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lunarscaled · 8 months

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WISDOM SAVE, DC 13: 4 ( CRITICAL FAILURE ) ( 1 + 3 )

-> They've been avoiding the dance floor all night, because they don't know how to dance and they don't want to. They have closed their ears off to the music, their eyes on the floor away from the lights, and if they had stood there on the corner of some random stone building for however long this charade seemed to go on for until everything returned to normal in the city, it would have been stubbornly fine by them. But there is the sharp sting of a violin that draws them---not because it is particularly melodic or ominous, but simply because it is a high pitched sound that towers over everything else, and they are only human. They are only Orpheus at the mouth of the underworld, standing in the light, turning his head a little too soon for Eurydice's escape: there is only one version of this story.

-> They catch just a glimpse of it---of him. Older than he was, gangly teenage limbs slightly out of place under an embellished and patterned coat decorated with silver, his hair grown out in curls that stop near his shoulders, shorter than their own. But they still look the same as they ever did: twins, different but alike, the shape of his nose and his green eyes a little too yellow to feel like anything but a freshly sprouted leaf. And they move towards the ballroom without thinking about it; they rush, almost, if they hadn't to be so mindful of walking in these shoes. But they are in the crowd of the dance, eyes frantic, breath still in their throat because he can't be here, he can't. They suck in a sharp breath that barely makes it all the way to their lungs and the music is starting again, the next dance ( and they have to dance. they have to, to see if it's really him, if they can find him. if everything has been a terrible dream this whole time and they've left home for nothing, lost in a dragon's curse. )

-> When they turn, hands groping blindly for any available dance partner, someone has already reached for their trembling hands. Their head is the last thing to go, and their weary eyes are filled with as much trepidation as if they were walking head first to their own death. But the face there is one they recognize; it makes their cracked voice stable enough to speak.

"Vlos---"

-> Their friend. A demon, yes, but their dearest friend.

"I saw him---he's there, my brother, he can't be---"

#EquinoxEvent_2023 #⋇ NO ONE KNOWS HOW FAR I’LL GO: DUNGEONS & DRAGONS 5E #⋇ I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN KNOWN TO LEAN INTO THE HAND THAT BEATS: BALDUR'S GATE 3 #heincus #⭐ soaping together—that is sacred to me. you can fuck anyone—but with whom can you sit in water? ( heincus. | vlos )

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austerulous · 1 year

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◈ @divinitywept clicked the ♡ to get a web weaving

1. After Bombardment, Sonya, Ilya Kaminsky. 2. Station 19. 3. ExpensiveTill9. 4. I Will, Mitski. 5. The Color Purple, Alice Walker. 6. The Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019). 7. Caitlyn Siehl. 8. Wanting, Emma Bleker.

#wasteland wives!#the theme of bathing together continues #◈ › bonds — ❛ you can fuck anyone / but with whom can you sit in water? ❜ — odessa × sarah — divinitywept

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vaguelyprophetic · 7 days

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y’all ever randomly stumble upon a book that has lines that make tumblr go absolutely crazy

#recently read deaf republic by ilya kaminsky #which is the source of both We Lived Happily During the War #and with whom can you sit in water #and I was like yoooooo I know these ones #alexander.txt

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salvationave · 11 months

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#i. /& MKH.#i. /& AL.#i. /& CR.#i. /& B.B.#i. /& E.W.#i. /& C.N.#i. /& B.S.#i. /& L.B.#ii. &/ with whom can you sit in the water?#ii. &/ all you could have been; all i might be.#ii. &/ no child can save their mother.

