, and you snickered, seeing him poking his cheek with his tongue. "Cat got your tongue?"

He laughed. "Just looking at you, hot stuff."

Your eyes opened wide, failing to hide a blush on your features that made Changbin cackle.

"Shut up, meanie," you snorted, watching him stand up, moving until he was behind you, pulling you into a back hug.

"I mean it."

You stared at him from above your shoulder, looking up and down.

"You're not too bad yourself."

[☆☆❁☆☆]

It was practically 6am after you both finished the impromptu make-out session. He stared at your lips, red and swollen.

"Don't smile like that, you cheeky bitch. Yours look exactly the same." You hit him softly on his chest, snorting, tenderly pecking him. “I need to do some arrangements, come with me? I’ll take you somewhere nice when the rest of the world is awake.”

He chuckled, letting you guide him, loving how your small hand fitted in his, fingers linking almost automatically. He took the stool as you combined the different types of greenery, playing some music on your phone.

He was going through his after noticing he had several texts from Chan, wondering if he should reply now, knowing how damn early it could be for someone who slept so little but decided to text anyways.

'red angry bird' not kidnapped yet, dw

Your heart did fuzzy things inside you, looking above your shoulder to the man behind you, spinning on the stool with his tiptoes, his messy bed hair and how your clothes looked on him making you soft.

You looked at your phone, noticing the next song on the queue and you smiled, turning around to approach him. He’s still on his phone.

“Hey, world star.” You kissed his forehead to get his attention. He freezes, his heart fluttering. “I think you know this one.”

He looked at you, losing himself in your features until he heard you singing. It was 'because', the song he sang with Felix, and you were just singing his part cause Lix’s voice was too deep for you to reach. He slowly joined your singing. Your voice, like a delicate yet powerful instrument, effortlessly blended with his, intertwining together in a melody that reverberated through the walls of the colourful flower shop. With each lyric, your voice carried the story he wrote, and he couldn't describe the feeling of happiness he achieved, knowing that you liked it too.

You kept working and singing, not noticing how he left the room. he came back with his black leather jacket in his hand, tenderly putting it on your shoulders. He took his wallet from the jacket's pocket, grabbing 20 bucks from the inside.

"Binnie, what-?"

He settled it on the table in front of you, and also carefully settled the book you gave him.

You stared at the title, "the language of flowers", curious.

His hand hugged you from behind, leaning down right next to your ear, and in an affectionate tone, he asked.

"How can I say I love you in flower?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You turned around to face him, seeing that he was hiding his other hand.

He showed you a small red chrysanthemum.

Due to the lack of an answer, his face turned worried.

"Please tell me I got it right."

You kissed him, giggling.

"I love you too, world star."

[☆☆❁☆☆]

~Kats, who now has high levels of sugar in her blood because of how fluff this was and has also lost her Duolingo strike bc she got distracted writing lol

[daydreamtofiction]

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 6: Credence

Contents | Part 5 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) Things come to a head as you return to the church for your niece's baptism.

Word Count: 8K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, sexual references & scenes of a sexual nature, infidelity, religious imagery & practices, refuge mentioned in this chapter is fictional. Readers must be 18+

A/N: I am so sorry for the long wait between updates. I'm sincerely hoping it'll never happen again. Anyway, if you enjoy this chapter, I would really love to hear from you. It's always so lovely and motivating to hear what people think/what parts they liked etc. Thank you all so much.

The bus turned sharply and came to an abrupt stop, sending you stumbling down the narrow aisle, the contents of the cardboard box in your hands spilling onto the floor. Passengers watched as you crouched down to scoop everything up, reaching around legs and peering under seats as people stepped over you to get off at their stop.

You staggered back to your feet, blowing a tuft of hair out of your face as the bus began to move again. You gripped the handrail and hugged the box closer to your chest, the journey to the next stop agonisingly quiet, besides the awkward clunking of a shampoo bottle rolling back and forth with every turn. You'd have to remember to pick that up.

The walk from your stop to the church was short, but not short enough to avoid the rain turning your box to mush, the soft, soggy cardboard beginning to come apart in your hands. It was a fine rain; so weightless it never actually seemed to reach the ground, instead it filled the air with a cold mist, clinging to everything.

There was a hall attached to the church; a large, open space with chevron wood flooring, dated patterned curtains and exposed beams in the ceiling. It reminded you of a primary school assembly hall; the bleak colours, scuffed floors, walls covered in bulletin boards and chairs stacked in corners. 

The place was heaving with people, voices melding into one steady, dense hum. There were tables lining the outer edges of the room, each one taking donations of everything from clothes and food to toys and books. You spotted June selling raffle tickets near the back, Father Benedict swapping pleasantries with people as he made his way around the room. 

You loved him in the black shirt and trousers, the flash of white at the base of his throat. It was the way he rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, rested his hands on his slender hips, curls falling over his brow as he looked down at people with a smile, earnest eye contact. You allowed yourself a moment to glance at him from across the busy hall; admiring his height, his build, the soft skin of his neck, the way his face moved as he talked. 

You waded through the sea of people, making your way over to a table labelled 'Carla's House Women's Refuge'. The lady working the table smiled at you as you approached, the curve of her lips slowly fading when she saw the disintegrated box in your hands. 

"It's raining," you said simply. 

"Ah," she replied. 

You tipped everything out, covering the table in an array of toiletries, makeup, hair products and tampons. So many tampons you could have built a fort with all the boxes. Her eyes widened as she stared down at them, lips parting slightly in an expression you couldn't quite decipher. 

"There would've been more," you said. "But I'm pretty sure I lost a couple of packs under a seat on the 57 bus." 

She looked back up at you in confusion, before shaking her head and breathing out a laugh. "This is- This is great," she said. "Did you do a collection or something?" 

"My workplace provides them for free in the toilets. Our receptionist accidentally put an extra zero on the order form last month. So instead of thirty boxes, we got three hundred."

She laughed again, shaking her head in awe. "Well, I don't really know what to say. Thank you. This will make such a difference." 

"No problem."

"God bless you." 

You stopped midway through turning away from her, as though up until that moment you'd forgotten where you were. "Mhm." You cleared your throat, nodding as you glanced back at her. "And you."

You couldn't understand why you were still so unable to say it back. It should have been easy by now; you'd even practiced alone, saying the words out loud until they rolled off your tongue. God bless you too. But whenever it was time to put them into practice, it was as if they became lodged in your throat.

You wandered back into the crowd, taking your phone out to check the time. The inside of your pocket was damp from the rain and you swore under your breath as you wiped away the speckles of water from the screen. 

You looked up to see Father Benedict a few feet ahead of you, feeling your cheeks warm as your eyes met. You hadn't been back since Sunday Mass, your last encounter with him still etched into your mind; his thumb pressing a wafer onto your extended tongue, his stern gaze as you knelt at his feet. 

You didn't want to be embarrassed. You wished you had the nerve to hold his gaze, to smile, to walk up to him and say something that made him blush. But you were embarrassed; stomach twisting, shoulders falling in on themselves whenever you thought about it. So instead you stared down at your phone, scrolling aimlessly in an attempt to appear busy as you weaved through the crowd to avoid him.

"Ellis...?" 

You turned around to see him hurrying to catch up to you, calling out to you timorously through the bustle. 

"I wondered if I could speak with you a moment?" he asked.

You swallowed, slipping your phone back into your pocket with a timid nod. 

He gestured for you to follow him, placing a hand gently on your arm to guide you out of the hall into the fresh, damp air. It was raining properly now; the fine mist heavier, spitting and bouncing against the earth. You squinted up at the sky, at the sun fighting to break through a thick blanket of grey. There's going to be a rainbow, you thought. 

"I wanted to apologise," said Father Benedict, softly clearing his throat. 

You turned your attention to him, eyes still narrowed but for an entirely different reason. You were expecting to be told off, like a naughty child whose parents waited until you were alone to chastise you. But his voice was tender, polite, almost nervous. 

He shifted his weight from side to side, running a hand through his hair. "I feel I might have been... harsh with you."

You sucked in your bottom lip, chewing on it as you listened.

"Being new to a parish is lonely, and it's not often I meet people who see me as a person first and a priest second." He paused. "I felt the lines becoming blurred and needed to set a boundary before they vanished completely. But clearly I went about it in the wrong way, and in doing so I think I... offended you." 

There was a long silence, his eyes fixed on you like he was waiting for a response. But you didn't know what to say. Mostly because you didn't understand. It was as if he hadn't eluded to the idea that there could be something more between you, like he hadn't preached of temptation and sin to a church full of people while deliberately avoiding your gaze. 

"Is that fair to say?" he prompted. 

"What makes you think I was offended?" 

He gave a breathy laugh, pressing his tongue to his top teeth. "Because one minute I'm telling you there are certain vows I'm unwilling to break, and the next you're on your knees in front of me taking a communion you're not eligible to receive..." 

And there it was. He finally mentioned it. You felt another rush of heat to your cheeks, the warmth mirroring deep in your stomach; shame and arousal all at once. 

"I deserved it," he said, before darkening his gaze and lowering his voice. "But I won't let you pull a stunt like that in my church again. Understand?" 

The heat disappeared; a chill rolling down your spine, bones hardening like ice, turning you rigid as you stared up at him in disbelief. 

"That's not much of an apology, Father," you said, your tone so direct it almost didn't sound like it was coming from you.

The corner of his mouth twitched with the slightest smile, and while it seemed like one of amusement, it could have been irritation. You were never quite sure.

"I'm sorry," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "You came here seeking a relationship with God and all I've done is keep you to myself."

Heat now. Pure heat. And questions. Like what did he mean by keep you? Keep you like some kind of crutch? A thing to lean on when loneliness threatened to knock him off kilter? Or was there another reason he found himself standing between you and God? Perhaps a fear of losing you to him altogether. 

"What if I'm okay with that?" you asked. 

There was another smile, a bow of his head as he took a step back. "Then it's a good job you're not the priest in this scenario," he said quietly, continuing to walk backwards away from you. 

You remained under the small shelter, rain pattering against the roof, murky water gushing from the drainpipe beside you. You glanced up at the sky - still no rainbow - then back over at him, watching as he pulled open the doors to the hall. 

"I'd make a terrible priest," you called out to him before he disappeared inside.

"Oh, the worst," he replied teasingly, a half-smile carving a deep line in his cheek. 

You understood what Mara meant when she said she felt overdressed for church. Though slutty was maybe a bridge too far. 

You'd bought a dress especially, forgoing your phone bill for another month just to pay for it. It nipped in at your waist, falling just past your knees, the straps thin and tight on your shoulders, making it near impossible for you to raise your arms above your head. 

And it was yellow. Sunshine, buttercup, lemon meringue yellow.

You'd reconciled with the colour. Conceding when Mara told you it was perfect, sunny, just like Soleil. You were even starting to like the way you looked in it, turning to examine yourself in the bedroom mirror with a reluctant smile. That was until Alfie walked into the room. 

"You look like Laa-Laa from the Teletubbies," he said casually, folding his shirt collar over his tie. 

"Oh. Nice, thanks," you replied, curling your lip at your reflection. 

He laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Is that not what you were going for?" 

"Obviously not." 

His eyes scanned you, watching you stare at yourself, fingers fiddling with every crease of material, sucking in deep breaths to flatten your stomach.

"You seem nervous," he said. 

"I am." 

"Why? It's just a christening. You sit there, listen to the priest drone on for a bit, watch the baby get waterboarded and it's over."

You imagined turning to him, looking him dead in the eye and telling him the truth; that you weren't nervous because of the ceremony, weren't concerned to pose for photographs or spend the day making small talk with family and your sister's friends. You were nervous because you were going to see him. But you didn't. Instead you gave a reserved laugh, smoothing your hands over the bodice of your dress.

"Good excuse to get pissed though," he added. 

"Mm," you mumbled. 

There was a knock, followed by the door creaking open and Gina poking her head into the room, all red lips and white teeth, expensive earrings dangling as she turned to you. 

"Sorry," she said. "I've just called the taxi. It should be here in a few minutes." 

"Okay, be down in a second," you replied. 

"Fab." She paused, taking a moment to look you up and down. "You look gorgeous. Like Belle from Beauty and the Beast." 

You glanced over your shoulder at Alfie. "See how easy it was to not compare me to a big, creepy alien?" 

"I don't think Teletubbies are aliens," he replied, entirely missing the point. "Are they?" 

The sun was shining for the first time in days. But the breeze was still cold, raising goosebumps on your bare arms as you walked along the path through the church gardens. The grass was speckled with daisies, clusters of bluebells and wilting daffodils; a reminder that spring had still persevered, flowers managing to bloom despite stormy skies. 

When you walked inside, you found yourself hesitating for a moment, slowing to a stop in the middle of the foyer as if the soles of your shoes had stuck to the old, dusty pink carpet. Alfie and Gina didn't notice you'd fallen behind, the pair of them disappearing through the doors of the chapel without looking back. You were glad for it; grateful to have a moment alone, to breathe slowly and smooth your hands over your dress one last time without their eyes on you. 

Mara was stood near the front of the chapel with the baby in her arms, greeting people with a smile that - even from a distance - you could tell was nothing more than a mask. You knew because you did it too; the 'stressy smile', your mother would call it, like someone had taken pins and stuck the corners of your mouth in place.

You watched as Gina strolled down the aisle, opening her arms and leaning forward to hug your mother sat in the pews. Alfie had slowed his pace, allowing you to catch up to him and reaching out his hand, fingers locking between yours. 

Over the course of your relationship, it had become automatic for him to take your hand before plunging into a sea of people; adhering himself to you like a life jacket to stop you drowning in the chaos. It was something you liked about him, how he always kept you afloat even when all you wanted to do was sink. 

But this was your sea. And here, his hand was a heavy, burdensome cinder block. 

Mara glanced over at you and you met her gaze with your own 'stressy smile'. But your lips slowly began coming together again when you noticed the tall figure standing behind her. He was talking to your grandmother, dressed in his white alb, a purple and gold stole draped around his neck. His hands were clasped in front of him, long fingers locked together the same way Alfie's were grasping yours. 

It didn't take long for him to notice you, his eyes flitting away from your grandmother and immediately falling to your hand; watching Alfie's thumb as it absentmindedly stroked the side of your finger. You tried to swallow but it was sticking, as if all the moisture had drained from your mouth and was seeping out of your palm. 

"Your hand's so sweaty," said Alfie.

"I know, sorry," you replied, pulling it away and drying it on your dress. 

Father Benedict was still looking at you, his expression so calm; soft lips and glassy eyes, void of smile lines, smooth like marble. But there was an occasional pulse in his jaw, a hairline crack in the enamel, undetectable unless you knew where to look for it. 

It seemed the sight of Alfie touching you had bothered him, and you didn't know whether to repent or to relish in it. It was as though up until now, 'the boyfriend' had been nothing more than a tale; a character made up of words and sighs and frustrated growls, a thing that remained tucked away within the stories you told. Yet now he was here, a real, tangible person existing in the very place you'd been coming to escape him. Bringing him here had breached your haven, drove the pin right into the centre of the bubble. And your priest clearly didn't like it.

"Is that him?" asked Alfie. 

"Hm?"

"The priest you've been volunteering for..." 

"Oh, yeah," you replied. "Here, let's... Let's just sit here." 

You pushed him gently towards an empty pew, forgoing greeting your family in desperation to sit down, to melt away behind the row of people in front. 

But he resisted your ushering, stopping and turning to look at you. "Don't you want to go up and say hi?" 

"No, fuck- just sit down," you hissed, more harshly than you'd intended. 

His top lip curled in a blend of confusion and indignation as he lowered himself to the wooden bench, crossing his arms like a disgruntled child.

You sat down beside him, allowing a single glance towards Father Benedict, watching his face return to a warm smile as he focused back on your grandmother. 

"He's fit," whispered Gina as she plonked herself - too close - beside you. 

"What?" you whispered back. 

She nodded towards the priest with an impish smirk. "I knew it. I said it, didn't I, I said there was a reason you were coming to church so much." 

You scoffed quietly, shaking your head. "To perv on a priest?" 

"I would." 

"I don't doubt that." 

"Is he one of those celibate ones?"

You looked at her, eyelids heavy with dour.

"Is that a yes? No? Maybe?" 

"What are you doing all the way back here?" asked Mara, approaching you hastily. 

You never thought you'd find the sound of your sister's voice a relief, but you were glad for the interruption, exhaling a long breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Come and sit up front," she demanded.

You craned your neck, peering over to the front row where your parents sat next to each other in stony silence. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen them in the same room, at least not without screaming at one another; dad's beetroot face, the bulging vein in mum's forehead. 

"I'd rather not be up there when mum and dad start throwing punches," you said.

"They're being good. I threatened them." 

You laughed softly. "It's fine, I'll stay here." 

She huffed, looking over her shoulder towards Father Benedict before leaning down to speak through gritted teeth. "Look, I need you to be Soleil's Godmother." 

"What?" 

"It was supposed to be my friend Becca but she's not fucking turned up. I knew she'd go and pull something like this." 

"Ah yeah," said Alfie. "Just what you want in a godparent. Flakiness." 

She snarled at him before turning her attention back to you. "Come on, you're Soleil's aunt-"

"And yet you didn't think to ask me in the first place..." 

"Ellis, please, you're my sister." 

"Yeah, and 90% of the time you can't stand me." 

"Oh, go on, it's sweet," said Gina, leaning in to whisper to you. "Plus, you'll be closer to your forbidden lover up there." 

"That's not funny." 

"Ellis," said Mara, staring sincerely into your eyes. "Please."

You'd never held a baby before; unsure of where to put your hands, worried you were squeezing too hard or that she might suddenly leap out of your grasp onto the hard chapel floor. You were holding her like a bag of flour, outstretched in front of you, fingers and thumbs hooked under each armpit as she dangled in your hold.

Alfie and Gina were laughing at you from the pews, watching as Mara repositioned you like a mannequin in a shop window; tapping her hand on your hip and instructing you to jut it out as she sat the baby there, taking your arms and wrapping them both around her. 

You looked down at her, all chubby cheeks and round eyes too big for her face, staring up at you curiously as though she was just as perturbed by the whole thing as you were.

"Is it your will as the parents and godparents of Soleil that she should be baptised in the faith of the Church, which we have all professed with you?" asked Father Benedict.

"It is," said Mara, Nathan and Nathan's brother Freddie. 

"It is," you muttered along with them. 

A godmother. The notion felt quite surreal, as if this child was about to be promised to you like some kind of heirloom. But surely they wouldn't really expect you to raise her if they died. Surely they wouldn't trust you with the school fundraisers and doctors appointments and birthday parties. What about sex talk? Bullies? What if she threw up and you had to clean it? 

They better not die on me, you thought, that would be such a Mara thing to do. 

"If you could all come with me," said Father Benedict. 

You handed the baby back to your sister as you followed them over to the large stone font. You could still hear Gina giggling, trying your best to ignore her - as you often seemed to do lately - letting her fade into the background like the buzzing of a fly. 

"I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." 

A shrill cry burst through the chapel, the baby wailing and wriggling as Father Benedict poured water over her head. You watched him shush her gently, giving a warm, reassuring smile to her parents. God, he was beautiful. The kind of beautiful you never really see in person; rare, ethereal, an amalgamation of softness and strength. It made sense, in a way, that someone who looked so much like a fallen angel would believe such a thing could exist at all. 

The procession finished with a hymn. You glared at Alfie and Gina as they laughed and joked through the entire song like a pair of school children. A few months ago, it probably wouldn't have bothered you, you might have even joined in. But it was as if you'd outgrown them, like your favourite pair of shoes were suddenly too tight on your feet. 

"We've organised a bit of a do in the pub next door," said Mara, addressing the entire assembly. "So if you all want to head over we'll see you there." 

The church began to empty. You hovered near the front, waiting for something, though you weren't sure what. You'd gotten so used to hanging around after a service, watching the chapel turn quiet until you were the only person left. It felt unnatural to leave with the crowd. 

"Father, we'd love it if you popped in for a drink," you heard Mara say behind you. "Priests can drink, can't they?" 

You closed your eyes at the sound of his throaty laugh, turning your head to listen. 

"That's very nice of you," he said. "But really, I better not-"

"You should come," you said cheerfully, turning to face them. 

The pulse in his jaw returned. He swallowed, preparing to decline again. 

"Just one drink," you insisted. "It's the least we can do, y'know, to thank you for getting all of this done so quickly." 

There was a buffet table against the back wall of the pub, an arch of yellow and pearly white balloons curving over it like a rainbow. A banner was draped above the bar, Soleil Cain Cassidy in elegant scripture. Her middle name was Cain, something you'd only discovered an hour ago during her baptism. It caught you off guard to hear your brother's name without the sombre tone that usually accompanied it, made you wonder if your family hadn't thought to tell you when she was first born, or if you simply hadn't paid attention. 

"Right, what do you guys want to drink?" asked Gina as she slipped out from behind your table. 

"Just a pint," Alfie replied. 

"Er, whatever you're having," you said distractedly, eyes trailing around the small pub. 

She strode off towards the bar, saying hello to members of your family who you were certain had always liked her more than you. She was vibrant, confident, good with small talk, all the things that never came naturally to you. 

"You know she's going to come back with tequila or something," Alfie joked.

"Hm? Oh, yeah probably." 

His eyes narrowed and he shuffled slightly closer to you. "Are you okay?"

