ROLLO WITH A FAE!READER (also Have And Octopus And A Clover :3 ♣️🐙)

ROLLO WITH A FAE!READER (also have and octopus and a clover :3 ♣️🐙)

SUMMARY: rollo tries very hard to convince himself that he, in fact, despises you.

WARNINGS: none!!

COMMENTS: thank u for the octopus and teh clover!! <33

You’re just the worst of the worst.

You and Draconia are attached at the hip, bonding over your shared ancestry and your skills in magic. You’re nowhere near Draconia’s level, but your magic is refined enough to be considered a threat. It’s disgusting, it’s disgraceful, and yet you carry yourself like you’re confident and proud of it.

Rollo hides his face behind his handkerchief, but the way he glares across the room at you cannot be missed.

He knows you know he’s looking. Your eyes have caught his quite a few times during the festivities, and you’ve even had the gall to wink at him. Because of you, he had to swat away the concerned hands of his classmates after choking on his water. He intertwines his fingers after regaining his composure, but his knuckles are white as he tracks your movements across the dance floor.

There's a moment where you're lost in the crowd, masquerade outfit swishing alluringly among the people that could not be any less interesting. Rollo rubs at his temples and shuts his eyes, willing this feeling away.

“Something on my face?” you croon, sliding into the chair beside him with an amused look on your face.

He almost chokes again, jaw clenching as he catches a whiff of your shampoo. Unbelievable. Shameless. How have you charmed him so?

“Your form was dreadful.” he spits, face twisting up in annoyance.

You seem completely unbothered, opting to push out your bottom lip and flutter your lashes at him. You’re not taking him seriously at all.

“Daww, that’s such a shame.” you drawl, turning your eyes back to the dance floor, “If only you were there to teach me how to do it right.”

Something in Rollo seizes, and he jolts up from the table like he’s been burned. His palms slam against the wood as he shoots you a nasty glare, but you couldn’t look more unbothered.

Filthy.

Huffing, he spins on his heel and storms off to a different area of the festivities, just so long as it’s away from you.

If he hears your sugary sweet invitation for a dance, he doesn’t acknowledge it.