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 month

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Idk if this has been done before but Bimbo!Reader X Mafia!Konig

You're a perfect gangster gal. That type of girl that would cling to a drug dealer because of the aesthetics - because you wanted money and a cool boyfriend who would drive you in his fancy car and kill any dude who touched you...you like listening to Lana Del Rey and imagine all of those fancy things - you don't like to work, but you do like listen to others working. You met your current boyfriend because he filled your empty, pretty head with how much he gets being a drug dealer and "working for no one" and how cool he is. He isn't as good, it turned out. Konig is way cooler. Konig is his boss - to your surprise. He is old, yes, maybe in his late thirties but, oh god, is he hot. Huge, wide, bulky muscles under that tight dark shirt that can't even hide how giant he is. Your eyes flick to his bulge, and - yeah, his pants are giving up too. You don't even care that this mafia guy is flickering with the gun pressed against your boyfriend's head, you want some of this. As soon as possible. Konig adores you, actually. You don't ask him about what he is doing for a living because you kinda already know that he is not a regular businessman and because you don't care. You press your sweet glossy lips to the tip of his cock and he is ready to give you that shiny pink car you've been gushing about. You ask if he would give you a ring, and he is already choosing the biggest diamond he can get. You're pretty and dumb, but not in arrogant way - you don't think you're better than he is, you don't consider yourself cool or dangerous. You're not like regular criminal girls; you don't even want to take part in his job - and Konig is more than happy to keep you in his mansion, sitting here like a pretty doll. You tell him about your day like an innocent pet you are. You had a manicure, you did your hair, you slept until 12 and then went for a quick swim because water yoga is it right now. Konig killed three people by 9 AM, but he still kisses your forehead and asks if you want to shove some of your moves in that tiny bikini he bought for you since the last island trip. Konig is a dangerous man with a dangerous job, but he is surprisingly loyal and romantic. He wants someone like you - pretty, dumb, obedient, he needs someone with whom he can relax and not think about the job for once. And your bimbo self is just perfect for this.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #mafia!konig

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muffinlance · 2 years

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Kidnapped Zuko? Rescued by Gaang who dont know who he is and he has to hide his identity.

Okay, so. There’s already a teenager down in Commander Muttonchop’s brig. This fact is so far past concerning it’s wrapped around to let’s-not-think-too-hard-about-this hilarity, and Sokka finds himself grinning, and offering the guy a good ol’ fashioned Water Tribe wrist shake through the bars. They’re neighbors, after all.

“Hello, Fellow Prisoner. What are you in for?”

“I, uh,” says Fellow Prisoner, who is clearly undersocialized from his time in here. He’s looking a little grimy around the edges of his all-black outfit, and the bruises on him have had time to get newer, fresher bruises on top, which is just. That is all kinds of reassuring. Oh, and the giant fiery facial scar. Also reassuring. Though at least that one’s a few years old. So… inflicted when he was, what, Aang’s age?

So reassured, is feeling Sokka, for the Fire Nation’s upcoming hospitality.

“Uh,” repeats Fellow Prisoner, who is uncoiling a little in the direction of Sokka’s offered hand. As if Sokka was trying to coax him out, and hadn’t just sort of forgotten he was holding it there while his thoughts were doing their downward spiral. But hey, one man’s desperate attempts to keep his cool were another man’s offer of friendship. Fellow Prisoner grasped his wrist and shook it, in both the most technically correct and least experienced Water Tribe wrist clasp Sokka has ever experienced.

“Zhao thinks I was stealing military correspondence,” the guy says.

“Were you stealing military correspondence?” asks Sokka.

“Only his,” scowls Fellow Prisoner, to whom Sokka takes an immediate liking. “...What did you do? To get arrested. But not killed. He doesn’t usually…”

So, so reassured.

“Oh, you know,” Sokka says, continuing to shake wrists, because it is becoming clear that Fellow Prisoner has no idea how long this is supposed to last and Sokka isn't going to be the one to stop him. “The usual. Found the Avatar. Became traveling companions. Got captured doing something definitely heroic that did not in anyway involve excessive screaming of an unmanly pitch.”

“...The Avatar?” says Fellow Prisoner, who clearly knows how to focus on the important points.

“I’m bait,” says Sokka.

“For the Avatar.”

To be fair, Sokka is still a little stuck on that point, too. It’s been a few weeks, but he still wakes up too-hot in the night and wondering why the stars above him aren’t quite right.

“Yep,” he confirms.