Father Benedict was standing at the bar chatting with the pub landlord. You watched as Gina approached, saying something to him that made him laugh. It shouldn't have bothered you, yet you felt a heavy, dense pit forming in your stomach.

"Ellis..." 

You peeled your eyes away, shaking your head at Alfie with a smile. "I'm fine, just tired." 

"Mm, I'm not surprised, we were up late last night." 

You groaned, rolling your eyes. 

"What?" He laughed before lowering his voice. "You've been fucking like a champ lately." 

The pit in your stomach began to flood with an unsettling feeling, as though sleeping with your own boyfriend was a cause for embarrassment, guilt, shame. It was true something had been unlocked in you, a carnal desire that couldn't be sated no matter how many times you slipped into the shower with him, or took him by the hand and led him up to your room. But he was merely a device in it all; a sex toy with hot breath and a beating heart, a mouth that sought out your breasts and a cock that never quite hit the right spots. You'd discovered the ability to replace him in those intimate moments, to close your eyes as he pushed inside you and feel him morph into someone else entirely; a person whose touch you craved, who made you clamp your lips shut to stop the wrong name falling from them. 

"Can you not say things like that when my nan's at the next table?" you muttered.

Alfie chuckled and placed a hand on your thigh as Gina returned with your drinks. You noticed her gaze fall to his hand, then back up to you with a raised eyebrow. 

"Just got us a white wine each," she said, setting a glass down in front of you. "Can you believe they don't do Aperol here?" 

"It's a parish pub," you said. "I'm surprised they even had this."

Alfie took a gulp of his beer, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

"The priest's jealous," said Gina.

"What?" You furrowed your brow, looking over to see Father Benedict's eyes on you. 

He looked away almost immediately, tugging at his collar as if it was suddenly too tight around his neck. 

"Oh yeah?" Alfie smirked, letting his fingers travel further up the inside of your leg. "Shall we give him a show?"

"It's my fucking niece's christening," you snipped, pushing him away. "Stop being vulgar."

"Look, now she's trying to act all virginal because she knows he's watching," Gina teased. 

The pit was turning into a pyre, heat smouldering deep in your gut. This woman was supposed to be your best friend, yet every time she opened her mouth, it only seemed to accelerate the flame. 

"Will you stop with the fucking priest jokes?" you scolded. "Do you think it's funny to insinuate I've got something going on with another man right in front of my boyfriend?" 

Her back straightened, as though she was surprised by your hostility. 

"It's alright, she's been making jokes about the two of you for months," said Alfie calmly. "I think it's funny-"

"Yeah well I don't." 

She pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek and took a sip of her wine. "Me thinks the lady does protest a lot." 

"It's 'the lady doth protest too much, methinks'," you corrected. "Fucking hell." 

"Bitch," she muttered under her breath, before rising from her seat and snatching her bag off the table. 

"Where are you going?" asked Alfie. 

"For a cigarette," she snapped. 

You took a deep breath in through your nose, blowing it out slowly as you lifted the glass to your lips again. "I don't even like wine. We've been friends for how long, you'd think she'd know that." 

"I'm going to see if she's okay..." 

You glared at him, pausing for a moment to compose yourself. "Yeah, fine, whatever." 

The air had felt so quiet, yet now you were sitting alone, the hum inside the pub began to return. There were children running around a small clearing in the middle of the room, people queuing at the buffet, a DJ playing music. You looked back over to Father Benedict, your cheeks warming at the realisation that he'd witnessed it all.

He placed his glass on the bar and began walking away. You watched as he disappeared into the room at the back of the pub. It wasn't an invitation, but still you found yourself standing up and following him, pushing through the door that led to the room where he hosted his weekly group sessions.

He was moving the foldable chairs, dragging them into a circle, metal legs scraping against the old linoleum floor. You stood quietly, observing, until finally he glanced up at you, unsurprised to see you there. 

"Hi," he said simply. 

"Hi." 

He noticed you looking at the chairs and cleared his throat. "I er, I have a bible study session tomorrow, thought I might as well set up now since I'm here." 

You nodded, making your way over to the half-made circle and sitting down.

He remained quiet for a while, staring down at you, before continuing his work. "It was nice of your sister to invite me. It's not often I get to join in with the after bit."

You nodded again, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"You have a nice family," he said. 

You breathed out a laugh.

"You do," he insisted, laughing too.

You sat in silence for a little while, unmoving as he set up the room around you; clearing the table where he liked to put the bottled water and stacking the leftover chairs in the corner. You watched as he mopped his brow with a handkerchief from his pocket, his cheeks slightly flushed, though you weren't sure if it was from the heat or whatever he'd been drinking. 

He sat down opposite you on the other side of the circle, fingers clasped together and hanging between his parted legs. It felt like you were in one of his sessions, about to be counselled, asked to share.

"I like your dress," he said simply. 

"I look like an egg yolk." 

He chuckled. "Nah, you look beautiful." 

A familiar feeling thickened the air around you, another slip of the tongue you'd grown to expect but never got used to.

"Can I ask you a question..." you said. 

He shifted in his seat.

"It's a... religion-y question," you added. 

"Religion-y, another great word to add to the vocabulary." 

You smiled to yourself before looking across to him again. "Can I?" 

"Of course."

"Not committing adultery is one of the commandments, right?" 

"Mhm."

You swallowed. "What exactly falls under that term?" 

He furrowed his brow in thought, crossing one leg over the other. "I think you're going to have to elaborate." 

"Well, would someone be breaking that commandment if their physical form was with one person, but their mind was with someone else?" 

"I'm afraid I'm still not quite getting it..." 

"Okay." You uncrossed your arms, gripping the base of your chair with both hands as you sat forward. "Lately, every time I have sex with my boyfriend, I've been imaging he's... someone else. Is that adultery?" 

It was so quiet you could hear the birds outside, the passing of traffic, glasses clinking in the main room of the pub. You couldn't believe you'd just said it; admitted something so embarrassing, so awful. His clear blue eyes were fixed on you, plump lips parted as though he wanted to speak but no words would leave him. You waited, watching his chest expand with an intake of breath, but as he was about to speak, the door behind you creaked open. 

"Ellis...?" 

You whipped your head around to see Alfie peering into the room. 

"What?"

He glanced across at Father Benedict who had risen to his feet, dropping his head and busying himself by straightening the stack of chairs in the corner. 

"We're leaving," he said. 

"Who's we?" 

"Me and Gina." 

"Why?" 

"She's er..." He looked at the priest again. "She's not... feeling well." 

"Sure," you replied sarcastically. 

"Sorry," said Father Benedict awkwardly. "I'm just going to..." 

Alfie stepped aside, allowing him to shuffle past him out of the room, and for the moment they were side by side, you almost felt the urge to laugh. Your priest was so much taller, swallowing him in his lean, elegant frame. 

"We're going to share a cab, I was just checking if you wanted to c-"

"Why do you have to go?" you asked. 

"Well I don't have to. I just feel a bit shit leaving her to go home by herself. She's really upset." 

You rolled your eyes. "Just say you're looking for an excuse to leave-"

"I'm not. I'm not, I swear. I'm just going to take her home, make sure she's alright and get on with my portfolio for that job I'm applying for." 

You sighed. "Okay, whatever, yeah, I'll see you at home." 

"Okay." He nodded, turning on his heels and disappearing through the door. 

You leaned back in your chair, listening to the metal groan under your weight, watching through the window until a taxi pulled into the small carpark.

You stood up and walked back into the pub, eyes scanning the room for a tall figure dressed in black, the white collar you'd learned to spot in even the most crowded of places. But he was nowhere to be found. 

The thin heels of your shoes sank into the grass as you walked towards the church, the warm breeze licking at the bottom of your dress. The sun had moved across the sky, but it was still bright, making the day feel never-ending. 

You gripped the handle of your small handbag as you climbed the steps and pushed on the closed doors, opening them just enough to slip inside. The foyer was empty, no sign of June or the lady who would come to vacuum and dust the skirtings. The chapel was quiet too, the echo of your heels the only sound as you made your way down the aisle. You didn't know if he would be there, and even if he was, you weren't sure what you would say.

You stopped before the altar, taking a moment to gaze up at the statue of Jesus on the back wall; head stooped, arms outstretched. You wondered what it must be like to truly believe in him, if you'd ever believed in anything so blindly.

The small corridor beyond the sanctuary was dark, all of the doors closed tight except for one. You wandered slowly towards the thin sliver of light, breathing deeply, preparing to tap your knuckles against the door and step into his office, hoping the words would come to you when you laid eyes on him. 

As you grew closer, you began to hear a noise; a muffled, indistinguishable sound that made you refrain from knocking. Instead you peered through the crack in the open door, observing the messy, cluttered space, only a small amount of sunlight streaming in through the narrow window. 

He was there. Standing on the other side of the room, back to the door, head hanging between his shoulders just like the statue you'd passed moments ago. You eyed one of his arms bracing himself against the wall, palm planted flat. The other was in front of him, out of sight, moving in a vigorous, steady rhythm. You furrowed your brow, leaning closer. 

There was a soft grunt, heavy, laboured breaths. Your lips parted, mouth turning dry as your mind finally caught up with what you were seeing. He was masturbating. The realisation was dizzying, making you freeze in place, breath halting halfway up your throat. 

It should have mortified you, made you look away, embarrassed to have stumbled upon such a weak and vulnerable moment. You should have been repelled by the notion that this god-fearing man had so little control that he could touch himself within the walls of his church. But the only humiliation you felt was for yourself; for the warm waves crashing deep in your belly, the slick forming between your legs. 

He was muttering under his breath, the pumping of his arm growing more intense as he lowered his head further. 

"Fuck," you heard him whisper. "Ellis." 

Your mouth fell open completely, drawing in a soft gasp. Did he really say that? Maybe you misheard. He groaned, fingers pressing harder against the wall, and you knew now that you had to leave. 

You backed away from the door and turned, walking slowly, your footsteps deliberate in an attempt to go as silently as you came. When you reached the chapel, you found yourself breathless, sitting down in the empty pews to collect yourself. You dropped your bag to the floor and let your head fall into your hands, closing your eyes as the image of him played on a loop behind your lids. Ellis. He really said-

"Ellis?"

Your head shot up, eyes wide as you found him standing near the entrance to the corridor. He looked flustered, sweaty, fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt as he looked around the empty chapel. 

"Hello..." you said, trying to keep your voice steady. 

"Hi. What are..." He cleared his throat. "What are you doing here?" 

"Oh, I was erm, I was looking for you. But I... guess you must have been busy..." 

"Y-yes, I was." He made his way over to the other side of the church, picking up a newsletter that had been left on the floor. "Sorry, you said you were looking for me?" 

"Yeah-"

He interrupted you with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he approached you. "If it's about the question you asked before, I- I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you."

"No, it's not. I er, I actually wanted to make a confession." 

He glanced down at his watch and let out a sigh before gesturing to the large wooden cabinet at the back of the room. "Alright, if we make it quick-"

"No- No, I don't mean in the booth. I mean I need to make a confession... to you. Specifically."

"Oh." He narrowed his eyes with curiosity, taking a seat in the row in front and twisting his body to face you. "Okay?" 

You took a moment to stare at him, drink him in - eyes, hair, lips, neck, the curve of his nose, the angle of his jaw - just in case. You pressed your lips together and swallowed hard, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. 

"I have absolutely no interest in being part of the church," you said. 

"Oh," he replied, blinking with confusion. "I- I... I hope it wasn't something I did?"

"No. It wasn't. The truth is I'm not religious. Not even a little bit. Never have been. I'm not open to exploring my faith because I have no faith; I think christianity is a cult and blind belief in something that directly contradicts proven, scientific evidence is nothing short of delusional." 

Slightly harsh, Ellis.

He furrowed his brow, letting out a musing hum. 

"The night we met," you continued. "When you saw me sitting in the pews back there. I wasn't praying. I was... I was just waiting for the rain to stop." 

Your voice trailed off, eclipsed by shame, grief, guilt. 

"Why..." His voice was a whisper. "Why wouldn't you just tell me that? Wh- When I asked if you sought salvation, why on earth would you say yes?" 

You paused, eyes locked on his. "Okay, maybe we should go in the booth." 

"Why?"

"Because I don't think I can look directly at you when I say this." 

He seemed to understand, rising to his feet and slipping out into the aisle without another word. You remained seated, watching him walk away with his hands in his pockets. 

"Come on then," he called to you, his voice echoing against the ceiling as he dragged back the curtains on each side of the booth. 

The wooden bench creaked beneath you, a loose floorboard seesawing up and down with a squeak as you pushed the heel of your shoe against it. The scent of linseed oil and rosary beads was claggy and overwhelming, the heat of late spring making the air inside the confined space close and unyielding.

There was a partition to your left, perforated with small crosses that unveiled flashes of Father Benedict's alabaster complexion on the other side. He was sitting too, you could hear the groan of the bench under his weight, the shuffle of his shoes against the floor of the booth. 

"Okay," he said. "Spill." 

"Aren't you supposed to forgive me for my sins or something?" 

"Yeah we're skipping all of that." 

"Fair enough." You looked around your small compartment, the dark wood you could tell was once glossy, now scuffed and dull. It seemed a lot of people had sins to confess. "I said I wanted to become part of the church that night... Because I was attracted to you."

He didn't reply. 

"And I've proceeded to take part in the church because I'm still attracted to you."

Still nothing. You glanced through the partition, able to make out the shape of him; leant forward, head bowed, listening. 

"I promise I have enjoyed coming here, none of that was pretend," you continued, your voice wavering slightly. "But I'd be lying if I said there hasn't been... other reasons for me taking such an interest in this place. I just- no matter how much I try, I can't stop thinking about you in that way. And I've felt like such terrible person for it." You paused, swallowing. "But then you said those things about the way I look at you, and I've noticed the way you look at me too-"

"Ellis," he said softly, as though begging you to stop. 

"Don't tell me I'm making it up." 

You heard a sigh, another creak. You turned your head, speaking directly to the partition between you. 

"I saw you," you said. "Just now in your office. I saw you. I heard you..." 

He moved, back straightening, head turning towards you. You couldn't see his face, but you knew his expression; shock, embarrassment, fear. 

"I've done that too," you whispered. "Said your name while..." 

You trailed off, leaning back, letting your head rest against the wall behind you. 

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked. 

"Because I thought- I don't know, I thought maybe if you knew I didn't want a relationship with God, you wouldn't feel so bad about keeping me to yourself." 

Silence.

"Father." You paused. "If I open this curtain... If I walk out right now and stand in front of yours... Will you open it for me?" 

"Ellis-"

You didn't wait to hear what he was going to say. Instead you stood up and pulled back your curtain, stepping out of the hot booth into the cool air of the chapel. 

You stood outside his curtain, chewing your fingernail as you waited. But there was no movement, not even a sound. You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment before nodding to yourself solemnly. 

The sun shone through the stained glass onto your dress, the colours moving and shifting as you walked, like the facets of a diamond. You made your way back to the pews in search of your bag, shuffling along the row and picking it up off the floor before stepping back out into the aisle. 

A sudden noise made you stop, the screeching of curtain loops raking against a rail. You turned to see him standing outside the booth, chest rising and falling heavily, eyes burning despite their glacial hue. 

He stormed down the aisle in long, quick strides towards you, bringing you face to face, close enough to feel his breath, to see the crinkle between his brows. 

"This is what I am," he said, thumping a hand on his own chest. 

"I understand," you replied timidly. 

"It's what I chose to be," he continued through gritted teeth. "This is what I chose, and I was fine with that. Then you had to come and-"

"Stop. I know, okay." 

"Do you? Do you really know how it feels to have everything you believe in, everything you've dedicated your whole life to jeopardised because you can't resist a basic temptation?" 

"I'm not a temptation!" you snapped, turning around to point at the statue of Christ on the far wall. "You think he sent me here? You think the only reason I've done all this- am doing all of this is because god wants to test you?"

You threw your bag to the ground and began marching up to the statue, Father Benedict quick on your heels. 

"Hey," you said, speaking directly to the large, marble figure. "If I'm really a test then fucking prove it, send us a sign." 

"Ellis," he hissed. 

He was right behind you, causing you to almost bump into his chest as you turned around. 

You opened your arms wide, gesturing to your surroundings. "See, nothing." 

The pulse in his jaw returned, hands resting on his hips with irritation. 

"I understood when I sat down in that confessional that I might just make a fool of myself," you said calmly. "But I'm not a sin, Father. And I hate that that's what you see when you look at me."

"Wait, stop. Sin? You think I see you as a sin?" He narrowed his eyes, brushing back his hair with frustration before leaning in close and deepening his voice. "You are the reason I've begun to question whether there's even such a thing at all. How something could possibly be so wrong when every fibre of my being is drawn towards it. You're not a temptation, Ellis. If anything, you are the choice that feels most right. And that... There is no amount of prayer and worship and study that can tell me what to do about that."

You stared up at him, wide-eyed, mouth agape. He was quiet too, stunned by his own candour. Your chest was heaving as you watched him lick his lips, and before you knew it, his hands were on your face, your fingers gripping at the sleeves of his shirt as you came together in a fevered, desperate kiss. 

You stumbled together in a tangle of hot breaths and eager hands, falling back against the credence table and knocking a set of candles onto the floor with a heavy thud, a large chalice clanging as it rolled away. His kiss was as heavenly as you'd imagined; soft lips, skilled tongue, forceful and hungry, as if he'd been starving and didn't know when he would get to eat again. 

He lifted you onto the edge of the table, tugging impatiently at your dress until it was bunched at your hips, fingers grazing your inner thighs as you worked to unbutton his trousers. But as the first one popped open, a sudden noise made you freeze. 

You both turned to see the cleaning lady dragging a hoover into the chapel. Father Benedict stepped back from you quickly, turning to discreetly fasten his trousers as you stood up and pulled your dress down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

"Oh, hi there, Linda," he called out cheerfully.

She glanced over at him and smiled. "Hello, Father, don't worry, I won't get in your way." 

"That's alright, I was just erm... showing Ellis here how we set up for the Eucharist." 

You dropped to the ground, picking up the candles and chalice and placing them back on the table.

Linda nodded, switching on the vacuum and beginning to swipe it back and forth across the floor. 

You stood there for a moment, staring at each other amidst the loud whirring of the machine. He seemed disappointed, in you or in himself, you couldn't quite tell. 

"I should get back to the party," you said. 

"Y-yeah," he replied. 

You began to walk away, glancing back to find him looking up at the statue, rubbing his jaw in turmoil. 

“That wasn’t a sign," you said breathlessly, shaking your head at him. "It wasn't." 

He looked down at you.

“It wasn't," you repeated, before turning around and hurrying away.

Part 7

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @queerbee8 @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild @classicrebound @bigratbitchsworld @aphroditesdilemma @bloodyxsaint @ployavengersog1 @spectaclebitch

*If you would like to be tagged in future chapters, please feel free to comment below, or you can add yourself to the list here

[hotpinkboots]

HIIIII GIRL, before i request I just wanna say I adore ur writing so muchhhhhh its so cuteee hhh 💖 💖 💖

anyway some rouxls x gender neutral reader fluff for me and my my content deprived brothers?

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

~𝕽𝖔𝖚𝖝𝖑𝖘 𝕶𝖆𝖆𝖗𝖉 x Reader Fluff Headcanons~

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

DARLING DID YOU READ MY MIND I WAS GOING TO WRITE SOME ROUXLS TODAY AND NOW I HAVE THE PERFECT EXCUSE TO DO SO BECAUSE IT WAS REQUESTED OF ME :D

Thank you so much, I always get all giggly when people compliment my writing 😭 THANK YOUUUU

Rouxls is criminally underrated. I'm madly in love with him 😩

~Enjoy~

★★★★

𝕽𝖔𝖚𝖝𝖑𝖘 𝕶𝖆𝖆𝖗𝖉

★★★★

~First things first, I HIGHLY doubt he has that annoying voice that some people headcanon him to have....I definitely think his voice is far more deep and charming.

~He is such a FLIRT, though he would get very flustered and splutter if you flirted back.

~But when he gets over it, his ego is boosted even more because of what you said.

~He prefers you to not touch his hair...but sometimes he'll let you. And he might find he enjoys it! But he's still not going to let you touch it unless you throw a fit about it >:)

~His hair is the softest thing on the PLANET it's smooth and silkyyyyy 💜💜💜

~He has so many ridiculous nicknames for you.

~"Ah-ha! Mine own flower! How nice it is to seeth thee! How gorgeous thou art!"

~I don't translate Shakespeare I just write it >;))) MWAHAHA

~He'll call you his butterfly, his beloved, his sweetest of all the peas, and of course he'll call you a worm if you decide to "bug" him.

~Has a ton of monologues memorized to tell you how much he loves you.

~He likes to write poems for you!! In his glorious fancy calligraphy, of course. They're always so heartfelt and romantic.

~Rouxls is so fun to annoy, too. You've been chased out of his shop multiple times.

~He secretly finds it so endearing. You keep him on his toes.

~Keep in mind that he and Lancer are a two in one package! You'll get to entertain Lancer- actually, he entertains you, is more like it. Lancer's a funny little pumpkin with lots of tricks up his sleeve.

~Rouxls is going to force you to dance with him, by the by.

~He's a stupid pretty boy and is quite clumsy, so you're constantly trying to help him make better puzzles (then he takes credit for what you did)

~He IS taller than you. This man is 9 feet tall, an absolute unit. So, unfortunately, you could be the tallest person ever and he would still see you as short.

