𝔳𝔦. art of bullshittery

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𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔶

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𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔶

𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔶

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               "JESUS CHRIST

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"JESUS CHRIST..." WERE the first words to leave Vera's mouth in the past fifteen seconds of silence since Jonathan fucking Schlatt's sudden appearance.

"Nah, it's just Schlatt." He replied just as smoothly as he made his entrance, looking as though he was biting back the urge to smile.

Vera's mouth opened, then closed wordlessly.

As every other time in recent months that Vera had found herself within Schlatt-ogling range, she found herself momentarily speechless at how annoyingly good he looked. Schlatt had definitely improved since his first physical appearance on screen. From the moments where she recalled sneaking a quick glance at him on videos and streams and stupid weed-induced calls, she never would've imagined how that somewhat-good pixilated mess would transfer over to real life. His obnoxiously bright 'Sisters' hoodie only seemed to add insult to injury and with that, came the ridiculous urge to thread her fingers through his appallingly messy brunette hair. And when Schlatt had taken the opportunity to crouch down and tie his shoelaces on those stupid fucking Timberlands, Vera realised she was staring.

A surge of irritation with herself (and Schlatt too) twisted through her stomach. She was staring, at Jonathan fucking Schlatt of all people. The one person who she so studiously documented loathing with a fiery passion and swore she would try and avoid at all costs on her trip to America. But there she was, marking every detail on his person at that moment. Vera honestly did try her best to ignore the scent of Schlatt's soap and the way his hair, still damp from his morning shower, curled enticingly at the nape of his neck. The momentary lull she found herself in was quickly stomped on by the reoccurring warning that oh fuck, she was staring.

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋,     jschlattWhere stories live. Discover now