Fellow Prisoner’s face does a thing. A sort of processing, processing, processing thing that involves progressively more scowling. “The Avatar left you? I knew the old man must be a coward.”

“So,” Sokka says, “about that.”

Fellow Prisoner drinks up Sokka’s story like a man who’s spent three years in a desert searching for water.

- - -

(It’s been two and half years.)

- - -

Their escape involves a significantly higher swords-to-escapees ratio than Sokka had anticipated, which is distractingly epic.

Also, the last-minute bison save is both the stupidest thing his little sister could have possibly done and very welcome, which means that Sokka is going to catch his breath and let some of his adrenaline fade before channeling his inner Gran-Gran for a lecture.

Fellow Prisoner sheaths both his swords. And kind of stares, rather than sitting down, so Sokka pulls him over before the bison turbulence (read: catapult dodging) can do the job. This does nothing to interrupt the staring.

“Hi,” says Aang, looking back from Appa’s head. “I’m Aang! What’s your name?”

“...Li?”

Under the sunlight, Fellow Prisoner’s eyes glint gold. He is… very Fire Nation-y looking, now that there is enough light to see him. And he is warmer against Sokka’s side than anyone not feverish should be, even in the ridiculous heat these northerners call ‘winter’.

“Are you a firebender?” asks Aang, like that question hasn’t spent decades earning its status as an insult.

“Uh,” says Li.

“Great!” says Aang, who has already figured out Li-speak. “I need a teacher!”

On the deck below them, Zhao has gone from shouting to laughing.

Sokka continues to be reassured.

#Zuko: I will definitely not ruin this for myself #also Zuko: *immediately gets declared a traitor to his nation AND burns bridges with the Gaang*#Sokka: oh my god he's literally a hot idiot #And There Was Only One Braincell #this doesn't have to be Zukka but boy did I want to use that tag #Avatar The Last Airbender #atla #Zuko #Fellow Prisoner Li #ficlet

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judasofsuburbia · 1 year

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something something middle school steve trying to form a crush on somebody because it seems like everybody has crushes. he tries some girls in his grade but loses interest quickly for silly reasons.

then, at lunch, he sees a girl with long brown curly hair and forehead bangs in a leather jacket, head ducked and legs pulled up to her chest. she must be an eighth grader because steve’s never seen her before. she’s headbanging to the music coming out of her headphones and is sitting all by herself. she doesn’t dress like girls in his grade. she’s rougher, edgier. steve likes this. it makes his stomach swoop.

she’s way across the cafeteria so he can’t make out a lot of her features but he decides leather girl is his new crush.

he never points her out to his friends. he wants to keep her to himself. doesn’t want tommy or anybody else sweeping her up.

not that he actually makes any moves to talk to her. no, instead, he stares from across the cafeteria every day and tries to figure out something new about her.

steve thinks it’s funny the way she picks the skin off her apple slices, eats the skin, and then eats the slice.

she usually gets two milks bc she pockets one of them. a bad girl, steve thinks giddily. she always waits until the bell rings to chug both of them which is odd but entertaining.

she has pins on her jacket that steve assumes are bands. no other girls really talk about bands outside of the beatles. leather girl doesn’t scream beatles fan to steve. he wonders if they like any of the same bands.

he makes up little scenarios in his head of walking up there and handing her a mixtape and the two of them sitting very close so they can both listen out of her headphones.

he throws away notes he writes her because they all sound lame. he also doesn’t know where her locker is. or what her homeroom is to send her candy grams on holidays. or even her name.

this all proves to be a challenge. so he gets comfortable with just admiring her from afar.

one day, he’s seating himself at the table with tommy and them when he hears boys from the football team shouting things like “finally, the freak got rid of the stupid hair!” and “how’s that breeze feel, munson? finally feel like a man?”

steve whips his head around to see the boys towering over leather girl’s table. only…it’s not leather girl. or, it is but all of her hair is gone. buzzed to her scalp. there are tears running down her face and steve realizes his mistake.

he wasn’t crushing on a mysterious eighth grade girl. no, he was crushing on eddie munson.