~So, along with all those funny endearing nicknames he has for you, he also calls you:

~an ant

~And he sometimes feels like being ornery, so he'll lean down so he can "hear you speak" and look at you.

~"Doest this offendeth thee? How humiliating for thee, yond thou art so small I cannot heareth thy voice upon mine own ears speaking to me. Ant! Thou art an ant to me. Speaketh up, ant, so i can heareth thy w'rds!"

~He won't shut up about you being an ant, now.

~Rouxls likes to kiss your hand! And would quite possibly curl up and die on the spot if you kissed his.

~He's a gentleman when he's not teasing you.

~You can always get back at him for teasing you, since he's pretty easy to tease, as well.

~Speaking in terrible Shakespeare to make fun of him or using your finger to boing that extra piece of skin that attaches his lips will offend the HELL out of him.

~Hollers at you and smacks you with a broom.

~"Why, thoust bite-sized monster- GAH! BEGONE, ANT!"

~You both are absolute menaces to society and it's the best relationship that's ever existed

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

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH OH MY GODJDIFKSJDJKWN

Also, thank you for telling me the gender preference thingy, people don't really tell me so I just have to guess LOL. Much appreciated, ant!

Fangamer make a Rouxls plush please

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

Rouxls/Masterlist (Scroll Down For The Masterlist)!

see what I did there

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

Join my Chat/Roleplay Server! Here, you'll get updates on my videogame/fanfiction, make friends, and meet new roleplay buddies!:

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

~Love, PinkBoots

[fleurdelanuit13]

FFXIVWRITE 2023: Prompt 26 - Last

((this picks up where Dowdy left off))

Lyla stood with Lalai and Zhai'a. Of the three coffers they'd been gifted by a certain legendary archmage, only one remained unopened. It was the one intended for Zhai'a. He waited patiently as Lalai and Lyla pulled piece after piece of ancient attire and weaponry out of their chests. How the weapons had even fit in those chests was another matter, but it was one that they did not yet care to investigate...

Lyla and Lalai's new Seventh Hell attire and Vanargand rods were appropriate for black mages, but Zhai'a hoped his coffer did not contain the same reward. He was not a black mage and he did not want his associates at Stillglade Fane wondering about him if he showed up in robes such as those.

Lyla too was a Hearer and conjurer of Stillglade Fane, but she was no ordinary member. She was could and did get away with all manner of things due to her abilities and connections. Zhai'a doubted that he could enjoy the same lenience as she, even if it was granted to him. He maintained a reputation of trustworthiness at the Fane that he quite liked.

Not that Lyla was not trusted, but she was not as... agreeable as he was. It would be a lie to say that none at all disliked her for her attitude, just as it would be a lie to say that she did not dislike some of their peers at Stillglade.

Compared to Lyla, Zhai'a was just a normal Hearer upholding Gridanian law. He was diplomatic, he did not hold grudges for decades, he was not a mercenary, he did not study illegal magicks, he did not provoke the elementals, he had never caught greenwrath, he did not—

"Zhai'a?" Sound sliced through his thread of thought. He heard Lyla first and felt her tail tap him. "Nelhah, hello?"

Lalai was more impatient and impish in general. "Helloooo, holier-than-thou Hearer who severely needs to remove his head from his—"

"Nophica's scythe!" Zhai'a exclaimed. "Both of you hush!"

Lalai turned to Lyla. "See? I told you he was not possessed."

Lyla shrugged slightly. "You would know," she said.

Lalai smirked. "I am the expert, aren't I?"

"Well?" Lyla asked Zhai'a, gesturing at the chest with her lips. "Will you open it?"

Zhai'a huffed. "Really, neitherrr of you possess an onze of patience." He tied back his sleeves and with the two of them hovering like bats above his shoulders, the Keeper opened his coffer.

When Lyla had opened hers, a hat and robe sat right towards the top. They practically leapt out. The contents of Zhai'a's did not do that. In fact...

"Is it empty?" Lalai asked.

"No," Lyla said, adjusting her glasses.

Zhai'a saw a glint within the chest. "There is something."

He reached in, but not before gauging how likely it was that the chest was a mimic... His fingers found what turned out to be a very dark layer of velvety fabric. There was a bundle of some sort wrapped up in it. Zhai'a carefully removed the bundle with both hands and unwrapped it. It appeared to be a bright red and black half-robe with a white collar and ornate embroidery.

"I suppose the lack of a hat is acceptable since there is a hood," mused Lalai.

"It seems... very short," Zhai'a said after, holding it up to get a better sense of the length. It had a belt, but he could tell the robe would end well above his knees. "Perhaps it is unfinished. Is there no more of it inside?"

Lyla examined it as Zhai'a looked into the chest again. "No, it's finished..." she said, surprised and awestruck. "Oh wow... No wonder it's like this."

Zhai'a looked closely at her expression. "Hm?"

Lyla showed him the fabric. "Just look at it. This goldwork is extensive," she explained. "It's throughout the garment, except for the belt, and it's all aetheroconductive thread too."

Lyla looked at this robe and then hers. "Huh..." she mumbled, and Zhai'a noticed the puzzled and slightly crestfallen look on her face.

"Are you disappointed?" he asked.

"No, just... surprised," Lyla claimed, but the way her tail swished told him that she was bemused.

"Well... I do not really need a new—"

"There's more in here, you know," interrupted Lalai, who looked close to falling into the coffer.

Zhai'a returned to the chest, if only to make sure Lalai did not fall. He peered in again and retrieved the rest of his reward. There were boots much like his own, strange gloves, surprisingly nice bottoms, and... something else wrapped in silken cloth. Zhai'a had to unravel about thirteen layers before he found the thing.

"What... is this?" he muttered after handing the last of the cloth to Lyla. What sat before them was possibly the strangest object Zhai'a had yet seen. The three mages were perplexed.

"A blade?" Lyla proposed.

"But it's so..." Zhai'a did not know how to describe it. The blade started straight, then curved in different directions. It resembled a rooster's head. Zhai'a picked it up. It certainly felt real, but... "How would one even use this?"

Lyla put her hand to her chin in thought. "I suppose you could slash with it?"

Zhai'a grimaced. "I would rather not," he said firmly, and at that, the blade grew warm in his hands. Light enveloped it for a moment, then burst into little illusions of eggs and stars.

A Hatching-tide prism!? Zhai'a thought as sparkles rained down around them.

"Look," Lyla said, pointing at his hands. Resting in them was no longer a blade.

Lalai almost laughed. "Is that a... baby chocobo?"

"It's cute," Lyla added.

It was. Zhai'a now held a bright yellow and orange figure of a chocobo chick. He rotated it and looked at it from all angles, as if it might have a secret switch somewhere. There were two little blue crystals on the side of its head, but they only made the chick look more anxious.

"A fleeing baby chocobo," Zhai'a specified, then mumbled, "This must be in jest..." He supposed he could decorate his office with it.

"It might not be fleeing," Lyla offered. "It could be kicking." She held up the short half-robe. "And this is very real."

"Perhaps the cloth was there so that you could sell it..." Lalai said.

Zhai'a furrowed his brows at her. "Really, Lalai, I thought you would have more respect for something that was a gift from your esteemed mentor."

"Greatness is the depth of pocket, Hearer," the Lalafell said. "You've really learned nothing while working with us, have you?"

They heard Lyla murmuring to herself as she studied the robe again. She spoke too quickly for Zhai'a to follow, but he heard something about islands and Gyr Abania.

"Have you had a breakthrough?" Zhai'a asked when she paused.

"Possibly," Lyla said, then paused to choose her words. "The short of it is I think this particular piece was designed for mobility and aether efficiency, recovery, and such. I believe it's intended for red mages."

Lalai titled her head as if she hadn't heard Lyla correctly. "Red mages?"

"How did you even reach such..." Zhai'a stopped himself from asking about her strands of logic. "Lyla, if I understood your reports correctly, red mages did not exist until long after Lady Shatotto's time."

"Right," Lyla said, "but they exist now and I saw a red mage wear one of these in Kugane."

"But why red mages specifically?" Lalai asked. "Could not all mages benefit from such enhancements?"

Lyla nodded. "Yes, and any can wear it just the same, but red mages regularly get close to their opponents, they would better benefit from enhanced recovery, and red magic does not draw on ambient aether for its spells as we do. It's similar to thaumaturgy that way."

"Ooh I see," Lalai said.

Lyla traced the embroidery with her finger. "On a longer robe, this could all be spread out, channel aether in larger quantities, different ways, and so on. On here, this goldwork—" the Keeper indicated the subtler embroidery that was everywhere on the red fabric, "—will aid the mage's internal aether circulation." Next, Lyla pointed to the thicker embroidery on the white collar and black middle part of the robe. "And these aid in casting."

Zhai'a crossed his arms and closed his eyes in thought. "So you're saying Lady Shatotto just happened to find this odd half-robe and an even odder chocobo chick contraption, and decided that this would be the perfect gift for me?"

Lyla just shrugged. "The robe should fit you and it would help your spellwork. You could even wear it under your normal one."

Zhai'a's tail flicked. "Is there a flaw in my spellwork?"

"... No," Lyla said after too long of a pause. "Not exactly."

Zhai'a's ears went half-flat. "Why did you hesitate..."

Lyla turned away and began packing up their stuff.

"Well, I am not one to question Lady Shatotto's decisions," interjected Lalai. "Shall we get something to eat? I'm famished."

((for the curious, Zhai'a's new gear is:

- Vermillion cloak of casting

- Abes gloves

- Astral silk bottoms of casting

- Brand-new thighboots

- Chicken Knife))

[princeofgod-2021]

LIGHT OF LIFE 372

John 1:4

UNDERSTANDING PROPHETIC MANDATES 6: SECRETS THINGS 6

Amo 3:7 CERTAINLY, THE ALMIGHTY LORD DOESN'T DO ANYTHING UNLESS HE FIRST REVEALS HIS SECRET TO HIS SERVANTS THE PROPHETS. GW

Last lesson, we discussed how God hood winked the devil. But do you also know that this same CODE was hidden in Prophecy of old through Isaiah?

Read the following scripture please.

Isa 53:7-8 HE WAS TREATED HARSHLY AND AFFLICTED, BUT HE DID NOT EVEN OPEN HIS MOUTH. Like a lamb led to the slaughtering block, LIKE A SHEEP SILENT BEFORE HER SHEARERS, HE DID NOT EVEN OPEN HIS MOUTH. He was led away after an unjust trial – but who even cared? Indeed, HE WAS CUT OFF FROM THE LAND OF THE LIVING; because of the rebellion of his own people he was wounded. NET

When you read that He said nothing, you are quick to assume that it [only] depicted Jesus’ humility and total surrender to God’s will, but there is something deeper: He was quiet because he had something “up his sleeves”; a plot to unfold by His death.

Vs 8 gives an impression of a pitiable death, but God was just making a fool of satan and the kingdom of darkness.

Joh 18:4-6 JESUS, KNOWING FULL WELL WHAT WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN, WENT OUT TO THE GARDEN ENTRANCE TO MEET THEM. STEPPING FORWARD, he asked, “Who are you looking for?” “Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied. (Now Judas, the traitor, was among them.) He replied, “I am he.” AND THE MOMENT JESUS SPOKE THE WORDS, “I AM HE,” THE MOB FELL BACKWARD TO THE GROUND! TPT

That was John’s account of Jesus’ arrest in the garden. satan should have seen that He was eager to be arrested.

He went out to hand Himself over them to but they couldn’t even handle Him because the anointing was too strong on Him.

If they can’t arrest Him, the “Plan” fails.

Joh 18:7-8 Again Jesus asked them, "Who is it you are looking for?" "Jesus of Nazareth," they said. "I HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT I AM HE," Jesus said. "If, then, you are looking for me, let these others go." GNB

It’s evident that God reduced Jesus’ anointing then, just to let them hold and take him away.

Read now the “indirect” proclamation of that Secret Code behind the death of Jesus.

Isa 53:10 YET IT PLEASED THE LORD TO BRUISE HIM; he hath put him to grief: when thou shalt make his soul an offering for sin, HE SHALL SEE HIS SEED, HE SHALL PROLONG HIS DAYS, AND THE PLEASURE OF THE LORD SHALL PROSPER IN HIS HAND. KJV

Why should it please God to bruise Him?

Because His death will cause God’s PURPOSE to prosper.

That Power beyond the Cross, beloved, is also a Principle, but unknown to satan.

It is the Power released when innocent blood is shed; the blood of a God!

Let’s read the above verse in New English Translation, shall we?

Isa 53:10 Though the LORD desired to crush him and make him ill, ONCE RESTITUTION IS MADE, he will see descendants and ENJOY LONG LIFE, AND THE LORD’S PURPOSE WILL BE ACCOMPLISHED THROUGH HIM. NET

Once He has Paid the Price, His descendants will live long “and” God Purpose is fulfilled [after His death].

The death of our Lord Jesus was simply a means to an end, greater than just the Propitiation of our sins.

The [end] Purpose was not His death but the Power it was to release.

Act 1:8 But I promise you this—THE HOLY SPIRIT WILL COME UPON YOU AND YOU WILL BE FILLED WITH POWER. And you will be my messengers to Jerusalem, throughout Judea, the distant provinces—even to the remotest places on earth!” TPT

Not only will the Believers receive Power but they will let everyone else who believes, in on this great opportunity.

Mission accomplished and satan failed woefully.

Did you ever imagine why despite all Jesus preached on Earth, he seemed not to make much IMPACT?

Joh 6:65-67 Then Jesus said, "YOU CANNOT COME TO ME, UNLESS THE FATHER MAKES YOU WANT TO COME. That is why I have told these things to all of you." BECAUSE OF WHAT JESUS SAID, MANY OF HIS DISCIPLES TURNED THEIR BACKS ON HIM AND STOPPED FOLLOWING HIM. Jesus then asked his twelve disciples if they were going to leave him. CEV

It was important not to let the evil spirits see much progress and hence be over-apprehensive about what the Apostles can do after Jesus is gone.

Joh 14:12 "I can assure you that whoever believes in me will do the same things I have done. AND THEY WILL DO EVEN GREATER THINGS THAN I HAVE DONE, because I am going to the Father. ERV

Satan felt that if people kept leaving Jesus, the Apostles couldn’t do much more.

But then, POWER came, and…

Act 2:41 THEN THOSE WHO GAVE HEARING TO HIS WORDS HAD BAPTISM: AND ABOUT THREE THOUSAND SOULS WERE JOINED TO THEM THAT DAY. BBE

After Jesus’ death and resurrection, unimaginable exploits suddenly sprung up.

May the all-powerful God deliberately perplex, frustrate and confuse your enemies, IN JESUS NAME.

Join us on Friday for progress in this enlightening and explosive Subtopic.

Keep Shinning!

Brother Prince

Wednesday, June 28, 2023

08055125517; 08023904307

[tallbluelady]

10. "I think... I'm in love with (Name)" || "Congrats on being the last one to find out"

It was rare that Urianger called anyone over to the Waking Sands, with the exception of one person. But it was rarer still that he called anyone for a drink. So when Thancred heard the request on the linkpearl, he set aside all of his work for the night to help his friend.He had a hunch what it was about, but it would do good for Urianger to explain it all himself.

The Elezen man was already staring at the bottom of a pint when Thancred found him at the Pissed Pieste. So it's definitely about Rowan then.

He didn't even have time to sit down and greet him before Urianger quickly muttered something unintelligible.

"You're going to have to speak up if you want me to respond to that," Thancred said, waving Foclind down.

The other man gave a heavy sigh. "I do believe I am in love with Rowan."

"The rest of us believed that for a long time."

Urianger grimaced. "Aye, I recall that clearly. But I have yet to truly act on the feeling until now."

Thancred tipped the barmaid and took a swig of ale before saying aught. Knowing Urianger, the action was likely something small, like a one armed hug before saying goodnight.

"What exactly was this act, my friend?"

Urianger traced the brim of his tankard. "When she visited the Sands for Heavensturn, we celebrated in my usual fashion."

So she did pay a visit... "You mean the fashion with that includes the poetry, the wine, and the stars?"

He nodded. "I forgot that having a willing partner changes the context of such things. It had been years since I was able to celebrate with Moenbryda..."

Thancred patted Urianger's shoulder at that. "I know. But you have Rowan to celebrate with now."

He nodded.

"That's a good thing," Thancred added.

He nodded again.

"It really is, Urianger. I was the one who suggested she come see you that night. She enjoyed your company,  didn't she?"

A third nod. "I found myself practically basking in her company. Her calm, her ease, her levity in the moment... I had kissed her hand ere we retired so enraptured was I."

"Oh? Mark me as impressed. I do believe that actually counts as flirting, Urianger."

"Aye, and like the craven I am, I hid away from her before she had the time to respond." He hid his already hidden face in his hands.

"Have you said anything to her yet?" Thancred asked.

"Nay. I was too afraid to exit my room until this note was left under my door." Urianger handed him a slip of paper from his sleeve.

Thank you for last night. was all it said. Well, from angling the page around in the light, Thancred could see that there were multiple attempts at writing etched into the page, like Rowan had written a letter's worth of words on another scrap of paper before settling for the five to give to Urianger.

"Well, I'd say the whole thing is mutual. Down to the fear of actually doing anything about it."

Urianger tipped his flagon back and frowned when it was empty. He turned about to find Foclind to get another.

"Are you going to do anything about it or are you waiting for our Warrior of Light to do all the work?" Thancred asked after Urianger had another draft.

He sighed. "I - I full doubt that Rowan would initiate such things. Lord Aymeric supposedly initiated their short courtship between them."

"You're not comparing yourself to him, are you?"

"Nay. The thought had yet to enter into my mind, but as thou hast gave the idea a voice it is now plaguing me," Urianger groaned.

"Gods, Urianger, twas only a joke. Rowan's seeking you out now. I wouldn't squander her attention."

"I find myself lost at the proper approach. Her visage doth be so... Thancred, Rowan doth have the most beautiful eyes. They nigh glow in candle light, hast thou ever seen such a sight?"

Oh, Urianger was finally drunk. Thancred could only admire that his friend remained poetic in his inebriation.

"I think in contrast with Moenbryda, you should take it slow," he said.

"Oh, my Moen. Moen's visage was as radiant as the celestial light in the night sky. So ephemeral. But then she would blaze with the intensity of..." Urianger stared off into the middle distance, trying to think of something that matched how intense Moenbryda could be.

"I think we may want to be done for the night. I don't think you'll remember aught I say after this," Thancred said.

Urianger gave a hiccup and nodded.

Gods, since when am I the responsible one between us?

Thanks for the prompt!

[zorua-adorable]

Hisui Does Not Have Enough Money to Deal with This Child's Impatience

Barry Arrives in Hisui

Okay, I wrote this in about two hours instead of sleeping, because I just had to after getting the thought in my head. Someone on a discord server mentioned Barry, and I brought up my AU, and we were coming up with ideas, and it all went from there.

This series will be a collection of connected one-shots, so don't be surprised if we jump around in the plot.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! (Also, this was unbeta'd, so let me know if you spot any grammatical errors.)

Word Count: 1081

When Barry opened his eyes, he very quickly noticed that he was not in the Pokémon Center bed he went to bed in last night. Instead, he was in some sort of… void.

“Where am I? How did I get here?” Barry asked, as he went to adjust his bag strap, only to find it wasn’t there.

“Hey, where’s my bag? Where are my Pokémon? WHERE’S MY SCARF?!”

It was at this moment that Barry noticed the large glowing light also there in the void. He was honestly surprised he didn’t notice it sooner.

‘Young Barry.’ It… spoke? At the very least, the words reverberated through his mind.

“Hey! Who are you? Where am I? How did I get here?”

‘I am the one humans refer to as Arceus. We are in a realm beyond the flow of time and the expanse of space. I brought you here as I have a task for thou to complete.’

“Uuuh… could it wait? I was actually planning to challenge the Battle Tower tomorrow.” Barry responded to Arceus. ‘Why does that name sound familiar? I think Dawn or Lucas mentioned that name once? Man, I should’ve focused more during their ramblings; they always focus on mine.’

‘It will still be there once you complete thine mission.’ Arceus’ glowiness got even glowier, and somehow pulled Barry’s Pokétch (‘Huh, didn’t notice I had that on me.’) off his wrist and toward itself. Despite floating, Barry felt like he was falling. As he reached out to grab his Pokétch (‘It looks kinda different now?’) so he didn’t lose it, the last thing Barry heard was:

‘Seek out all Pokémon, and thou shalt find me once more.’

~~~~~

Professor Laventon tried to catch his breath as he ran after the three Pokémon he brought to Hisui from other regions, wondering what had them in such a rush. As he approached Prelude Beach, he noticed something – or rather, SOMEONE – falling from the sky. They miraculously landed upon the shores, without being injured to boot! When he got closer, he noticed the rift-fallen was a young male with blond hair (‘What even is that hairstyle? Extreme bedhead?’) and clad in strange looking clothes: gray pants and a long-sleeved shirt with orange and white stripes. He started to awaken as the professor got closer, and then stood up.

“You gave me quite the shock, falling from the sky like that… But thank goodness, you seem unharmed!”

“Yeah, but who are you? And where am I?” he asked. ‘My dear, he seems to be naturally quite loud.’

“Well, my name is Laventon. I am something of a Pokémon Professor. And this is Prelude Beach. May I ask who you are?”

“I’m Barry from Twinleaf Town.”

“Hmmm, I can’t say I’ve heard of that town before. What region is it in?”

“Oh, it’s in–! It’s, it’s in… where is it again?” Barry asked himself, not at the proper volume to be considered muttering.

“Oh dear. I’m presuming this means you do not have an acquaintance in these parts?”

“Yeah, I seriously doubt that–” Barry said, only for his attention to switch to my cumbersome little companions “–ooooh! And what kinds of Pokémon are those?” ‘Ah, at least he knows what Pokémon are.’

“These three are known as Rowlet, Cyndaquil, and Oshawott. They had run off and I only caught up when you tumbled out of the sky… It’s almost as if they knew you’d appear here! However, I’ve had some difficulty controlling them.  You see, they have a tendency to–” proving the point he was about to make, the three took off back toward the practice field “–run off. I’d catch them if I were more skilled…”

“Don’t worry, Professor! I’ll catch them for y– oooh, shiny!” The boy began to offer, before noticing something on the ground, picking it up, and securing it around his wrist?

“What was I saying? Oh yeah, I’ll catch ‘em for ya!” Before Professor Laventon could even give him any Poké Balls, he took off after the three. The professor followed to find young Barry chasing the three around the practice field, with his arms outstretched. Eventually, he managed to get hold of Rowlet.

“Here ya go, Professor! I caught one of them!” He looked so excited presenting the little owl. ‘I’m gonna have to be gentle with this.’

“Ah, excellent job! But by catching them, I meant with Poké Balls.” Barry stared at him for a moment, blinking a couple times.

“Oh~ yeah, I should’ve realized.” He then proceeded to release his hold on Rowlet.

“Why are you letting Rowlet go? It would be very simple to just tap it with a Poké Ball.”

“Because that wouldn’t be fair! At least, I don’t think it would.” As Professor Laventon handed the young lad fifty Poké Balls, he gave a strange look, but said nothing. He then proceeded to make quick work of catching the three. Rowlet and Oshawott were caught with the first ball, while Cyndaquil was caught on the second. Interestingly enough, he made a sound each time he threw a ball; it was something like “ngyeh!” Additionally, after Cyndaquil broke out of the first ball, Barry stomped in place while waving his arms up and down for a moment.

“My, you are quite skilled with Poké Balls!” Professor Laventon praised.

“Eh, wasn’t that big a deal.” Barry responded with nonchalance, only for a sonar ping to ring out. He then proceeded to look at what he strapped to wrist earlier.

“Huh, that’s weird;  I don’t think I set any alarms on this… Seek out all Pokémon, huh?” “What’s that about seeking out all Pokémon?” the professor asked, curiosity rising.

“Well, this thing – it called itself an Arc Pokétch, but I think I’m just gonna call it an Arc-etch – is telling me to seek out all Pokémon. I dunno why, though…”

“Why, this works out perfectly for us! You see, my dream is to compile this region’s first complete record of its Pokémon! We in the field call such a catalog a Pokédex. But to document them, they must be caught. Thus, I propose we assist one another, as our goals are entwined. You possess such skill when it comes to catching Pokémon, that we could knock out two Starly with one stone! What do you say?”

“Uh, sure! It’s not like I’ve got any other plans.” Barry agreed.

“Splendid! Then let us be off to Jubilife Village! It’s not too far a walk from here.”

[cobaincreates]

touch pt. 3

warnings: swearing, smut, oral (female receiving), 18+

count: 4k+

final part of touch! thank you so much for reading!

— — —

“just get the silver one with the straps. i think the purple is a bit too close on the magenta side.”

“i can wear my heels with this one.” sarah agreed, turning her hips. “do you still have those silver earrings from work? the long, dangly ones?”

“i think so, yeah. i’ll bring them over later.” you nodded at your phone screen, watching sarah fiddle with the dress she had on. the lighting from the fitting room made the dress look darker than it really was in the picture she originally sent you.

“what’s kie trying on?” you asked just as a notification popped up at the top of your screen.

rafe:

meet me on dock @ noon?

your stomach twisted as a smile immediately graced your lips. you quickly swiped out of the facetime session, hoping sarah didn’t see, as you went to reply.

“i think she’s looking for a pair of jeans she saw the last time we came. the ones with the stitched back pockets.” sarah said.

okay :), you sent.

you were met with the ceiling when you went back to facetime, staring at a small orb reflecting from the light.

“hopefully she finds them,” you said and checked the time again as you started to think about changing out of the pajamas you were still in.

you had the day off today, which so far had amounted to you skipping out on a shopping trip with sarah and kiara and settling for being lazy around an empty house. it wasn’t so bad, but you were ready to get a move on, rafe’s text motivating you.

“john b’s calling me. i’ll talk to you later?” sarah’s face suddenly appeared on the screen as she picked her phone up, her shoulders now bare. you held a peace sign above your messy bed-ridden hair and tossed your phone aside when you hung up.

it was impossible not to be smiley and giddy as you scoured your dresser for clothes to wear. who could blame you when you’d spent nearly every night this week staying up late to text back and forth with rafe. it felt like you were dreaming, like you were living in an alternate universe where you actually got something you wanted. a month ago, you never would’ve guessed that you’d be getting ready to meet up with rafe, much less be fooling around with him.

it was difficult to describe how you felt about it. obviously, you were happy and bubbling with excitement, so much so that you thought you were going to throw up anytime you reminisced on the time spent with him. you tried not to dwell on the fact that you were technically sneaking around with him, but it had only been a few times so did it really constitute as such? you knew you had to tell sarah; the only thing stopping you being that you just weren’t sure when a good time would be.

when you had gotten home the other day from the marsh, you quickly closed yourself in your room. there was no reason to hide the grin within the privacy of your own space, so you let it stay there, your cheeks hurting so much by the time you went to sleep. you couldn’t believe you’d finally kissed rafe and you even caught yourself pressing your lips together, trying to trap the sensation of it there, and closing your eyes. 

and rafe finally getting a taste of you? fuck, it was perfect.

back in your room, you quickly finished getting ready. as you sprayed some perfume just for the hell of it, you thought about where you were going if he wanted to meet on his dock. you tried to picture him waiting for you. would he smile when you were too far away to see it? would his skin tingle with vibrant energy, just waiting to touch you? you swore you felt that same sensation every time you thought of him.

by the time you pulled up to tannyhill and grew closer to the house, you spotted him patiently waiting on the dock. his dad’s boat was there, rocking ever so slightly in the water. rafe looked up at the sound of your car and you parked it beside his truck, a fast-approaching heat spreading up your neck at his open windows. it was like they were encouraging you to have the thoughts of being in the back seat.

you only brought your keys with you as you got out, your phone sitting in the cup holder along with a few receipts you’d been meaning to throw out. rafe watched you as you walked over the grass and toward the wooden planks of the dock. he squinted an eye shut to watch you and you wanted to tell him that that was what the hat on his head was for, if only he turned it around. instead, you smiled at your feet.

“where is everyone?” you said over the few yards you hadn’t closed yet between you. your feet brushed over the planks, going down the small slope to where rafe was standing at the back of the boat.

“ward is out of town,” rafe said, lifting his chin a bit. “rose is doing whatever rose does with her girlfriends, wheezie is on the computer, but she’s leaving soon.” you came to a stop a couple steps away from him, fiddling with the keys in your hand. “and sarah is with kie today, which i’m sure you already knew,” he smiled at the end, like he was satisfied to have you all to himself.

“mmm,” you hummed humorously. “are you taking me out?” you asked, jutting your chin to the yacht.

rafe looked over, giving you time to run your eyes quickly down his chest and lower half. you adored the blue button up he had on, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. wasn’t he hot?

“we can’t exactly go anywhere since ward would kill me,” he looked back at you, smirking, “but i figured we could hang out here.”

“hang out?” you smiled, biting the inside of your lip slightly and tilting your head.

he nodded, his hand slipping from his pocket and extending out to you. you stared back at him as a familiar feeling pooled in your lower abdomen, one you’d felt many times around him. you never wanted it to go away, and maybe it was ridiculous to think in such a way, but you never wanted to feel it for anyone else.

pushing your keys into one hand, you reached out for his and held on. he held it firmly as he turned and went to the back platform to step onto. you followed all the way inside, feeling the cooler atmosphere in the shade. it didn’t look any different than the last time you’d been on it, just tidied up a bit more.

you set down your keys on the dining table and turned your back to lean against it. rafe was already watching you curiously.

“are you going to come over here?” you weren’t sure where it came from, but you couldn’t help yourself from asking.

he broke out into a smile and stepped closer until his feet were in front of yours. you laughed, almost nervously, and let your eyes trail up his form. stopping at his torso, you put your hand out to touch one of the buttons on his shirt. he touched your waist, causing you to breathe in shakily. he shuffled closer, your hand now pressed against his stomach and spreading a warmth up your arm. you could see his forearms flex for just a split second.

“i’ve been having a lot of fun with you, you know.” he said.

“have you?” you smiled.

you let your eyes resume their trail up his chest, gliding over the hollow of his neck, skimming his jaw. finally, your eyes connected with his.

“yeah, i have.”

“sneaking or fooling around?” you asked, moving your arms to circle around his neck. your chest pressed to his, nearly having you breathe deeper as your shirt exposed a sliver of your stomach. rafe could feel it, his palms warm over your skin.

“mostly the fooling around part.” he said proudly, holding back a smile as if it would scare you.

you had to admit that’s what you’d been enjoying too. fuck, there had been nothing more thrilling than having rafe cameron between your legs, in his truck, with no one around. it wasn’t like you to sneak around, and while it had been fun, you knew sarah needed to know.

you hummed, looking up at his hat and teasingly taking it off to place upon your own head. he brushed his newly disheveled hair then smiled down at you, his head slightly tilting. you wondered if you looked as good as he did in the hat.

“do you think sarah would kill me if she knew?” you asked seriously, not wanting to put a damper on the mood, but it had been something on your mind lately.

“no, she’d probably kill me.” he stated.

you laughed, glancing out the door to the bow of the boat, knowing he had to be right. “i have to tell her,” you sighed, imagining it for a moment. you didn’t want her to be upset.

but you had known sarah for so long that you knew in your heart she wouldn’t be mad at you. she couldn’t. if anything, she might be a little weirded out, but she would embrace it, just like you embraced john b. it had been so weird, but so right for them to get together. maybe she’d feel the exact same way about you and rafe. then again, you and rafe weren’t dating, were you?

“i’m having fun with you too,” you said, quieter this time as if another person might’ve been on the boat with you.

you looked back up at him, searching his eyes. you weren’t sure why you suddenly felt so scared, so anxious for saying that aloud. he had already admitted the same thing, so what was there to be afraid of?

a soft gasp fell from your lips as rafe pulled you closer, his hand slipping over your bottom. his eyes seemed to darken, although you couldn’t exactly tell if it was from his face moving closer. either way, it added to the pooling in your abdomen.

“sucking my dick or me eating you out?” he asked, his voice laced with lust.

you couldn’t help the blush sparking in your cheeks, heating your skin up faster than if you were to sit in front of a fire. you opened your mouth to answer him, instead watching as he disappeared and moved to your jaw. his mouth was warm and slick over your skin. you slipped your eyes closed and tightened your hold around his shoulders. god, you didn’t want him to stop.

“both,” you remembered to say, answering his question.

rafe squeezed at your ass, simultaneously moving your hips closer. you let out a breath when you brushed against him. he moved from your jaw then and found your lips.

“i thought we were just hanging out?” you teased, continuing to kiss him back in between the words. he was insatiable at the moment, never once letting you get too far away.

“we can if that’s what you want.” his breath was hot and growing heavy by the second. you smiled at the double meaning of his reply and pulled away slightly to shake your head. fuck no, you didn’t want to just hang out.

dropping your hands to the table behind you, you lifted yourself up and sat before tugging him in between your legs. you locked him in place with your thighs and reached up to connect your lips again. he obliged, running his tongue along your bottom lip in question. you happily allowed him access, making a small noise as you felt the pooling seep to your undies now.

his hands settled on your thighs for a little, gliding against your skin and sending shivers in each direction. you pushed your chest against his, wanting nothing more than to touch him, to feel him, to have his hands everywhere on your body. you nearly groaned in agony just wanting to ask him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. but it wasn’t long before he brought a hand up your side and rested over your breast. it was so warm and cupped you so nicely that you contemplated just letting it stay there, but your arousal told you differently.

pulling away, you managed to take your shirt off fast enough that you should’ve won the world record. you knocked rafe’s hat off while doing so, hearing it fall to the table behind you.

“fuck,” rafe swooned over your exposed chest.

he slipped an arm around your lower back, pulling you closer to the edge of the table and simultaneously against his bulge. you moaned and arched into his hand on your breast again, his grip gently kneading over your bra. what would his lips feel like there? you almost wish you could’ve found out the other day in the truck, but this…this was better.

feeling rather curious, or just very horny, you decided to rub your hips into rafe’s, feeling how hard he was. you felt the muscles in his back turn to steel, the noise against your lips contradicting it. his hand dropped from your breast to join his other at your lower back and you reveled in the way he gripped you tighter against his own body.

“fuck, i want you rafe, please.” you said, feeling the throbbing in your lips from kissing so much. you felt it just as much behind your shorts, your undies were practically drenched. you were so wet and you didn’t want to wait anymore for him to know it.

“i-i want you too,” he panted, loosening his grip.

he was very reluctant to pull away, to lose touch of you, but he was quick and excited as he pulled his shirt off, ripping some of the buttons. it made you laugh, your chest heaving for breath as you watched. he reached for your shorts next, moving fast and taking them off with your underwear at the same time. you didn’t mind, drawing your lip between your teeth, lifting your hips as you watched him do so. he pushed his bottoms off, fishing in his pocket for a condom he cleverly packed.

you drank in the sight of him, your thighs clenching together at the sight of his arousal and the dark curls surrounding him. for a second it felt like you shouldn’t be looking, that this was too private and not meant for your eyes, but once you looked up at his face and took in the way he was doing the same exact thing to you, you melted.

“you’re fucking pretty, you know that?” he said as he came back in between your legs, pushing your hair out of your eyes, and giving you a firm kiss.

“seems like you tell me a lot.” you answered and reached out to touch him gently. he sucked in a breath as your hand wrapped around him, your fingers registering that lovely vein again.

you could probably stare at your hand all day and revel in that vein, but instead you lifted your head and attached your lips to rafe’s neck. his hands went behind you so he could open the packet and it probably would’ve taken him a shorter amount of time if you weren’t sucking a mark into his skin and slowly rubbing him. he moaned lowly before getting the packet open successfully. you spent a few more seconds on his neck, then licked over the spot and pulled away.

rafe’s hand came over your wrist. he squeezed lightly then pulled your hand to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to your palm. he held your hand for a moment while he leaned in to press a kiss to your mouth. “can i taste you first?”

“o-okay,” you nodded quickly. “yeah.”

you practically reeled as he crouched down to his knees in front of you and brought a leg over his shoulder. you moved to the very edge of the table, having a slight thought of falling completely off, but you had a feeling rafe would catch you or you’d both laugh it off.

those thoughts completely disappeared as rafe put his mouth on you. you pulled a lip between your teeth, watching him as he did.

“fuck, you’re so wet for me.” he noted and gripped your thighs before licking a long stripe up your folds.

one of his hands slipped from your leg and you wondered what he was doing for a second, before you saw the muscles flexing in his shoulder. that got you even hotter, knowing that he was touching himself while having his mouth on you. you nearly couldn’t think straight as he licked you again. he dipped into your entrance and you swallowed a whimper when he decided to leave you like that.

you watched him stand back up and lick his lips as he rolled the condom on, your stomach flipping and rolling in anticipation. you swallowed thickly and looked up at rafe when he was ready, his hand gentle as it appeared on your hip.

“are you ready?” he asked in a deep breath. “if you want to stop, just tell me, okay?”

“okay,” you nodded with a small smile.

you spread your legs wider and looked down at the same time as rafe so you could watch him. you breathed slowly to relax, watching as he guided himself to your entrance and slowly moved inside of you. your mouth fell open as a result, your arms nearly giving out. he opened you up the more he slid in, his palm on your thigh pressing more and more until he was completely inside.

“s-shit,” you panted and let your head fall back for a moment.

you breathed, closed your eyes. you tried to remember everything. you wanted to remember everything about this moment, about what it was like to have rafe inside of you. christ, you’d been in this same spot a week ago, daydreaming about his damn arms and veins and whole entire being. you’d lusted after him, tasted him, had him taste you, and now here you were. how the fuck did you get here?

you took a deep breath and leaned your head up. rafe’s mouth was open, his grip now like a vice on your thigh.

“fuck, you feel so good,” rafe said. “just like i imagined.”

you nearly whined at that and pressed your thighs into his hips to hold him in place. you licked your lips and pulled his mouth to yours, inviting him to move finally. he pulled his hips back slowly, holding onto you before moving back it. he did it a couple times, trying to get you used to him. fuck, he felt amazing.

rafe set a pace, his hand making a home on your lower back while his other held your leg up behind your knee. you couldn’t get enough of his praises each time he pulled away from you.

“god, you’re perfect,” he moaned, slipping his tongue into your mouth. “you fit so nicely around me, baby.”

you also couldn’t get enough of that damn pet name. it sounded even better falling from his lips in this exact moment.

“you’re taking my cock so well.”

with that praise you couldn’t help the way you fluttered around him, squeezing him tightly and causing both of you to moan. he almost lost his rhythm for a moment but got it back as he kissed the corner of your lips down to your jaw. you kept your eyes closed, you found it easier so you could focus on just feeling him.

he pressed kisses down your neck, stopping at a few places to nip. it tickled you and aroused you at the same time, if not more. a minute later, he found his way to your breast, your back arching again to push into his mouth. his tongue appeared, flicking over your nipple.

“rafe,” you moaned louder than before and tightened your legs around him as you felt that coil wind up. “go f-faster.”

he groaned against you, the vibrations traveling all the way down to your core. he picked up the pace and groped you now, giving your breast a squeeze while his tongue flicked again. his teeth skimmed over it before he bit down gently, making your hand fly to his hair to keep his head where it was.

his thumb appeared on your clit and you had a feeling that he was about to completely ruin you. his mouth popped off of you and he leaned in for a kiss, his lips wet and swollen. wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you cried out as he grabbed a tight hold of your hip and picked up the pace, your skin starting to smack. you felt yourself squeeze around him as his tongue played with yours and it was almost too much that you had to pull away from the sensation.

“holy— f-fuck. rafe, i'm s-so close.”

“you gonna come for me?” his breath blew across your face, overly warm and heavy. “come for me. i want to feel you come on my cock, baby.”

his thumb timed up with his hips now, making your eyes prick with tears as you squeezed them shut tightly. you gripped rafe’s shoulder, trying to hold onto something as you felt it coming.

“that’s it, come on. i got you.” he coaxed you through it so gently that it made you want to sob.

instead, you cried out as you reached your climax, feeling yourself pulse and squeeze around rafe as you came over him. your whole body twitched and tensed as rafe kept circling your clit, helping you through it. you moaned lowly from your chest, your head falling backward and your eyes relaxing. you had no idea rafe was so close behind until his forehead fell to yours and his thrusts slowed. he pulled out and thrusted hard, doing that a few times until he came undone too. you felt him pulse inside of you, emptying into the condom in spurts. you wished you could taste it again.

you drew your face into his neck, still gripping his shoulder. your palm was sweating against the table behind you and you wondered how you lasted so long holding yourself up the whole time. your heartbeat gushed less in your ears as the minutes went by and your body relaxed against rafe’s. you still felt so full, wanting to keep him there longer.

pressing a kiss to that hollow between your neck and shoulder, rafe rubbed your back soothingly. “you did so good, baby.”

you hummed into his skin then pulled away to brush his hair and kiss him softly. “thank you,” you said quietly, not exactly for the compliment.