whom he’d never actually seen but heard a lot of nasty things about.

his stomach feels like it drops to the floor. he can no longer hear the ridicule or general noise of the cafeteria because his ears are ringing. he finally had a crush and he still messed it up. steve felt shame riddle through his body so he abruptly got up and went to the boy’s bathroom for the rest of lunch.

as the bell rang, steve couldn’t get himself to move from the stall he was hiding in. he knows he would get in trouble if one of the hall monitors found him but his body remains frozen. the door opens and steve holds his breath. steve sees white sneakers underneath the door and immediately, he knows it’s leather girl…no, fuck. it’s eddie.

eddie is stomping around, grumbling about his stupid dad and how he looks ugly now, obviously not realizing there is another person in the bathroom. steve hears sniffles and his heart breaks. tentatively, steve gets up and opens the stall door. eddie jumps and clutches the sink behind him.

his eyes are brown, steve thinks. and really pretty.

“jesus, kid, shouldn’t you be in class?” eddie rasps.

“shouldn’t you?” steve retorts, defensively.

“touche,” eddie deadpans. he wipes his tears furiously and sticks his head into the sink to splash water onto his face. steve observes quietly, finally seeing all the features he’s been staring at for months in full detail.

eddie pats his face down with a paper towel and notices steve is still there.

“do you want something?” eddie seethes.

steve chews on the inside of his cheek. he knows he can’t be crushing on a boy. still, even without the beautiful curls, eddie makes his heartbeat faster. he’s still so beautiful. he doesn’t want to go to class anymore.

“have you ever been to the football bleachers?” steve asks.

eddie narrows his eyes. “uh yeah, who hasn’t?”

steve stands up a little taller and tries again. “no, like, the concession stand. when there’s not a game going on.”

“no…” eddie gestures for steve to get to his point.

“i know how to get inside. there are snacks and sodas in there. they never notice a couple missing,” steve smiles as he feels more rebellious sharing this information. “i don’t know if you wanna…”

eddie raises an amused eyebrow. “play hookey?”

steve nods excitedly. he loves the way eddie grins in response.

“lead the way, kid.”

and if steve’s first kiss is a few weeks later by a pair of clumsy, sour candy tasting lips, he’ll never tell.

and if steve gets caught that day and gets detention through the end of the school year, it’s totally worth it.

because eddie is right there with him. crushing on him too.

#emily writes #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fics #steve harrington/eddie munson #stranger things

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generalsmemories · 9 months

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An Immortal's Delight

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: i think jing yuan just needs someone to kiss his worries away to survive another day tbh, he deserves that.

✧ contents: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, smooches and kisses in the bathtub (scandalous), he's just a tired baby please let him rest and get some cuddles and a pat on his fluffy head. spoilers for the main story in 1.2

✧ a/n: enough attempts on angst as the main genre i want my man happy again for like 3 posts before i attempt again, and i know ya'll want it too. it's cheesy, but HE NEEDS TO HAVE CHEESY MOMENTS PLEASE HE'S BEEN SUFFERING EVERYWHERE ELSE.

Jing Yuan has been submerging himself in the bath without answering your calls long enough for you to grow concernerd. You contemplate for a bit, there's still scrolls of unfinished work sitting by the dining table that you had brought from the Realm-Keeping Commission along with two plastic bags of Immortal's Delight that you bought on a whim while on your way home staring back at you.

Yanqing's not at home. The paperwork can also wait until he's out of the bath and in bed sleeping, and there's no pressing matters at hand for the both of us currently either- with those reasons in mind, you take another sip from your own immortal's delight to savor the taste while it's still cold before walking up to the bathroom door and opening it slowly.

You're immediatey hit with a wave of steam, barely able to make out Jing Yuan's figure amidst the mist. Your husband having an elbow propped up at the edge of the bathtub while resting his cheek on his closed fist. If he heard you come in he doesn't react, eyes closed while the water from the tap still runs, having long flowed over the edge.