you made a noise close to a whine when rafe moved out of you. you knew he had too, watching as he pulled the condom off and tied it closed. he went to the trash bin in the kitchen to toss it while you reluctantly moved off the table. you slid, looking back to see a small mess you made with rafe on the surface.

just when you were about to ask rafe for something to clean it up with, he came back with a rag already in his hand. he held it out to you and you smiled, knowing he got it for you. you cleaned between your legs than folded the rag a couple times before wiping the table clean.

rafe’s hand came to your sides, caressing softly over your skin. you smiled at his chest, touching his arms and warming up at the thought of what you two had just done. he pulled you closer just to hold you, his hands roaming to your back. it was comforting to have the silence to touch each other, to just be for a few quiet moments.

“as much as i would love to just stand here with you, i'm a little paranoid that someone can easily see in here.” you said after a while, looking right at the open door to the back deck of the boat.

“maybe you should’ve thought about that before we fucked on the table.” rafe said and you could hear the stupid grin on his face.

you nudged him away jokingly as you laughed, but he switched to a serious look when he tugged you back by the hips. you swallowed as you felt him against your thigh, nearly ready to go again. you looked up at rafe, biting your lips together to keep the grin at bay.

“do you want to go inside?” he smiled softly, glancing down at your lips.

“yes,” you nodded.

you pulled away to pull your clothes on. rafe teased you with your undies, holding them out for you to take, then snatching them out of reach. you jabbed him in the side until he gave them to you, a teasing grin on his face.

your shirt settled around you and you looked at rafe just as he caught your wrist and tugged you closer. his lips connected with your cheek and he hugged you against him, warm and solid. it was familiar, something you didn’t think you’d be able to say about him. you looped your arms around his shoulders and hugged him back.

“what?” you asked when you pulled away, finding another dumb smile on his face.

“think we could do this again sometime?” he searched your eyes, glancing down at your lips.

you laughed and rolled your eyes, knowing that’s exactly what you were about to do once you got inside the house. why would he ask such a silly thing?

“of course,” you said anyways before pushing him away to get your keys.

you headed inside with him, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. you wondered how you looked, walking into tannyhill with him. you knew by the smile on your face that you were happy, and you guessed that he was too by the way he was holding you against him.

“wheezie?” rafe shouted into the house as he closed the door behind you two, his hand clasped tightly around yours.

silence followed his voice as you looked around the entryway, trying your best to hear for wheezie’s movements, or anybody’s voice. coast clear, you wanted to say but rafe beat you to it.

“fuck yes,” he sighed happily and pulled you by the hips to him. you laughed against his lips, kissing him back as you kicked your shoes off.

the next few seconds were filled with stumbling up the stairs like two drunks, pausing every so often just so rafe could kiss you, rafe making grabby hands at you and hardly letting you go. it’s a wonder how you even made it up the stairs. you giggled at him once you got into his room, him quick to toss his shirt to the floor, and closed the door.

—

“hello?”

your head snapped to rafe beside you, who was still working on catching his breath. sarah was home and you immediately panicked as you sat up.

“anybody home?” she called again, sounding so sweet like she was.

“up here!” rafe shouted, bare ass as can be and making your jaw go slack.

you smacked his thigh, the sound cracking sickeningly, before you scrambled off the bed to pull your clothes on.

“stop hitting me,” he laughed and lifted himself up to watch you stumble putting your shorts on.

“fuck off!” you whispered as if you had a chance at avoiding the impending situation. you pulled your shirt on roughly, completely forgetting a bra as you walked out of rafe’s room.

you managed to close his door completely and meet sarah at the top of the stairs. she looked up at you, surprised, carrying a few shopping bags.

“hey?” she greeted. “i could’ve sworn i heard my brother instead.”

oh beautiful, sweet, smart sarah. was there any way out of this? 

“i need to tell you something.” you said quickly and bit your lip anxiously.

sarah lifted an eyebrow at you, searching your face. you took an unsteady deep breath in. she won’t be mad, she won’t be mad, she won’t be mad. there was no way you could postpone this. this had to be done now otherwise you’d never forgive yourself. it’s so simple! you just have to say the words, just admit it. sarah, listen, i'm sl—

“you forgot this.” rafe’s voice came from behind you, making your stomach drop and sarah’s eyes completely divert over your shoulder.

turning slowly, you were absolutely mortified to see him holding your bra so comfortably. and he looked so proud too. god, you were going to kill him. that’s it, you were going to kill him. well, it had been nice while it lasted.

“oh my god,” you and sarah said at the same time.

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[godsofhumanity]

Do you have any hcs about Achilles/briseis/patroclus? Their dynamic and feelings and thought process, all that. Please be extensive about them I love reading Iliad hcs and discussions :>

ACHILLES

hot-tempered.

this^^ isn't really like a hc, i guess, it's an actual fact askdhaskdh

but i think Achilles is incredibly proud... i mean, i think he's very independent and self-serving.

which isn't always a bad thing. i think Achilles hates to rely on others- he likes to be in charge of his own life, he lives on his own terms.

so when Agamemnon comes in and starts demanding all these things from him, he is, understandably, outraged and irritated by it.

i personally don't think that Achilles has (had?) much of a political stance on the war. i think he enjoys fighting, not necessarily because he takes joy in bloodshed (though i think that might be part of it), but because he likes challenges.

so, for him, taking part in the war is just another challenge, another exercise. i don't think he takes it all that seriously.

UNTIL Patroclus goes ahead and dies.

and that really marks a change in Achilles.

the man who was blessed by the gods, Achilles the Invincible, gets hurt where i don't think he realised he could get hurt. and he goes on that rampage and goes wild.

Achilles doesn't really have much emotional control. i don't think he shies away from his feelings, and i don't think he is ever ashamed of them. he wears his heart on his sleeve.

BRISEIS

honestly, i've always been a bit unsure whether Achilles truly loved, or even liked Briseis. but, in my personal opinion, i'm going to say he didn't. at least, it was probably just a fling.

in Book IX of the Iliad, Achilles laments,

"...but from me alone of the Achaens has [Agamemnon] taken and kept my wife, the darling of my heart... But why must the Argives wage was against the Trojans? ... Was it not for fair-haired Helen's sake? [Does Agamemnon and Menelaus] alone of mortal men love their wives...? Nay, for [whoever] is a true man and sound of mind, loves his own [wife] and cherishes her, even as I too loved [Briseis] with all my heart, though she was but the captive of my spear." (Homer's Iliad. IX. 335-344)

Achilles compares Agamemnon taking Briseis from him as being on par with Paris taking Helen, which seems like a pretty convincing display of affection. he also calls her his wife (even though they're not officially married).

BUT!! in Book XIX, after Patroclus has died, Achilles changes his mind about Briseis. He complains to Agamemnon,

"[Agamemnon], [why did we fight at that] time with grief [in our hearts] we raged in soul-devouring strife for the sake of a girl? Would that amid the ships Artemis had slain her with an arrow on the day when I took her from out the spoil after I had laid waste Lyrnessus!" (Homer's Iliad. XIX. 55-60)

Achilles blames the fighting over Briseis as the reason why so many Achaens lost their lives, including Patroclus. he even goes as far as to say that he they all would've been better off if Artemis had killed Briseis. that doesn't really sound like love to me.

to me, it seems that Achilles only ever really viewed her as a prize. evidence of his conquest. and that makes sense to me because i think Achilles was a proud man. he'd enjoy putting his victories on display, and it's part of the reason why he gets so outraged when Agamemnon takes his war prize from him.

did Briseis like Achilles? again, i'm not so sure.

Achilles ravaged her town, killed her brothers and her husband, and then took her as his slave. i cannot imagine that she "truly" loved Achilles... but Patroclus? now there's a different story.

PATROCLUS

in the previous point, i said that Briseis might've actually loved Patroclus.

going back to Book XIX, when Briseis sees Patroclus' dead body, she throws herself over it and weeps bitterly, saying,

“Patroclus, dearest to my hapless heart, alive I left thee when I went from the hut, and now I find thee dead... My husband... I beheld mangled with the sharp bronze before our city, and my three brethren whom mine own mother bare, brethren beloved, all these met their day of doom. But thou, when swift Achilles slew my husband, and laid waste the city of godlike Mynes, wouldst not even suffer me to weep, but saidest that thou wouldst make me the wedded wife of Achilles, and that he would bear me in his ships to Phthia, and make me a marriage-feast among the Myrmidons. Wherefore I wail for thee in thy death and know no ceasing, for thou was ever kind.” (Homer's Iliad. XIX. 288-300)

so, Patroclus actually promised Briseis that he was going to help her gain a legal status as Achilles' wife.

Patroclus had absolutely no obligation to do such a thing, but he said that he would do it nonetheless.

Briseis describes Patroclus as "ever kind", so Patroclus must have been a genuinely nice guy.

i've always imagined Patroclus as a kind man. a little bit of a goofball, but really nice, and generous, and noble.

in fact, i think he was the only thing keeping Achilles in-check.

did Achilles love Patroclus? undoubtedly. you don't go on a rampage killing everyone in sight, and then dragging your enemy's corpse around their city just for the fun of it. that's passionate revenge. a heart that is seriously broken.

even so, netflix's Troy: Fall of a City does portray Patroclus, Achilles, and Briseis in a polygamic relationship, if you were curious! (it's only like 5 minutes of one episode though)

[birdship]

(DISCO ELYSIUM SPOILERS)

Wrote this... thing? to sort of explore potentially writing an actual bit of fanfic for Disco Elysium. It's just a short scene set during the time Harry's drifting in and out of consciousness and Kim is taking care of him.

Anyway, here. Self-indulgent gay longing bullshit, but maybe someone else out there will enjoy it?

Very short teaser, since the whole thing is only like 1600 words:

PERCEPTION: The pressure intensifies slightly, and you recognize it is in the shape of a human hand. YOU: Her hand…? PERCEPTION: No. Not hers. VOLITION: Never hers. LOGIC: His, genius. ESPRIT DE CORPS: It’s Kim. Of course it is. You knew it from the moment you saw him, somehow, that this man would take a bullet for you. He almost did. But right now, he’s kneeling beside you, tending to your wound. Gently, so gently reaching into the war zone of your body to peel back the old bandages, soaked in blood and pus, and press clean ones down in their place.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: Well, well! Look what the cat dragged in. You keep slipping away, Harry-boy. Back into that beautiful, dark sea. Where you came from. Where you belong. Even now it presses around you, pale and cold. You’re struggling so hard to keep your head above the water for these precious few seconds of aching consciousness. It would be easier to just… relax.

YOU: Hold on, what was that about a cat?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: There is no cat, you stupid fuck. Pay attention when I’m waxing poetic about the sweet embrace of death.

It’s hard to pay attention. Then again, it’s hard to do anything. Your breathing is shallow and ragged and you’re so, so tired. God are you tired.

PERCEPTION: You become gradually aware that there is a light pressure on your hip. PAIN THRESHOLD: The first small jolt of pain ripples through you, branching like lightning. PERCEPTION: The pressure intensifies slightly, and you recognize it is in the shape of a human hand.

YOU: Her hand…?

PERCEPTION: No. Not hers. VOLITION: Never hers. LOGIC: His, genius. ESPRIT DE CORPS: It’s Kim. Of course it is. You knew it from the moment you saw him, somehow, that this man would take a bullet for you. He almost did. But right now, he’s kneeling beside you, tending to your wound. Gently, so gently reaching into the war zone of your body to peel back the old bandages, soaked in blood and pus, and press clean ones down in their place.

YOU: His hand…

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s warm, electric, somehow both familiar and new all at once. You ache to lean into it and ask for more, more. How long has it been since anyone touched you like this? INLAND EMPIRE: Has anyone ever touched you like this, really? Right down to the core of you? Feeling the wreckage of you, the sharp edges of your heart? Running their fingers so lightly along the cracks of your horrible little brain? ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I meant literally. His hand is on your thigh. PAIN THRESHOLD: Because there’s a fucking gunshot wound there. LOGIC: Come on, don’t make it weird. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I’m not making it weird. VOLITION: You’re definitely making it weird. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Look, all I’m saying is it feels pretty nice, doesn’t it? Being close to him like this. His hands on your body.

YOU: Yeah. It does.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: In the haze of painkillers and recent trauma, your sight becomes clear. Ironic. You’re finally allowing yourself to see something that’s been quietly blossoming inside you over the years. It’s been so hard to ignore, but the alternative is so much worse. You couldn’t look right at it. Didn’t want to. Didn’t think you deserved to. But now, in this moment, lying on a lumpy mattress in the dark, trying not to lose consciousness yet again, with him pressing his hands to your rotting body, desperately staunching the bleeding that never seems to completely stop… Now the world has finally wrung everything out of you. Whatever it was that you had left. And you can do nothing but take the path of least resistance. HALF-LIGHT: You’re keenly aware that you will soon make an absolute goddamn fool of yourself, but are powerless to stop it. The forces are already in motion. PAIN THRESHOLD: Another lightning bolt of pain, worse this time. Agony. You cannot help but gurgle a quiet “fuck.”

The lieutenant glances up at your face with calm concern, thoroughly unsurprised by your outburst. “I know it hurts,” he breathes. “You’ll get through it.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, only half-processing his words.

PERCEPTION: His hand lingers ever so slightly, then suddenly it’s gone. The warm, comforting pressure of his company, gone. SUGGESTION: No! You’re going to be alone again! He needs to stay. You need him to be here. Next to you. For as long as possible.

You concentrate every ounce of willpower you have left on sending your right hand out to fish desperately for his before it’s gone.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION: Your hand slaps awkwardly against the sleeve of his jacket. You can’t quite get a grip on it, but your pathetic flailing is hard to ignore, and he stops to give you a quizzical look. VISUAL CALCULUS: That’s the best we could do. I don’t know what you expected from us. Your eyes are still closed.

“Detective?” he says to you. “Just relax. You’re going to be fine, but you need to get some rest.”

“Wait,” you mumble, “please stay.”

DRAMA: This is quite the sad display you’re putting on here, sire. It’s a crowded field, but this new late entry is a strong contender for the gold in the hotly contested “most uncomfortable moment” event at the Sad Old Sack of Shit Olympics.

VOLITION: Come on, you’re stronger than this. HALF-LIGHT: Don’t drag him down with you, you irrepressible fuck-up. What are you even trying to do? INLAND EMPIRE: He’s drowning. Desperate. Reaching for something, anything, to stay afloat. COMPOSURE: It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not anymore. There’s nothing to hold onto. SUGGESTION: Wrong. You have exactly one thing to hold onto right now, and that thing is Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi’s fucking hand.

Kim looks at you with a sort of detached concern for a moment, then gives you a small smile and sits back down next to you without another word. There’s nothing to say, and that’s fine.

EMPATHY: He looks exhausted. His eyes are ringed by dark circles and his shoulders have begun to sag with the weight of the case. The weight of death. The weight of you. He’s carrying so much. ESPRIT DE CORPS: He doesn’t want recognition or pity for it. He knows you’re bearing the same load. Don’t you dare apologize for any of it - this weight is shared. You’re in it together. SUGGESTION: Then why do you feel so guilty, watching him stare silently out the window into the impenetrable night, looking at nothing? You have to say something. Acknowledge his efforts to keep your sorry flesh sack shambling forward another day. VOLITION: No, stop. This is a bad idea. You don’t have to be the sorry cop anymore. In fact, please actively try to stop being that.

“Kim,” you say weakly.

“Yes?” he says, his gaze snapping back to you immediately.

“Thanks.”

“No need for that,” he says quickly.

VOLITION: Grateful cop, huh. Well, I guess that’s a step up. Very slightly less pitiful.

“Yeah,” you mumble, “alright. Sorry.”

VOLITION: Goddammit.

Kim doesn’t say anything. Just watches you with tired, searching eyes.

PERCEPTION: He’s sitting on the very edge of the bed, far away from you, his limbs tucked close to his body except for one hand, which rests lightly on the blanket. VISUAL CALCULUS: It’s still close enough that you could reach out and touch it without too much effort. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Get that sweet dopamine hit, baby! Human contact, the most dangerous drug!

Your fingers brush his hand. He jerks it away immediately, but it seems like an unconscious, automatic reaction.

“Ah,” he says, scooting over a bit. “I’ll give you some space.”

VOLITION: If your goal was to feel like a complete idiot in front of the one person in this shithole that you respect, well, pat yourself on the back. DRAMA: Congratulations, sire, you’ve done it! And what hill might thou plan to die on next? VOLITION: A much steeper one, hopefully. SUGGESTION: Ignore them, try again! PERCEPTION: Finally, your fingers manage to close around his wrist. You can’t see his reaction. Your eyes are closed. You can’t stand to look at the situation you’ve created. VOLITION: Coward. PERCEPTION: His hand is moving, changing position, but not withdrawing. It simply contorts in such a way that your grip relaxes and now it’s his hand that’s resting on top of yours. He is silent, but he’s there. Not moving away. You smell stale cigarette smoke and dry blood lingering in the space between his body and yours. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s too much. This hit, it’s stronger than you expected. It’s fucking devastating, a cold knife twisting its way through your broken body. It hurts. Why does it hurt? EMPATHY: Your eyes are still closed, but you sense that he too is looking elsewhere, similarly unable to look directly at the source of the overwhelming awkward - and quite frankly rather homo-sexual - energy you have brought down upon the room. CONCEPTUALIZATION: Every other human interaction happening inside the Whirling-in-Rags must be going very smoothly right now, because you’ve created a fucking singularity of awkwardness. There’s no more awkwardness left within a 2km radius, you’ve gathered it all right here.

Then, as quickly as the moment began, it’s over. He moves his hand and clears his throat. Probably cleans his glasses. It’s a nervous habit of his that you’ve noticed this past week.

A few minutes pass in silence. Then: “Harry?” he whispers quietly.

You don’t answer. You have nothing to say.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Maybe you were wrong. Maybe this is the harder option. Maybe you’re not ready to look at it. Maybe you’re not ready to look at anything.

“Get some rest,” he says softly. “I need to get back to work.”

EMPATHY: He’s not going to mention this incident. Not now. Not later. Not ever. Not just out of concern for you, but himself. He has no idea how to begin to process it, so he won’t. He’ll tell himself it doesn’t matter, you were just lost in a cloud of drouamine and pain and grief. That you were so out of it that you thought you were reaching for someone else. That vulnerable moment of tenderness could not have been meant for him. But you know the truth. And maybe he does too, somewhere deep down. LOGIC: You are okay with this. You have to be. And so does he. CONCEPTUALIZATION: You’ve glimpsed it now, that radiant thing within you. That bright, unbearable light. It’s so beautiful, so heart-breaking that you can hardly stand it. Maybe a glimpse is enough.

[sunlight-moonrise]

The Five Dates (Reid Request)

Summary: Reader decides that she wants to help Spencer experience the things he missed out on when he was a teenager. 

A/N: I had a couple of people ask for a part 2 to The Five Times so here it is. Originally was gonna leave that fic as a standalone but writer’s block on my other WIPs led to this sequel. I strongly recommend reading the first part before reading this one so that the story-line makes more sense. As always, thank you to the lovely @spencer-reid-in-a-pool and​ @wishingwellwriting​ for being fantastic betas. They have amazing fics, so if you need another Spencer Reid fix, they can most definitely deliver. Enjoy!

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 6.0K

Masterlist

The first date I had with my neighbor, I don’t think it really counted as a date.

Spencer and I were eating dinner at my apartment after he told me the man who tried to attack me was in custody. We were sitting on the couch with the TV on but I didn’t know what was playing since we were talking the whole time.

He told me that he does magic tricks, enjoys ghost stories, and loves to learn. In return, I told him my favorite hobbies, some habits that I can’t get out of, and food that I enjoy cooking. He listened with rapt attention, hanging on to every word I said. It was amazing being able to spend time with someone like this. It felt like I’ve known him for years rather than a few months.

“…and that’s probably my worst experience from school,” I finished, recounting the tales of my teenage years. “What about you? Anything you wish you can take back from the early days?”

Spencer suddenly turned away from me and became silent. I looked at him in confusion. Was it something I said? Did I offend him?

“Oh, I—I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?” I asked, my voice coming out as a whisper because of how low I spoke.

He quickly shook his head, as if driving away some bad thoughts that plagued his mind. “It’s not you. It’s just that I was a 12-year-old prodigy at a public high school in Vegas. I didn’t have a lot of fun experiences.”

I could hear the sorrow in his words when he told me this. I know how cruel kids could be, especially to someone they considered an outcast. My heart ached for the little boy who went through so much misery at such an early age.

There were a few more seconds of silence before I had a lightbulb moment. “Well, maybe we can change that,” I suggested. “We can do some things that typical teenagers do.” A million ideas immediately came to mind. We can go bowling or ice skating or bike riding.

“I don’t know. I kind of got over that point of my life.”

“Oh.” There was no hiding the sadness in my voice, which made me feel worse. There’s no reason for me to feel dejected over his statement. I shouldn’t be so selfish.

Spencer must have sensed that something was off with me because he quickly tried to correct himself. “It’s not that I don’t want to have these experiences. I just find it embarrassing that I haven’t had them yet, even now.”

“I’m not going to judge you, Spencer. I don’t want you to feel embarrassed with me,” I assured him. I moved my hand towards his as an offer to hold, which he surprisingly took. His hand completely enveloped mine. “Tell me some things that you’ve always wanted to do when you were younger but never got the chance.”

He took a moment to think while I anxiously waited for his response. “I never had the chance to have a sleepover. I had too many responsibilities at the time. I always wanted to go to a festival or a carnival. I also—” he suddenly stopped talking. I noticed his face turning slightly red as he bit his lower lip, his other hand patting against his leg.

“What is it, Spencer?”

“I-uh always wanted to wine and dine a girl, maybe take her to see a play or movie. I wanted to take an evening stroll and just stargaze for a while.” His voice became smaller the more he talked. I hated that he started to feel self-conscious around me but knew that it couldn’t be helped. I was going to change that. I was going to make sure that Spencer Reid experienced teenage fun.

“Anyway, it’s getting late,” he said, removing his hand from mine. “I have to go in tomorrow and I am sure you have an early day as well.”

“Let me put these dishes away and I’ll walk you to the door.” I grabbed our plates and walked to the kitchen, placing them in the sink. My mind was racing with thoughts on what to do for Spencer. When I returned to the living room, he was already by the hallway, grabbing his belongings.

I slowly opened the door for him, watching as he stepped out of the apartment. Before he made it too far, I grabbed the sleeve of his arm, prompting him to turn around. Here goes nothing.

“Spencer Reid, would you like to go on a date with me?” I asked, the pitch of my voice a lot higher than normal. Despite feeling nervous, I made sure to look him in the eye and maintain contact. He stared back at me, mouth agape while his face was turning pink.

“Are you sure?” he questioned, looking down at his feet. Mental note: build up Dr. Reid’s confidence, at least around me.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” I answered honestly. I smiled at him when I noticed his lips tugging upwards.

“Yes. I would like to go on a date with you, (Y/N).” The smile on his face was adorable and I was happy to be the cause of it. “Uh m-maybe I could get your number, so that we can talk,” he added.

“Sure.” I took my phone from my pocket before giving it to him. He put in his number, a bit slowly but I wasn’t complaining. I saw it as more time I got to spend with him. Once he handed my phone back, we just stood in front of each other for a while.

Before I lost my resolve, I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his cheek. Before either of us could do anything, I muttered a quick “Goodnight Dr. Reid,” and closed the door. My heart thumped erratically as I slid down the door.

“Goodnight (Y/N)” I heard through the block keeping us apart. His footsteps got quieter and quieter until he eventually opened and closed his own door.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely infatuated with Spencer Reid.

●●●

The second date I had with Dr. Reid, I was a nervous wreck.

Spencer and I have been texting back and forth these last few days. Luckily, we were both free this weekend, so we planned on going out. I haven’t told him yet where we’re going, much to his dismay. The only hint I gave him was to dress casually.

I’ve done some research and found that there was a food festival happening Saturday afternoon. A lot of local restaurants will have stands and distant establishments will be sending food trucks. Their theme is “Around the World” so we’ll get to explore various cultures. I’m hoping we can learn some new things from the different cuisines that would be showcased.

Saturday came around and I made sure I had everything ready. I wanted our date to go off without a hitch. I wanted this to be one of Spencer’s best experiences.

I heard a knock on my door, causing my heart to pick up a bit. I don’t know why I started to sweat. Sure, I’m going on a date with a good looking and successful man but there’s nothing to be nervous about, right? Right.

I heard another knock, more hesitant this time. I quickly made my way towards my door, taking a deep breath before opening it. Thank the angels I took in that breath because I immediately lost it again at the sight of him. 

Spencer was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Lavender roses and red carnations were a few that I could identify. I think the purple flower might be an orchid. 

He lifted them towards me, a slight tremor in his hands. “These are for you.” 

“They’re lovely Spencer, thank you.” I grabbed the flowers from him, taking in the smell of the blossoms. “I’m going to put these in a vase. I’ll be right back.”

I made my way to the living room to do just that. I grabbed my bag and a jacket before checking myself in the mirror one last time. Happy with my appearance, I returned back to Spencer. I shut the door behind us as we walked towards the elevator.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Spencer said as we entered the elevator. I can tell he was still nervous, the thrumming of his fingers against one another and the bouncing on his feet a few signs hinting towards his anxious state.

“You look dashing as well. Although I do remember telling you to dress casually, mister,” I said, a small smile appearing on my face at the sight of his own.

Spencer was wearing a dark pair of slacks with a light purple button-down shirt. His hair was slicked and combed back. He was rocking back and forth on his beat-upped chucks and I can see the mismatched socks peeking through. He looked a bit silly, especially considering where we are going, but handsome nonetheless.

“I don’t have casual clothing. Plus I wanted to look good for you.” I could feel my face getting warm because of his words. “By the way, it’s doctor.”

I giggled at his comment, which caused him to laugh as well. We exited the elevator and out of the lobby.

“We’re going to take the subway to our destination,” I informed him. “It should take less than half an hour to get there.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

“It’s still a surprise, doctor,” I beamed at him.

Fortunately, we did not experience any delays on the train. We spent the duration of the commute getting to know one another even more. He told me some stories involving outings with his co-workers and I could tell that he really loved each and every one of them. I shared some work stories and funny memories with my colleagues as well.

Once we got to our stop, I grabbed his hand and led us to the festival. It was a 10-minute walk from the exit. I turned to him as soon as I saw our destination within our sights.

“A food and wine festival?” he questioned.

“Yeah, I know this isn’t exactly what you had in mind when we were talking the other day but I thou—“

“I like it, especially since I’m  spending the day with you.” There goes my heart again, picking up pace as if I ran a marathon. I’m sure he says these things on purpose just to see me flustered.  

Spencer squeezed my hand in his and we explored the grounds. We decided to share a plate from each stall so that we can experience as much as possible. Spencer walked us to the first stall he saw, which showcased food from the Philippines.

“Did you know that Filipino food draws roots from their neighboring Asian nations as well as some Spanish countries?” he stated as we looked at the menu, “It is considered to be a perfect blend of Western and Eastern food. Actually—” he suddenly stopped himself. I looked at him curiously, wondering what caused his interruption.

“Sorry, I have a tendency to ramble.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I want to hear what you have to say. Let’s order something and you can finish telling me.”

He smiled brightly at me and squeezed my hand. After ordering a siopao to share, we sat at a table while he finished telling me facts about Filipino cuisine. As a matter of fact, he told me a lot of information about various cultures and countries as we walked from vendor to vendor.

We tried risotto from an Italian booth, which Spencer said was not as good as his friend’s cooking. We also got carne asada tacos from a Mexican food truck, where I discovered that tomatoes, dragon fruit, and vanilla originated from Mexico. We ate some sake nigiri sushi from a Japanese stand. I found out that Spencer cannot use chopsticks to save his life. I decided to feed him so that he doesn’t accidentally drop our food. We ventured to numerous vendors and had our fill in almost everything that was offered. We even had desserts and some drinks.

By the time Spencer and I made it back to our apartments, we were both stuffed. I was close to going into a food coma and I knew Spencer wasn’t far behind either.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much food in my life,” he commented as we stood in front of my door.

“You and me both. I’m sure I gained 10 pounds,” I joked, enjoying the way he laughed at my attempt at being humorous. I still held his hand in mine, not wanting the evening to end, but I knew it had to. We had spent the whole day together and we were tired.

Spencer made the decision for us. He lifted my hand, placed a chaste kiss on my knuckles and wished me sweet dreams before he retreated to his own home.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely charmed by Spencer Reid.

●●●

The third date I had with Spencer was ruined, but then fixed.

I was organizing a picnic basket when I received a call from him. I was puzzled as to why he was calling, especially when we’re supposed to meet up in a couple of hours.

“Hey (Y/N)” His voice came out gruff as if he just woke up.

“Hi Spencer, are you okay?” I heard some coughs coming from his end and I immediately became concerned over his well-being

“I don’t think I can go out this afternoon. I’ve been sick these past few days. I was really hoping to get back on my feet by now. I am so sorry.”

Before he could say anything else, because I knew he would in his remorseful state, I interrupted him. “Spencer, it's fine. We’ll raincheck,” I assured him. He tried to thank me, but another set of coughs came over. These sounded worse than the first ones.

Spencer managed to get out a goodbye before hanging up the phone. I contemplated what to do. He sounded so sick and miserable on the phone. He likely has a sore throat, maybe even muscle aches. The idea of him alone and shivering caused a dull pain in me.

I decided that I was going to see this man. I could make him something warm to eat and lend him my thickest blanket. We could even watch a movie together too.

With that in mind, I made some chicken soup and herbal tea. I put the items in containers before placing them in my picnic basket. I grabbed my largest and heaviest blanket, placing it over my shoulder. It wouldn’t fit in the basket, no matter how many times I folded it. Lastly, I grabbed my laptop, so that we can stream movies. Spencer once told me he wasn’t big on technology so I had no idea whether he owned a TV or not.

Once I had all the essential items, I made my way across the hall, knocking on his door. Unsurprisingly, it took a while for him to open the door. I waited a minute or two before he answered and was disheartened by what I saw.

Spencer was pale, well paler than usual, with a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.  His under eyes were dark and his nose was so red. He wore a robe over his pajamas. He looked as if he was about to fall over any second now.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, eyeing the blanket wrapped around me. His voice was slightly slurred and he was leaning on the doorframe to keep himself up.

“Well I figured since I couldn’t take you out on a picnic, I’ll take the picnic to you.”

He looked down at my hands, noticing the basket I was holding.

“You shouldn’t be around me, you’ll get sick.”

“Spencer Reid, you’re worth the cooties. May I please come in?”

He relented, leaving the door open for me to follow. I took in his apartment, appreciating his more vintage style. He had a massive collection of books, some of them in languages I couldn’t even identify.

“You have a miniature bookstore in here,” I commented. I turned towards him, seeing his figure laying down on the couch. 

“I like to read,” he simply said, the words muffled by the couch cushion he was lying on. I went towards him, shrugging off the blanket from me and placing it on top of his lap.

“If you get cold, use this to keep you warm. I’m going to heat up the soup and tea. Try to stay awake for me.”

Spencer nodded his head, bunching up the soft material in his hands. I quickly grabbed the content from the basket and dashed to the kitchen. It took me a few minutes to find where he puts his utensils, but I had everything taken care of in no time. I even found a tray to help me carry the food.

I brought the dishes to him, warning him of the heat. “I hope you like chicken soup and ginger tea. I added some honey to satisfy your sweet tooth.” He thanked me, holding the bowl close to him to keep him warm. I settled myself on the couch next to him, happy that he wasn’t complaining about our proximity.

“I have my laptop with me. We can watch some movies if you want.”

“I’d like that a lot.” We ended up watching The Matrix and Minority Report. Spencer tried his best to stay quiet during the films, but couldn’t help but to comment about certain technicalities and improbabilities. I found his rambling endearing, adding in my own opinions after he finished sharing his thoughts. I had to remind him to not strain his voice when he got on a tangent on how the idea of living in a simulation is not possible. He lost me once he started talking about quantum physics.

Spencer looked at the clock, noticing the late hour. “Are you going to leave?” His voice was low, and I am positive it was not because of his ill state. He was talking with passion and intensity a few moments ago.

“Do you want me to?”

“No. Is that selfish of me?” My heart skipped a beat. Knowing that he wanted me to stay with him gave me feelings I couldn’t quite describe.

“Of course not, Spence. We could have that sleepover you missed out on,” I stated enthusiastically. He stared at me for a moment, and I wondered if I misunderstood the situation. Before I could apologize for my assumption, he started talking.

“That’s the first time you called me Spence.” He’s right. All this time I’ve been addressing him as Spencer or Dr. Reid. “I like it,” he finished.         

“Let me grab my pajamas and some toiletries. I’ll be back before you know it.”

I sprinted to my apartment, changing into my sleepwear and grabbing my necessities before returning to Spencer’s. I am sure I was there and back under five minutes.

Spencer and I continued our evening playing board games. We played some chess (which I lost at) as well as poker (which I also lost at). He showed some card tricks and tried to teach me a basic one. I couldn’t do it as smoothly, but he said that with practice I could become a magician.

I knew the night was coming to an end when he began to yawn every few minutes. Despite saying that he could stay up longer, his body needed to recover.

“You should take my bedroom,” he offered after coming back from the restroom, “You’ll be comfortable there.”

“Absolutely not. Slumber Party rules dictate that we sleep in the same room.” He laughed at my proclamation.

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. Now I’m going to use your bathroom. Do you keep your spare sheets in the closet?”

He nodded drowsily as I made my way to his bathroom. I did my nightly routine and grabbed a blanket from the closet. When I returned to Spencer, he was already dozing off.   

He looked so peaceful at this moment, I’ve never seen such a look on him. I kissed the bridge of his nose and made my way to the armchair.

 I settled myself as comfortably as I can.. Before I fell asleep, I could have sworn I heard a “Goodnight” coming from his direction. When I peeked to see if he was awake, his eyes were still closed but he had a wide smile on his face.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely captivated by Spencer Reid.

●●●

The fourth date I had with Spence, he was in charge.

Spencer told me that he wanted to take me out as a way to show his gratitude. I wanted to tell him that it was unnecessary, but he looked so eager and I didn’t want to take that away. Plus, I was looking forward to whatever he came up with. I know that with Spencer, I am bound to have a good time.

He kept everything a secret for me, which was no surprise considering how our first official date went down. The only thing he told me was to dress nicely, yet comfortably.

My body was pulsating with excitement. I made sure to spend extra time with my makeup. I didn’t want to go overboard, but I definitely wanted to accentuate my features. I chose to wear a maxi skirt with my favorite blouse. I added a few accessories and paired everything with some heels.

I didn’t have to wait long before hearing a knock on the door. He always seems to have impeccable timing. I practically floated towards my door with how happy I was.

Spencer was dressed in black dress pants and a deep blue button-down. The outfit was accompanied with a dark tie and blazer combo. He even had dress shoes on, which came as a surprise since this man loves his chucks.

“You look as handsome as always, Doc.” He smiled at my words. I love that he was more comfortable with my compliments. It seems like we came a long way from him stammering over his words and fidgeting with his hands. Although I must admit that I am going to miss his bashful behavior.

“I got this for you.” He revealed what appeared to be a corsage in his hands, the flowers of the accessory matching the one pinned to his blazer. “Uh- I-I know it is probably a bit um juvenile. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”

“Spence, I love it. And I’ll love it more if you put it on me.”

He beamed at me, taking the corsage out of the casing and carefully securing it on my wrist. He was so gentle and patient while doing the task. Once he was done, we headed down to the lobby.

“I hope you don’t mind that I am driving,” he said as we made our way to what I assumed to be his car, a two-door pale blue Volvo. I was not surprised, this is his exact style.

“As long as you get us to our location in one piece, I don’t mind at all.” He opened my door for me before settling in on the driver’s side.

As Spencer drove, we talked about the antique style of his possessions. He shared that his Mom had a similar taste and he was very close to her when he was younger. I wanted to ask more, elated that he was telling me about his family, but decided to hold back. The way his voice wavered as he was talking showed me that this was a major effort for him. I decided to share some stories about my family and their influence over my own lifestyle.

Time always seems to fly with Spencer because before I knew it we were already parked. Being the chivalrous man that he is, Spencer made sure to open my door for me. He held my hand as we walked to the restaurant. I admired the ambiance of the venue. There was a band playing soft jazz music and lights scattered upon the ceiling. The décor was beautiful and the overall atmosphere was very cozy.

The hostess led us to our seats after Spencer informed her of our reservation. We sat at a corner table, providing us the perfect amount of privacy.

“Have you been here before?” I asked.

“No, I haven’t. As a matter of fact, a friend of mine recommended this place. He said that it was the perfect place to...uh, woo a girl.”

“Well, I am entirely wooed. But that is mostly due to the present company.” He smiled at me, before looking at the menu. I decided to do the same after noticing the pink tint at the tip of his ears. I still got it.

The rest of our dinner went smoothly. We ordered our meals as well as a glass of wine, in which I was informed of the many health benefits that come with drinking a glass of red. I was able to convince Spencer to show me a magic trick using a coin and napkin. He did it multiple times, yet I couldn’t find out how it worked. We talked about music, literature, art and so much more. We were so deep into our conversation that we didn’t notice our food had arrived.

My food smelled amazing and tasted even better. I couldn’t help but ask Spencer for a bite of his. He was willing to share as long as he got a piece of my food as well. We ended up splitting our meals with each other.

After paying for the entire bill, much to my protest, Spencer took my hand and led me out of the restaurant. I thought it would be the end of our night together but was wrong. Spencer said that there was one more surprise for me.

The car ride this time was a bit on the longer side and I wondered where on earth he could be taking us. It wasn’t until I saw a sign that a large smile appeared on my face.

“A drive-in theater?” I excitedly asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I hope you don’t mind watching a scary movie.”

“As long as you don’t mind me holding you when I get scared.”

“Deal.” 

It was not difficult to find a good spot to enjoy the film. I screamed and jumped multiple times for two hours straight, much to Spencer’s amusement. He attempted to distract me by telling me facts about certain aspects of the movie which marginally helped. By the end of the film, I had started to get drowsy due to all the mini shots of adrenaline.

“Did you have fun?” he asked as he drove us home. I could hear the uneasiness in his question. I’m not sure why he was nervous, this was hands down the most fun I ever had on a date.

“Of course, Spence. This had to be the best date I ever went on. Thank you.”

He smiled widely at the road and I made sure to cherish the moment. It was not often that I got to see such a large grin on Spencer’s face. Happiness was such a good look on him. It makes him appear much more lively and handsome.

I closed my eyes, allowing them to rest momentarily. I didn’t expect to be so tired from an outing. The motion of the car driving on smooth pavement was almost like a lullaby that lured me into a light slumber.

I’m not sure how much time has passed before I was lifted into someone’s arms. If it wasn’t for the scent of coffee and cinnamon, I surely would have panicked. I felt the press of warm lips on my forehead and couldn’t stop the sigh that left my mouth. I buried my head deeper into the arms that cradled me.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I definitely adored Spencer Reid.

●●●

The fifth date I had with Spencer was unplanned.

Spencer has been going on cases more often recently, so we didn’t have a chance to meet. We’ve been texting one another, even calling if time allows it, but I wanted to see him.

When he told me that he was finally flying back home, I decided to meet him at his job. I considered whether or not this would be crossing boundaries, but chose to accept the consequences of my actions later.

The drive to the building where Spencer works was not as long as I imagined. After receiving a visitor’s pass from the front desk and a vague direction of where to go, I found myself lost on the sixth floor.

“Can I help you sweetheart?” a feminine voice asked me. I turned to see a brightly colored fashionista in front of me. I was in awe of her vibrant attire. “Hun?”

“Oh uh, I’m sorry. I’m—I’m waiting for Spencer Reid to return. Umm, is there a place where I can wait for him?”

She beamed at me, her comforting smile providing me some relief. “The team isn’t coming for another half hour. You can wait in my office if you’d like.”

I nodded my head and followed her, taking in my surroundings. I have never been in such an official building before.

“Here we are,” said the kind stranger, leading me to a room filled with a bunch of monitors and computers. “I’m Penelope by the way. I work with Spencer and friends.”

“I’m (Y/N), Spencer’s neighbor.” I practically saw a lightbulb go over her head as she let out a squeal. Penelope started talking a mile a minute, I couldn’t understand what she was saying. It wasn’t until she saw the bewildered expression on my face that she paused and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that Spencer has spoken about you a few times. I didn’t want to assume initially but I figured who you were earlier. Our resident genius doesn’t get many visitors here.”

My face heated up. I was stuck on the fact that Spencer spoke about me to his colleagues, the people he considers his second family. I wondered what he said. Hopefully nothing too embarrassing, he always seems to catch me at some mortifying moments.

“Anyway,” Penelope continued, “you have to tell me about yourself. Spencer doesn’t share enough details and I promised not to search you up.”

For the next half hour, Penelope and I traded information about ourselves. She told me how she got the job as a technical analyst and some other activities she does outside of work while I told her about my typical routine and favorite pastimes.

Penelope’s phone vibrated and she immediately looked at her screen. “They’re here. Let’s go meet them upfront.”

We walked back to where I came from, standing in front of the elevators. We didn’t have to wait long for the doors to open before I saw a pack of people exiting. My eyes instantly landed on Spencer, he was the tallest in the group.

Spencer was currently looking at his phone, typing something on the screen. He finally brought his head up once he put his cell away and I felt mine vibrate with a notification. Once his eyes landed on me, he pushed past the people he was with and darted towards me.

I opened my arms as he drew me into a tight hug. It is a shame that I have not embraced Spencer more because he gives the best hugs. Everything about him automatically puts me in a tranquil state of mind.

“What are you doing here?” he asked once he put some space between us.

“I wanted to see you. Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay. I missed you.” That beautiful smile graced his face one more. How is it possible that this man is in my life?