Jing Yuan isn't behaving like his usual self lately - not after fate had toyed him like this to make him use two of his ones dearest friends whom he had had once released years back for the sake of Luofu. You can tell, you can see it in the wry smile he sports every day, you can see it in his eyes that flicker with the tiniest of emotions whenever he reports back to you for you to record and in his voice that wavers a tiny bit when he addresses his two old friends as names that are foreign to him.

He's the same general in everyone else's eyes, but in your eyes he's reverted back to his younger self who took on a role far too burdensome on his shoulders all those years ago. He can hide it beneath every meticulous plan and carefully thought out strategies, but you always see through him. You had back then, and you have now as well.

You strip off of your outer robes which leaves you in an undershirt whilst you slowly walk up to him. Making yourself comfortable by the edge of the bathtub, your fingers find the red ribbon that situates his long ponytail and pull it off.

"Darling," you hum, "If you're going to let yourself turn into a prune in here, at least make sure that the ribbon also comes off no?" your hand rests on his left cheek, a silent sign to make him look at you. And Jing Yuan is always obedient around you, opening his eyes to direct his gaze towards you. His other hand comes up to wrap loosely around your own hand, holding it still while he turns his head around to press his lips against your palm, "I would still be quite a handsome prune though, no?" he jokes with an empty chuckle - you're pretty sure his laughs have sounded empty since the stellaron incident first started.

"Debatable," you whisper, gently pulling your hand away to grip the edge of the bathtub, instead leaning down to press your lips against his cheek, "But you would most definitely be the most handsome prune in my eyes."

"That's a relief," he huffs playfully - although there's no playful tone present in his voice. It's numb and automatic, a trained response fitting of the general Jing Yuan of the Xianzhou Luofu. It could've fooled every other person, but not you. He can't fool you after all.

"I thought you had passed out in here, you were taking that long," you emphazise, lips moving from his cheek to kiss across his face, settling on pressing your lips a bit longer on the mole underneath his eyes.

"Mmm, sorry dear," he leans away from his fist, letting you cup his face between your hands while his right arm drops limply over the edge of the bathtub, "It was pretty comfortable in here that I lost track of time."

He never loses track of time.

"Jing Yuan," you call out gently, "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He doesn't answer immediately, instead averting his eyes from your own as he grows quiet. He's probably contemplating an answer, if you were anyone else he could've easily breezed past the question with a mere acknowledgement that he's fine, but it's you. You're always able to figure him out as fast as his own foresight is able to foresee a necessary plan for a better tomorrow.

He still tries, "I'm fine," he ends up saying, "Just tired," he opens his mouth to add on more details, as if to prove to you he's really just tired, but no sound comes out.

"I know," you whisper, bringing your hand further up his face to brush his bangs away to bump your forehead gently against his, "I know you're tired, dear. But what's gotten you more tired than usual?"

Gently, he lifts a hand from the water up to your wrist. And you're already aware it's a silent request, to which you answer with a small smile and a nod. With a light tug, you get dragged down into the bathtub with your legs dangling over the edge. Jing Yuan had immediately buried his face into your neck, letting out a shuddering breath.

There's no people to care for in this small space, there's no general duties to attend to here and no setting aside his personal feelings or using old connections for his people. In this small space, there's only the feeling of your soft skin against his and the warm press of your lips on his head.

Just like back then after he had come back from defeating his master, after he had witnessed the deaths of his closer friends in battle and the punishment given to another. You're always there at the end of the day - waiting for him.

"Will you tell me what's wrong, dear?" you implore once again, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

"As much as I'm able to keep it hidden at the heat of the moment," he whispers into your neck, taking another shaky breath to which you pat his naked back for, whispering for him to breathe. "I do admit that I once again had a bit of a youthful hope to bring something back from the past that I knew was not plausible."

You merely press your lips to his temple, aware that he's not finished talking judging by the way he takes another deep breath that ends in a low chuckle - a chuckle that sounded a tiny bit more genuine than his previous one.

"... And I think I can still feel the aftermaths of the fight against Phantylia."

"... Well that's no good," you hum. You've been very much aware that Jing Yuan is still recovering from the last battle against Phantylia. His body still weak and food even harder to consume. The little he does consume end up getting thrown back up because: "It feels like my insides are having a battle of its own still," which makes it harder to get Bailu's prescribed medicine down his throat.

You run your fingers down his back a couple of times before leaning away to pull his head out of your neck - he tries to protest, wanting to stay nestled in your neck so he can live inside the personal bubble you've created away from reality. But you're too insistent, gently coaxing him with small pats to his head until Jing Yuan finds himself staring back into your eyes. "In what way can you feel the aftermath?"

He's staring at your lips, "There's a vile taste in my mouth."

Your lips are immediately slotting over his own after that. It's soft, but sweeter than usual. He can taste a hint of brown sugar on your tongue, and perhaps it's because he's not directly consuming it, but he finds it easier to want more. So he leans in for more, grabbing the back of your neck to push you further into him. More, he needs more.

"You're going to swallow me up whole at this rate," you say with a giggle, parting slightly away from his lips and giving them a brief peck when he leaned slightly further into you, "But how did that taste?" you question.

"It tastes like someone's had an Immortal's Delight before coming in here," he jests, "It's good, I like that," he confirms before settling his forehead back on your shoulder.

"That's good, maybe I should drink more of them then before kissing you silly. I'm sure whatever you're eating now paired with Bailu's medicine won't give your tastebuds the best of flavors."

"That would make eating and drinking them a lot easier for my part," he mumbles from your shoulder, "Would have something to look forward to, being that Lady Bailu bans me from drinking such sugary treats at the moment."

You chuckle at the hint of sadness present in his voice, once again wrapping your arms around his shoulders so his senses are filled with your scent. Only then does his shoulders sink in relief - And you know that Jing Yuan will be fine for another day again.

"I can't guarantee that tomorrow will be any better from today," you mumble, "Neither can I guarantee that you won't be faced with a past that you were forced to move on from too soon for the sake of the Luofu," you let go of him to climb out of the bathtub, ignoring your clothes sticking to your skin as you extend a hand towards the man before you who meekly grabs it - squeezing your hand hard upon contact.

"I can however, guarantee that I'll be there waiting at the end of the day every time," you grab one of the fresh towels by the shelves to throw over his head, ruffling his hair slightly, "And take care of you when you want to just be Jing Yuan, and not the Arbiter General of the Luofu," you declare with a smile, "And kiss the vile taste of medicine in your mouth with the flavors of immortal's delight."

Before you can turn around again to grab a new towel to pat your clothes dry, Jing yuan tugs at your wrists and pulls you towards him. A hand coming up to cup your cheek before he bends slightly down to kiss you hard and hungrily. Kissing you breathless like you're all he has left - from back then and now in the present.

He can still taste the sugary drink on your lips - He wants to keep tasting them, he has quite a sweet tooth after all.

"I like the taste of immortal's Delight," he says, pressing his forehead against yours while he gazes at you softly, "So I hope you bought some for me too."

"I did, you can afford one cheat day," you grin, bringing both hands to cup his cheeks before pinching them, "But knowing you, you would still claim it tastes better on my lips, no?"

i- i'm. can someone tell i really love this man. like i want to wrap him in a blanket and say everything's going to be okay, that he can rest now because he's done his job and way more. that he deserves rest as much as the next person- i can volunteer to do that. please.

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #star rail x reader #jing yuan x reader #x reader #reader insert

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moonstruckme · 27 days

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Can you maybe do something with one of the marauders being protective of reader (not poly just a marauder of your choice)

Thanks for requesting!

cw: slightly possessive behavior

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 883 words

“Who-oa.” James gawps as you walk past his room, and you turn your head to hide a little smile. “Where are you going so dolled up?”

Your smile slips, brow pinching. “Do I look dolled up?” You backtrack a couple of steps, stopping in front of James’ doorway. “Is it too much?”