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled Spencer and I away from our bubble. My face heated up as I saw his friends surrounding us.

“Who’s this pretty lady Reid?” asked the muscular man. I looked at all his colleagues, recognizing the blonde as the woman who was at his apartment a couple of months ago. That was when I mistakenly thought she was his girlfriend. She smiled at me, no doubt knowing who I was.

“This is (Y/N), she’s my gi—uh she’s my ummm …” he trailed off, glancing at me. I didn’t notice that we have yet to establish our relationship with one another.

“I’m his neighbor,” I finished. Spencer introduced me to his team before telling me to wait while he gathered his belongings. During his absence, Penelope convinced me to join her for a girl’s night out in the future with the other ladies. I couldn’t say no to the offer, her enthusiasm was seeping through her pores.

When Spencer returned, he grabbed my hand and said his goodbyes while leading us to the elevator. I saw Penelope whisper excitedly to the muscular man that I learned was named Derek, before the doors even got a chance to close.

“My car is here. I can drive us back home,” I informed Spencer.

He nodded his head as we exited the building and made our way to the car. I know that Spencer does not particularly like to discuss his cases, so instead I asked him questions of the places he has been at recently and whether he had the chance to explore. He animatedly told me of a book he purchased that was in a foreign language as well as a vinyl record he got at a music store.

“Can we go to the park?” he suddenly asked. I was a bit confused but decided not to question him.

“Yea, sure.”

The park was not far from where we currently were. After finding a spot and getting out, he took my hand in his once again, leading us down a serene trail. The sound of crickets chirping while the soft wind breezed through us was very relaxing. I looked up at the sky, taking in the tiny visible stars and full moon.

Spencer stopped walking in the middle of the trail, tugging my hand so that I was closer to him. He stared at me as his tongue brushed across his lips.   

“(Y/N)?” His voice had that shy tone once again.

“Yes, Spencer?” He brought his hand up to tuck some loose strands of hair behind my ear.

“May I kiss you?”

My heart started racing at his question. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. My voice was stuck in my throat so I nodded my head instead.

Spencer’s hand gently held my cheek as he leaned down towards me. I closed my eyes once his soft lips landed on mine, wrapping my free hand around his neck. He tasted sweet, as I knew he would. I pressed more firmly against him, enjoying the sound of his moan when I swept my tongue across his lower lip. He allowed me to explore his mouth as he did the same to me.

I pulled away after a while to catch my breath. Spencer placed his forehead against mine, breathing heavier than I have ever seen.

“(Y/N)?” he panted out, his voice a lot more confident than it was beforehand.

“Yes, Spencer?”

“Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

I looked into his gentle hazel eyes, embracing all the emotions he was showing me through them. That gorgeous smile adorned his face once more. He looked so beautiful right here.

“I would love to be your girlfriend, Spence.”

I captured his lips this time around, relishing the warmth of his mouth on mine.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely in love with Spencer Reid.

[puckandperry]

if you send for me

anderperry

synopsis: au in which welton academy isn’t a boarding school, and neil goes to todd’s house to throw pebbles at his bedroom window, and todd realises when it's his turn to throw the pebbles— before it’s too late.

warnings: slight sentiments of sadness. nothing too extreme!

w/c: 5.8k

a/n: hello all! this is my first time writing for these two, and the dps world in general, but i’ve done my best to capture the characters, and so i hope it’s worked. enjoy <3

⭒

The windows are dark, they always are. 

Todd’s parents have always been strict about that sort of thing— lights out after a certain hour, no going out on school nights, curfew and all that. 

Neil’s parents have always been like that too, but he’s learned to slip out of doors unnoticed, silent upon socked feet as he steals through the dark, only stepping on floorboards that don’t creak. Neil is a shadow, Neil is a thief. But the prize is far more precious than silver or gold. 

⭒

When the first pebble hits the window, Todd’s still asleep, and he doesn’t notice. 

The sound of the second pebble against the glass is conveniently part of his dream, and fades into the abyss of sleep, a drop of water in an ocean. 

The third is when he wakes properly, and he thinks that maybe footsteps are approaching his bedside. He shifts disconcertedly, sleep still trailing in the wake of his consciousness, the brush of a lover’s hand. 

But at the fourth, he sits bolt upright at the sound, eyes bright and wide in the dark, though moonlight spills onto the floor from the window, from behind those curtains that never consent to be fully closed. 

He slips his toes out from beneath the covers and winces at the cold when they meet the wooden floor, but he’s quick to recover from the tingle of frost down his spine, and he walks toward the window in three quick, short strides. 

When he brushes away the curtains and twines his fingers around the window latches to push the contraption from its frame, he finds Neil on the ground below, a hand raised with a fifth pebble, the other cradling several more. 

Neil’s face breaks into a smile when he catches Todd’s eyes, and Todd fights the flutter of his heart, coaxes his own smile into a grimace; he should not be happy that Neil is here, in the middle of the night. He should be cross, and worried about his parents finding him up after bedtime, and grouchy with his lingering drowsiness. 

But he is none of those things. He is decidedly lighthearted, awake and spirited and warm, despite the coldness of the night. He is how he always is, when he is with Neil. 

“What’re you doing here?” he hisses, his elbows on the windowsill as he leans farther out into the night, the breeze beginning to ruffle his hair. 

Neil smiles, like Neil always does. “What does it look like?” he says. “I’m here to see you, of course.”

“You can’t—” Feigned indignation has raised Todd’s voice on no account of his own, and he has to swallow to bring his volume back down. “You can’t be here,” he says. 

Neil folds his arms. “Why not?”

“Because it’s the middle of the night!” Todd sputters. “Because you should be asleep!”

Neil only grins. “You’re not asleep,” he counters easily. His tongue is poking out between his teeth, his eyes vivid in the moonlight. 

“Because you woke me,” says Todd, but it’s a lame attempt at an excuse, and Neil is already climbing the bush that twists up the wall by Todd’s bedroom, his sweater sleeves snagging on the brambles. 

And Todd is leaning out the window, biting his lip as his fingers tighten on the windowsill and he pleads with the darkness not to let Neil fall, because he’d never forgive himself if Neil fell for him, for his sake, for the sake of seeing him. 

And why? Why is the other question that nags at Todd as Neil skirts the windowsill, swings one leg up to clamber into his bedroom. Sure, they’re friends, but midnight visits in solemn shadow, pebbles thrown like stars, one leaning out the window to speak to the other like Shakespearian lovers.

It doesn’t make any sense. 

Todd isn’t paying attention when Neil finally tumbles through the window, making a shushing noise as though his shoes will obey him and not make a sound. 

He straightens up, and when he does, he’s nose-to-nose with Todd, who seizes up when he realises the position they’re in. 

But Neil only laughs, his perfect hair hanging into his perfect eyes, and Todd wants to reach up and brush it away, to see the other boy better. He doesn’t, though, and Neil is left with that task for himself. He takes it in stride, and when he smiles down at Todd, his eyes crinkle. 

Instinctively, Todd smiles back. 

“Hi,” says Neil. 

Todd’s reply is breathless, and Neil’s smile broadens. 

“Scared ya, did I?”

“Well who the hell prances about throwing pebbles past midnight?” asks Todd, as though expecting a legitimate answer. But for all Neil’s openness, his vibrant personality, he is noticeably quiet on certain topics. 

He snorts. “Prancing? I prefer gallivanting.”

Todd rolls his eyes in response. “Keating is getting to your head.”

“And yours,” says Neil, with twinkling eyes. “Can’t help but love him, though.”

Neil is often bold, but he rarely talks of love. Todd wonders faintly if it's because he’s never been loved wholly, properly. Only fragments here and there, what can be scavenged. Though Todd doesn’t understand how anyone could love Neil any less than wholly. Neil is magnetic, beautiful, powerful in his sense of self and conscious of the world around him. Todd has never met anyone like him. 

“So what are you doing?”

“Doing? Neil, I was asleep.”

He shrugs almost apologetically, then fishes a leather-bound book from the inside pocket of the jacket he’s wearing. “Feel like reading some poetry?”

⭒

It starts off with Whitman, and Byron quickly follows, to precede Shakespeare and Wilde, and then they halt with Wilde, because their voices have grown languid with the passing time, and it takes longer now to recite a poem than it did an hour ago. 

They’re sitting on the floor, leaned against Todd’s bed although the floor is cold, and Neil isn’t quite sure why they’re sitting on the floor, but he thinks it has something to do with the intimacy of sharing the space of someone else’s bed, a line Todd hasn’t offered to cross, and one Neil doesn’t dare to suggest— even if the floor is freezing.

But Todd’s side is pressed up against his, and so Neil is not as cold as he would have been. They lean against each other, and Neil reads aloud. 

In the words of Wilde he tells of the sun and the moon, of the moon retreating to her sombre cave as the night wanes to day, and the silence that love makes of a person. He reads of feelings seldom felt, though they are ones he feels strongly, and he thinks that he must be wrong in his assessment of himself, because surely, his heart should not be beating out of his chest for the one who sits beside him.

“But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show/Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung; Else it were better we should part, and go,” Neil reads, and he thinks that Todd is falling asleep beside him. “Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,” and Todd is most definitely asleep, because his head rests upon Neil’s shoulder, and Neil thinks of how lucky he is for Todd to trust him this way, “And I to nurse the barren memory/Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.”

He finishes the verse, the poem, and there is a silence like that after rain. Soft, pure, and the world beneath is untouched, new, as the sun flits through the leaves to colour the Earth below in warm hues, firelight remnants. 

Or perhaps the silence is not what gives Neil this feeling, but Todd’s soft exhale on his shoulder. 

Neil smiles to himself. 

There’s a blanket on the end of the bed, and he reaches for it, drapes it over the boy beside him. Then slowly, carefully, he eases Todd’s head from his shoulder, and lets him curl up with his head upon a pillow, still on the floor, because Neil worries he’ll wake Todd if he tries to move him back to bed. But at least now the other boy is cocooned in warmth, and unbothered by the world around him. 

His cheeks are a little flushed, lips parted against the pillow. His hair is in his eyes, as Neil’s often is. Neil never brushes his own hair away. His mother used to do that. She doesn’t anymore, but he still hopes that one day she’ll return to her old habit. Neil wonders if Todd’s mother brushes his hair from his eyes. 

Neil resolves that it does not matter whether or not she does, but that one of the most gentle things in this world is to have one’s hair combed away from one’s eyes, and Todd is the gentlest person Neil has ever known. He’s fierce when sufficiently provoked, but quiet up until that point, and Neil admires that betwixt the cruelties of this world, there are still people like Todd who find it within themselves to be gentle. 

He stoops, and brushes the hair from his friend’s eyes, lets his touch linger. 

“Adieu, adieu, adieu,” he murmurs, because he has no words of his own for this moment, and must borrow from Shakespeare. 

Neil climbs out the window, finds footholds in the bush against the brick of the house, closes the window, and slips out into the night.

⭒

Todd wakes alone, and goes to school as usual. 

When he meets Neil in the morning, they do not speak of the night before. Still, Neil’s smile is bright and warm as the sun, and they talk between classes, stifle laughter at the same stiff-necked teachers that they always do, exchange glances with one another as Keating’s lesson of the day proves even more adventurous as the previous. 

He is getting to be better friends with the boys whom Neil keeps in company, as well, beginning to settle into a comfortable routine, and the lot of them meet in the cave on weekend nights as they always do. In content, it is much like the nights Todd spends with Neil, yet, the cave meetings have a different air about them. 

The days pass with school and homework, the bore of scholarly tasks made lively by the asides of his friends.

Todd loves the days, but he lives for the nights. 

Neil has now made a habit of coming to visit, sneaking up the climbing bush and letting Todd help him the last of the way through the window. 

He brings a book, or a leaflet, something to read, or the script for the play he’s in, so that Todd can help him to practice lines. Neil hasn’t told his parents about the play, so Todd’s house, in the middle of the night, is the safest place to practice. 

But Neil projects, as all good actors know to do, and Todd shushes him.

“My parents!” he reminds him, because they are asleep downstairs. But Neil’s speech only gives way to laughter, muffled by the wool of his sweater sleeve as he covers his mouth vainly, in an attempt to drown the sound. 

Soon Todd is laughing as well, and they’re not laughing, but giggling, and the sound is so absurdly childish that Todd shushes Neil with new fervour. However, Neil does not take note, rather throws his head back as his shoulders shake, and Todd reaches up and covers Neil’s mouth with his hands. 

Neil tries to bat away Todd’s hands, but Todd does not relent, a warning in his eyes. Neil ceases his giggling, and nods, to assure Todd that he will not laugh any more. 

Ever-trusting, Todd removes his hands from Neil’s person, but Neil starts laughing again as soon as he is free. 

Todd reaches up to cover Neil’s mouth again, more playful than in actual effectiveness, but immediately, Neil presses a kiss to Todd’s fingers, and Todd leaps back. 

“Neil!” he says, but Neil only laughs, and when the latter leaves in the twilight of the youthful morning, it’s with extra care to move in silence, as though to make up for the ruckus of earlier. 

Sometimes Neil brings food, pilfered from his own pantry, or from the dining hall at school, cookies and pieces of cake, fruit slightly bruised from being stolen and hidden away, but still always ripe and sweet. 

They read books and poetry, learn Shakespeare, trade stories over their pillaged feasts, listen to records at the lowest volume possible, parting in the morning with no word of the night. 

There is something comfortable about simply being in Neil’s presence. There is no pressure to do anything, to be anything in particular, and yet Todd feels that he could do anything, be anything— whatever he likes. So, in a rare moment of truth, he chooses to simply be himself.

He likes being himself. 

⭒

As midnight decisions often do, the lack of sleep earned by Todd and Neil in the company of one another catches up with them, and one day, the two are awoken by someone clearing their throat. 

But they are not in Todd’s bedroom when Neil lifts his head, lifts his head up from a desk and blinks sleepily to find Todd on his left doing the same. The classroom is otherwise empty, before they each notice Keating leaned against the table between them, his arms folded and his eyes crinkling at the corners as his gaze darts between them. 

“Morning, boys,” he says, and Neil thinks his smile broadens. 

“Mr. Keating,” he blurts, at the same time Todd says, 

“I uh—”

But Keating waves his hands, smiling still. “No, no. No trouble. I imagine my voice has a bit of a droll to it. I’m sure that’s why my first thesis presentation went as badly as it did.” He shifts, lifts his chin, narrows his eyes. “So, what’s keeping you up at night? Dreams? Or fears?”

Neil glances at Todd to see if he’s going to respond, but Todd only smiles, as though he knows something Neil doesn’t. 

A moment later, Neil realises that his glasses are askew on his nose, and adjusts them hurriedly, making a face at the other boy. 

Todd makes a face back, before they both remember Keating, and turn their heads in his direction once more.

His eyes twinkle. “Or,” he says thoughtfully, “each other?”

Neil swallows.

“We’ve been reading poetry,” says Todd, and Neil looks upon him with pleasant surprise. It is not often Todd speaks unprompted. 

Todd’s words are of truth, and Keating knows of the Dead Poets Society meetings in the cave. He should not, however, know of Neil’s late-night visits to Todd. And yet, something in his countenance persuades Neil that Keating does know.

“And poetry is all well and fine,” Keating responds, with his easy smile, “but you cannot dream if you do not sleep. And if you sleep in my class, you will miss some golden opportunities to follow your dreams.”

Neil fights laughter, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Todd is already in the throes of it, and so he gives up his solemnity and grins. 

“We are such stuff as dreams are made of,” Neil quotes, “and our little life is rounded with sleep.”

“Ah,” says Keating, “our good friend William. But, Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks/Within his bending sickle's compass come;/Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,/But bears it out even to the edge of doom. Love waits,” he says, “and you have time. So long as in sleeping, you wait as well.”

The eyes of their teacher twinkle again as he gathers up his things and proceeds to the open classroom door.

Todd turns to Neil. “What— what d’you think he meant by that?”

Neil stares after Keating, though he feels Todd’s eyes upon him. 

“No idea,” he says. 

He lies.

⭒

Todd has been keeping Neil’s secret for months now. Two months, to be exact, and all he has to do is keep it for one more night, because Neil’s father mustn’t find out. Neil’s father mustn’t find out that Neil is going to be in a play. 

But be in a play Neil will, and Todd has never seen him as happy as he is now. 

They’re all here in the wings. Todd and Charlie and Meeks and Pitts and Knox, with Chris, and Ca— well, actually, Cameron seems not to be here. Todd has no idea where he’s got to, but he hasn’t seen him, and to be honest, he doesn’t rightly care where Cameron is. But Keating is here too and Neil— beautiful, brilliant Neil— waiting for the lights to dim and for the last of the audience to take their seats. 

Neil is in costume— a simple thing, matching greenish-grey trousers and shirt, a crown of twining twigs and ruby berries upon his hair. The lot of them have been talking animatedly for the past few minutes, Neil the most animated of them all, but now Keating glances at his wristwatch and announces that they should probably make their way to their seats, before the theatre falls entirely dark. Murmurs of agreement ensue, and the gaggle of boys turn to follow Keating. 

Keating pauses, touches Neil’s shoulder. 

“Break a leg, ye merry Puck.” He grins, and Neil smiles happily. 

Meeks and Pitts wish Neil the same, and he nods his thanks. Knox tells Neil good luck, to the uproar of Charlie.

Charlie cuffs the back of Knox’s head, and Knox yelps. “What kind of idiot are you?” 

“You tell me!” says Knox. “What kind of idiot am I, Charlie?” 

“You don’t tell actors good luck!” Charlie rebuts. “That’s the kind of idiot you are.”

Charlie stalks off, and Knox runs after him. Their conversation floats back to Neil and Todd, who stare after them. 

“But what kind?! CHARLIE!”

Todd finds Neil laughing when he turns back to his friend. 

“They’re both idiots,” he says. “The same kind.”

“S why they get along so well,” Todd responds, and Neil nods his agreement. 

Then at once, his eyes flit away from the shrinking figures of Charlie and Knox, and when Todd looks at him, Neil’s gaze dances with light.

“What?” says Todd, a half-smile already upon his face. 

Neil’s eyes meet with Todd’s, and he grins. “I’m just so excited! I’ve never been this excited before, I mean, to be in a play, to be in an actual play, and not just any play, but Shakespeare— Todd!” Neil laughs delightedly, spinning in a wild circle with his arms outstretched, so that he nearly whacks Todd in the process. 

Todd laughs as well, and marvels at the colour of Neil’s eyes, a colour for which he has no name but the-colour-of-Neil’s-eyes-colour. He’s never seen a colour like this anywhere else, with the sheer spirit and liveliness it bears, despite the fact that it is only a colour, and colours cannot be neither spirited nor lively. But then there are Neil’s eyes, staring back into his, and Todd thinks that colours can most certainly be both spirited and lively.

“I’m so excited, I swear I could do anything.”

“Anything?” says Todd, as the lights begin to dim. 

“Anything! I could run a marathon—”

Todd laughs. 

“— scale a mountain, write a poem far better than yours—”

Todd scoffs, not at that Neil should be able to write something better than he, but at that Neil thinks Todd sets a standard for poem-writing in the first place. 

“— alright,” says Neil, “maybe not a poem better than yours, but still!” He’s breathless, now, eyes flitting from the stage lights to the stage itself, all about the world around him, and back to Todd. Always back to Todd. “I could fly,” Neil says. “I really think I could fly. I have this feeling.”

“A feeling?”

“Yeah, a feeling,” he breathes. “Like I’m invincible. Like I could do anything.”

“That’s generally the definition of the word ‘invincible’,” Todd deadpans. But nothing can or will faze Neil Perry. 

“I’m so excited I could dance. Sing—”

“Yeah, got that. You could do anything.”

“Todd, I could kiss you, I’m so excited!”

It slips out, just slips out. That much is apparent to Todd, even as his cheeks flush crimson in the waning light, even as Neil’s eyes grow soft and Todd finds he can’t look away. 

It slips out, but Neil is entirely serious. 

Todd’s stomach does somersaults as he opens his mouth to stammer out that it’s fine, they can forget about what Neil’s said, but then Neil stoops and kisses him. 

Gently. Quickly. He’s drawn back again before Todd can think to respond, though he realises his eyelids have fluttered shut. 

When he opens his eyes, there’s a sigh on his parted lips, and he’s taken half a step forward, drifted toward Neil.

Neil’s face is impassive as he straightens up, but his eyes are soft and searching. 

Todd wonders what he’s searching for, but he once again has no time to react before someone calls,

“Neil, showtime!”

Neil drops his gaze to the floor and spins away from Todd, showing no signs of the adrenaline high that presently has Todd in its thrall, rushing through him like an opened dam— there’s no coming back from this. 

But before Neil gets too far away, Todd grabs his hand and squeezes. 

Neil doesn’t look back, though his fingers curl in Todd’s grasp. 

He disappears amongst the crowd of cast and crew before another word can be exchanged. 

Todd doesn’t think anyone saw them, but he understands Neil’s caution, even as his heart twists in his chest and he makes his way to Mr. Keating and the others in the audience. 

He settles into his seat as the lights finally fade into shadows, and Keating glances at Todd as though to ask if he’s okay. 

Todd gives a brief nod and turns his head toward the stage, hoping Keating cannot see the apprehension in his eyes. 

But as Neil and his castmates take the stage, Todd forgets everything but the show, and how talented Neil is as part of it. He chortles alongside the rest of the audience, smiles upon Neil with reverence, the way an astronomer would look upon a star, an artist upon their paints, an adventurer upon the undiscovered secrets of the universe. 

His heart is full, his hands are warm.

And Neil lights up the stage.

⭒

They’re taking their bows upon the edge of the stage, striding forward to be met with the standing ovation gifted to them by the audience, and as the house lights come back up, Neil sees his friends and Keating applauding, whistling, cheering for him. Sees Todd cheering for him, for once the loudest of them all.

And then the curtains are closing and Neil exhales the high coursing through his veins, throws back his head and laughs as his castmates shout and celebrate around him. They jostle, congratulating one another and him, and Neil congratulates them in turn. 

But then there's a cloud, because he’s being told that his father is waiting for him. 

He changes briskly, takes his duffle bag in one hand and his crooked crown in the other, and parts the grand drape. He doesn’t breathe as he lifts his gaze, and makes eye contact with his father.

Any hopes he had of his father understanding this talent of his, this acting, which is not a fleeting love but an enduring one, disappears when he next exhales, a puff of air in the coldness of night, gone before you have time to fully realise that it is there. 

Silently, Neil follows his father out the door. His friends fall upon him, some of them calling to him to congratulate him on his performance, others to invite him to some kind of afterparty. 

“I can’t, guys,” he is forced to say, though really he has no idea why it is that he can’t. Neil was good as Puck. Neil knows he was good. Can’t his father see that too?

Somebody says his name as he’s walking, but it’s not until the repetition of it that Neil startles to perceive Keating beside him.

“You have the gift! What a performance!” 

Keating is smiling and Neil smiles back, momentarily lost in that someone has spoken what he wants to hear. “You left even me speechless!”

It does not last. 

“Stay in the car,” Neil’s father growls. “And Keating. You stay away from my son.”

Charlie is shouting Neil’s name, shouting an appeal to Neil’s father, but the latter only glares, and Neil gets into the car without argument. 

As the car is started and driven away, Neil’s gaze lingers on Todd’s, through the window, through the snow. 

⭒

They’re walking back to school, where they’ve left their bikes, when Todd stops in his tracks.

The others have been talking, but Todd has been thinking. Thinking about earlier.

He can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. Or that something was wrong. Or will be wrong. 

And suddenly there’s an urgency that plagues him, and he has to see Neil, or he won’t be able to sleep that night, or any night.

He stops, turns, and then simply starts running. 

Carpe fucking diem.

“Hey— Todd!” Charlie is the one shouting, again. “What’re you—  where are you—”

“I’ll catch up with you guys later!” Todd calls back. 

“But where’re you going?!” says Meeks.

“Neil’s!” 

He begins to run properly, pumping his arms, letting the wind assault his senses as it whips the hair about his face, as he throws himself forward like he’s falling. And he is falling. But not because of gravity.

He barely knows where he’s going, but he and Neil have walked home together plenty a time, and so he remembers what street Neil lives on, by intuition, if not by name. 

When he reaches the street he’s looking for, he slows and nearly slips in the snow when he makes a hairpin turn onto the lane. 

From a run to a jog to a walk he slows, because now he’s looking for Neil’s father’s car to identify the house. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Todd mutters as he hurries up the road, scanning left and right, left, right, left— right again. 

His heart is sinking and he bites his lip, starts to notice the cold, how his fingers tremble with it, his cheeks burning from the wind. 

And then he sees it. 

And he runs. 

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do once he gets there, but within moments, he’s there. He has to be here. 

He runs across the grass, and then, by sheer luck, he sees it: Neil’s crown from the play, sitting atop a windowsill in the upper floor of the house. 

Todd’s eyes scour the ground, but the snow is thick, and there are no pebbles. 

He glances up again, and that desperation seizes him. Back down to the ground, and still he sees nothing. But then the next time he looks up, there’s Neil, standing in the window, and the crown is upon his head. 

He stares forward into the darkness of the night, blankly, and Todd has rarely seen him this colourless. Still, there is something beautiful in those dark eyes, in the curve of his mouth and how it matches that of his shoulders. 

Todd considers shouting, but then he doesn’t want to wake the whole of the Perry household.

In one moment, Todd is watching Neil through the window, and in the next he has formed a snowball in his hands. 

He arcs it toward the window with a huff, never dreaming that it will land.

Much less dreaming that it will sail straight through the window— which appears to be open— and catch Neil upon his bare shoulder.

Neil startles with a gasp, the coldness of the snow instantaneous in reviving him from his reverie, and when he sees from whence the projectile came, his mouth falls agape. 

“Todd?”

“I— I don’t know how I’m going to climb a drainpipe in a suit but I’m—” Todd swallows, steels himself. “I’m going to do it.”

He braces one foot against the brick and grasps the drainpipe with both hands, attempts to hoist himself upward. 

“Todd, you’re crazy,” says Neil, and he’s leaning against the windowsill, the way Todd did the first time when Neil came to visit him. “This is crazy. Get down from there, you’ll fall!”

Sure enough, Todd slips, but he wasn’t really off of the ground in the first place, so it doesn’t matter. He looks up at Neil, standing in the window. 

“You’re crazy,” he replies. “And you’ll freeze to death. Get back inside.”

But Neil shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Todd huffs in indignation. “Well, what then?”

Neil smiles. “Hang on.”

“Hang on?” Todd mutters, as Neil disappears from the window. “I’m still on the ground, how can I hang on?”

But then Neil reappears in the window, and drops a length of bundled bed sheets out the window. 

Todd dodges before they smack him in the head, then takes the end like a rope that’s meant for climbing. 

He calls to Neil in a stage whisper, “How do you just so happen to have bed sheets made into a rope?” 

“Silly goose,” says Neil. “How do you think I get out of the house when I go to visit you?’

Todd grins in response, and Neil mirrors. 

“Now come on. I’ve got you.”

With one final eyebrow raise directed at Neil, Todd shrugs and begins his ascent up the brick. 

It’s an arduous climb, particularly since Todd has never done anything like this before, but Neil’s grip does not falter, and soon Neil is pulling Todd through the window, and Todd is collapsing atop Neil on the bedroom floor. 

Todd blushes, embarrassed, but Neil laughs and winds Todd in his arms, and Todd feels as though his heart will burst. 

“What are you doing here?” Neil asks, when he stops laughing. But it’s more habit than actual askance, and Neil has rolled over so that the two of them are on the floor beside one another. He props himself up on one elbow and stares at Todd, that soft expression ever-prevailing. 

Todd shrugs, because he doesn’t know how to answer, doesn’t actually know what made him turn around and sprint through ice and snow to Neil’s house, and really, now that he’s here, it seems sort of ridiculous.

“Dunno. Couldn’t let you leave like that.” He’s mumbling, and something about what he says makes Neil’s face fall. It breaks Todd’s heart a little. “Neil?”

Neil presses his lips together, and Todd’s eyes trace constellations in the spattering of freckles that cover Neil’s shoulders. He repeats the other boy’s name quietly, and Neil inhales stutteringly. 

“My father’s sending me to military school.”

“What?” Todd says. “Military school?”

Neil nods, avoiding Todd’s gaze. 

“But what about Welton?”

“Pulling me out tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, but that’s— he can’t do that, can he? In the middle of the year?”

“He can,” says Neil morosely. 

Todd doesn’t know what it is that’s driving him any longer, but it certainly is not his head, because he grabs Neil’s hand. 

Neil looks up. 

“It’ll be okay,” Todd says. “I’ll write to you. We’ll all write to you. In a year, you’ll be eighteen, and then—” Todd’s being bold, forward, doesn’t know how he’s doing it, but he’s doing it, pushing his fingers through the hair that falls loosely over Neil’s forehead— “then you can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever?” inquires Neil, and the smile has returned to his voice, his eyes. 

Todd cants his head to one side, and he thinks that Neil has moved closer. Any closer at all, and Todd swears he will disintegrate. “Whatever you want,” he murmurs. But in truth, he’s not really thinking anymore, as Neil’s sigh fans his lips. 

“Can I kiss you again?”

Todd lets out a nervous giggle. “I don’t know, Neil. Can you?”

And Neil does. 

Neil kisses Todd deeply and steals the air from his lungs, the thoughts from his mind, the senses from his body, until there is nothing but thoughts of Neil and the curve of Neil’s body against his own. Neil is soft, like his smiles, and Todd feels himself melt, helplessly tracing fingertips over Neil’s skin, to touch those constellations he has only ever looked upon— and even so, rarely— lets Neil push the hair back from his face and kiss him with the lips that have for weeks read him poetry, shared emotions never shared with anyone else, breathed encouragement and compliment to no end, with ardour, with truth, with love. 

Then abruptly, Neil’s mouth is gone from Todd’s, and Todd groans his discontent.

“Do you really think I could do anything?” says Neil, his hands resting on either side of Todd’s face.

“Anything,” says Todd.

“So you think I could be an actor, for real?”

Todd snorts. “For real, I think you could do anything. Most easily of all become an actor. You were good, Neil,” he whispers. “Really good.”

Neil positively beams, and Todd resolves that he wants to see Neil smiling like this forever and always. 

He loves that he, of all people, can make Neil smile like this. 

“Come see me tomorrow,” Neil breathes, “before I go.” 

Todd promises to.

Neil seals the promise with a kiss. 

The two part, and Todd departs, but they reunite upon the morrow.

And when they part again, Todd begins his first letter to Neil, writes to him then and there. Tells him of how he and the others already miss him terribly, though in truth, Neil cannot yet be far down the road that leads from Welton. 

Todd writes to Neil that day, and the day after, and every day after that. 

A year later, he stops writing to Neil, and Neil stops replying, because they see one another every day, free of parents and free of Welton, free to be with their friends and with each other, free to meet their former English teacher for coffee on Thursday afternoons, because that is simply how it is supposed to be.

They are living their dreams, and they are truly free.

Twas thus, and always thus will be.

[jaskierswolf]

Heartbreak Hotel

Or the dating show Geraskier AU based on an idea by my wonderful friend @slythnerd (Also on my AO3) 

Geralt took a deep breath and pulled at the tie around his wrist. The cameras weren’t rolling yet and he was seriously considering jumping out of the window. He was grateful that he wasn’t one of the original contestants. He wasn’t sure whether he would have been able to cope with all the build up and hype before entering the hotel. The set to the show was essentially the top two floors of a hotel, and one of the reasons he hadn’t made a break for the nearest window. He did enjoy being alive despite how much he liked to grumble about it. Geralt was going to be the first new contestant since the season had started just over a week ago. With any luck everyone would be happily paired up and he would be allowed to go home at the soonest available opportunity.

He’d only agreed to this shit show for Yen’s sake. He was pretty sure that her and Triss just wanted to laugh at his discomfort.

“Mr Rivia?” Some attractive young brunette with a clipboard asked.

He raised an eyebrow at them. “Yeah?”

“Are you ready?”

Geralt looked back down at the wristband. It was pink, purple and blue. He gave a small smile. When he’d been filling out the application form he had hovered over the box for bisexual for over an hour. He wasn’t out to his family yet. Yennefer knew, but that was it. Well at least coming out on one of the most popular dating shows in the world would mean he’d probably only have to do it once.

He grunted and nodded, dropping his wrist to his side. “Yeah.”

_________________________

Jaskier was seriously starting to doubt his life choices as he flopped dramatically across the laps of Virginia Stael and Valdo Marx who were curled up on the sofa together. Jaskier had tried to woo  the ‘Countess’ as he affectionately called her due to her love of expensive jewellery and designer clothes, but she’d reached an ‘agreement’ with Valdo. They had a game plan. Everyone in the damn hotel knew it and he hoped the viewers at home could see it too. The pair of them barely tolerated each other. They would split up as soon as the show ended. They’d only chosen each other because they’d both deemed the other to be the most attractive out of the contestants. It was shameless and it was loveless. Well, not entirely loveless, despite their personality clashes and endless drama, they did end up shagging rather loudly every night, much to Jaskier’s displeasure as he had the misfortune of having the room next to Valdo.

Valdo wasn’t even that attractive.

“What are you doing, Jaskier?” Valdo snapped.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and extended one leg as he gestured to himself. “Lying down. Obviously.” He muttered.

“There’s a free chair.” Virginia pointed out in her snooty I-am-holier-than-thou voice which made Jaskier feel incredible glad that his attempts to seduce her had failed.

Unlike most of the contestants, Jaskier wasn’t playing for the money. He’d been naive to think he’d be able to actually find love on the show. What had he been thinking? Everyone else was catty and brutal and he just wanted to be loved god damn it.

Although, the sex so far had been spectacular so who was he to complain?

“Where’s… who are you paired with at the moment?” Valdo glowered at him, with unfairly pretty green eyes.

Ok so maybe he was that attractive, but fuck Valdo. Not literally.

Unless….

No.

Bad Jaskier.

The man was an arsehole. He did not deserve to get fucked!

Jaskier sighed again and patted Valdo’s cheek. “Priscilla but she broke up with me.”

“And why did she do that?” Virginia asked.

“I made out with Aiden.” Jaskier hid his face n his hands and moaned. “but in my defence the challenge was to kiss who I thought would be best in bed! Priscilla is lovely and I really like her, but Aiden just looked like he could fuck the living daylights out of me, which incidentally he can.”

Jaskier’s attention was drawn away by a woman behind a nearby camera who was obviously trying to hide her laughter and failing. Most of the time Jaskier was able to ignore the cameras but sometimes they just really got on his nerves.

“I was being honest!” He snapped and pouted. “I thought honesty was the key to all healthy relationships.”

No one had a chance to reply as the elevator doors opened and a god of a man walked out.

“Holy shit.” Jaskier’s jaw dropped.

This was it. He was in love. The man had silver hair that looked like it had been woven out of moon beams. It was pulled back into a messy bun revealing a truly sinful undercut on both sides of the man’s head. He was wearing a loose black shirt with the top few buttons undone and the sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. He’d paired the shirt with some tight black jeans. Oh god his thighs could probably break Jaskier.

Jaskier let out a pathetic whimper.

The noise drew the hot guy’s attention and holy fucking cock balls… his eyes…

Jaskier was going to drown in those eyes. He licked his lips and he stared unabashedly at this fucking work of art, that is, until he was dumped on the floor by Valdo shoving him hard. “Oi! Fuck it, get off!” He yelped as he landed on his arse.

His eyes snapped back up to the new guy and he blushed. The man was smirking at him, clearly laughing at his misery. Jaskier gave a little wave and the scrambled to his feet so he could introduce himself. “Hi! I’m Jaskier!”

“Geralt.”

Jaskier could have melted on the spot. How was his voice that good? Fuck it was better than sex.

“Jaskier.” He replied and then swore. “I mean. I already said that. Hello.”

“You said that too.” Geralt chuckled.

“Well what else am I supposed to say? I just met you! I can hardly start asking you to bend me over that table and…” He cut himself off and clapped his hands to his lips.

“Shall we start again?” Geralt asked, still smirking although there was now a faint red blush on his cheeks, probably embarrassed by Jaskier’s outburst. He extended his hand, which, Jaskier noted with absolute delight, had a bi wristband tied neatly on it. “I’m Geralt.” Jaskier grinned and shook Geralt’s hand, making sure his own matching wristband was on display. “Jaskier Pankratz. Nice to meet you.”

“Cut the cameras!” A voice called out through the speakers. “Everyone, we have a newbie Geralt Rivia. He’ll be joining and he will be leading our next challenge. We love the drama but try and give the man a warm welcome. Jaskier! Excellent. We’ll work with that. The viewers are going to love it! Ok. Rolling!”

Jaskier groaned and gave Geralt a sheepish smile. “Urgh. I’m sorry. Looks like they’ll be pairing us together for a few challenges.”

Geralt frowned. “Can you say that with the cameras running?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Not everything makes the cut. They get a lot of footage. There’s a whole bunch of people not even here that are being filmed right now. It’ll get cut and pasted until they get what they want.”

“So why did they cut the cameras?”

“Important announcement. Make sure people are actually listening. I doubt they actually stop rolling.”

“Hmm.”

“Sooooo….” Jaskier linked his arm with Geralt’s. “Did you want the tour?”

Geralt laughed. “Will there be any tables?”

Jaskier tripped up instantly and spluttered as Geralt caught him around the waist. “Geralt!” He choked.

“Relax, Jaskier. I was joking.”

“I should hope so!”

“Mostly.”

“Geralt!”

_____________________

Four days in and Geralt was more relaxed than he thought he would be. Most of the contestants gave Geralt a wide berth. He was more than a little out of place. He wasn’t really sure how he’d ended up being chosen. The rest of the contestants flirted easily and could all talk for hours about their ‘types’ and what they were looking for in a partner.

When asked Geralt had just shrugged, he’d glanced over at Jaskier who had been busy braiding Priscilla’s hair and not paying much attention. Jaskier was currently paired with Priscilla, they’d been arguing when Geralt had first joined the hotel but had since rekindled their love, if you could call it that. Geralt had ended up pairing with Kiera. She was pretty enough and had taken a shine to him during his first challenge. He wasn’t that interested in her but he’d promised Yen that he would give the show a fair shot. So he was trying.

“What about you, Buttercup?” Priscilla winked at Jaskier.

“Oh umm. Me? Fair hair, pretty eyes… a voice like a dream.” He sighed wistfully and Priscilla turned to kiss him.

Geralt averted his eyes. He didn’t enjoy it when they kissed. It made him… uncomfortable.

Yen would say jealous but Geralt scoffed at that. Jaskier was his friend. They often hung out around the hotel when they weren’t being filmed with their respective partners. Jaskier was the only one Geralt felt he could really talk to. He let Geralt talk for far too long about Roach and the other horses at the ranch. Kiera had just laughed and made a joking about riding Geralt then shut him up with a kiss.

It wasn’t a bad kiss. It was just not what he’d been expecting from a partner.

He was on the wrong show.

Geralt groaned. “I’m going to my room.” He muttered. “Headache.”

Jaskier jumped up. “Are you ok, Geralt?” The brunet put a hand on Geralt’s arm and looked at him with such open affection that it made Geralt ache.

Fuck.

He was falling in love with him.

Geralt pulled away sharply. “Fine.”

“Oh. Right then. I’ll just, I’ll be here if you need me then.” Jaskier mumbled and slunk back over to Priscilla, taking her hand and decidedly not looking at Geralt.

“Fine.” Geralt repeated and fled the room, glaring at the camera man on his way past. He just needed to get away and be alone for a bit.

________________________

“I just. I don’t know what to do!!” Jaskier whined as he shifted in the armchair for the third time that minute, moving so his feet were draped over the back of the chair and he was hanging upside down over the edge. “Priscilla is very pretty and we both like music. We’re thinking we could start a band after this is all over, compose music together. She’s incredibly talented, maybe even better than I am, and oh ho! Let me tell you that I don’t say that very often!”

“So what’s the problem?” The person behind the camera asked.

“I just don’t love her. I thought I did but then in walked Geralt and it was like the universe rearranged itself and Geralt was in the centre.”

“How poetic.”

“Yes, yes.” Jaskier waved his hand and then scrambled up so he could sit cross-legged on the chair. He was getting head rush from being upside down. “It all sounds like a bad rom com but I swear. God, and then he had the audacity to be kind!”

“Not many people see him that way.”

“Bollocks!” Jaskier glowered at the camera. “He’s just shy but once you get him talking I swear he’s worse than me. Oh and his sweet darling Roach, has he shown you a photograph? No? Well that is tragic. She’s gorgeous. Stupid name for a horse though. Oh and he has this collection of little horse figurines that he paints. It’s just the sweetest. I swear if he proposed tomorrow I would say yes.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah….” He sighed longingly. “I could be Mrs Geralt Rivia. Oh wait no. Fuck! He’s going to see this eventually. Shit. Can you edit that out? What do you mean no?! Fuck!”

____________

Geralt stared at the envelope in his hands. It was the challenge of the day. It was almost the end of Geralt’s second week in the hotel and soon people were going to get eliminated. He almost hoped it would be him, except that would mean leaving Jaskier behind. He wondered whether they could exchange contact details before he left. No, that would be weird. Jaskier was still paired with Priscilla.

Kiera had thankfully moved on.

“Umm.” Geralt blushed as he reread the words. He hadn’t participated in one of the infamous kissing challenges yet. His first challenge had been more of a get to know you type, after that the worst thing he’d had to do was a strip dance to ‘Toxic’, that was bad enough. “I have to kiss the person that I’m most likely to propose to after we leave here.”

“Sweet mother of…” Jaskier groaned and Geralt turned to look at him.

His friend was already blushing although Geralt supposed it was rather warm in the hotel. It was supposed to encourage the contestants to wear skimpy outfits to lure in more viewers. Jaskier as a result seemed to never be able to do his shirt up properly. The dark chest hair that trailed down into Jaskier’s tight fitting denim shorts drove Geralt mad. How anyone could resist the urge to pin Jaskier down and kiss every inch of his chest, was beyond Geralt.

Perhaps Yen had been right. Perhaps he really did need to get laid.

“Seems a bit forward.” Geralt muttered. “I’m not even paired with anyone.”

“Oh just snog someone already. Propose!?” Valdo scoffed. “This isn’t Married at First Sight.”

Valdo was right. This was too personal. He couldn’t.

“You don’t have to do it, Geralt.” Jaskier’s hand was on his cheek. “Let’s just say you have to kiss the person you think is cutest. We’ll all agree on that.”

“I won’t.” Kiera muttered.

“Shhh!” Jaskier hissed at her. “The challenge is a dig at me, something I said in the diary room. You shouldn’t have been dragged into it.”

“Hmm.” Geralt leant into Jaskier’s hand before he knew what he was doing. Jaskier had always been generous with the casual touches and Geralt lived for every single one. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been craving that physical touch before he’d met Jaskier. “Ok.” He nodded.

“Ok?” Jaskier asked, letting out a shaky breath and pulling back slightly but Geralt gripped onto his wrist to stop him.

“I can do it. The challenge.” He nodded.

It was now or never.

He loved Jaskier. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it. It was fast but then the circumstances weren’t exactly normal. They’d been living in each other’s pockets for two weeks and Geralt loved him.

He lunged forward before he could lose his nerve and captured Jaskier’s lips in a bruising kiss, cupping Jaskier’s cheeks in his hands to hold him close. Jaskier melted against him and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, returning the kiss eagerly and moaning as their lips parted. Geralt had been dreaming of kissing Jaskier ever since the brunet had licked his lips when Geralt had first laid eyes on him. Every time Jaskier chewed on his bottom lip Geralt had imagined running his thumb along the soft pink skin and gently pulling it away from his teeth. Now all Geralt wanted to do was bite it for himself, so he did. Jaskier let out a sinful moan and pushed his body up against Geralt.

Geralt’s head began to spin. God the things he wanted to do to Jaskier. The noises he could pull from him. “Jaskier.” He breathed as he reluctantly let Jaskier go, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s and running his thumb along his cheek.

“Uh huh…” Jaskier mumbled and gripped onto the fabric of Geralt’s shirt. “Winter wedding then?”

Geralt laughed. “How about dinner first?”

Jaskier scoffed and buried his head against Geralt’s neck. “Fine, a spring wedding then.”

“Hmm.” Geralt muttered and kissed Jaskier’s hair. “We’ll see.”

_____

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