“I don’t think so,” he says, regarding you from where he sits on his bed. He leans back on his hands. “You look nice. I only say ‘dolled up’ because you’ve got a tad more makeup on than usual, and you’re wearing that top that makes your eyes look pretty. I guess, ah, whether it’s too much might depend on where you’re going. Which is…?”

“Is the makeup that obvious?”

“No, but I see you every day. Where are you going?”

“Dinner.” You blow out a breath, starting back down the hall.

You hear James’ mattress squeak, and then he’s following you. Down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Dinner with whom, may I ask?”

“A friend of a friend. Have you seen my chapstick?”

“Is this a date?”

You pause for a second in your search before jump-starting again. “Using the word makes me nervous.”

“Sorry,” James laughs, the sound like sunlight refracting off water. It relaxes you slightly. “I thought you hated going on dates.”

“I’m trying to get over it.” You check behind the coffee maker, frowning. “Seriously, I don’t have another tube of chapstick. I thought I left it in here yesterday.”

“Did you maybe put it in your bag when we went for pizza last night?”

James’ eyes crease with his smile when your expression lightens. “You’re so right,” you say, starting back for the stairs. “Thanks.”

“No problem. So, have you met this guy before?”

“Nope.” In your haste you miss a step, but James’ hand is right there to steady you. You keep going. “It’s like an arranged marriage, except instead of meeting him at the altar I’m meeting him when he picks me up.”

“Charming. And when is he picking you up?”

“Any minute now.” Your voice is pitchy with false cheer, betraying the hummingbird-fast beating of your heart.

“Doesn’t it worry you that you’re entrusting your safety for the night to this man you’ve never met?”

Your hands are actually trembling as you grab the chapstick from the bag you’d used last night, sticking it in your pocket. “It does, yeah. Thanks for the reminder.”

You turn back around, but James catches you. His hands are warm on your upper arms and his gaze is kind. Steady.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m not trying to freak you out. I just want to make sure you’ll be okay. Are you bringing your alarm?”

“It’s a public place, James. Ideally he’s not the type to try anything regardless, but surely he won’t in a restaurant.” He looks dissatisfied. “But yes, it’s in my pocket.”

“Attagirl.” James gives your arms a squeeze before releasing you, flopping down on your bed.

It’s not a second later that the doorbell rings and he’s popping right back up again, hot on your heels as you go down the stairs.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, batting him away as you go for the door. “Go be somewhere else!”

James holds up his hands in surrender and sits down on the couch, but his eyes are trained on the door as you open it up to greet the man outside.

“Hi,” you say, plastering on a smile.

“Hi.” He smiles back. He’s handsome, well-dressed, and carrying flowers. You’re instantly charmed. “Are you y/n? My friend gave me this address.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, and it comes out awkward and pitchy. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“And you are?” Suddenly James is behind you, leaning over your shoulder.

Your date blinks. He says his name like it’s a question.

“Sorry, this is just my roommate.” You laugh again, the nerves in it even more prominent now, and try to shoulder James back from the door.

Unfortunately, James is an immovable wall of solid muscle. He acts like he doesn’t notice. “Nice to meet you. And your last name?”

“James!” You turn to him, appalled. Tell your date, “Ignore him. I’m so sorry.”

“I just feel like it’d be good information to have,” James says with a shrug. You think he’s trying to look intimidating, but it’s really not a very practiced air on him. His big frame does something to make up for it though, biceps bulging where they’re crossed in front of his chest. To you, he still looks decidedly huggable, but your date appears as though he’s garnered a different impression.

“But anyway, you two have fun.” James smiles. You’d have to really know him to know he doesn’t mean it. “Enjoy dinner, and have her back by ten.”

You and your date both chuckle, though you can tell from your roommate’s expression that he’s not fully joking. He keeps up the affable grin anyway.

“Okay, dad,” you tease, squeezing out the door and starting down the front steps. Your date follows. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you at ten.” James steps into the doorframe, waving. “I’ll be here. Don’t forget that your safety alarm is in your pocket!”

Your face heats. When you get home, you’re going to kill him.

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